#and my older laptops are all even heavier and less useful

[baekuras]

I really wanna just have a small notebook to use on travels so I can comfortably draw and watch videos etc (i dont fully vibe w/ tablets and touch only tbh) but just the prices basically starting at 200 for a small piece of nothing is RIDICULOUS to me Like I can buy a full-sized laptop for that easily which can do more, I can build a PC for that Yeah neither are as light or portable but this is exactly my problem Portability is not worth 200bucks to me I’d rather carry my heavier laptop around then and have backed everything up beforehand

[tap-tap-tap-im-in]

A friend of mine asked me recently to detail my Linux setup, and after thinking about it for a bit, I realized that this is essentially a personality quiz for the Linux users I thought I would detail it here as well.

I no longer have a desktop computer at all. I have two older generation "gaming" laptops and three Raspberry Pis. I'm going to go through in the order I got them:

Laptop #1:

[Purchased New in 2016] Acer ROG 7th Gen i7, 16GB Ram, nVidia 1050Ti Mobile, Internal 1TB HDD, external 2TB HDD

This was originally a windows laptop when I got it back in 2016, but in 2021 I was tired of the long windows boot times on the the HDD and was much more familiar with Linux due to several years experience doing webserver admin work.

I use Ubuntu LTS as my base. It's easy, it's well supported, it's well documented, and the official repos have just about everything I could need. The only thing I've really had to add myself is the repo for i3, but we'll get to that in a bit. I also chose Ubuntu because I already had my first two Raspberry pis, and both were running Raspbian, so using a debian based kernal meant that it wouldn't be much of a change when ssh'ing into them.

That said, I've never really liked the default Ubuntu desktop. Gnome3 is slow and full of too many effects that don't look especially nice but are still heavy to execute. Instead I loaded up KDE plasma. You can download Kubuntu and have them to the setup for you, but I did it the hard way because I found out about Plasma after installing Ubuntu and didn't want to start from scratch.

My plasma desktop looks like this:

Of my two laptops, this one is in the best shape. It's the one that I usually take with me on trips. With the dedicated GPU it can do some light gaming (it did heavier gaming on windows, but due to emulation layers the performance is just a little worse these days, Linux gaming isn't perfect), the screen hinge has never been an issue, and it's on the lighter side of gaming laptops (which is not to say that it's light). For that reason, I often find myself actually using it on my lap, in airports, at people's houses, on my own couch typing this up.

For this reason, I started looking into ways to better keep my hands on the keyboard, rather than having to drift down to the track pad, which is my least favorite part of this laptop. During that research I discovered i3. If you're not familiar i3 is a Linux Desktop Environment that is entirely keyboard driven. https://i3wm.org/

To be fair, it's less of a desktop environment and more of a keyboard driven window manager, as it doesn't have a "desktop" per se. Instead when you log into it, you simply get a black status bar at the bottom of the screen. It doesn't even black out the login screen, so if you don't know what to look for, you might think the whole thing has hung. But, the big benefit of this is that the whole thing is lighting fast for a DE. It doesn't waste any resources on effects or really anything that you don't need. But it's really nice for window tiling and task switching without having to get the mouse involved. This is great for productivity (if you're into that), but it's also just convenient for working on a gaming laptop, which might be balanced such that if you take your hands off of it, it might topple off your lap.

This laptop is my primary project computer. It has all my git repos and scripts for doing things like renewing my website's ssl certs. I also run game servers on it for Minecraft. I'm probably going to spin up a Valheim server on it in the near future too. Especially now that the process has improved somewhat.

Raspberry Pi #1:

[Gifted New in 2016] Raspberry Pi 3b, 4GB RAM, 32GB SD card

This one is my oldest RPi. It's had a lot of roles through the years, including an early version of the vogon media server during initial development in 2020. It's run headless Raspbian for a good three or four years now. Currently it's configured as a web server/php scripted web crawler and a pi-hole DNS server. My router currently refuses to use it as a DNS server without bringing the whole network down, but I will on occasion manually switch devices to it when I'm running especially ad-ridden applications.

There's not too much to say about this one. It's stable, I almost never have problems with it. I frequently use it for things that I want running in the background because they'll take too long and I don't want them blocking up one of my other computers.

Laptop #2

[Gifted Used in 2020] Asus Predator 7th Gen i7, 16GB Ram, nVidia 1080 Mobile, 2 internal 256GB SSDs, External 2TB HDD

This one runs windows 10 still. I use this primarily for gaming. The screen hinge is an absolute joke, and replacing it involves replacing the entire screen bezel assembly, which I can absolutely do, but is such a pain that I haven't gotten around to it in the 3 years I've owned this laptop.

There's nothing really special about this one, other than that when both laptops are at my desk, I use a KVM switch to swap my external monitor, keyboard, and trackball between the two computers.

Raspberry Pi #2:

[Gifted New in 2020/21] Raspberry Pi 4b, 4GB Ram, 16GB SD card, 2 120GB USB Sticks, External 2TB HDD

This is my media server. I got it for Christmas 2020 (or 2021, I don't actually remember which because 2020 was a hard hard year). It runs Rasbian, the full OS, with the desktop environment disabled from booting via the command line. It runs PHP 8.2, MariaDB, Apache2, and MiniDLNA to serve the content via my Vogon Media Server.

If you can't tell from the above storage, I'm running the USB ports well past the power delivery they are rated for. The webserver and OS are on the internal storage, so functionally this just means that sometimes the media disappears. I need to build a migration script to put the contents of the two USB sticks on the external storage, as there is more than enough room, and if I can put the HDD in an enclosure with dedicated power, that will solve the issue. But that's at least a hundred dollars of expense, and since the server only has 1, maybe two users at a time, we've been limping along like this for a few years now.

Raspberry Pi #3:

[Purchased New in 2023] Raspberry Pi 4b, 8GB Ram, 16GB SD card

This is the newest Pi. Work gave me a gift card as a bonus for a project recently, so after weighing the pros and cons of getting a VR headset, I settled on setting up a retro gaming tv box. Currently it's running Batocero Linux and loaded up with classic game roms up through the PSX. Though, I would really like to use it as a tv client for the media server. I've upgraded the devices in the living room recently, and there's no longer a dedicated web browser we can use without hooking up one of our laptops. I've got a spare 128GB SD card in the office, so I'm strongly considering getting a wireless mouse and keyboard and setting it up to dual boot between Batocero (which is convenient because it can be navigated with just a controller), and Raspbian. I think I'd set Batocero as the default in Grub, and then if I want to use Raspbian I'd need to have the keyboard handy anyway.

Maybe I'll get one of those half-sized keyboards with the trackpad built in.

Speaking of controllers. I use an 8BitDo Pro 2 controller, and I've been super happy with it since purchase: https://www.8bitdo.com/pro2/

So that's the setup. I have entirely too many computers for any one person, but I included the dates when I got them to show that a number of these have been around for a long time, and that part of the reason I have so many now is that I've put a lot of time into ongoing maintenance and repurposing.

If you've read this far, I'd love to hear about your setups. You don't have to reblog this, but please tag me if you detail yours.

[your-daily-biaswrecking]

Needy

pairing: Kim Namjoon x female reader (guest star Yoongi)

genre: smut, established relationship au

word count: 4.3k | reading time: 20 min

summary: Dating Kim Namjoon comes with its advantages and disadvantages. The later mainly being working so much all you get to see of him is in his studio. But you're a needy bitch. And if you have to get what you want while he works, you will do just that.

warnings: hard dom namjoon, bratty sub reader, cockwarming, daddy kink, dirty talk, degradation, praise, choking, spanking, unprotected sex, oral m.receiving, orgasm denial, studio sex, slight exhibitionism, aka the one where namjoon discovers he likes public sex and exhibitionism.

A/N: Amy=Army=reader because I prefer using a name instead of y/n

Masterlist | Read on AO3

Time slipping closer to the comeback dates meant missing-your-boyfriend hours grew more frequent. You never complained, just like he didn't either, but you were clingy by nature and finding any way to be even in the same room as Namjoon had become your top priority. At first, sleeping in his arms at night was enough. In about a week it became apparent that waking hours were paramount, so you started joining him for lunch. No matter how short and rushed it had to be. But the more he worked on the group's comeback, the less attention he could pay, always distracted and keeping your interactions to small talk. Eating with him wasn't sating your hunger anymore.

"I'm sorry, baby," he would say when he would realize you had been talking this whole time.

You honestly didn't mind. Simply wanted to be by his side. "It's okay, sweetie. Everything alright?"

He sighed and caressed your hand laying on the table. "I just miss you. I have to stay to work extra hours again and I won't see you again and I miss you. That's all."

You replicated his small, soft smile. "I can stay with you. I'll bring my laptop and we can both work together. That way we won't be alone."

Namjoon smirked. "You know I can't concentrate with you in the room," he declared with a low tone in his voice and slightly squeezed your hand.

Suddenly, you were fighting a smile on your lips while your eyes raced to the floor as if you were too shy to face your own boyfriend. Then you pouted. "No, we'll just work. I will be working too, I'll be so quiet, you won't even know I'm there."

And so you did. You took the small couch while he had his back to you, working on his computer. The sound of both of your keyboards was filling the room, along with the slight whispers of the music playing through Namjoon's headphones. It was after-hours and they went by mostly uninterrupted, except for the occasional visit by a manager or a member –usually the rappers– to deliver some type of message. The boys would smile softly at the sight of you, and you replied with a raise of your shoulders to state the obvious.

"Can I sit on your lap?" You asked Namjoon once after you had given up on your work and were battling falling asleep on that comfortable couch while you waited for him to call it a day, or more accurately, a night.

He pulled his headphones to the side and turned to look at you. "My lap?"

You nodded. "I'll just sit there and you can work."

"Don't you want to work?"

"No, I want to be in your arms."

He bit his bottom lip. He eyed you up and down and then looked at his monitor. He knew it wasn't a good idea, but he figured he would just sound like a straight douche if he declined cuddle offers from his girlfriend, after she had been patiently putting up with him distancing for the past few weeks. So he turned back to you and patted his lap.

"Okay, hop on, kitty. But if you don't sit quietly, you'll be in trouble."

You had to bite back that shy smile again. Namjoon was asking you to sit quietly yet just by the way he asked, he made you crave that trouble he promised. But no, you were a good girl. You didn't want to disturb his work, it would only stress him out more. You straddled his lap and huddled on his chest, trying to make yourself as small as possible so as not to restrict his movements in the least. You felt his big hand stroking your hair as you planted your head on his left shoulder, your nose close to his neck, tickling him with your warm breath. Before you knew it, you were asleep.

So now you almost didn't even bother pretending to work on that laptop of yours. Since Namjoon had been convinced that you could sit on his lap without causing trouble, and you had discovered how easy it was to relax when you were wrapped around him like that, you basically jumped in his lap right after you two settled in his studio. Namjoon played with your hair or gently squeezed the softer parts of your body every time he paused to think. He found it helped him work even better. His own little stress relief toy.

"Oh- uh… Sorry- um…" Yoongi squealed when he walked into the studio and saw the two of you tangled like so.

Namjoon turned to face the older member and simply shook his head. "Oh, she's just sleeping," he whispered.

Yoongi now opened the door more widely and stood up straighter to take a better look at you. "Oh…" he exhaled with a smile. "Like that?"

"Yeah… she can't stay away from me."

"Cute…"

At that, you decided to lift your head and look at Yoongi's general direction. "I'm awake!" you stated loudly then immediately dropped your head back down.

The other man chuckled slightly before he informed Namjoon on something about their manager, this and that, and left. Anyone walking into the studio was met with what appeared like an adorable scene that they quickly became accustomed to, and even your boyfriend seemed to think completely innocently of it now. Which meant you were the only one quietly suffering because of his cologne and the warmth of his crotch under yours.

You tried to sit there quietly. You tried to fall asleep. But it had been days since you and Namjoon had done anything other than work, and that promised trouble was becoming more and more appealing. You circled your fingertips at the base of his neck, contemplating whether you should grid yourself on him to get him to fuck you on that desk as a punishment, or be a good girl so that you don't lose your lap privileges.

But you wanted more than your lap privileges. You truly were so clingy, it wasn't enough that you were sitting on him like that; you wanted to feel more of him. You bit your lip and controlled yourself, catching your breath on purpose so that he wouldn't notice it had gotten heavier and warmer on his neck. You could practically hear his deep voice vibrating something like "you little minx" in case you exposed yourself, which in turn made your struggles even harder.

You squirming on his lap was probably registered as you squirming in your sleep by your boyfriend. Indeed, you kept your eyes tightly closed to play the role, too. You swallowed, again and again, excess saliva flooding your mouth from all the dirty thoughts passing your mind, like a dog dreaming of a delicious meal. But you stayed put. You sat quietly, just like he had asked. Because you were a good girl and you knew you would be awarded for that eventually.

"Baby…" you whispered with a pout in your lips. Today you had worn a skirt and as you sat on Namjoon's lap, the only thing covering your heat was your lace panties. Today you would get that award you craved the whole week. "Namjoon, baby…" you whined again to get your boyfriend's attention.

He looked at you with wide eyes, pausing whatever he was doing and sliding his headphones off. "What's that, kitten?"

Your eyes dropped down as your fingers played with the hem of his shirt. "I–" you gulped, "I want you inside me."

You heard nothing, no reaction. So you looked up again and Namjoon was just staring at you. "You know we can't do that here, kitten…"

You bounced slightly on his lap in protest. Luckily for you, you found out your boyfriend had already started to get hard under you. So you continued. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed yourself on him, making him suck in a breath.

"Ohh... I'm not asking for anything too much. I just want you inside me."

"Inside you?"

You nodded. "Yes, yes. I just want to feel you. Can you just… just put it inside me?"

Namjoon laughed. "Baby, if I put it inside you there is no way it won't lead to something more…"

But you shook your head frantically. For good measure, you ground yourself on him, too. "No, no, I promise! I won't even move. I'll just go right to sleep like I do every day. You know, you've seen how quietly I can sit like that. You can trust me, right?"

Namjoon bit his bottom lip aggressively as he watched you act all innocent and cute while talking about putting his dick in you. He took one too many seconds to answer, so you took the initiative to move your hands to his pants and unbutton them. His hands grabbed your hips. Not to stop you. Just to hold you forcefully as he processed what was happening.

"So you– you want to do… cockwarming?"

In response, you took one of his hands and guided it under your skirt, to your already wet core. His fingers felt your arousal through the lace. Suddenly, all signs of demur disappeared from his face.

"Hm, does your little hole feel empty without me, kitten? You want me to fill you up?"

You bit your lip as you nodded, your hands moving again to completely undo his pants and pull them down just a bit. You palmed him through his boxers and his fingers massaged your clit over your panties. You pulled his dick out and saw how it sprang up, almost to full hardness already. Quickly, you spat on your hand a generous amount and used that to pump him up and down a few times. Namjoon groaned and pushed your panties away, two fingers teasing at your entrance.

"Do you need prepping? Or can you take my cock as it is?" he asked you as he slipped his two fingers easily in.

"Namjoon," you moaned his name quietly. "Don't get me too horny, just put your dick inside me." He raised his eyebrows at your commanding attitude. "Unless you don't want me to be good," you added with a raised eyebrow of your own.

Chuckling, he pulled his fingers out and grabbed your hips again. He guided you over his dick. "Alright, kitten. Sit on that cock and don't. Move."

You sank, taking him in inch by inch, the thickness stretching you out so much it burned. You allowed yourself to moan out as quietly as you could, still struggling to fit all of him inside you. Namjoon kept a hand on your hips to guide you down, while the other caressed the side of your head.

"That's right," he praised you. "Take all of me, baby. I know you can."

With his encouraging words, you took a deep breath and moved down until your pussy had swallowed him whole, his head now nudging at your cervix.

"There, there… that's great," Namjoon cooed. He brushed his palm over your cheek and made you look at him. "How does this feel?"

"Oh, it feels good…" you said, dragging out the last word while letting your eyes roll to the back of your head. Your boyfriend gave you a sweet kiss on your forehead.

"So, did you get what you wanted, kitten?"

"Mm, yes, daddy, thank you," you moaned.

His thumb ran over your lips and he pinched your chin. You opened your eyes to look at him. "Now… will you sit there quietly and let me do my job?"

You nodded lazily. "Yes. Yes, daddy, I will."

Namjoon smiled and gave you a quick peck. He looked down, pushing your skirt out and adjusting it so that it covered both of you up. He put his headphones back on and you, just like you promised, laid your head on his shoulder again and sat there quietly. Your position ultimately not changing at all and it still seemed very sinless, with the only exception that you were now so deliciously full and finally sated.

You tried to calm your breathing down. You clenched and unclenched around him involuntarily and he released a warning groan in response. It was hard to stay still at first, but once you got used to his length stretching your walls, it was surprisingly relaxing. He was big and warm and the most comfortable thing you had experienced in your life. You had never felt closer to your boyfriend than at that moment. You loved it in a very possessive way.

From now on this would be the only seat you'd ever take.

Namjoon loved it too. He didn't expect you to actually sit still, secretly wanted you to act out so that he could teach you a lesson afterwards. But now you looked as peaceful as a baby breastfeeding. It was funny how something so dirty made you look so chaste, and how that in return made you look, well... hot. He sighed. He really didn't think he would be the one having trouble controlling himself. Your pussy was moving slightly around him every time you squirmed, and he felt every single thing. Yet you had managed to drift into a light sleep, your cheek pressed on his collarbone, your lips apart, your breaths long and warm on his neck.

So pretty… So cute. Namjoon would make sure to fuck you so well when you two got home.

"Hey, Namjoon!"

Namjoon jumped right as the studio door opened wide. He hands quickly grabbed your hips, ready to push you away and pretend nothing was happening.

"Oh, is she sleeping?" Yoongi whispered and walked closer to them.

Namjoon froze. He looked down, your skirt was still covering you up. Then he looked at the other man. He seemed blissfully unaware of what was going on in there.

And that, for some reason, made Namjoon's dick throb.

"Um, ye-yeah."

"Heh, she's so cute when she sleeps on you like that."

Namjoon bit the inside of his cheek hard. His hips moved forward on their own accord, pushing further inside you so slightly that the moment went by unnoticed. But not by you. A tiny whine echoed from your throat.

"Hm, yes. What's up?" he answered, his voice husky.

Yoongi started talking, but if Namjoon were to be honest with himself, he didn't hear a thing he said. All he could register was his dick getting even harder while your pussy got tighter around him. He tried to stay still as he stared forcefully into his friend's eyes. What if he realised?

God, the thought alone made him suck in a deep breath.

"Okay?" Yoongi's voice was barely made out inside the younger's foggy head. But he managed to nod. "Can you do that for me?"

"Hyung..." Namjoon sighed. Just as Yoongi frowned at his friend's odd voice, you moved around, clinging closer to Namjoon, cutting off his oxygen supply completely. "Yes! Yes, I will!" he literally choked out.

The other rapper gave him an up and down and Namjoon would never dare admit how his eyes on the two of you made his stomach shrink. But he would admit to how he felt ready to combust and if you weren't left alone within the next thirty seconds, he would no longer care about details such as privacy.

"Cool," Yoongi mumbled, moving back towards the door yet still facing you. "Thanks, man. I owe you one."

The moment the door clicked closed, Namjoon gasped hard, taking in all the air he was missing. His hands -still on your hips- held you tighter, tight enough to leave bruises, as he panted and moved his hips slowly into you.

"Stop pretending you're sleeping," he demanded. A couple of seconds of silence passed, and then he felt your lips gently land on his neck in a small kiss, trying to play innocent. He snorted. "You–"

"Everything okay, daddy?" you asked in the purest voice you could master.

"No!" he exclaimed, dropping his head back on his chair. He thrust up as much as he could, but since he was already buried to the brim, there wasn't much space to move. "No, I'm not okay!" he growled. You immediately bit your lip, pulling your head away so that you could finally face him. He leaned slightly forward but the moment his eyes fell on you, his head hit his chair again. "Move!"

"But, daddy, you–"

"Fuck, Amy, if you don't– move!"

His hands pushed you slightly off him, and he immediately thrust into you. Hard. You had no choice but to cry out. Another thrust and you felt like you couldn't hold yourself up anymore, falling on his chest and clinging to him desperately.

"Nam-" you tried to talk, but the man had found his position and was drilling into you at a never before seen speed. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and all you could do was have your jaw hung open and a moan escape freely with every hit on your spot. He was animalistic, growling and groaning loudly with no regards to the public building you were in, and most importantly, without even noticing your attempts to slow him down. You pushed your palms on his shoulders, trying to lift yourself, but in response, he just bit down on your neck and made you moan harder.

This... This is exactly what you wanted. Wasn't it?

"Namjoon, the door is unlocked," you managed to whisper while he was licking your neck up and down aggressively. He just hummed in response. At least he heard your voice. "What if somebody comes in?"

Your boyfriend moaned. He slowed down, his right hand leaving your hip to move higher up, ruffling your shirt, squeezing your breast and wrapping around your throat. You gasped right as he tightened his grip.

"Let them see," Namjoon mumbled. His grip around your throat tightened even more and his hips picked up the pace again. But now, you had no way of making any sound other than choking. Namjoon moaned louder. "Oh, let them watch."

He finally let you breathe and right away he crushed his lips to yours, pulling you deep down on his dick and grinding inside you. You had never seen this side of him before and you couldn't help but drip arousal around his base. Just seeing how into it he seemed to be made you get closer to your climax.

"Bounce on my cock, you slut. Isn't this what you wanted from the beginning?" your boyfriend growled in your ear and you whined, immediately obeying. Jumping up and down.

"Daddy..." you moaned for his attention, getting closer and closer.

A hard slap on your right butt cheek. "Faster. Do it how you know you wanted it." Another slap.

Leaning forward you found a new momentum to slide up and down his dick faster, and his breathing instantly changed. You looked up through your lashes at him, gawking at his expression, face hot with coy and pride.

"Like that, daddy?"

He groaned, staring right into your eyes. "So needy," he mumbled. "Such a desperate slut, constantly wanting praise. Is that what you want, baby? For me to praise you?"

You almost missed your rhythm due to the effect his words had on you. "Da... Daddy..." was all you could say.

He held you from the ass, helping you move since you were so close to cumming it was getting hard. "Hm? You want me to praise that warm, wet pussy of yours that takes my dick so well?" You had to moan. "So well-" he repeated, "-that I can't resist it?"

"Daddy, I'm gonna-"

"You fuck me so well, baby. Hm, is that what you want me to say?" Namjoon continued teasing. "You're so good..."

"I'm gonna cum!"

Suddenly, you were empty. Namjoon had pulled out of you and pushed you away.

"Oh no, baby. You don't get to cum."

Your mouth dropped open, the sweat that glistened all over your face probably evaporating at how hot it suddenly got. "Wh- what?"

The man in front of you gave you the most shit-eating grin you had seen in a while. He got up from the chair and stood in front of you. "What? You really thought you would be rewarded with an orgasm after everything you pulled?"

You pouted. "But..."

Namjoon held your chin gently and smiled down at you smugly. "You've been too naughty, sweetness. Now, if you get on your knees for me, I might make you cum when we get home."

You bit your lips so hard it hurt. "Daddy..." you whined in the most seductive voice you had in you, giving him your big, puppy eyes. But he just released your chin and raised his eyebrows.

"On. Your. Knees."

Gulping, you lowered yourself down. If Namjoon said knees then knees it would be. You looked up at him and he sighed heavily at the attractive sight.

"Now, open up for me, baby."

You opened your mouth and drew your tongue out as far as you could, which seemed to please him a lot. Grabbing his dick at the base, he ran his head over your tongue. Getting desperate again, you closed your lips around him and sucked the head. That earned you a hiss. His fingers were suddenly all in your hair, his head fallen back, as he picked up right where he had left. He pushed the first couple of inches of his dick in and out of you fast until you were used to it and you swallowed more of him in. You couldn't take all of him, but you didn't need to: the tightness of the back of your mouth was all Namjoon needed to feel from you.

"Oh, God…" Namjoon moaned and you knew the moment the atheist started to call out to God, was the moment he was getting close. You grabbed his hips to halt his thrusts and instead just suck. Suck him hard enough to slurp his own soul if he had one. Hard enough to swallow his warm cum right as it was released down your throat.

You opened up your mouth with a satisfied "ah" to show him it was empty. Namjoon smiled and fell back on his chair, exhausted. Knowing you needed to be as good as you could in order to be rewarded afterwards, you gently tucked him back in his trousers while still on your knees, looking at him proudly.

"Did I make you feel good?"

Namjoon chuckled, ruffling his hair. "I swear all you ever–"

A knock on the door followed but a member right away. "Hey, Namjoon-ah, when-"

You both turned with dread to look at the door, finding a mortified Yoongi standing to it. His wide eyes moved from the fucked out looking man on the chair, to the girl on her knees in front of him, and he very wisely decided to disappear behind the closed door again without a word.

"Ah, shit…" Namjoon mumbled, but you just laughed.

"You know, he's probably still waiting for that translation," you said, which made your boyfriend look at you puzzlingly.

"What translation?"

You bit your bottom lip to prevent you from laughing again. "Babe! Earlier… he said he e-mailed you some lyrics he wanted you to translate to English. You said you'd do it."

His face scrunched up to the saddest 'oh' you had seen. "I h– I didn't– I..."

You showed your teeth in an 'oopsie' way. "Oh, well... At least now he knows what took so long."

Namjoon moved off the chair and pulled you up with him. "I need to– I mean, I should probably talk to him. I don't know, say it wasn't what it looked like? Would that sound believable?"

You chuckled again, getting on your tippy-toes to try and fix his hair. "Looking like that? Not so much."

Namjoon looked at his reflection on the black screen of his computer to fix what he could. "You should go home, baby. I'll stay here to make this right."

"What? No, but you promised to make me cum when we get home," you whined like the spoiled brat you were.

But your boyfriend grabbed your jacket, waiting for you to wear it. "Yeah, but that was before you got me in trouble, you brat."

You pouted. "No, I'm not going."

He rolled his eyes and grabbed your arms to push them through your jacket sleeves. "Get home now, Amy, before I change my mind and not let you cum at all."

You were ready to throw a tantrum, but as you were guided toward the door, you just turned and looked at him very seriously. "Namjoon, I swear to you, if you let me go now I'll find a better way of getting myself off tonight," you threatened.

But he laughed. "Oh, okay. Tell me, do you wanna go apologize to Yoongi perhaps?"

You shrugged nonchalantly. "Perhaps. At least he'd let me cum, wouldn't he?" you commented as you opened the door and were ready to leave. But Namjoon slammed it closed again. His arms caged you against it as he loomed over you.

"I have a better idea. You go home right now, undress, get in bed and wait for me without touching yourself at all, like a good girl, and I'll make you cum until you beg me to stop," Namjoon whispered darkly. You seemed to consider it. "There is no alternative, sweetness. You'll do as I tell you."

So you smiled. You gave him a little kiss on the cheek and agreed. Well, at least he thought you did. Because you were definitely going to disobey him by touching yourself back home until you had wet your bed waiting for him. Waiting for the punishment he'd come up with then...

[cherrycocaineee]

3. Jeon Jungkook - First Meeting

       A single earbud blasted music into my ear as I rode my bike back home after school. Despite trying to pedal fast and get home before the storm hit hard, I was slowed down by overcrowded pedestrians walking at snail speed on the sidewalk. All I could do to make it less frustrating was listen to my music. Softly humming to the beat of the song, I navigated cautiously through the sea of people. My back felt heavy with my school bag draped over it and I groaned at all the homework I’d have to do once I got home.

    Eventually, small water droplets started dropping from the sky and hitting my exposed skin, and soaking my white shirt. Huffing, I pulled my bike over to the nearest place with outdoor seating and something covering my head. Which so happened to be a small coffee shop that I sometimes went to on my way home. I pushed my bike against the brick wall and sat down to wait for the rain to subside, and to pass the time a lot quicker, I decided to get a head start on some of my homework. History was the first one that I took out of my bag.   A few minutes passed and the rain was only getting heavier, so I was kind of debating whether I should call a friend to pick me up. However, it wasn’t a good idea because I wouldn’t be able to bring my bike home at the same time. Suddenly, a hooded man ran underneath the coffee shop coverage. His clothes were damp from the rainfall, but he didn’t seem to care. Not wanting to seem like I staring creep, I looked back at my homework. But I couldn’t really help it. He was attractive. His skin was pale but had a sunkissed look to it, his lips were a peachy shade of pink, his jawline was sharp and could probably cut through anything if it were a knife, and his hair looked so soft and fluffy, as the deep brown darkened in the stormy weather. I had to force myself to not stare.  I forced myself to do my homework, avoiding making any type of eye contact with the beautiful stranger stands a few feet away from me.  “Excuse me.” His sweet, deep voice penetrated my one ear that wasn’t covered with an earbud. Looking up, I saw him standing in front of me, his phone in one hand and his other hand in his pocket. His smooth brown eyes were staring right at me.  “Sorry to bother you,” he said, his English choppy, “but my phone is dead and I was wondering if you could tell me what time it is?”  I picked my phone up from on top of my history textbook and clicked the middle button, making the screen turn on. My wallpaper was a photo of my best friend, Ophelia, and I at the beach in Los Angeles last summer with her parents. Ophelia was wearing a two-piece swimsuit that was pumpkin orange, and it complimented her mocha skin tone. I was wearing a firetruck red two-piece that had white polka dots all over it. The two of us were standing in the bright blue ocean, hugging one another, as her older brother took the photo. I read the time on the lock screen and looked up at him.  “It’s 3:40,” I answered, “almost four.” “Ah, thank you.”  He turned around and went to sit at an empty table. I bit my bottom lip softly before speaking again.  “If you’d like, you can use my phone charger and computer to charge your phone.”   The stranger looked over at me and smiled while nodding his head. Then he was out of his seat and in the seat next to me in a split second. I removed my white iPhone charger and my laptop from my backpack and handed them to him. After hooking the charger to the computer, he hooked his charger to his phone and watched as it turned on.    “I’m Jungkook,” he introduced.  “I’m Avery,” I smiled, holding out my hand to shake his. His large, calloused hand wrapped around my small, soft one. After greeting one another, we started discussing some random things like the type of music we listened to, family, books we’ve read. I even learned that Jungkook wasn’t from America, which I kind of already figured from his accent, and learned that he was from South Korea. Jungkook even started teaching me some small Korean words. It was a lot of fun, and it passed the time a lot better than sitting here and doing boring school assignments. Jungkook turned to the coffee shop and pointed at it.  “Is this place any good?” He questioned. “Yeah, they are,” I answered, “I come here pretty often.”  “Do you want to get some coffee with me?” “Sure.” The two of us stood up and went inside the small coffee shop. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee beans, cinnamon, and vanilla filled my nose as we entered. The little chime of the bell above the door alerted the barista that he had some customers.   I helped Jungkook read the menu before ordering. While we waited for the drinks to be made, we continued talking. “So you still go to school?” He asked. “Yeah, it’s my senior year,” I replied, “how about you?” He shook his head just as the barista placed our drinks on the counter. The two of us picked them up and headed back outside, continuing the conversation along the way. “I graduated in 2017.” “Oh, so two years ago.” He nodded his head.   The rain was coming down hard. I was sipping on my cold brew while watching each drop hit the ground. There were few cars driving through the streets, but really most people stayed out during weather like this. The idea of the roads being too slick and causing an accident was enough to deter people from causing an accident. It was one of the few good things about living in Seattle. As I placed my coffee down, I shook my phone in front of Jungkook while smirking. “Wanna play some iPhone games?” I persuaded, “I bet I can beat ya.” A sneaky, mischief smile appeared on his face, “get ready to lose.” We exchanged numbers and started off by playing 8ball. Jungkook was extremely competitive and he was good too. Luckily for myself, I was competitive too. So for the next hour, we played as many imessage games trying to beat one another. We were tied and the last game we were playing was connect four. The game was hard to win considering neither one of us was stupid enough to let the other person connect four. This game lasted the longest out of all the ones we played.  However, as the rain started to slow down, I finally ended up beating Jungkook. I giggled as Jungkook started pouting, crossing his arms, and puffed out his bottom lip. This action caused me to laugh even harder. He looked at me out of the corner of his eyes and began laughing too. Soon the rain stopped altogether, so it was time for me to head home. I packed up all of my things and grabbed my bike.   “It was fun hanging out with you, Jungkook,” I giggled, “hopefully we’ll see each other again before you head back to South Korea.”  Jungkook nodded, “I liked hanging out with you too, Avery. Since I have your number, I’ll give you a call so we can play some more games.”  “Sounds like a plan!” I hopped on my bike and waved to him goodbye as I rode off towards my home. I walked through my front door calling out to my family that I was home. Mom, Dad, Austin, and Jenna were all sitting on the couch when I walked into the living room. Austin looked up at me.  “What took you so long?” He asked. “It started raining,” I answered, plopping down next to Jenna, “so I waited for it to stop.”  “Good, because the last thing your father and I need is you getting hurt,” mom said, smiling. They were watching Wipeout on the television and soon I was immersed in it as well. That is until my phone dinged and I looked down to see if the message was from Ophelia. It wasn’t, it was from Jungkook. He had sent me a photo of him with the message reading: Can’t wait to see you again. Use this photo for the icon above my number.  I smiled and sent him a recent photo of me that Ophelia took telling him the same thing. I hadn’t noticed that Jenna was leaning over my shoulder reading my message until she screamed so loud I felt my eardrum almost burst. Quickly, I dropped my phone in my lap and covered my ear. Austin and I glared at her while our parents looked at her with questionable looks. Jenna picked my phone up.  “Ave,” she started, “did you meet this guy today?” “Well yeah,” I said, “he got caught in the rain too, so we chatted a bit, got some coffee, and played some iPhone games while we waited. Why?”  “You literally met my idol!” She squealed. “Idol?” “Yeah, those lame Korean boys that she has plastered all over her room,” Austin said, turning his attention back to his phone, “you know the one with seven members in it?”  “BTS,” Jenna answered, “you met the youngest member of the group, Jeon Jungkook. You have to give me his number, Ave!”  As quickly as she had picked up my phone, I snatched it away. “No way!” I snapped, “I can’t just give you his number, especially if he doesn’t even know who you are. What if he’s not cool with it, Jen?” I grabbed my backpack from next to my feet and went upstairs. I could hear Jenna pouting and crying to mom and dad about me not giving her the phone number. I closed the door behind me as I entered my room and sighed. That’s when my phone dinged again and I looked at it. It was a text from Jungkook. As I read the message, I felt my cheeks burn as they turned bright pink. I shot him a quick message to reply and then sat at my desk to finish up my homework. Yet, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop thinking about the last text Jungkook sent me and I knew I’d probably still be blushing by the time I went to bed. But I didn’t mind in the least.

[hookedonapirate]

Beyond a Reasonable Doubt

Summary: Detective Killian Jones took an indefinite leave of absence from SBPD after his brother was murdered in the Line of Duty. Bitter and broken, he resides in a cabin on the beach when his brother's former partner, David Nolan brings him a case he knows the vengeful detective won’t be able to resist. A case involving Liam's killer.  

Dr. Emma Swan makes all of her decisions like she operates on her patients—with care, competence and compassion. But when her colleague, Graham Humbert, is murdered in cold blood by the man who was freed because of a decision she made as a juror, she starts second-guessing herself. To make matters worse, her squeaky clean reputation is being questioned when she becomes a suspect for Graham’s murder.

There is one detective who believes she’s innocent, and he has a plan to protect Emma and find his brother's killer at the same time. When Killian finds himself caught between his duties to the SBPD and his need for vengeance, matters are only complicated by the feelings he develops for the woman he's supposed to protect.

He's impulsive and hot-tempered, and she's methodical and cool under pressure. Despite their differences, can they work together to bring the murderer to justice, or will the murderer get to them first?

A/N: Many thanks go to @ultraluckycatnd for her wonderful beta-ing skills and @onceuponaprincessworld as always for her encouragement and letting me bounce ideas off of her.

So a few things before we get started with this chapter.

You've probably noticed, I made Emma older than she is usually portrayed in fanfics since being chief of surgery requires an extensive medical background, education, training, experience, etc. Basically this is how old she would be ten years later from the OUAT pilot. With that said, I've made the other main and supporting characters older as well. Emma and David are 38-39, and Killian, Elsa, Anna and MM are 32-35. Just wanted to clarify that to avoid confusion, though I do mention some of their ages in the story. I'm doing my best to keep the timeline consistent but if anything doesn't make sense with the timeline, or in general, please don't hesitate to ask me about it either on here or Tumblr.

Secondly, I know some of you, or maybe all of you are hoping Emma will contact the police about Neal, but keep in mind, Emma's a suspect and yes, contacting the police would be in her best interest, but Emma's going to be paranoid about every move she makes because she overanalyzes and thinks everything through. And any move that could potentially bring more attention to herself regarding graham's murder could effect her career she has worked so hard to obtain. So please keep these things in mind before you get too upset with her.

Also, this chapter is in Killian's pov, so we will see the video footage of Emma's interview. To avoid a bunch of repetition this chapter shows different points of the interview so that's why different questions are shown in this one, except for a few that I included in both chapters..

You will find that Killian has to iron out some wrinkles in his relationships with David and Elsa, so this chapter and the next will include some angst, but I think all of you lovelies are going to like what I have planned for chapter 5, so please bear with me until then :)

Okay enough of my rambling and on with the story. Thanks for reading!

Rated: Explicit due to mature language, character death, violence, murder and smut. The scenes won’t be too graphic, but I’d rather overrate than underrate it.

Catch up: Pro I Ch 1 I Ch 2

Chapter 3

“Uncle Killian!”

  With a big smile on his face, Killian watches his nephews charging toward him. He sets down his tackle box and fishing pole and wipes the sweat off his brow as he steps off the dock. “Oof,” he feigns a pained noise with a chuckle as Leo tackles him. Killian picks him up, drawing him into an enormous bear hug, noticing his nephew is heavier than the last time Killian picked him up. “You’re growing too fast. Soon you'll be taller than me.”

  “Nah-ah,” Leo laughs, shaking his head. 

  “Uncle Ki-wi!” Liam wobbles toward him and wraps his arms around Killian’s legs. 

  “Can you tell they missed you?” Mary Margaret asks as she catches up with her children, David hot on her heels, their hair rustled by the wind.

  “No, not at all,” Killian chuckles, setting Leo down to pick up Liam. “It’s been too long. Far too long.” The two brothers are four years apart, and though Killian is not related to them by blood, he’s like a brother to David, thus Uncle Killian to David’s sons. “I missed you too,” Killian says, dropping a kiss to the crown of Liam’s head. 

  The little lad will be three years old soon, but it feels like only yesterday when Killian cradled the newborn in his arms as the parents announced they were naming him after a man who died a hero—David’s best friend and partner, and Killian’s brother. 

  He sets little Liam on his feet and looks up at David, noting the laptop satchel strapped around his shoulder. He fooled Killian into thinking this was only a social visit by wearing his casual clothes—khaki shorts and a Hawaiian shirt. And Mary Margaret is carrying a tote bag of beach supplies, ready to lounge on the beach.

  “Did you catch anything?” David asks. 

  “Fishing is not about the catch, mate.”

  David grins. “I know. It’s an excuse to drink during the day, right?” 

  Killian scoffs playfully and waves his words. “Like I need an excuse.”

  They share a laugh as they draw each other into a hug and pat one another on the back. They’ve been friends long before Killian joined the Storybrooke Police Department. David’s four years older than him and the same age as Liam would've been—thirty-nine—but the three of them were pretty much inseparable. And after Liam passed, Killian and David shared a heartache neither would ever fully recover from. “I’ve missed you, Jones.”

  “Missed you too.” After they break the hug, Killian turns to Mary Margaret, smiling warmly at her. “Thanks for bringing the boys.” 

  “Of course,” she says, throwing her arms around him. She’s six years younger than David and has been married to him for ten years. They met right after she graduated from college and moved to Storybrooke to take a teaching job. She is now the vice principal at Forest Grove Elementary. 

  “Sorry if I smell like fish and sweat,” Killian apologizes as he wraps his arms around her.

  “Oh wow, you do,” she laughs, pinching her nose but doesn’t pull away. “That’s okay. Wouldn’t expect anything less since you live in this fishing town.” 

  He chuckles. “You know, I could’ve just visited you all in Storybrooke if I had been given more notice. I could’ve saved you a trip.” He didn’t even know they were coming over until last night when David had called him out of the blue.

  Mary Margaret waves off his words as they break the hug. “Nonsense. The boys were dying to see their Uncle Killian, and they've been begging us to take them to the beach, so we thought we'd kill two birds with one stone.”

  “It’s nice to see all of you again.” He looks at David, narrowing his eyes. “Though I have a feeling this isn't just a pleasure trip for you, is it?”

  David gives into a grin and pats Killian on the shoulder. “Is it ever just pleasure with me?”

  Killian chuckles and shakes his head. “Never.” Outwardly he’s relaxed and cheerful, but inwardly, he has a bad feeling about whatever David wishes to discuss with him.

  “Uncle Killian, will you make sandcastles with us?!” Leo asks as his mother hands him and Liam a big sand bucket packed with sandcastle molds and a shovel.

  Killian opens his mouth to answer but David beats him to the punch. “Actually, we have some important things to discuss first. Then Killian can make sandcastles with you.”

  The boys groan their disapproval, Leo gets over it quickly and wastes no time racing off toward the shoreline, Liam wobbling after him.

  “Not so fast, you two! Sunblock, first, then floaties!” Mary Margaret calls out, following their trail of messy footprints in the sand.

  When Leo halts in his tracks and turns around, going to his mother as she spreads out a blanket on the sand and retrieves a bottle of sunblock from her tote, Liam trails behind his brother.

  “Anyone want something to drink?” Killian asks them.

  “Sure, I’ll take some iced tea,” Mary Margaret replies.

  “Do you have Capri Suns?” Leo asks.

  “Of course I do. What kind of uncle would I be if I didn’t stock up on Capri Suns for when my nephews come to visit?”

  “Yes!” Leo exclaims, fisting the air.

  Mary Margaret pulls off Liam’s shirt and rubs lotion over his back and arms. “Thank you, Killian. And you don’t have to worry about Liam, he has his sippy cup with juice in it.”

  “Okay.” Killian turns his head to look at David. “Want a beer?”

  “Sure, you got Lone Star?”

  Killian’s lips stretch into a wide grin. “Any other beer would be treason.” After he grabs his fishing gear and stores it in the garage, he and David head inside the house. 

  Killian goes to the refrigerator and pulls out a pitcher of sweet tea, a fruit punch Capri Sun and two bottles of beer, setting them on the island counter. He pops off the caps of the beers before handing a bottle to David. “What important things did you have in mind to discuss?”

  David holds up his bag. “Take a wild guess.”

  Killian sighs as he pours Mary Margaret a tall glass of tea. “And here I thought you just wanted to catch up on old times.”

  “I do, but I also want to discuss a case with you,” David admits softly before taking a swig of his beer.

  Killian’s jaw twitches as he glares at his old friend. “Then you’re wasting your time. I came here to Port Lavaca to get away from that stuff.”

  “Which is exactly why I brought it to you.” David sets down his beer and places his laptop bag on the counter, unzipping it. “Just give me five minutes, okay?”

  “And why should I?”

  “Because you’ll want your hands on this case, trust me.” David pulls out his computer and sets it up on the counter.

  “How are Elsa and Camila doing?” Killian asks, deliberately changing the subject. He’s not interested in whatever case David is about to present to him, nor is he pretending to be. 

  “Why don't you ask them yourself?”

  “Because you see them and talk to them more often than I do. I didn’t even get invited to Anna’s wedding, which I’m positive the Maid of Honor had something to with.”

  David looks up from his open laptop, furrowing his brows. “Doesn't the bride and groom normally choose the people on the guest list? Mary Margaret and I chose our own guests for our wedding.”

  “True, but even if Anna and Kristoff wanted to invite me, you don’t think Elsa talked them out of it?”

  David shrugs. “Maybe, but if she did, who’s fault is that?”

  “David…” Killian mutters with a pained expression, his heart constricting. “You know my relationship with Elsa hasn’t been the best since Liam passed.” 

  David turns around and plants his hands on his hips, gaping at Killian. “Hasn’t been the best? It’s almost nonexistent.”

  “Aye, because of what happened,” Killian states bitterly. “Since then, she’s only ever let me stop by so I can pick up my niece and spend time with her.” He desperately wants to change that though. He wants his sister-in-law back, he wants the friendship they once had, and he wants to spend time with both her and Camila again. He’s tired of missing out on important milestones in Camila's life all because her mother and uncle prefer not to be in the same room together. He’s just been too much of a coward to tell Elsa that. To apologize for letting his temper get the best of him.

  “Do you blame her? You let her husband’s killer get away with murder,” David scolds.

  Killian slams his beer on the counter, anger surging through him. “I loved him too, okay?! I was only trying to prove—no, you know what?” He raises his open palms in protest. “I’m not doing this with you. Not today, not ever.” He gathers the beverages and storms out, the backdoor squeaking on its corroded hinges as he strides onto the deck and rushes down the steps. He doesn’t need this shite. His nephews are here to visit with him and he’s not about to waste the opportunity.

  “Killian, wait!” David calls out from the deck as Killian trudges through the sand. “I’m sorry, I shouldn't have said that! I know you loved him! We all did!”

  Killian turns around, pinning him with a glare as David makes his way down the steps. “He was my brother. I’m the last person in the world who wanted that piece of scum to get away with ending his life.”

  “I know.” David sighs as he inches closer. “Which is why I’m here.”

  Killian narrows his eyes, his brows knitted in confusion. “I thought you were here to discuss a case?” 

  A pained expression etches David’s features. “I am. A case involving your brother’s killer.”

  Killian’s fists clench around the drinks, his jaw tightening at the thought of another innocent victim falling at the hands of—

  No, he can't do this. He’s not going down that path again; it only leads to anger, bitterness and vengeance. He shakes his head. “I told you, I’m done with detective work. I’m not interested.” He walks away again, heading toward Mary Margaret and his nephews.

  “What if I said there's a good possibility you could catch him this time? Then would you be interested?”

  Killian stops in his tracks, gazing out at the sea as David’s words slice through him. No, he shouldn’t care about catching Liam’s killer anymore. He gave up a long time ago. But somehow he finds himself turning around to face David again, curiosity clawing at his gut. “How?”

  A triumphant grin crawls across David’s lips. “I knew that would gain your attention.”

  “Just tell me,” Killian demands ardently.

  David steps toward him. “I'll tell you when you agree to hear me out.” He holds up the five fingers of his right hand. “Five minutes.” 

  “I’m sorry, I can’t,” Killian mumbles and turns around, walking away. This time, David doesn’t holler after him or follow him.

  When Killian brings the drinks to Mary Margaret and Leo, she thanks him and lifts her sunglasses, perching them atop her head and squinting up at Killian. “What were you and David shouting about?”

  He shakes his head. “Nothing important.”

  Mary Margaret frowns, not believing him. “You should hear him out, Killian. He really misses working with you.”

  Killian sighs and sips his beer as he watches Liam filling his bucket with sand and Leo walking along the shore, collecting seashells. “Will I really want my hands on the case?”

  A solemn expression creases Mary Margaret’s features. “Would David drive three hours to ask you if he thought otherwise?”

  “He would if it meant spending time with an old friend… or at least I would hope,” Killian grumbles.

  “Of course he would, but if he didn’t think you’d be interested, he wouldn’t have brought it up.” 

  Killian takes another swig of his beer, pondering David’s offer.

  Mary Margaret puts her tea in the beach cup holder she’d brought with her and gets up to walk toward her sons, giving Leo his drink and sitting across from Liam to help him make a sandcastle. 

  Killian misses spending time with them, but he doesn’t know if he’s ready to head back to Storybrooke. He’d moved here to this fishing town, Port Lavaca, almost two years ago and bought this cabin on Lighthouse Beach. After Cassidy got away with murdering Liam, Killian blamed himself—everyone blamed him—and he couldn’t stand to be in Storybrooke any longer. He couldn’t live in a town that reminded him of his brother, a town that couldn’t bring his brother’s murderer to justice and pointed their fingers at Killian for the reason Cassidy got away with his crime. David knows he has no interest in going back. Not to Storybrooke, not to the SBPD, and yet he made the trip with his family three hours away from home. Nolan wouldn’t have bothered bringing the case with him if he knew Killian wouldn’t take the bait.

  When Killian heads inside and steps through the backdoor, David’s back is leaning against the counter, his arms crossed as he waits for a different answer. Or rather the answer he wants to hear.

  Killian knows he’ll regret this, but he can’t deny his curiosity is piqued. The detective in him is itching to know more about the case, or so he tells himself. He assents with an exasperated sigh. “Five minutes. That’s all you get.”

  David grins. “That’s all I need.” He brings his laptop to the table, and once Killian takes a seat next to him, David plays a video that’s ready to go on his laptop. “This was recorded yesterday.”

  The video feed takes place in the interrogation room. David and Detective Jefferson are sitting at one side of the table and there’s a man in a suit sitting on the other side who David says is an attorney. But what really piques his interest—or rather who—is the blonde woman sitting next to the attorney. She’s beautiful, with long blonde hair pulled into a high ponytail and striking green eyes. She’s wearing a black blouse under a fire engine red, two-piece suit and red pumps on her feet. Bold color choice. She’s definitely not a woman who lacks confidence. 

  “Who is she?”

  “This is Dr. Emma Swan. She’s a surgeon at Storybrooke General.”

  “That name sounds familiar,” Killian comments, more to himself than to David.

  “She’s Anna and Elsa’s cousin. But this conversation and what I’m showing you has to stay between us. I’m only here to visit with an old friend, got it? I haven’t even told Mary Margaret that Anna and Elsa’s cousin is involved in the case.”

  Killian nods. “I understand, but what’s her crime? Dressing too nicely. Being too pretty?” he quips with a smirk.

  David rolls his eyes. “This is serious, Jones.” He reverts his gaze to the computer screen. “Her colleague, Dr. Graham Humbert, was murdered seven days ago in the Storybrooke General parking lot. They were rival surgeons who bickered and teased each other all the time. Both were vying for the Chief of Surgery position he was appointed to just a week before he was murdered.”

  “And you think she offed him for his job title?” Killian asks, unable to take his eyes off her. She doesn’t look like your typical suspect by any means. She’s calm and still, her arms and legs crossed casually, her face expressionless. Typically, people who were being questioned for a felony offense trembled, couldn’t sit still and would sweat profusely. But not this woman. He can't detect any sign of fear or worry in her eyes, her posture or her behavior. 

  “I think there’s more to it than that, but yes, I think she had something to do with his death. The night he was murdered, Dr. Swan was with Graham at the Rabbit Hole. According to other colleagues who were also there celebrating Graham’s promotion, the two surgeons were having an intimate discussion.”

  Killian lifts a brow. “You think they were lovers?”

  “According to Emma and everyone else, they weren’t. They often squabbled, but it was mostly friendly. They respected each other.” 

  “Ah, I see.”

  “Dr. Swan said he walked her to her car that night, and before she left, she saw him head back inside. According to the bar owner and his employees who were on duty that night, Dr. Humbert left the bar an hour later, around eleven o’clock and went home. His phone records show he received a call at 2:20 in the morning, but it was from a restricted number.”

  “And let me guess, the number was untraceable?”

  “Yep. But whoever called him knew the safety code.”

  “Safety code?”

  “Anyone who calls in hospital staff is required to supply the safety code. You know, like when parents give their kids a safety word for emergencies so they don’t get abducted by strangers.”

  “So, whoever called Humbert was someone who works at the hospital?”

  “Possibly, and either that person had something to do with his murder or it’s a sheer coincidence the phone call preceded his death by only twenty minutes. But no one I spoke with at the hospital knew about the phone call or why he would've been called in. He wasn't on call that night.”

  “Was Dr. Humbert married?”

  “Nope, never was. A few people I interviewed mentioned he once had a fling with Dr. Regina Mills, head of Cardiology, but it ended four years ago. She’s now happily married.”

  “Maybe they still had something together, but kept it secret so her husband didn’t find out? And if so, maybe her husband found out and is the one who murdered him?”

  “The husband, Mr. Locksley owns the Rabbit Hole, and he was closing the bar at the time Dr. Humbert was murdered. One of his employees was there to corroborate that.” 

  “Dr. Mills didn’t take his last name when they got married?”

  “No, I asked her about it during the interview, and she said she wanted to keep her maiden name to avoid confusing her regular patients.”

  “And where was she that night?”

  “She was tending to a patient with cardiac arrest.” 

  “What was the cause of Dr. Humbert's death?”

  David clears his throat and retrieves a folder from his bag, pulls out some photos and spreads them over the table. 

  Killian swallows the sizable lump in his throat. The photos are of the murder victim with a knife lodged in beneath his left arm. 

  “Massive hemorrhaging from the stab wound.”

  Killian picks up one of the photos, studying it. “And the knife’s untraceable as well?” he asks bitterly, though he doesn’t need to. He already knows the answer.

  “Of course. The knife is an average filleting knife that could’ve come from any kitchen. The blade went through clean as a whistle and popped Dr. Humbert's heart like a balloon. And no fingerprints. Whoever did this knew what he was doing. Or she.”

  “Like another doctor?”

  David shrugs. “Possibly.”

  “And you’re certain the cardiologist was with a patient? She would know exactly where to stab a person to make it fatal.”

  “I checked the hospital security footage for verification. She went into her patient’s room at the time of the murder. Her alibi checks out.”

  “Were there any witnesses?”

  “A security guard saw Humbert pull into the parking lot but never saw him go inside. When he left his post to check on Dr. Humbert, he found Graham’s body near his car. The murderer was like a ghost. Never seen, never heard. He left without a fucking trace.”

  The hairs on the back of Killian’s neck stand on end. “Cassidy...” He cringes from merely speaking his name.

  David nods. “Question is, who hired him?”

  “This Dr. Swan… is she married?” Killian doesn’t think Emma had anything to do with the murder, but perhaps a jealous lover who saw her with Graham that night hired Cassidy. He’s drawing straws though.

  “No husband or boyfriend to speak of. She lives alone. No kids, not even birth parents. She was shuffled around from one foster home to another until she was adopted at the age of ten—by Anna and Elsa’s aunt. I’m sure you've heard the story?”

  “Aye, after their parents died in a car accident, Anna and Elsa went to stay with their Aunt Ingrid and her adopted daughter.” Killian points at the computer screen. “That’s her?”

  David nods. “Yep. The aloof cousin.” 

  “Huh.” Why has he never met this aloof cousin? Of course, if he’d known she was so gorgeous, he’d have made that happen a long time ago, but he'd never seen a picture of her, at least not one of her as an adult. If he had, he would have recognized her on the video. Killian shakes off the thoughts and studies the photos again. “I don’t get how a good-looking, successful doctor like this man stayed single?” Or a beautiful, successful doctor like Emma for that matter.

  David shrugs. “He probably was by choice. Maybe he was too focused on his career and thought a romantic relationship would only distract him. Or maybe he was in love with Regina and knew he couldn’t have her, so he didn’t want anyone else.”

  “Or maybe he was in love with someone else?” Killian poses. If he were Graham and had a female friend like Emma, he doubts he’d have only platonic feelings for her. “You said he walked Emma to her car that night?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Was there a kiss goodnight?”

  “When I questioned Dr. Swan, she said they hugged, and he kissed her on the cheek. I asked her if that was normal and she said no. It surprised her. But I checked the video footage in front of the bar. Mr. Locksley set up a camera there after someone tried to throw a rock through the door window a couple of years ago.”

  “To steal alcohol?”

  “Or cash from the till,” David shrugs. “Whatever their reason was, they weren’t successful. Probably got spooked by someone who saw them. Anyway, the hug between the two surgeons lasted too long to be friendly.”

  “How long?”

  “Ten seconds.”

  “How long is a normal hug?”

  “A few seconds, maybe more, depending on the relationship of the person you’re hugging. But ten seconds is too long if you’re only friends. Or frenemies in this case. So maybe, Graham had feelings for her but she didn’t return them? Maybe Graham made her feel uncomfortable or said something to her when he hugged her, and that, topped with him getting the promotion she desired was enough to want him dead.”

  Killian mulls it over for a moment, then shakes his head. “No, it’s too obvious. She’s smarter than that. She’s a doctor and has way more education than both of us combined. If she really wanted him dead, she wouldn’t have hired someone to murder him a week after his promotion. I don’t think she hired Cassidy.”

  David cocks a brow, a sly smirk curving his lips. “So does that mean you’re in?”

  “I didn’t say that,” Killian grumbles.

  “But it’s been over five minutes. Which means I’ve intrigued you. Otherwise, we’d be outside with my wife and kids right now.”

  Bloody hell. 

  David’s right. Killian is intrigued, and not solely by the case, but by the blonde woman on David’s computer screen. He wants to know more about her; he wants to find out more information. He has a gut feeling about her; he knows she didn’t murder Dr. Humbert. He doesn’t believe the whole rival surgeons scenario is a motive for murder. He and David also bicker and tease each other, but he would never murder David over a job promotion. “Okay, fine. I’m intrigued. But as I said, I don’t think she had anything to do with Dr. Humbert’s murder.” 

  David makes a noise of hesitance and appears to be unsure about Killian’s assessment. “There’s something else you should know that might change your mind.”

  Killian cocks a brow. “What’s that?”

  “Did you hear about Cassidy’s most recent trial?”

  Killian shakes his head. “I stopped watching the news or following any media regarding that arsehole,” Killian mutters. “Not knowing there’s yet another victim left in his path of destruction is the only way I can sleep at night.”

  “He was acquitted from another capital punishment.” 

  Killian scoffs. “So he got away with another murder? What else is new?”

  David sighs and fast-forwards through the video. “Just listen.” He hits play.

  “Dr. Swan, did you recently serve on a jury that recently acquitted an accused contract killer, Neal Gold?”

  Killian’s eyebrow jumps, and he reclines in his chair, crossing his arms.

  “What’s the relevance of the question, Detective?” Mr. Hopper asks, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

  David raises his hand in defense. “I’ll get to that, I promise.”

  “Please do very quickly,” Emma says curtly. “Some of us don’t have time for unnecessary interviews. I have patients waiting for me.”

  David sighs. “The sooner you answer my questions, the sooner you can leave.”

  She expels a tentative breath. “Yes, I served on the jury that acquitted Mr. Gold.”

  “And were you or were you not the forewoman?”

  Killian swallows the lump in his throat. 

  “I was. But you already knew that. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have asked.”

  “Feisty lass,” Killian remarks with a subtle smirk.

  David nods. “That’s for sure. Feisty but polite.” 

  They revert their attention to the video.

  “That’s correct. I’ve already interviewed the other eleven jurors.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I believe Dr. Humbert’s killer was hired. He wasn’t robbed, and he has no known adversaries… other than you, Dr. Swan.”

  Emma narrows her eyes at the insinuation. “Dr. Humbert and I were not adversaries. We were friendly colleagues.”

  “Yes, you were a colleague of his who wanted the promotion he got, and recently let a contract killer back on the streets.”

  Her eyes widen as she lunges forward in her seat. “I didn’t free him. The judge made the final decision. My job was to determine the facts and reach a verdict based on all the facts and evidence. In that case, the evidence was lacking.” 

  Her attorney puts out his hand to stop her from continuing to speak any further. “Detective, Mr. Gold’s crime was alleged and has no relevance to this case.”

  David pauses the video. “Some of the jurors said Cassidy and the doctor kept making eyes at each other.

  Killian quirks a brow. He doesn't doubt any straight, red-blooded male would be attracted to Emma, but he highly doubts a woman of her class, beauty and intelligence would be interested in a scumbag like Cassidy. “Did you question her about it?”

  “Yes, she claimed he kept staring at her, but that his attentions were very much unwanted. That’s as far as I got before Mr. Hopper stood and asked if there were any more unnecessary questions I wanted to ask her.”

  “So, you think the doctor hired Cassidy to eliminate her competition?”

  “The crime scene had his name written all over it.”

  “I’m not arguing that. But I don’t think someone like her,” Killian says, pointing at the paused screen, “would get involved with someone like that piece of scum.” The thought makes him utterly sick to his stomach.

  “He may be scum, but he’s clever scum. That’s why your brother coined his moniker, remember?”

  “Aye.” He remembers very well when Liam began calling him Cassidy. 

  One time Killian asked his brother why he called him that, and he said Neal’s father, a convicted felon Liam successfully put behind bars, was referred to only as his surname, Gold. To avoid any confusion, he didn’t call Neal by his surname too, nor did he wish to call Neal by his first name—Liam never called perps by their first name—so initially, Neal was the clever killer because he seemed to be an exception to Locard's Exchange Principle, which asserts, “the perpetrator of a crime will bring something to the crime scene and leave with something from it,” and that “both can be used as forensic evidence.” Dr. Edmond Locard was the Sherlock Holmes of France who came up with the basic principle of forensic science, “every contact leaves a trace.”  

  While Cassidy always leaves a weapon at the scene, he never purchases the weapons, or at least there is never a trace of the purchase. He also never leaves fingerprints. There was only one single time when Cassidy was sloppy and accidentally left something of his behind and that was when he murdered Liam. But he never took anything from his victims.  

  The name Cassidy was brought up when Elsa became pregnant with Camila and they were deciding on names. Elsa had mentioned Cassidy as a possible name for their daughter, and when Liam looked up the name to see what it meant, he discovered the origins of the name and that it meant clever. So it became Neal’s nickname.

  When Liam’s daughter was born, he suggested they call her Camila, which means perfect , and Elsa was immediately on board with it. Killian’s glad Liam and Elsa didn’t end up naming their child Cassidy. How ironic would it have been if Liam gave his daughter the same name he gave the man who eventually killed him? 

  Liam never mentioned Neal Gold to Elsa, he didn’t like bringing work home with him and he especially didn’t like to cause his wife any distress by talking about a notorious serial killer on the loose. He didn’t want Elsa to worry about her husband, and while she knew the risks that came with Liam’s job as a homicide detective, he made her believe he mostly reviewed old, unsolved cases. 

  After Liam died, Killian promised Elsa he’d find her husband’s killer. While no one was certain of who murdered Liam because there was no evidence, except for a single thread of fabric left behind at the crime scene, Killian and David knew. But Killian botched any chance they had of convicting Cassidy and failed Elsa and Camila in the process. Not only did he fail, but he’s the reason why Cassidy couldn’t be convicted. He acted on high emotions after Liam’s death. He was so angry and vengeful, he was willing to do whatever it took to put Cassidy behind bars. And that’s exactly why he failed. He didn’t think. He made a split decision, and several people have subsequently paid the price for that decision. Now a highly respected surgeon has been added to that list, along with who knows how many others.

  “So, how will you proceed?” Killian asks skittishly, afraid of what David’s answer might be.

  “Not me. Us,” David says. “I need your help.”

  “Why me? Why not Scarlet or Jefferson?”

  “Because I need someone with your instincts, someone good, and you're better than them or anyone else in our department. Besides, no one knows Cassidy like you do.”

  Killian shakes his head. “I can’t. Any case involving Cassidy is personal for me. After he killed—” His voice cracks. He can’t even force the rest of the words out. “I can't.”

  “Come on, Killian. I’m not asking you to come back permanently; just this one case, that's it,” David pleads. “If you won’t do this for me, do it for your brother.”

  Damn it, Nolan. Why did he have to go and use that card? 

  Killian sighs and stands up, pacing the kitchen. When he reaches David again, he stops and places his hands on his hips. “Let’s say I said yes, what would you want me to do?”

  “Search for any clues that will tell us if Emma and Cassidy are in alliance.”

  Killian furrows his brows. “Since you need probable cause, I'm guessing you don't have a warrant for Dr. Swan, so how do you suppose I do that?”

  David shakes his head. “Ah-ah, I’m not telling you until you say you’re in.”

  Killian sighs dramatically as he drags his hand over his face. He has a feeling he’s not going to like whatever plan David has up his sleeve. But he misses working with him again, and he has to admit, he still doesn’t believe Emma had anything to do with her colleague’s murder. So perhaps he can go along with David’s plan to prove that. He looks at David again and with a curt nod, he makes it official. “I’m in.”

  To that, David says nothing, just grins complacently.

  Killian gulps. What the bloody hell did he just sign up for?

Tagging some people who have shown interest so far. If you would like to be tagged or untagged, please let me know.

@itsfabianadocarmo @snowbellewells @ilovemesomekillianjones @nikkiemms @teamhook @xhookswenchx @nikkiemms @xsajx @julesep3026 @hookedmom @biefaless @cluttermind @yasbio2015 @kmomof4 @lfh1226-linda @harshini01 @noensnaringnet @xarandomdreamx @onceuponaprincessworld @annastasiarinaldiva @royalswan @brustudyblog @officerrogers @gingerchangeling @melly326 @singersdd @mzbossyboots @unworried-corsair @iamemmaswanjones @authorarsinoe @kingofmyheart14 @nightskylover @jamif @resident-of-storybrooke​ @iam2307​ @winterbaby89​ @chinawoodfan @mormonkryptonite @ultraluckycatnd @captainswan-shipper88 @killianswanjones @bethdacattfm @andiirivera

[the-fangirl-way]

2: Ink

I looked up Harry's file, I had looked at it before on the FBI page, but it was the standard documents, medical history, school records, and his background.

I pulled out the access code Mr. Callahan had given me and typed it into the systems network, instantly at least thirty more documents on Harry came up, these were the very private documents that only officials such as Mr. Callahan and the higher ranked officers were allowed access to.

The newest up to date picture of Harry had been his mugshot from six months ago, back when his skin wasn't so pale it was almost gray, or when his cheeks weren't so sunken in from malnourishment. His hair was tamed, still long, but not as long as it was now.

Harry had been an attractive guy at one point, although I would never admit that to anyone.

Reports of Harry's recent run in with the law came up and I wasn't shocked to find out he had ties with several drug busts and had been caught using more than once. It was minor charges of marijuana, nothing heavier than THC.

The next few files were smaller accusations, a DUI, and a claim of property damage, the dated year was Harry's senior year of high school, no doubt a stupid high school prank.

Nothing really seemed to stand out, but I jotted down the small accounts in the file.

The next couple of pages were more or less just added information, court dates, tickets, so on and so forth.

It wasn't until about the fifth page I found the one document that could be my potential next lead.

Mr. Samuel Tracey, the owner of the handgun found in Harry's car that night.

It looked like I was going to have to pay Mr. Tracey a visit.   

Samuel Tracey lived six blocks from my apartment, he wasn't hard to find.

I knocked on his door and waited patiently, I could hear shuffling from the other side. Finally a gruff voice hollered "Who is it?"

"Detective DeLaney. I'm looking for a Samuel Tracey." I said holding up my badge to the peephole, the deadbolt clicked and the door cracked open before an old man with a beard submerged from behind it.

He was wearing glasses and a sweater vest, those were the first things I noticed about Mr. Tracey.

"What do you want?"

"Mr. Tracey, have you ever seen this man?" I asked holding up a picture of Harry from the folder in my hands.

Tracey studied the picture for a second before nodding slightly.

"I've seen him. Why? What has he done?"

I looked around, his house was located on a busy street, cars and people passing by.

"It's kind of a personal matter, mind if I come inside?" I asked and he paused before slowly moving out of the doorway allowing me to step inside.

His home was warm, and smelled old.

"Have a seat." Tracey grumbled before taking a seat himself on the recliner across from the couch.

"So what's he done?"

"Well, Mr. Tracey-"

"Call me Sam." He corrected.

"He was found about six months ago with a handgun in his car, this particular handgun belonged to you." I said and he sighed a long exasperated sigh.

"Damn kids." He mumbled under his breath.

"Excuse me?" I asked and he rubbed his hands together sitting forward.

"Harry and my boy were friends, Douglas," He said gesturing to a picture of a young man about Harry's age hanging on the wall.

"Douglas was killed about two months ago in a drug heist." Tracey said clearing his throat and I instantly felt sympathy for him.

"I'm so sorry."

"No, he was always getting into trouble, hell from the time he was in elementary school I was getting calls for his behavior, I didn't expect much more out of him as he got older." He explained, I noticed then the bottle of scotch and glass sitting on the coffee table. Mr. Tracey poured himself a glass before offering me some which I declined.

"My wife Laura," He continued, "died giving birth, leaving me to raise Douglas. I tried my best by him, worked three jobs to give him the best life I could give him, but he took it for granted." He said taking a sip of his drink.

"Mr. Tra- Sam," I corrected, "You said Harry and your son were friends?" I asked and he nodded.

"Harry and Douglas went to school together, and they were friends all the way up until about six months ago when Harry disappeared. They would hang out after school and once they graduated my son and Harry would hang out almost every other day or so, no doubt both doing things they shouldn't do, which leads me to ask again, what did Harry do?"

I sighed and opened the folder containing Harry's file.

"About six months ago the police found Harry's car outside of a Mr. Wesley Langston's home, he had been waiting there for about four hours for Mr. Langston to return home, and he had your handgun in the car with him. He also had some rope, sheets, duct tape, other various items, so the intent was clear what he was planning on doing." I said and Mr. Tracey's features changed to surprised by the news.

"Harry?" He asked and I nodded.

"Harry was such a good kid, I mean, he got into trouble like Douglas but Harry would never try to kill anyone.."

"I would like to think so too Mr. Tracey, but as of right now Harry is still pledging guilty until proven otherwise." I said and Tracey sighed.

"I don't know anything about the gun. I realized it was missing about two weeks ago when I was going through my things trying to find something to sell to pay my rent," he said taking another sip, "since Douglas passed I've let myself slip, I lost all three of my jobs, of course, the government takes no pity on people like me. So I decided to try and sale some of my things to get money to get back on my feet until I could find a job, I didn't even know the gun was gone until then." He explained and I nodded sympathizing.

"Well, the gun will stay with the police for evidence until the trial is over and decided, if you want it back-"

"I don't want it back." Tracey said cutting me off.

"Tell them to keep it, I'll even sign my name over to them, I just, I don't want it back. I'm old," He started, "I'm old and I'm at the point now, my wife is gone, my son is gone, if someone breaks into my house with the intent to kill me, well, I'll be ready." His eyes were misty and I swallowed a lump, such a sad thing when someone doesn't value their life anymore after all the trials and tribulations they had been through.

"I understand." I said finally, gathering my things to leave.

"I'll let the police department know that you want to sign the title over to them, I'm sure someone will contact you within the next week or so to do it."

Tracey nodded and then he too stood up.

"I'm sorry I wasn't more help." He said and I shook my head.

"No, you were a good help, I can mark this off my list." I said and he smiled a small smile then offered to walk me out.

"Thank you for your time Mr. er, Sam." I corrected.

"You're quite welcome Ms. DeLaney."

I headed to my car, it had started to rain, shocker.

My phone began to ring and it was Lennon.

"Hello?"

"Good morning." He said from the other end and I could practically hear his flirty smirk.

"Are you off today?" I asked.

"I am, I was actually wondering if you wanted to get some lunch?" He asked and I wanted to say yes, but I knew I had far too much research to do.

"I would love to, but Callahan has me on Harry search all weekend."

"Oh, I understand." He said sighing.

There was a silence.

"So I'm guessing our dinner plans are off for tonight then?"

I felt my heart sink, I had forgotten about our date.

"Tristan I-"

"No really, it's fine." He said sincerely although I knew he was really disappointed.

I thought about it for a minute.

"You know what? How does takeout sound? My place tonight? Maybe you can help me with my research." I said and I heard him chuckle.

"Sounds great. Seven?"

"Seven." I agreed before hanging up.

I drove to the library, it was always quiet there and I figured I could get some more research done.

The wind whipped around me creating goosebumps on my arms and legs, I was glad I had chosen to wear slacks today.

As I stepped through the library door, the warmth welcomed me, I always silently adored libraries, the smell of books and the serene calm of the silence of those going into parallel universes created in their minds by the turning of each page.

The librarian, Doris, knew me well, she lived in our building for while after Devlin and I moved in and I had come to this library many times in the past to do research on cases. She smiled fondly at me as I walked over the help desk.

"Detective DeLaney nice to see you."

"Doris, I told you, call me Avery." I said smiling and she laughed.

"I'll try to remember that."

I smiled at at her and headed over to the table I usually sat at, pulling out my laptop and connecting it to the internet.

The next four hours I spent looking up every single detail I could get about Harry, his mother Anne, his sister Gemma, his father Desmond, all of the people in his life. There was nothing out of the ordinary, which only infuriated me more that I wasn't getting anything.

My cell phone buzzed in my pocket and I stepped outside to take the call, it was Devlin.

"Hey Ave, I'm on lunch wanna grab something?" She asked and I thought about declining but the growl in my stomach told me otherwise.

"Where?"

**

I met Devlin at Wahaca, a Mexican restaurant, she was sitting in a corner booth clad in her scrubs, today was Minnie Mouse.

"I ordered you a tequila sunrise." She said smirking and I rolled my eyes.

"It's midday."

"And? You walked here didn't you?"

I started to protest but the waitress reappeared with a large glass of orange and red liquid, an umbrella and orange wedge sat on top.

"Thank you."

She took our order before disappearing again.

"So, any news on Styles?" She asked dipping a chip in salsa.

"No, and the only lead I got turned out to not really be a lead at all. Turns out the gun that was on him belonged to a friend of his father, his son, Harry's friend, was killed a couple of months ago and he doesn't want the gun back." I said and she looked sympathetic.

"How sad."

"Tell me about it."

"So what now?" She asked and I shrugged tugging on my hair.

"I have no idea Dev, Callahan wants all this information on Styles by Monday and I have nothing."

"What about the other guy? Langston right?"

"I haven't done a lot of research on him yet, but the police already talked to him and said he cleared." I said and she nodded.

"You should still do some research just in case they missed something."

"You're right." I agreed and the food arrived.

We ate and talked some more about the case and her job.

"I'm telling you, if he asks again I'm tempted to do it." She said and I laughed.

"I think you should, he's good looking, smart, he's obviously got money.."

"Yeah, yeah." She said waving her hand.

"What about you and Officer sexy?" She asked talking about Lennon, I could feel my cheeks reddening.

"He's actually coming over tonight."

Her eyebrows lifted and she smirked.

"Oh really? Should I occupy myself with something tonight and leave you two...?"

"No, it's not like that." I said rolling my eyes, "He's just coming to help me with the case."

"Mmhmm, I hope you shaved your legs."

I rolled my eyes but could feel my cheeks blazing again.

"I mean it's not like you haven't-"

I blushed even harder and avoided her gaze.

"Oh my God, you haven't slept with him yet? Seriously?"

"Shut up." I said and she burst into a fit of giggles.

"Ave! Get on it! I mean literally get on it. "

"Shut up!"

"I'm just saying!" She said throwing her hands up and then checking her watch.

"Shit, I have to get back to work."

I nodded and slid out of the booth behind her, laying a tip on the table as we walked out.

"I'll see you at home." I said and she shook her head.

"Oh no, I'm not coming home until late, I'll leave you and Officer Hot Pants to it."

I smacked her on the arm and she laughed again before hugging me and departing in the opposite direction to her car.

The walk back to the library was short, but I was freezing by the time I got there.

**

My muscles were stiff from sitting so long and when I checked the time I jumped in panic to realize that it was going on five thirty.

I put my laptop back in my bag and my things before waving goodbye to Doris and leaving the library.

The air outside had dropped measurably and I shivered getting into my car putting the heat on full blast.

When I got to the apartment I took a quick shower, shaving my legs I felt the heat return to my cheeks, Devlin could be right.

**

I was in the kitchen when I heard the doorbell buzz and I headed to the speaker.

Come on up." I said and within a few minutes I heard a light tap on the door.

I opened the door, expecting to see Tristan on the other side, but who was there instead had my heart pounding, my head swimming, and the feeling of vomit creeping up my windpipe.

He was leaning up against the door frame, his arms crossed, clad in a white tee shirt and a pair of black jeans; his inky tattoos snaked up his arms and across his torso visible through his thin tee shirt. His hair was now tamed and swirled in waves around his face, a smirk placed on his full lips, his green eyes burning dangerously into mine.

"Hello Avery." Greeted Harry.  

[spirit-of-the-void]

Echo Chamber (Vergil x Reader) Chapter Two

Author’s notes: Sorry this came out so late--my laptop is having issues. But alas! We’re finally moving on to actually meeting Vergil, in which our reader feels a bit of gremlin activate.

Chapter Two

Why am I doing this? Why am I still going here?

The drive to Capulet was an hour long, not nearly enough time for you to get through all the thoughts and doubts banging around your poor cranium. Driving used to be cathartic, damn it. Something done to relax, to free oneself from troubles and worries in the pounding bass of the car’s stereo and through the wind flowing from open windows. Sadly, doing the former stopped being an option after the incident with your leg. Music didn’t provide relief anymore, only serving to make you feel lonely and nostalgic in ways that brought all the memories back. Which sucked, because listening to music used to be the best coping mechanism, one that made you so happy and free. It was why the band had been formed in the first place, why learning to play a guitar freed you from so much stress.

But silence had its own downsides. It left your apprehension free to dig in roots, watered by empty space between the sounds of the engine running and  wind gusting through open windows. Thoughts of where you were going, and with what purpose in mind left you growing steadily more anxious as the drive lasted on. That hour felt both like an eternity and far less time than needed, which left you feeling even more dazed about the whole situation. Was this really the best idea, coming to this place to meet absolute strangers in some jaded attempt to suffocate your own trauma? To bring inspiration and motivation back? It seemed so logical when Kraven said it, but now you were having doubts considering just how far-fetched it sounded. Maybe turning around was the proper thing to do, maybe continuing therapy would help in its own time. 

Problem was you didn’t want to disappoint your band members anymore.

They were being so patient, so caring. How many different scenarios had you turned down in this similar way? Getting to the midpoint of the process before turning tail and running back to the safety of your home. Too uncertain, too afraid. You were sick of crawling back into bed, heart aching and prosthetic feeling like a heavier and heavier weight when it was removed every night. If this followed through, if you managed to make it to this place and talk to the devil hunters working there...well, even when nothing came about it then at least you could say an attempt was made. It felt less like going to accept a job offer and more like scouting out some strange, mysterious unknown that promised to be the key to all the solutions. Strange, especially since it definitely wasn’t.

Anyway.

Before long you were turning off the interstate onto side streets, buildings rising up on either side. This part of town was far more Gothic in design, less of the modern housing from your neck of the woods. Many abandoned shop fronts passed by your car, houses that definitely didn’t look lived in for quite a few years. Yikes, this was a bit shifty. Capulet wasn’t very well known all things considered, one of the numerous towns either ravaged by poverty or demons themselves several years ago. Upside was that the rent on a lot of these buildings was dirt cheap, downside was that practically no one wanted to move into places of this caliber. Minus Devil May Cry itself, obviously.

You knew right away when the building approached, the bright red neon sign a far cry from everything else around it. There was plenty of parking space considering how very little people lived in the area, your car coming to a slow halt right in front of the store and settling while you tried to calm down. Engine off, deep breaths taken--you could do this, right? This was definitely the place, as off-putting and strange it appeared to be. Honestly, what was to be expected from the devil hunting headquarters? A church? Normal house? An office building? There was no handbook for this sort of thing, and you made the mistake of setting up expectations in the first place. 

Regardless, you tried to swallow down the hesitation and worry in a desperate attempt to build yourself up. Kraven had expectations for you, they all did. And each moment you waited was another moment everyone’s carriers were forced to stay on hold. Interests would wane, fan support would eventually fade with time if you weren’t careful. And with the popularity of Eidolon’s Fall being on the rise at the time...this setback needed to be taken care of, and fast. Your hesitations be damned, this wasn’t happening anymore.

You just wished your dumb head would listen.

Self-deprecation isn’t helping, The reminder felt firm despite the glum thoughts, your hand reaching for the door handle and popping it open with a firm click, Time to wake up and face the music, kitten. This is meant to help me, remember?

You kept trying to tell yourself that as you left the solace of your vehicle, one hand gripped tightly on the cell phone and the other a fist at your side. Baby steps--only way to go is forward, right? Would be easier if that particular limb wasn’t so god damn heavy. You winced as your weight settled on it, looking down briefly after shutting the door to make sure it wasn’t obvious that it was a prosthetic. Between the boots, leggings, and the length of your jacket...your legs looked downright normal. My legs ARE normal, you corrected yourself, frowning at the train of thought and feeling a bit disappointed at its course, losing a leg doesn’t make me strange in the slightest, it doesn’t make me different. 

That was the truth, you knew it well.

The doubt managed to be swallowed down a little bit, your heart thudding quietly against your ribs as you locked the doors on your vehicle. Shifty neighborhood, fairly okay car--no chances taken. No offense to Devil May Cry of course, you just didn’t really want to risk losing anything inside, like the various CDs or essentials that were kept in the back seat in case of emergencies.

Regardless, you managed to pry yourself away from the symbol of familiarity, feet dragging as you approached the double doors of the building itself. The sun was still out, half obscured by clouds that seemed to hint at a storm coming later, which wasn’t a surprise--your phone had long alerted you to the potential weather threat, so this definitely wasn’t a bad omen. Screw that, you didn’t fall into such silly superstitions, especially not when some of your best days happened during storms. Weather brought forth so much inspiration, after all.

At least...it used to. 

You sighed, stepping up to the doors and pausing as you debated whether to knock or not. Was this the kind of establishment that one could just stroll into? What if you did and caught someone in a situation that wasn’t yours to see? Christ, your head just would not settle down at all, playing through every bad scenario and making you want to turn and walk back to the car. You were never like this before, never full of so much hesitation and worry. Just knock and get it over with, the worst you’ll get it embarrassment. You can live with that, right? Seemed easy enough, and once upon a time it would have been.

There was faint music playing within, someone was definitely home. You swallowed, raising the hand that wasn’t holding your phone and rapping it firmly on one of the double doors. 

There was an audible sound of someone moving inside, the music quieting down a bit. A brief pause filled the air, making you a tad bit more nervous before a voice called from within.

“Come on in…!”

Well, there was some relief. You let out a large gust of air, steeling your nerves a bit more before gripping the door handles and pulling them open. Forward and steady, you reminded yourself, staring around warily as you entered the new area with a hint of curiosity mingling in the mix. This place was definitely not what you expected, not by a longshot. Nor was the person waiting inside, sitting at a messy desk with his feet kicked up in a tell-tale posture of laziness. It certainly didn’t look like the business of a demon hunter, nor did he seem like one himself--the whole space was on the messier side, pizza boxes stacked on the floor near the desk and items scattered here and there. Any semblance of order seemed incredibly lacking, a thin layer of dust visible on the floor as you let the doors close at your back. 

You blinked owlishly, meeting the gaze of the apparent demon hunter as he stared with a hint of surprise. It was pretty clear you weren’t what he was expecting, but then again your own expectations weren’t met either. A far cry from priests or what your mind had conjured, this man looked a bit rugged, wearing a black shirt covered by a red leather jacket with black jeans. Unshaven, hair a bit tousled but face handsome nonetheless.

Hell, the vibe he carried reminded you of some of the older musicians you had met while touring--like a rugged metal guitarist, one with a lazy smirk on his lips and an air of non-commitment as he sat up to eye you curiously in the doorway. You straightened up, shoulders firmly squared and heart hammering lightly at the fear of the unknown as you struggled to find anything to say in greeting.

Luckily, he picked up the slack. Head tilted to the side a bit, mouth quirking up in a grin as he said in a friendly tone, “Hey there--how can I help you, sweetheart?”

His casual use of things like sweetheart made you a bit wary, but he didn’t seem to mean it in a condescending or creepy way. There was a comforting note in his expression, like he could sense how nervous you were to be there in the first place. Which wasn’t shocking, you were frozen like a deer in the headlights.

“U..um…” You cleared your throat, taking a few measured steps forward and trying to find your sense of manners again. This was a business, and you were setting up to be a bad first impression, “I saw an ad in the paper for secretary work, so...I came to ask about it, if that’s okay?” 

Could have called first, but you were afraid doing so would throw off the burst of confidence it took to get here.

Regardless, the stranger didn’t seem bothered. Merely surprised, mouth popping open and brows threatening to touch his hairline as he took in your words. It confirmed your suspicions a bit--that was the face of a man who didn’t really expect anyone to answer the request of said ad, and it showed plain and clear. Something about that was kind of funny, and a bit concerning all things considered--why put it in the paper if they weren’t expecting someone to apply for the position? Then again...working for a demon hunting company did seem a bit far fetched, not to mention the risks that would come with it.

“Really?” He asked incredulously, scratching the back of his white-haired head as the chain underneath him squeaked a bit, “Well...huh. Damn. Uh--” The man stood up, grunting when the motion made a few of his joints pop in protest. It didn’t take much to guess that he must have been sitting there for a while. You watched warily as he started rummaging around the desk, looking for items unknown while continuing on, “Didn’t really think anyone would show up to be completely honest. You got any prior secretary experience?”

Cutting right to the chase? Was this an interview? You shifted in place a bit, fingers tapping rhythmically on the back of your phone as you hedged, “Uh...Technically? Not in an official capacity, but I learned how to organize files when taking care of my Grandmother’s legal affairs after her passing.” 

And when the band was still starting out, you handled all the legal funds with Kraven’s help until Mathius was hired on. But this stranger didn’t need to know that yet.

He released a little “huh” at your response, shrugging his shoulders as he pulled out a file from a drawer. There was a thoughtful expression on his face for a brief moment, like the white-haired man was deep in thought before a grin spread across his lips.

“Good enough for me--you’re hired.”

...What?

Shock could not have been any more obvious in your expression, mouth popping open and eyes staring at him in absolute disbelief. Did he just hire you on the spot, with barely any information given and no paperwork? Your idiot brain left behind anything a normal job might need to even fill out an application, maybe on purpose if you were being completely honest. Hell, he didn’t even ask you name and was already declaring that the job was yours to have. Were you hallucinating, or had that really happened?

Your mind completely scrambled, leaving you floundering for a decent response but not managing a single one at all. Honestly, there was nothing to base this scenario on, no other job you had over the years being gained in such an easy, bizarre way. You had been prepared to come here, maybe chat a bit, be turned away after having no references and no papers, but...no such luck.

This was so fucking weird. The man didn’t seemed phased by your shock and lack of response, turning away and starting to pull out files from random locations to set them on his desk. The lack of organization was almost disgusting, papers strewn about and things littering the table top in a messy manner. You needed to get yourself together, he clearly had a game plan already in mind while you were lacking in several bits of information. There were so many questions, so many things you needed to say after him just hiring you on like that, but your tongue felt glued to the roof of your mouth.

“U..um…!” You stammered, hurrying up to the desk and clearing your throat meaningfully, “E...excuse me, but are you sure…? You never even asked my name--Hell, I didn’t bring any paperwork with me, no references…!”

Your inquiries didn’t phase him, summoning forth another shrug of his broad shoulders as his calm eyes turned to meet yours.

“What’s your name, kid?” He sounded amused, like he was asking the question just to appease you in some strange way. There was a hint of mischief in his eyes, one that you weren’t sure made you uneasy or not yet.

Regardless, you bit down the exasperation, tone a bit confused as you replied dutifully, “M...my name is Y/N.”

“Good,” He smirked, extending a hand over his desk to shake yours in greeting, “You can call me Dante, I started this humble little establishment myself so I guess that makes me your boss. As long as you don’t mind being paid under the table, paperwork shouldn’t be an issue.”

Wow, this was all very shocking. You shook his hand in a daze, his grasp warm and firm before he turned away again. Dante, the founder of Devil May Cry--he was definitely bizarre. Paying you under the table was just an added oddity, especially with how cut and dry the whole scenario had been. Most companies wanted a paper trail, wanted to do background checks to make sure that they weren’t hiring a criminal or something like that. Such things clearly didn’t extend to Dante, the white-haired male going about his task like it was no big deal. Kraven was absolutely going to lose his mind when you told him about this, that was for sure.

“Th...that’s no issue,” You replied meekly, holding your phone to your chest and trailing behind him a bit as he moved about the room, “Um...Are you sure this is okay? To just hire me on the spot like this? It’s just a bit shocking, is all, you barely asked me questions and I...um…”

Why were you contesting this so heavily? This was a job you acquired with little to no effort. Most people would kill for such an easy opportunity. 

But you had a job--the issue now was breaking past the trauma that kept you from it.

Dante let out a little hum at your question, turning that charming smile on you again as he chuckled, “Trust me kid, in this kind of business you learn not to ask questions,” The man sized you up for a moment, leaning lazily against the front of his desk and stroking the stubble on his chin, “Like why a lovely lady such as yourself would want to work as the secretary for a demon hunting company in the first place, right? Just as long as the work gets done I don’t really mind, my brother is the one who insisted we hire someone to get things more organized in the first place.”

Brother? There was another person like him here? 

You paused at his words, feeling a bit fidgety again as his gaze held yours for a moment. What he said confirmed what the article had claimed, what everything had mentioned about Devil May Cry in general--this was in fact a demon hunting business, which was absolutely bizarre in its own right. Not to mention his inquiry about you, and what made you want to take the job in the first place. It hadn’t been apparent before that such a thing would be strange or suspicious, but in retrospect...yeah. Yeah it was. There were plenty other places that were far more normal and less dangerous looking for work, yet here you were with your own agenda in mind. It almost made you feel guilty, like all of this was under false pretenses.

But you had come this far, and you couldn’t very well turn back. Nor could you tell him the truth of the matter, the truth lodging in your throat like barbs and refusing to move.

Instead you let out a light sigh, rubbing your arm idly as you mumbled in reply, “I see...Well, I do have my reasons but...they’re a bit personal. I swear I’m here to work hard, I just...” You hesitated, eyes raising to meet his again as you continued softly, “Do you... really hunt demons…?”

Your question seemed a bit perplexing to him, if not amusing. One of those white eyebrows raised again, arms crossed over his broad chest in a display of bulging muscles. You know, for someone who seemed to consist only on a diet of pizza--based on the numerous boxes on the floor--he was surprisingly fit. It did  make sense that he would be physically proactive if it meant fighting creatures of the night and otherwise. And judging by his age, Dante must have been at this gig for a long time. Underneath all that lazy energy was a sense of tiredness, one that touched his eyes and the wrinkles around them. What kind of hardships came with a job like this? How long had he spent fighting demon kind?

Dante let out a low hum at your question, reaching into the drawer of his desk to pull out twin pistols for your view. Honestly, you had never touched a gun in your life, the closest encounter to one being the weapons cops and military used during the concert attack. Seeing some now felt strange, especially with how fancy these particular pistols were. Black and white, fairly big in size and custom made if your eyes were certain. It was almost...beautiful, even to someone who wasn’t particularly impressed with firearms and knew practically nothing about them. There were images engraved on the handles, showing the cameos of beautiful women.

“Demons in the flesh,” He confirmed, palming the white pistol a bit and holding it out for your inspection. Hesitation filled your expression, one hand reaching out to gingerly clasp the weapon and feel its weight. The words for Tony Redgrave were engraved on the side, the gun looking a bit old fashioned all things considered, “She’s put lead in the skulls of more monsters than I can count, for many many years.”

You released an inquisitive huff of air, hurrying to hand the weapon back for fear of touching anything that should set it off. Your knee-jerk reaction made Dante chuckle, sticking the guns into holsters behind his coat and settling back once more.

“Not much of a fighter, are ya?” He observed, pushing off from the desk and heading back around to another pile of files.

Something about that way he said that made you bristle a little internally, head raised high as you replied, “Depends on what the fight is. I may not know how to shoot a gun, but I’m not the lie down and take it type either.” You had been through hell and back, fighting tooth and nail to get your life back to normal. That had to count for something.

I’m not down for the count yet.

Dante nodded once at that, seeming impressed by your firm tone and determination, “Ain’t that the truth--regardless, maybe I’ll teach you how to fire a gun sometime.” He set down another stack, finally satisfied by his own efforts before walking by and patting you on the shoulder, “Hope you’re ready to get started ‘cause I’ve got a few errands to run.”

Oh no, the shock was back again. You stared at him incredulously, mind blanking out as he started to head for the door. Was he being serious? The devil hunter expected you to start now, and worse he was just going to leave you here alone after knowing you for less than ten minutes? It sent your head spinning, mouth open and various sounds of disbelief pouring out as you managed to grab him by the sleeve of his jacket to halt the departure. You hadn’t even been planning on getting the job, and now it was apparently your first day? What order did he want the files in? And where did he want you to put them? So many questions, too many questions.

“Wait!” You protested, meeting his calm gaze as it turned to meet yours, “You’re starting me out already? And just leaving me in your place alone?” Are you insane? Was implied at the end of that sentence, but not spoken aloud.

It didn’t need to be--judging by the smirk the white-haired man wore, he knew damn well what you meant.

“Unless you have prior engagements, yeah,” Dante quirked his brow, side-eyeing you as your expression blanked. There was literally nothing else on your schedule, and he somehow picked up on that right away, “I don’t mind you getting a feel for the place by yourself--the doors will be locked while I’m out so it’ll just be you, kiddo.”

Are you kidding me?

You decided that the nickname “kiddo” was even worse than sweetheart, and far more annoying. But there was no time to complain about it, especially when Dante seemed hellbent on leaving. I was maddening, head refusing to conjure up any viable excuses to counter his words, not in its frazzled state. And to be quite honest anything that could be thought of would be an outright lie, you had zero prior plans and had spent a good majority of your time in the house moping. Well, outside of Kraven, Boris, and Celine forcing you places for events, or hanging out at Kraven’s house for funsies. To be completely honest, this was the longest time you spent not in the house in a very...very long time.

So you blanked again, fingers slipping from Dante’s jacket as you managed meekly, “Is there...any order you want the files put in…?”

Christ, I’m becoming a pushover.

And Dante knew it. A grin tilted his lips, eyes alight with mirth as he said in a lazy reply, “Eh...by date I guess? Whichever way you want to is fine by me.”

With that, he started forward again, hands pushing open the double doors as he left you standing in the foyer in a state of confusion. The white haired man turned partially, giving you a two finger salute before slipping his way outside.

“Good luck, kid. I’ll be back soon--hold down the fort for me, will ya?”

With that, the double doors closed behind him with a solid thud, accompanied by a loud click as he locked them. Suddenly alone, terribly so in an unfamiliar place, unfamiliar neighborhood, unfamiliar territory. You were still rooted to the spot, heart pounding in your chest as the silence stretched on for a solid minute after his quick departure. Flabbergasted didn’t quite cover it, disbelieving didn’t either. Meeting Dante was like meeting a very lazy hurricane, one that seemed calm and chill at first glance before sending one rolling and tumbling in its raging winds. You were still dazed from the encounter, the whiplash of it making you plop down on the floor in that spot and hold your head forlornly. Christ, Christ--what had you gotten yourself into? This place was bigger than expected, and now eerily quiet to boot with you sitting there alone.

At least...you hoped that was the case. No one else lived here, did they? He did mention a brother, but gave no indication on whether or not said brother was home other than saying that it was “Just you”. God damn, if he was anything like Dante you were in for a bad time, the man was a bit much to handle at moments. You released a hefty groan, hands running up your cheeks and carding through your silken locks as you tried to gather the thoughts back together. Well, this mess was yours to handle--a change had come, and all you could do was roll with it. Everything else in your life had been that way, so why not this too? All the strange circumstances aside, the files lined the desk and floor in unceremonious heaps, no order involved.  Best thing you could do was get started.

“I’m an idiot,” Your voice sounded so loud in the quiet space, despite how loud the statement was murmured. You stood up, groaning at the renewed weight on your prosthetic as it carried you to the desk where most of the mess lie in weight, “Kraven is not gonna believe this.”

You checked the time on your phone, debating calling the supportive male to tell him about the entire encounter but thinking otherwise when the time came into view. He and Boris would be going to the Zoo about now, so maybe a text would suffice. You sat down in Dante’s chair, wincing when it squeaked loudly in protest. Old, rickety, definitely in need of a replacement--It was paid no mind, your thoughts focusing on the gentle tap of fingers as you typed out a very carefully worded message to Kraven, because any wrong things said might spurn the vocalist to call you despite his date. And that was definitely not what you wanted.

“Made it there okay, big boy. I uh...I already got the job, apparently. It’s a bit wild--I’ll tell you about it later. Smooches.” 

You felt satisfied enough with what was typed out, setting the device down on your desk and eyeing the stacks of paper awaiting you. There was certainly a lot to do, and by the looks of it there was no good place to start it. Dante did not seem the type to have a system of any kind, so there was bound to be inconsistencies. Which was only proven correct when you lifted a file, reading the writing scribbled on the front before appearing at another. One was dated--the other was not. Another had locations, others didn’t. A growing sense of exasperation started to temper your already confused thoughts, adding in a layer of anxiety as the files started to be spread out one after the other. Honestly you knew Dante for less than an hour and you already wanted to shake him a bit.

Son of a bitch. 

“I am filled with regrets, captain.” You muttered to no one in particular, shrugging off your jacket before sliding down onto the floor to lay out files. Your eyes scanned the surrounding space, annoyance spiking at the mess that littered the wooden floor. Okay, first things first--the pizza boxes and dust had to go. The files were a seemingly impossible task at the moment, so despite not being a cleaning lady you didn’t mind straightening up the space a bit to ease the stress of what was going on.

You stood back up, looking around and wondering just where the hell Dante would keep a broom, if he even owned one. Not likely. 

This man is a goblin.

Your search took you through the lower floor, an impromptu tour that you didn’t necessarily expect to have. The main area lead back into what appeared to be a small living room and hallway, a leather couch resting against a far wall across from a television. You noticed right away how basic everything seemed, lacking in any personal or family photos. A shelf held some strange knickknacks, but they were foreign to you entirely. Even the hallway walls didn’t wear anything minus a couple posters--one of a scantily clad woman, and an old rock band. You recognized them--they were before your time, but their music was fairly nice. They were paid barely any mind on your way to the kitchen, a sigh of relief leaving your lips at the sight of a broom cupboard on the far wall. 

This room was also a bit of a mess, but you weren’t touching that quite yet. Dante’s diet of pizza was growing more and more likely, much to your consistent dismay and heavy disgust. You tried to ignore it, making your way to the cupboard and praying to every known god and goddess that the absolute disaster of a man owned cleaning supplies of any kind--which, luckily, he did. Inside the little, dusty room was a small vacuum and broom, shelves lined with full bottles of cleansers that didn’t look touched at all. It made sense--someone must have bought these with cleaning in mind but fell short of the actual task, whether that was Dante or not you weren’t sure. Regardless, what was needed got taken and the rest was left in case of future uses.

“Captains log, day thirty seven,” You said to yourself, setting about the task with vigor and starting to collect any garbage found into a trash bag, “My hubris has finally led to my downfall, and now I’m a cleaning lady.”

I’m also a bit crazier than I thought.

There was, obviously, no one to answer. But it made you feel better, damn it.

Time started passing quickly as you cleaned, straightening anything your hands could find and dusting every available surface. The repetitive tasks left time for wandering thoughts, but held enough attention to make sure things didn’t go off the rails too badly. Most of them collected around your new boss, wondering what kind of person he was and how many years were spent demon hunting. The occasional weapon hung on the walls on plaques, either things Dante once used himself or items acquired from various jobs. Between that and the neon signs, the room started to actually have a nice vibe when it grew cleaner and cleaner. The atmosphere reminded you of a bar, or various band hangouts that had been bounced between over the years of playing and touring.

There was something very cathartic about cleaning a very messy space, a deep sense of satisfaction filling you after the last swish of a mop traveled over hardwood. You pulled your hair into a ponytail at some point,  making your way across the room bit by bit.The files were safely stacked on top of the two filing cabinets and the now-clean desk, waiting as the next hurdle for you to get over. It would have to stew for a bit, at least until the floors dried and the garbage bags were dragged away. You set about that next, peering around for any place to leave the bags that wouldn’t inconvenience anyone--the kitchen was the only safe place, bags placed in the broom cupboard and a reminder set on your phone to tell Dante about it. The following half hour was spent tidying up the kitchen and small living room, another two bags added to the mix and rooms much cleaner than they were before.

I can’t believe I came here, applied for a secretary job, and ended up cleaning their business. Not that you minded--this was your choice, after all. Plus there was nothing really terrible about cleaning, it was just...relaxing. The exercise felt good on your legs, the prosthetic feeling a bit too warm at times but there would be time to air it out later. The sensation was nice, akin to ripping off your bra after wearing it all day in the heat. It was the one thing you promised yourself upon starting back toward the first area you cleaned, intending to check on the wet floors and see how they fared.

But before you could return to the clean room, a clicking sound rang out through the hallway, alerting you to someone opening the main doors to Devil May Cry. You paused in the living room, worrying for a moment that Dante may have returned to see you made zero progress on the files, but impulse cleaned his house. It hardly mattered, but it was still a worry, one that grew as you hurried into the main room to see who had entered through the double doors. But much to your sudden anxiety, a low voice was muttering before you reached the doorway, one that definitely wasn’t the devil hunter from before. Low, a bit more nasal and sharper in tone--it was released in a low, disbelieving growl that still managed to reach your ears despite how quiet it was.

“What the hell happened in here?”

His tone was incredulous, absolutely disbelieving. Honestly? You couldn’t blame him.

Reaching the doorway, you paused and stared at his face, nervousness spiking considerably as you took in the newcomer with fascinated eyes. He was tall, just as tall as Dante and carrying an aura far more intimidating--this had to be his brother, there was no doubting that silvery hair, eyes a cold blue that was a bit closer to grey and face handsome in a sharp, defined way. They definitely had good genes, that was for sure. You weren’t oblivious to the beauty of your fellow human beings, but it rarely made you stop and try to collect yourself in their presence. Maybe it was the air of hostility this stranger carried? Or perhaps it was the sword attached to his hip, clothing dark and definitely not your average everyday outfit.

A sharp jacket hugged his frame, a lined vest underneath and dark slacks on his legs. Formal wasn’t quite the word to describe it, but he was definitely dressed imposingly to Dante’s laid back jeans and leather jacket. Clean shaven too, less like a goblin and more like seeing a predator walk into the room and bringing that sense of danger with him. Speaking of danger--his eyes snapped up at the sound of your footsteps, meeting your startled gaze in the doorway with not a spec of recognition, which was normal considering he never met you before. You froze instantly, unsure of what to do or say considering that you were a stranger in his home. Dante definitely wasn’t the type to call ahead and warn him, that was glaringly obvious. This man was definitely more on edge than his brother, fingers twitching to the hilt of his sword in an instant and confirming that you needed to do something before he attacked.

Just typical of my luck.

“U...um…” You managed to get out, clasping your hands in front of you in a show of non-violence as you continued quietly, “Y...you must be Dante’s brother--”

“Who are you?” His biting hiss cut you off, your shoulders jolting when the words seemed to whip across the room like a javelin, “What are you doing here?”

You were getting to that, before he interrupted. Christ, today was shaping up to be a doozy.

A sigh left your lips, last hints of patience waning and body slumping against the doorway a bit as you replied in exasperation, “My name is Y/N--Dante hired me as a secretary, so that’s why I’m here. But I spent some time cleaning first so I could have space to lay out the files, especially since they have no rhyme or reason to them.”

The growing annoyance in your voice was apparent, but he didn’t comment on it. Instead, a scowl marred his already frowning lips, hand slowly releasing the sword’s hilt much to your relief. Well, that was one hurdle past. It would be a lot easier to talk without the threat of death looming overhead.

“Secretary?” He growled incredulously, narrowing those chilly eyes on you and sounding very impatient, “I was never informed of this--when were you hired?”

“....Today.” It didn’t sound true even to your ears, but the exhaustion in your tone definitely gave away just how tiring the interactions with Dante had been. He was a man best experienced in doses, at least in your opinion. 

This didn’t seem to be the answer his brother wanted, that scowl growing into a look of pure irritability as he pinched the bridge of his nose. As if the action would somehow bring forth patience, or the return of sanity in some form or another. You shifted anxiously in the doorway, eyeing the floor underfoot to make sure it was dry--this newcomer was walking all over it, but his shoes seemed clean enough. Now all that was left to do was those files, which you were anxious to return to if the chance was given. But something about Dante’s brother made you wary of sudden movements, he was way too twitchy with that Katana on his hip.

“Let me see if I’m correct,” The man growled, tone thick was annoyance and aggravation as he leveled his cold eyes on you again, “My brother hired you today, with no prior interviews to my knowledge. Left you here in the building alone with our possessions, and then proceeded with his job for the day without informing me of a single thing.”

Something about the way he spoke of you was very offensive, like you were already labeled as a petty thief in his eyes. That certainly would not fly despite how correct all his words were, and now validating it was to know that someone else found it all equally ridiculous.

You crossed your arms, one hip jutting out slightly as you protested, “I would never steal something…!” Your tone made his eyes snap back to your face, a flicker of surprise in those cold eyes as you continued, “And if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to get back to work.”

It was only then did you approach the files stacked on the desk, deciding to ignore his presence after such a blatant implication was thrown your way. You couldn’t decide who was the better brother, this one or Dante, but it scarcely mattered. He kept his eyes trained on you, watching your form settle on the now-clean floor and start pulling down stack upon stack of sealed paper. Something about your actions seemed very strange to him, a look of disbelief making its home in his fierce expression. It was a shame that he was so rude--a pretty boy like that could definitely get through the world on modeling alone, or if he had any music talent girls and boys alike would fawn all over his fierce type.

You shook off the thought, trying to find some semblance of order within the files and failing to find a single one. Christ, the need and want to shake Dante was growing with every passing second. How did this place even begin to fare as a business with no semblance of order at all? The incident of the Qliphoth must have forced Dante’s hand a bit--you were willing to bet they could slide on buy on freelance work before then, but now that the government was involved a paper trail was a thing of necessity.

Much to your growing confusion, Vergil did not move from the doorway, continuing to watch you with a frown marring his lips. You did not meet his gaze, just watching out of the corners of your eyes and wondering just what the hell he wanted. This was all growing so very tiring, your leg overly warm and achy from walking around a couple hours. If this persisted much longer, you were going to lose every semblance of sanity and maybe get yourself killed. But before either of you could say anything, the doors behind him swung open again--part of you hoped it would be Dante returning, but two more strangers walked through the door instead.

A man and a woman this time--both complete strangers to you. Dante didn’t warn of them stopping by, but they seemed familiar with this place and with the man who previously insulted you.

Oh dear.

“Afternoon, Vergil,” Greeted an older, dark-skinned male, tipping his hat lightly in the brother’s direction in a less-than-friendly manner. He had a cigar between his lips, wearing a snazzy suit and seeming unimpressed by Vergil’s impressive scowl, “Glad to see you’re cheerful as always.”

Vergil didn’t reply, interrupted by the woman standing in the doorway before any words could leave his mouth. It occurred to you then that she was staring at you, her irises meeting your worried ones for a brief moment across the open space. They were pretty--one green and one red. She herself was very beautiful, wearing a cute outfit of shorts and a blouse with thigh high boots--Dark hair, pale skin. Fair. She looked surprised to see you sitting there cross-legged, and even more so when her eyes traveled around the spotless room with complete disbelief. You couldn’t blame her for that.

“Who are you?” She asked, causing the two men to look at you now. Having all the attention in the room on your person wasn’t unfamiliar, but it still somehow made you nervous, “And what the fuck happened in here? I’ve never seen this place so...livable.”

Before you could muster a coherent reply, the dark-skinned man let out a light chuckle, walking toward you and extending a hand to help you up from the floor. It was accepted easily, your form rising up and jolts popping slightly with the motion.

The man’s words made you relax considerable, the only one there who seemed to have any semblance of knowledge, “Ahh, you must be the new secretary--Dante called to inform me of your presence,” He looked around the room as well, seeming impressed and wearing a bemused grin, “You’re a miracle worker, I can’t imagine having the patience to touch this nasty place.”

Vergil scowled again at his words, aggravation flashing in those cold orbs as he was met with the realization that Dante made sure to warn this man, but not him. Why that was the case, you would never know.

Regardless.

“To be honest, cleaning it was a blur and I barely remember it,” You replied with a weak laugh, the day’s exhaustion catching up now that there seemed to be someone who was actually informed of the situation, “My name is Y/N, by the way...I did mean to organize the files first, but...they’re just a mess.”

“Morrison, pleasure to make your acquaintance” The man, now dubbed Morrison, replied with a look of pure pity at your situation. This was definitely a human being well used to Dante’s bullshit by now, “How about Lady and I give you a hand? I usually find Dante all of his work, and she’s helped out on several of them.”

You paused, meeting her curious eyes again and hesitating. This was meant to be your job, right? Maybe it was wrong to drag other people into it, especially considering the fact that they just got here. 

But she seemed to read the guilt on your face, planting a hand on her hip and releasing a light sigh into the clean-smelling air, “Whatever, fine by me,” Much to your relief, she managed a friendly smile, winking her red eye at you as she added, “Nothing more fun than a group effort, right? We can chat a bit while we wait for that dumbass to return.”

Your shoulders relaxed considerably, heart pounding against your ribs in the remaining throes of anxiety in worry. Thank god there was finally a jumping off point for all this paper--you honestly didn’t know how to manage without the help of obvious professionals. Morrison pat you once on the back, chuckling lightly as he strolled toward Dante’s chair sitting in front of two stacks, a cloud of cigar smoke following in his wake. Lady met your gaze again, seeming very interested in you for whatever reason. Maybe it was the fact that you managed to clean up the main room of Devil May Cry, or maybe there wasn’t a lot of girls usually working here? Whatever the reason, a couple friendly faces was nice after the scare that came from Vergil moments prior.

Speaking of Dante’s brother, the surly man stalked past you on his way out of the room, sparing no passing glance in his retreat. You found yourself watching as he went, eyes lingering on the way the devil hunter moved--so strange, precise in every motion and fluid like a predator. His shoulder muscles shifted and moved under his jacket, tense even as he disappeared up the only flight of stairs with practically no sound. Christ, had you ever met someone so wound up in your life? There was something about him that made you sad, like staring at a creature who didn’t have the chance to relax in his life. Something about it made you really interested in picking him apart, bit by bit. To see what was underneath all that prickly exterior, if Vergil was even capable of relaxation.

It looks like those lips never smiled in their life.

But something about that...makes me very interested in taking on a challenge.

Read on AO3

Like what you see? Consider buying me a coffee

Tagged: @cantcopewithlosingv @bnha201826 @lilbighuman @dylan-o-yumm @veenus-ow @totes-ma-yogurt @pop-vicky-love @meliapis @kingdomhearts378 @kupoopo @slaanessh @pixiedust-and-some-believe @agalaxyfarawayy @v-loves-alicia-dmc5 @nightshadow4713 @sycophantize @nyxsiren @raven-huntress @slightlylunatic @efiicitia

[likeshipsonthesea]

how you made me feel

...hello. so. remember two months ago when i fulfilled a prompt from a list, “I could never forget you,” and dumped, like, a whole bunch of nurseydex graduation feels on everyone’s laps and just, like,, sprinted away?? well the sequel i promised is now here. (to any who haven’t read the first part, it’s like kind of necessary)

my apologies for the long gap between then and now. i’ve been having weird writer’s block recently, where i can write but then halfway through i get doubts and think the whole thing is shitty and stop.. so i;ve started a whole bunch of things but finished none, and this is the first substantial thing i’ve finished in a while, and while it’s not, like, monumental, it feels like a lot to me right now :)

AND me finishing this was due in no small part to @rhysiana​ who beta’d this and helped me feel confident in writing again.. so thanks :))

no warnings for this (i know, a surprise for me, right?) but thought i’d tell y’all that the title is from a maya angelou quote that i repurposed a little.. now without further ado, here’s the sequel

         It’s not the type of place Dex would pick to spend an afternoon. It’s not even the sort of place Dex would spend a five-minute break, if given the option. Coffee houses make Dex feel on edge. The thick, rich smell makes him nauseous, gives him a headache like long car rides do. He’s always gotten carsick on long drives—that is, if he’s not the one driving. The lack of control makes him sick, he thinks, or that’s how he imagines Nursey would put it, if Dex ever told him about it.

         Dex stares up at the menu board above the counter. The drinks are all named with literature-themed puns and their descriptions—the fancy type of coffee, the origin of each individual bean—doesn’t clarify anything. Dex sways slightly and glances out the window of the shop.

         It’s still pouring. He still doesn’t have an umbrella and his apartment is still too many blocks away to run, risk the wetness seeping through his bag and reaching his laptop. He sighs into the coffee-laden air and swallows, turning back to the counter.

         It’s his turn.

         “Um, hi.” Dex smiles awkwardly at the barista, who smiles back, big and blank. “Do you have, like, regular coffee?”

         The barista winces and tries to stifle it, and Dex opens his mouth to apologize, instinctive, when he hears a heavy, incredulous utterance of his name.

         Dex turns, the chill running through him completely unrelated to his soaking clothes, and—yes. It’s him.

 *~*

           A summer rain in New York is a heady thing.

         The sweet, cool weather smothers the hot asphalt roads in steam that clings, heavy and metallic, on the back of Nursey’s tongue. A rain in the city is an inconvenience—those that walk are forced into cabs, subways, packing everything too full of frustration and humidity. The streets are barer, eerily. Nursey stands in a thundering cityscape, utterly and intoxicatingly alone. There are two things Nursey thinks could clear a city street—rain or the apocalypse.

         The rain around him, then, is to him the reminder that the world has not ended yet. It makes his blood surge in that desperate kind of way, that want to live kind of way. It pushes him, jittery, as he runs down the empty street, feet pounding against the sidewalk in slapping splashes of water. His hair is ruined, a mop of unmanageable curls that drifts into his eyes, sends water cascading down his forehead, lets raindrops cling to his eyelashes, clumping, blinding. The smart button-down stretched across his shoulders is freezing and drenched, tight like a second skin and peeling. His shoes, and the socks inside, squish with each pounding step and he knows—in that inevitable way that tends to send him into anxiety attacks—that he will be unbearably uncomfortable when he reaches the coffee house and he is then the only soaking thing there.

         Even with all that, though, Nursey grins as he sprints.

         What a thing it is to be one with the world around you. The raindrops against his skin, cold and [cloying], are the same ones shuddering all around him, and even as Nursey’s body recoils at the drowning, it knows in that way all natural things do that it is simply returning to something it was, once, or will be, one day. It’s a comfort that does not know its own name—a comfort older than its name, even.

         And for moments, as he runs through the streets on the familiar path to his favorite coffee place, Nursey feels home like he hasn’t since the day he stepped off campus for the last time.

         Even the ache of knowing it is fleeting can’t touch him, now.

 *~*~*

           The coffee cup in his hands burns. Dex juggles it between his left and right, holding it in each until it hurts more than he can handle.

         He could leave. It’s a fleeting, foolish thought. The door is there and his feet work and, yes, even the rain seems to be mellowing in the wake of this monumental shift, but none of that means that Dex can actually walk away. For one, Dex doubts Nursey would let him. For another, it’d been hard enough to do it—to leave Nursey—the first time. Dex doesn’t want to see if he can do it again.

         Nursey orders. Dex watches for a lack of anything else to do. The barista writes Nursey’s name, Derek, on a cup, then works out Nursey’s change. She holds out a few coins and Nursey takes them quickly, dropping two in his rush. He hurries to pick them up and smiles in that charming, self-deprecating way. Dex used to think it was put-on, one of those things rich people learned, like dining etiquette or handshakes, that kept them above the rest, above Dex. He doesn’t remember when he figured out that it was one of Nursey’s more honest reactions, that smile.

         Dex’s fingers twitch against the coffee cup, burning.

 *~*~*

           The coffee shop is warm in a grounding, shocking way. Nursey has come to be familiar with the place, enough that the judging looks he receives from its dry patrons can be interpreted as the confusion of visitors who will be gone soon anyway.

         It is not quite Annie’s, but then again, most things here are not quite Samwell. Even the rain outside, though liberating, is not New England rain. A rain in New England is less heady. It does not distract, fleetingly, but awakens. A New England rain, thick and clean, characterized by dew-drenched grasses and shuddering, screaming trees, it is a wholly sobering thing. Late-spring rains, the ones caught between winter and summer like the unsure smile following silence but before the laughter. Post-playoffs rain, when the seasons were dictated by nature once again, when life stopped happening between game days and practices and plays, when life just started happening, once again. When bare skin in shadowy spring sunshine made the need to touch all that more insistent. When flower petals tucked around edges of yards and landscapes, behind ears for jokes and softness, made for contrasting reminders of the winter preceding it. When possibility was perched on the edge of every blade of grass, twined within the tunes of birds, newly home, all a reminder that things will change, always change, and sometimes that can be good, too.

         This is what Nursey tells himself, has been telling himself, when he steps into the coffee shop, since he came home to this foreign place.

         He takes a deep breath and sighs against the not-quite-right. He steps up to the line, musing to himself over which drink he should order today, when the voice, “Um, hi,” shudders through the world like the right kind of rain and Nursey’s heartbeat—too fast like the endless rush of people through his streets—for a brief moment, settles.

 *~*~*

           Nursey turns from the counter with his drink, still smiling. It’s duller, this smile, more conscious than Dex would prefer. “The good table is open,” he says, gesturing with his cup. Dex follows the direction to a circular two-seater by the window, squished between a bookshelf and a decorative wall. Dex takes a seat in one of the cushy armchairs, lower than he likes, and understands instantly why Nursey deems this table “good.”

         The coffee shop chatter dims the moment they sit, and Nursey’s smile twitches a bit wider, honest, in response.

         “So,” he says, and takes a sip from his drink so he can raise his eyebrows at Dex over the rim. Dex looks away, drumming his fingers on the lid of his own drink. “You’re in New York.”

         Dex wishes they were in a place, still, where he could just nod and Nursey wouldn’t push any more than that. (Quietly, though, he really, really doesn’t.)

         “Yeah, uh. I—I work here.”

         Dex doesn’t look at Nursey’s face, where he knows eyebrows are rising impossibly high.

         “You work here?”

         Nod.

         “How long?”

         Clench jaw.

         “…oh.”

 *~*~*

           It’s difficult, has been difficult, to be himself in this place. In the city, Nursey’s skin is itchy, tight and ill-fitting, and his steps are heavier, like each forward movement simply increases the distance between the safe person he used to be and the stranger he seemingly must become. Calls with the team make it easier. Facetimes with Chowder and Dex as Nursey hangs upside down on his bed, hoping it isn’t too obvious the way his eyes lock onto the screen in spreads of constellation-tan freckles. With the pixelated gaze of his two closest friends focused on him, smiling, even from hundreds of miles away, he felt settled, comfortable. Home.

         Now, with Dex watching, that familiarity returns to his fingertips—if, unfortunately, in the form of his typical clumsiness. He fumbles his coffee order, stuttering, and drops the cold coins the barista hands him, his body suddenly warm from the cold. The raindrops dripping against his skin are hot, confusingly, and he doesn’t know what to do with the knowledge that it is Dex’s gaze making them so.

         Dex waits, seemingly patient, and Nursey worries at the change until he notices the way Dex shifts his cup from hand to hand after a handful of blinks, the way his body sways with the movement. As an editor, it’s probably worrying that Dex has been the easiest thing for Nursey to read since he came to this city. Maybe, he thinks, as he collects his drink, it’s the writers’ fault, and not his.

         Then again, he thinks, falling into step behind Dex, an impossible standard is hardly fair.

 *~*~*

           Nursey says nothing for a long while.

         Dex, greedy, grasping, stares unrestrained. He didn’t know how much he missed this, wouldn’t let himself dwell on it, until now. Nursey eyelashes, drying but still glistening, flutter against the dampness of his cheeks. Green, bright eyes, like all the good parts of Maine Dex wants to remember. The softness of his ears, hidden under sodden curls, the hard lines of his neck, his shoulders. He’s been working out since he left, Dex can tell, but nothing like the routines they had at Samwell. And after the heavy playoff season, after the summer sun, Nursey looks smaller, calmer. More at ease.

         This is what I wanted, Dex thinks, breaking. I wanted him to be happy without me.

         Even without speaking the words, the familiar bitter taste of a lie sits heavy on his tongue.

 *~*~*

           Nursey doesn’t know what to do with this.

         With Dex, sitting here all sun-soft and freckly, real and in person and absolutely way too much. With the fact that he’s been here, been within seeing distance, visiting distance, for almost two months, and he said nothing about it. With the part of himself—the aching, lovely, desperate part of himself—that doesn’t even seem to care, wants to reach out and hold and pull comfort from regardless of mistruths or omissions.

         “Why?” he finds himself asking, without quite knowing if he wants the answer.

         Dex’s eyelids flutter momentarily, the way they do when he’s wondering whether or not to be an asshole, and Nursey loves it—missed it too much not too—and wants to curse, yell, something, because Dex didn’t want to see him, has been here in this foreign place and didn’t want Nursey as much as Nursey has wanted him and—and he’s going to be a dick about it?

         “Dex.” Nursey swallows, fingers pressing too hard against the paper cup. “Why did you—why didn’t you—”

         “Nursey.” Dex’s lips flatten. He’s decided, it seems, and Nursey exhales, slow, thankful. “I didn’t tell anyone,” he says, and going by how he doesn’t look up from the table, he knows that is a shit excuse. “I—I don’t know how to—it wasn’t you. Well. Sort of. I…”

         Nursey waits. Dex has taught him a kind of patience he didn’t think he could have. A kind where his hands do not shake, his shoulders do not tighten. When the waiting isn’t worrisome, because the result—long-awaited and slow-coming as it is—will be worth it, must be worth it, because Dex does not know how to leave expectations unfulfilled. Good expectations, that is. Dex is the smile at the end of a good play, the laughter after a clever chirp, the summation of four years of growth, both a constant reminder pushing for the best and the monument to the work it took to be better. Dex is what Nursey has learned to wait for, for better or for worse, and he realizes as he waits that this is the thing that’s been missing since he got to New York.

         Someone who knows what he came from, someone who can appreciate the progress, someone who loved all of it and will continue to do so, no matter what.

         “Your life here,” Dex says, and Nursey’s too-quick heart suddenly doesn’t care what he’s about to say. “I don’t fit.”

         “Bullshit.” Nursey’s mama always told him his quick tongue would get him in trouble one day, and that was before he sorted his body out enough for his mouth to work along with his mind. He’s ruined, now, Nursey thinks, watching Dex’s lips part into a pretty pink ‘O’. Dex is in New York, Nursey thinks, delirious. Dex is here.

         “Really,” Dex continues, because he’s nothing if not the stubborn, snarky ginger Nursey met on Taddy Tour, and fuck, Nursey missed him. “You—you’re supposed to be a fancy New York writer, with friends who read, like, interesting novels, and travel to places I don’t even know the names of, and you go to weird hipster places like—like this—” he gestures all about himself, absurdly insistent and frowning all wrinkled up and Nursey can’t help the smile pulling his lips apart, because it’s ridiculous, and Dex is ridiculous, and he’s here— “I feel like you’re not listening to me,” Dex says, mildly deflated, pouting a bit but mostly just annoyed, and the laugh bursts from Nursey’s tongue, sweet.

         “I’m totally not, dude, wow. First of all, this place? Not hipster. You want hipster, go to Totally Caff’d two blocks over. That place is hipster. Second?” The smile feels too wide and Dex is staring at him like he’s crazy and everything feels right in a way that would be worrying if it was their frog year, or Nursey liked himself a little less, or Dex wasn’t the bright ginger ball of change and assurance and perfection that he is now. “Just so we’re clear, my life is always better when you’re in it. And third,” Nursey says, barreling on doggedly even as the lovely pink embarrassment flush floods Dex’s freckle-tan face, “you are the most ridiculous person I have ever met.”

         Dex blinks, sighs, and—after a moment—says, “Frustrating but probably true.”

         “Most def true,” Nursey says, just because it makes Dex’s nose wrinkle the way it always does when Nursey uses bad slang. “Now come on, Dexy-do.” Nursey stands from the table and the coffee-house chatter floods in, but he hardly pays it any mind because Dex stands up without hesitation even with the adorable confusion on his face. “We’re going to go on a walk,” Nursey says, reaching out to take Dex’s hand (prompting a darker, lovelier shade of pink to overtake his face), “and catch up.”

         Dex, delightfully, lets himself be led out of the coffee shop into the freshly washed world. Nursey’s shoes squish, wet, against the sodden sidewalk, and Dex still has this dazed look on his face—though it is distinctly pleased. The air is warm, and damp, and unquestionably, wonderfully new.

[scottdavenportphoto]

Review - ThinkTank Updates The MindShift Rotation Backpack 34L

If you are thinking of adding the MindShift Rotation Backpack or other ThinkTank or MindShift gear to your kit, please consider using my affiliate link. There is no extra cost to you and you’ll get free shipping. Also, referral purchases help support independent photography gear reviews like this.

I am a big fan of ThinkTank and MindShift backpacks and camera bags. I own several of them. My go-to bag for the past 5 years has been the Rotation Backpack. When ThinkTank announced an update to the bag last year, I was all-in. So much so, the new edition of the Rotation Backpack became the first product (and to date, only product) I’ve backed on Kickstarter. So for you cut-to-the-chase types in the crowd, yes, I wholeheartedly recommend the Rotation Backpack. Of the three sizes available, I use the 34 Liter (34L) Rotation Backpack. It’s large enough for all the gear I need for a photo outing and small enough to comfortably travel with.

Who Is The Rotation Backback For?

For the photographer or hiker that needs their go-to gear at their fingertips when inspiration strikes. Taking a pack off to pull out a camera and lens takes time and interrupts workflow. Also, when capturing photos in nature, there may not be the ability to put a pack down on stable ground. Hillsides, streams, rivers, oceans, muddy terrain, deep snow … all of these elements make it challenging to stash a bag while making images. I’ve been using the previous version of the Rotation backpack for about 5 years and can’t imagine a field workflow without it.

The Rotation Backpacks enable me to have a “ground free” kit. I focus my time on making photos and not juggling gear or worrying about finding a place to put down my backpack. Everything I need is at my fingertips. It’s a great workflow. As a seascape photographer, I’m very often calf or knee-deep in the ocean and there is no ground for me to put a pack down!

What Is New In The Updated Rotation Backpack?

There is a long list of improvements with this updated backpack. The full list is on the Rotation Backpack webpage on ThinkTank. There are several improvements I do want to call out for you.

Increased capacity: The belt pack has more storage space and the backpack is designed to work with the Stash Master storage pouches. More details about capacity below.

Magnetic belt pack closure: In addition to the zippers on the belt pack, the lip of the cover is magnetized. It closes over firmly and stays closed, even in a stiff wind. The flap won’t suddenly open, exposing your gear to the elements.

Weather and water-resistant: The entire pack is water-resistant. The upper part of the backpack has a lip of fabric that forms a protective barrier over the zippers of the bag. It’s more protection from the elements for your gear.

Packs stand upright: When you’re not wearing the backpack, it stands upright when placed on the ground.

You might be laughing or shaking your head about the bag standing upright when placed on the ground. Scott … didn’t you just say the great thing about the bag is not having to put it down? :) Yes, that’s 100% true. Yet when I do put it down, even in the studio, it is very nice that it stands upright on its own. My older Rotation bag must be propped up against something (usually my tripod).

There are plenty of other features of the backpack. These are just the few I find most beneficial with the new pack, things that are either not present in its predecessor or have been significantly improved. Keep these items in mind if you’re considering a second-hand first-generation Rotation Backpack (which is still a great bag, just not as fully featured).

Rotation Backpack Capacity

The Belt Pack The inner belt pack of the Rotation Backpack holds my essential cameras and lenses, the ones I make most of my imagery with. In my 34L backpack, I stow two full-frame Sony A7Rii bodies with lenses mounted in the belt pack. The first camera body has a 16-35mm lens mounted and the second a 24-70mm mounted. In the field, I switch between cameras instead of swapping lenses and never have to put my bag down. The updated backpack holds these two camera bodies and lenses with ease. In my older bag, I had a method to store them, but extracting a camera was a little cumbersome. Not anymore. For smaller form factor cameras, there is even more room. A micro-4/3rds photographer could fit a whole lot of camera bodies and lenses in the belt pack. The system comes with plenty of velcro dividers, so you can customize the layout of the pack interior.

There is also a mesh pocket on the inside of the belt pack lid, great for ancillary items like memory cards, batteries, lens cloths, remote triggers, and the like. A small front pocket is also there, a great place to stash a smartphone or small tablet (or more lens cloths … I never seem to have enough).

The Backpack The upper part of the backpack is an empty cubic volume of space. In practice, you’ll want some kind of divider system to insulate and pad your gear (or you can pack extra clothes and a lot of snacks!). In my older rotation backpack, I dropped in a random insert from a different camera bag that worked well. The updated Rotation Backpack is designed to work with ThinkTank’s Stash Master storage pouches. Now, I load a Stash Master with the gear I want, drop it into the upper part of the Rotation Backpack, and I’m out the door into the wilderness.

For my 34L backpack, I added a Stash Master Top Load to carry additional gear. This is the type of stuff I use in the field but use less frequently. Like the belt pack, the Stash Master comes with a set of velcro dividers to customize its interior. It may seem small yet with good use of the velcro dividers, you can fit quite a lot of additional gear into the Stash Master and backpack. Note that the 34L and 50L Rotation Backpacks work with different Stash Master products. The 22L backpack will not accommodate a Stash Master.

Inside the backpack is another mesh pouch for yet more stuff :). I actually slide a 13” laptop into this space. It’s outside the Stash Master and inside the bag. When I wear the pack, the laptop is (more or less) directly on my back, nestled between the well-padded back of the backpack and the padded sides of the Stash Master. I prefer that setup to the unpadded laptop zipper pouch on the outside of the backpack.

Other Pouches At the very top of the backpack is a small zipper pouch - another place to stash loose stuff. I recommend keeping the content in this area small and light. It is not padded or structured. One bonus of this area is a plastic latch on a strap stitched into the bag, a perfect place to hook your car or house keys to keep them safe and free up your pockets for other photo gear you might need handier during a photo trip. There is another pouch on the left side of the bag to carry water.

On the larger models (34L and 50L), there is another zippered pouch on the outside of the backpack to store a hydration system. It is also alternately touted as a laptop space. However, do note this space is unpadded. I prefer to stow my laptop in the inner part of the backpack.

The very outer layer of the backpack is also a “stuff pack” for temporary storage. I suggest using it for soft things, like when you’ve shed a jacket during a long hike.

Tripod Carry There are two ways to carry a tripod with the 34L Rotation Backpack. My preferred way is to use the tripod flap at the base of the pack. Velcro patches at the center top and bottom of the pack reveal a securing strap and tripod flap. This allows for a balanced carry of the tripod. You can also use the pouch on the left side of the bag. There is a strap on the side to secure the top of the tripod, lashing it to the side of the bag. Heavier tripods may skew weight distribution, though.

Comfort And Fit

I have worn the Rotation Backpack for hours at a time, both the latest edition and its predecessor. It is a comfortable bag to wear. The shoulder straps are thick, well-padded, and breathable. They are also wide, distributing weight across your shoulders better than thinner straps. In addition to the waist strap that is part and parcel of the belt pack, there is a chest strap to cross-connect the shoulder straps. I feel using the chest strap makes the backpack more comfortable, distributing the pack weight across my shoulders, hips, and chest.

The back of the pack is well-padded, too. It has a ridged padding that breathes and dries quickly. Let’s be honest. When you’re wearing a backpack for hours at at time, and on a hot day your back is going to sweat. That is expected. The breathable padding of the Rotation Backpack does run cooler than other bags I’ve used.

Adjusting the Rotation Backpack to your body is relatively easy. It took me just a few minutes to adjust and tweak the straps so the backpack rested at the level on my back where I wanted it. The backpack has 10 different adjustment points to fine tune load balancing. There’s even an adjustment for torso height.

Build Quality

The build quality in a word is excellent. The stitching and zippers are strong. The backpack material is sturdy yet light, resistant to abrasions and tears, and water resistant. The entire bag including the padding quickly dries.

I fully expect this level of quality from ThinkTank and MindShift. The quality of their products is a reason I continue to use their backpacks and storage bags. Photographers spend thousands on dollars on our cameras, lenses, and other equipment. Buy a carry system that gives your gear the protection it warrants.

Are There Any Downsides To The Backpack?

I’m hard pressed to find a cut and dry negative with this backpack. I’ve used its predecessor for half a decade, and that’s certainly a factor in my choosing to get the updated version. It would be nice if there were a padded laptop space. My workaround of nestling a laptop in the mesh pouch of the backpack works well, and I do feel between the padding of the Stash Master and the backpack itself, my laptop is well protected on the occasions I carry it in the bag. My photography style is

For some photographers, the stowage capacity may seem a little small. As I note in the review video, the inner belt pack comes at a cost of storage space. Every “boundary” between gear chambers means less space for a piece of equipment. For me, the 34L is plenty bag for my photo trips - and it fits in most overhead bins (check those regional flights … smaller planes are always a challenge).

If you are left-handed, note the belt pack rotates out from the right side. So you’re less dominant hand will need to build some muscle memory to unlatch and pull out the belt pack.

I do have mixed emotions about the zipper pouch at the top of the backpack. The opening is narrower than the previous bag. The upside is that loose items are less likely to fall out. The downside is I can’t open the top flap wide to see all the nooks and corners in the pouch, and fish around for loose items a bit more.

Pricing

Here is the Rotation Backpack setup that I assembled to stow, carry, and protect my camera gear. Pricing quoted is the list prices at the time of this review.

Rotation 34L Backpack, $299

Stash Master Top Load, $55

Rotation Rain Cover, $30

Some might put the price point as a negative :) Yet, for the quality and versatility of the backpack, and that it will easily last you 5 years of steady use, I think the price is fair. Over the long term, it’s a small yearly investment that both protects my gear and speeds up my field workflow so I can capture more photos. Because that’s what it’s really all about - making photos. I want gear that contributes to smoother workflow and enables me to make more images, and the Rotation Backpack does exactly that.

[onceuponamirror]

heart rise above

///// CHAPTER 13

summary: It wasn’t an experiment with freedom borne of some Americana fantasy; rather, a road trip of purely logistical intentions. The plan was simple. Drive from Boston to Chicago for his sister’s college graduation. That’s it.

Or, he drives a Ford Pickup Named Desire.

Mechanic!AU

fandom: riverdale ship: betty x jughead words: 75k chapters: 13/19

[read from the beginning] [read the latest]

.

.

You're walking meadows in my mind Making waves across my time

.

.

.

He realizes he has always been fascinated by bubbles.

He thinks most people probably went through a phase as kids where they liked them, enjoyed them, but for him, it was much heavier an interest—because the concept of a near-endless supply of anything was enough to appeal to the attention of the quiet little boy in threadbare sweaters.

In fact, one of his earliest memories is of just that thought. Sitting cross-legged in the itchy grass of the Andrews’ backyard, it was Archie’s birthday party, and even then, Jughead felt like an outsider and wondered why he’d been invited. Everyone else was playing on the Slip ‘N Slide and he’s always been afraid of water, so he’d sat off to the side in his oversized t-shirt, next to the babysitter on whom he’d later have his first crush.

She’d nudged him in the side and procured a bottle of bubble soap. Dipping a pink bubble wand inside, she’d pulled it up to her lips, and then her mouth formed a perfect o shape. He had inhaled, blinked, and then dozens of little circles of air and soap were blowing into the sun.

His mouth had too made an o shape, but accompanied by the softest o sound he’s probably ever made. He’d leaned back on his palms to tip his chin up to the sky and watch them float away in swaths. Running away was a notion he’d already become familiar with, but that’s not the feeling he got from watching the bubbles drift away, even as they left him there in the grass, growing smaller and smaller in their line of sight.

He knew, even then, that they were just something borrowed and being returned. Later, he would learn the color in a bubble was simple light refraction, but right then and there, it quick wink of time and magic, as he saw himself rainbowed in their reflection and felt briefly beyond.

One floated his way, and he broke it.

As he got older, and his habits got older too, he and Archie would test the limits of bubbles. He remembers getting stoned in the Andrews’ garage in a way they’d thought was the peak of stealth, passing a joint to Archie in one hand and the makeshift, tinfoil bubble wand in the other.

Jughead would try to smother his giggles while Archie took a healthy puff of the joint, suck it in for a moment, and then blow the smoke into the wand. A bubble would appear at the other end, filled with a tiny gray storm cloud. It’d hover above them, and with an itch he could never quite scratch, Jughead would always reach forward and pop it with his finger, littering them in soap and weed vapor.

“Jug,” Archie would groan, “why do you keep doing that? I wanna see how long it’ll last!”

He never did figure out why he couldn’t resist that urge to pop the bubbles. Perhaps it was just a preview of the personality trait labeled morbid curiosity that would come to define him. Or maybe it was the only slice of destruction he was allowed; the spoilsport in him, or the desire to end something before it ended by itself.

(By then, he’d already seen his share of ends, and this was the only lesson he’d learned.)

Later, older still, he’d learn a lot more about bubbles. About the science, the physics. It’d be a glow on his computer screen at three in the morning, hours deep into a black hole of Wikipedia articles, as he’d read about torpedoes and something called the violent collapse of bubbles that propelled them into devastation.

It’d been a strange moment, to realize something as innocent and as ethereal as the little bubbles blown into a backyard at a child’s birthday party could be darkened, turned inward, and used as weapons.

He’d write about them as literary devices too, in the last college class he’d ever take. He’d watch the words housing bubble fly across the eight o’clock news in his junior year of high school and wait for his father to find something new to blame.

And he thinks about them now, watching Betty Cooper helping her niece and nephew perfect their cartwheels in a backyard not at all unlike the place where his first memories live.

Because he’s written about them, romanticized them, intellectualized them, but he’s never actually felt like he’s lived inside a bubble before. Even in retrospect, having a full family unit until age fourteen didn’t feel like one because it was far too destructive to ever be lost in.

This is different. It feels almost too simple to describe what he’s feeling as happiness, but that’s what it is: a bubble of happy. He’s traced the dictionary up and down for something more profound than such a commodified word, but every time he comes up short.

It’s just happiness.

The way he feels like he can reach forward and tuck Betty up into his side without questioning it, or the way she’s already snuck him no less than three kisses this afternoon and the little smile on her face when she’d quietly thanked him for socializing with her family.

The way they haven’t talked about a damn thing regarding what’s between them, almost blindly, and clearly on purpose when he overhears her sister trying to bring it up. That’s the real mark of this kind of bubble, he supposes; the plausible deniability. But he’d laid her bare and she’d held him right back, and twice already, and he can barely stop thinking about when they’ll get to do it next.

Or, perhaps most of all, it’s the way when her nephew finds something in the back of the grass and he shows it to Betty, she leans down and whispers something in his ear while pointing at Jughead. And soon the little redheaded boy is scampering over to him, thrusting a tiny dandelion in his face and proudly exclaiming that he gets to make a wish.

He feels Betty’s eyes on him, and tries to remember how to talk to children. It’s been so long since his sister was this young, but she always is in his mind and it’s just like a bike. Jughead folds his arms playfully and tells him that he’d better think about it real hard first, better make sure he’s really visualizing what it is that he wants.

Arthur scrunches up his face until he says he’s thought his hardest, and then blows on the dandelion until almost all the seeds are picked up in the wind.

Jughead makes a wish too.

It’s a bubble, and he knows—he just knows—he’s going to pop it.

.

.

.

.

After second helpings (and thirds, for himself) and the kids start showing the telltale signs of exhaustion, everyone starts packing things up. Even the penny dreadful stock character named Cheryl helps out, clearing paper plates and deigning him with an actual smile when he takes them from her to throw away.

“What the hell did you say to her, you witch?” He mutters to Betty after it happens. They’re standing in the kitchen while the rest of her family is tidying up the backyard and he’s just grateful Cheryl’s gone, even if she was being nice to him, because it means he’s finally alone with Betty. “Pretty sure that’s a totally different person.”

She smirks and helps him scrape off food into the compost bin. “That’s between girls,” she says, clearly deliberately being vague.

“Again, otherwise known as witchcraft,” he murmurs against her ear, coming up behind her. There’s a terrible joke on the tip of his tongue about the spell she’s cast on him, but that’s a little too on the nose, even for him. Instead, he wraps his arms around her waist, because he’s going to take the first inch he can get, even if it’s in front of a garbage can.

She puts down the paper plate and twists in his arms. Her hands come around his neck, and he feels it again. Happy.

“You want to stay, after everyone leaves?” She asks, and god, every time she says that little word—stay—he swears it adds a year on his life.

“Yes,” he tells her, his fingers scattering where they’re strewn across her hip. “I need to go back to the motel and get a change of clothes and probably shower, but I’ll come right back.”

“I have a shower here,” she says softly, and with that same kind of teasing innocence she’d used on her sister, winking through the veil of the Virgin Mary.

He groans. “I see what you’re doing, for the record, and it’s practically Draconian. But I want to try to work a little tonight, and I need my laptop for that. So let me go peacefully into the sweet night, and I’ll be back before you know it. Plus,” he adds, his voice dropping, “I only grabbed a few things when I left.”

She seems to catch his meaning and that’s the trick, because she unravels herself from his grasp and returns to her cleanup duties. And then she looks up at him, with that now familiar and thrillingly pleased, secretive smile. “Juggie?”

“Yeah?”

“Just bring the box.”

.

.

.

They of course don’t go through a whole box of condoms, because neither of them is inhuman.

But—in their defense—they do make a decent stab at it.

That first night, he throws his things so rapidly into a bag that he barely registers what he’s bringing. It’s not until he gets back to Betty’s that he realizes he only brought the accidental System of A Down shirt that he solely still owns for the spare day he exercises.

He gripes when he pulls it out of his bag, but Betty promises them he won’t need clothes anyway, and, well, she ends up being right.

She rises annoyingly early for work on Monday morning, tells him to sleep and stay as long as he wants, and yes, she’s sure, her mother definitely won’t be home for days. Then asks if he’ll stay over again tonight, and tells him where they hide the spare key when he assures her that he absolutely wants to, and kisses him goodbye.

(They keep a key under the little concrete fairy a few feet away from the front door. It’s completely conspicuous, but he supposes an All-American town like Riverdale has never heard of a burglar.)

He rises a few hours later, still smelling her on his pillow, and takes his time wandering around the Cooper house to catalogue Betty’s childhood. He wouldn’t call it snooping, per se, but he might closely examine the books on her shelf—perhaps taking notes about what to recommend based on what she hasn’t got—or maybe admire her framed diploma from Columbia in the study, or he especially might possibly linger in front of her family photos and wonder what it would’ve been like to grow up with her.

Eventually, he decides to head back to his motel and grab an actually decent change of clothes, if nothing but to get some fresh air and hopefully some fresh perspective. However, if he thought leaving the first location of Norman Rockwell’s Home Improvement Show was going to help shake him from his euphoria of sex and post-sex, he was sorely mistaken.

Rather than stay in his motel and write while we waits for her to finish up work and summon him back, he decides to try something. It feels fluttering, even as an idea, but it’s something he’s always desperately wanted to experience, and he might not ever get the same chance again.

So he heads back to the Cooper house, retrieves the key from the little fairy, and lets himself back in. And then he sets up his computer on the dinner table, and works on his novel until he hears the lock turning.

He feels it then too, as she walks through the room, looking somehow more beautiful than when she left, and sees him sitting there; the little bubble of happiness expanding out of his chest and all across the kind of big house he’d never thought he’d sleep in.

“Honey, I’m home,” she says in a singsong voice as she drops her things onto the kitchen counter.

“Hello dear,” he plays back, “how was your day?”

It’s a game and they’re being wry and teasing, but it’s just what he was hoping for. It was why he came back when he did; he’s always wondered what it would feel like to be working from home and one day have a partner walk through the door and be happy to see him. He thinks it should be sad, that once again his greatest fantasy is nothing more than the simplest domesticity, but he’s so glad to see her that he doesn’t dwell on it.

“My day was good,” she says, in almost off-hand voice as she slides into his lap, one arm hooking around his shoulders and the other closing his laptop. And then she’s kissing him, and as is becoming habit with them, quickly grows to something more.

They have sex on the low kitchen counter that night, him standing between her legs and she’s her loudest yet, and he’s never once thought himself as insatiable in any way but regarding to food until now. After, having moved upstairs, he makes her come with his mouth and she returns the favor.

It’s almost too much to think about, how little they can keep their hands off one another. He’s fairly sure they’re both lost to the looming deadline and trying to get the most out of each other while they can through the guise of lust. 

He’s becoming increasingly aware that he is not ready to leave her.

He wants to tell her he’s not sure he can go back to life before her, thinks he has to tell her, but that would break the bubble and he desperately doesn’t want to. He decides he’ll do it, but not until he has to go. 

Instead, they make quesadillas at midnight in nothing but their underwear while the radio plays a tribute to The Best of the Seventies.

“Wow. Someone’s a major dork,” he tells her, grinning, watching her hips sway to along to some vague boogie-oogie, the spatula held up to her mouth as if it were a microphone.

Truthfully, this is a side of her he very much likes. He suspects she was a Taylor-Swift-Blasting-From-My-Bedroom type of teenage girl, and oddly enough, it’s not a turn-off for the person who stalked around high school with a pair of headphones and a Bright Eyes album.  

“Shut up,” she laughs, flipping a quesadilla, “or you won’t get any!”

“So I was looking through a drawer for a napkin, saw the aprons, didn’t see any that said Kiss the Chef. What have you got to say for yourself, Cooper?” he asks, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her stomach.

She giggles, and he’s half-sure he’s hallucinating it all but he’s not willing to blink.

Tuesday follows a familiar pattern; he goes for a long, solitary walk through town and then later makes sure to position himself as working away for when she comes home. The thrill he gets when they greet each other and talk about their days continues not to disappoint.

That night, however, they actually decide to have dinner at a normal hour, rather than immediately jumping one another, and eat while they debate whether the concept of the Great-American-Novel has to be inherently metafiction in order to be successful. The conversation actually turns him on a bit.

Afterwards, they cuddle up for a movie wherein more time is spent bantering through it than actually watching. She throws popcorn at his face and he kisses her when the music swells.

The eye of the bubble grows bigger in his chest.

.

.

.

On Wednesday, she originally wakes at 5:30, which by now he knows is her usual alarm to get to the garage by 7, but he still growls when he hears the humming little harpsichord ring tone she uses. “No,” he murmurs into her neck, once she shuts it off and tries to get out of bed. “Sleep.”

“Juggie,” she whispers, half-warningly. “The garage.”

“Open late,” he grunts, eyes still closed. He pulls her closer against him, and thinks perhaps once describing this moment as reverence for the peach of her skin wasn’t far off. “C’mon, girl boss. Sleep in for once.”

She sighs, like maybe she’s thinking about it. He opens one bleary eye to find her looking at him with exasperation, or maybe affection. But there’s something else there too, like a nervous, flittering thought. “You’re a bad influence,” she tells him, even as she settles back in against him, her forehead pressed into his chest, and exhaling gently. “Just one hour. That’s it.”

He drops a kiss at the top of her hair. “Yep, one hour.”

She doesn’t set another alarm.

.

.

.

Instead, they wake a couple hours later (a reasonable time for anyone to still consider morning, he thinks) because his phone has erupted in an uncharacteristic amount of text notifications. He makes a muffled sound, reaching over Betty to scrape around for his phone. And then he realizes that it’s not just his phone buzzing away, but hers as well. She seems to realize that at the same time and sits up, and together they check their messages.

“Veronica,” she sighs, at the same moment that he sees the litany of texts from an unknown number. Still, an invitation that feels more like a demand couldn’t have come from many people, and he probably would’ve guessed it was from Veronica anyway. He recognizes Archie’s number up at the top too and assumes that’s where the raven-haired princess got his contact information.

“Oh god, is it already after nine?” She mutters, looking at the clock on her phone. “I better text Joaquin and ask if he can work a few hours today. He’s usually got mornings free.”

While she does that, Jughead scrolls through the new messages, frowning. “She wants to throw a party tonight? It’s a Wednesday.”

Betty chuckles, clicking her phone off and rolling up against him. “You clearly don’t know Veronica very well yet,” she says lightly, smiling up at him. And then realizes that he’s still frowning. “What?”

“I probably won’t go,” he sighs, hating the way her face falls at this information.

“Oh,” she says softly, her eyebrows furrowing. “Is…is it because of your dad? You don’t want to be around alcohol?”

That would actually be a decent reason in comparison to the one he actually has, but it would also be a lie. He flops onto his back, pushing his hair back from his face. “No, no. I mean, being around drunken people isn’t my favorite activity in the book, but it doesn’t really bother me in a ‘Nam-flashback kind of way.”

She shifts a little closer. “Then what’s wrong, Juggie?”

“There’s just a lot of people in this group text,” he says carefully, not wanting to outright admit that he’s got the social anxiety of a jackrabbit, especially not to the woman he’s still expecting to come to her senses at any moment.

“Not that many,” she replies, grinning a little now. “You should’ve seen the invite list from her last party.”

“I know I’m a writer, but I can still count, Betts, and there a lot of numbers here,” he sighs. He scratches behind his ear, thinking about the lonely spot by the bonfire at Reggie’s party. “I’m not…great at parties, and especially not at ones where I only know three people. I don’t do well with small talk.”

“You know Kevin too,” she says, one of her hands rubbing distractedly at his stomach. She seems to have something of a preoccupation with that part of his body. “And Joaquin.”

He lets out another breath. “What about my favorite person, Persephone, queen of the underworld?”

“Cheryl?” Betty gives a half-hearted roll of the eyes. “She’s not in the text thread. And they’re definitely not there yet. So she won’t be lurking any more dark corners, waiting to bribe you for information.”

“She should’ve tried a bribe last time, she might’ve gotten a little more out of me that way,” Jughead says, which makes Betty smile.

“Oh. You’d say you’re open to bribes, then?” She asks, her hand on his stomach wandering a bit lower.

He pretends to look offended, but makes no effort to readjust her hand. “My stars, Betty Cooper,” he tuts, putting on an attempt at a terrible Southern accent.

“I’m just wondering what I can do to make you want to come,” she says brightly. “To the party,” she adds after a moment, because now he’s grinning. She whacks him in the shoulder. “Get your mind out of the gutter.”

“You go,” he tells her, shifting so that he’s leaning over her. He drops a kiss onto her jaw. “And you can come here after.”

She actually blushes, but curves her arms around his neck and meets his eyes. “Please, Juggie?” She asks, and he knows that’s it. “I promise I’ll protect you from small talk. And Ronnie said she wants to celebrate you two coming into town; it’s practically in your honor.”

What she doesn’t say is, it’s because you’re leaving this week, but they both hear it anyway.

“It is not,” he snorts. “It’s clearly in Archie’s honor, if anything. But…”

“But?” She repeats hopefully.

“Yeah, I’ll go,” he says, sighing heavily and smiling despite himself.

“Yay!” She squeals, pulling him closer so that she can kiss him fully and he thinks, distinctly not for the first time: worth it.

.

.

.

They have a round of late morning sex—his favorite kind, he realizes, because he gets to see her fully in the rising light—and when she comes, it’s through a string of curses, which is new for her. He likes it.

Afterwards, she announces she has to get to the garage, even though she sounds begrudging and lingers the whole way through dressing. He considers asking her what’s bothering her, but he has an inkling.

The truck is supposed to be done this week.

So he can’t ask, because that definitely would pop the bubble, and watches her go. He dawdles in bed for a little while before showering and heads into the backyard to do some writing outside. The weather has turned humid again, and will be unendurable in the coming afternoon, so he wants to enjoy what he can.

Betty comes home earlier than usual, tenser and less willing to play the mid-century-couple game, and immediately trots upstairs for a long shower. Once she emerges, looking clean and refreshed and willfully cheerful, she parades outfits in front of him for tonight’s party. He’s apparently very unhelpful, because he thinks she looks beautiful in every one of them, but with some heavy prompting, he admits he likes her best in blue.

She pulls on a baby blue top and a short white jean skirt, while he dresses in the same outfit he’d worn for their date. It’d gone over well then, and his options are limited. Betty pulls her hair into her usual ponytail, but this time leaves several locks of blonde laying against her forehead, and they walk to Pop’s for dinner.

They sit on the same side of the booth and do their best to talk about nothing; she’s still got that fidgeting look in her eye, and he’s still not brave enough to ask if it’s what he thinks it is. After a while, Betty glances at her phone, sees a flurry of texts, and exclaims that they’re already late, so they pay and rush to Veronica’s apartment.

“Lonely Boy!” Veronica greets as she throws open the door, beaming at him. She’s wearing something he thinks might be a typical ensemble of a cropped black shirt with an equally dark skirt. “I wasn’t sure you’d come. Archie said it was a fifty-fifty shot.”

Betty grins up at him as Jughead shrugs and says, “Hope he bet against me, then.”

“Noted, for next time,” Veronica smirks, and then moves aside to beckon them into the apartment. “I’ve got IPA and lagers in the kitchen, and Betty—pour toi, a bottle of your favorite rosé is on the counter.”

Raising a cautious eyebrow, Betty laughs. “I thought you said rosé was only suitable as a brunch wine, unless, and I quote, ‘one was at the Riviera.’”

Veronica waves a hand and makes a dismissive sound. It’s just exaggerated enough for Jughead to realize she might be quite tipsy. “Yes, and that’s still all true, but I know you love it. And I already bought it, so! It obviously must be drunk!”

“You’re in a good mood tonight,” Betty observes as they follow her into the kitchen, and Jughead realizes this is true. Granted, he doesn’t have much of a barometer for Veronica at this stage, but the only emotions of hers he’s been exposed to are coquettish, coy, surveying, wary, and coy again.

“I am,” Veronica sighs happily. “I am.”

When she doesn’t say anything else, Betty snorts. “Are you going to tell me why? You quit your job, or something?”

Dropping a none-too-subtle look over at Jughead, Veronica just says, “I wish. No, no, I’ll tell you later, B,” and then flounces out of her kitchen with an announcement that she’s off to be a perfect hostess and that she expects to see them mingling soon. Betty rolls her eyes after her, but fondly all the same, as she digs around in a drawer for a corkscrew.

She pauses just as she’s uncorked the bottle in the same way Archie hesitates before grabbing a beer in front of him. “It’s okay,” he tells her, passing her the large wine glass Veronica had also left out for her and then cracking open a lager for himself. “Really. I promise, the trauma is a lot less obvious than that.”

“But you’ll tell me if anything makes you uncomfortable, right?” She asks softly, clearly dodging his attempt at a joke, her hand on its increasingly most common spot along his jaw. He nods, the bubble moving all the way up to his throat.

She fills her glass with the pink wine and then hooks her arm through his to lead him out of the kitchen. There’s a brief moment where he thinks she might’ve been about to hold his hand, but he’s not sure.

Veronica’s apartment is spacious, but he’s starting to wonder if most of Riverdale is this way. It has an open floor plan, with a relatively small but gleaming kitchen tucked away in the corner, and a couple of doors that must lead to bathrooms, closets, portals to the dimensional reality where he usually lives, and bedrooms, in some order or another.

Whereas Betty’s room had spoken volumes about the push and pull between the person put on display versus the person she truly was, Veronica’s sense of décor fully fits her personality: purple orchids, white vases, but just enough indoor palms and plush dark velvet to evoke a kind of smoky art deco lounge filled with literati and their muses of the century.

Faint music drifts absently through the apartment, and there are probably about twenty some-odd people in milling about across the furniture or leaning up against walls, including Joaquin and Kevin, the latter of whom immediately fixes a wide but rapidly narrowing eye on them. “Hey Kev, hey Joaquin,” Betty says, fidgeting slightly as a furtive smile digs at Kevin’s lips.

His eyes flick over to Jughead, down to the place where Betty’s arm is tucked through his, and back to her. “Hey,” Kevin replies, somehow managing to say quite a lot with that one word. No one says anything else.

“Okay guys, good talk,” Jughead drawls, if only to cut the tension. Joaquin snorts, and it seems to break the silent conversation-slash-staring contest between Kevin and Betty.

She turns to Joaquin. “Thanks again for covering me this morning, by the way.”

He shrugs as if to say no big deal, but Kevin’s head swivels towards him. “You worked in the garage this morning?”

“I overslept,” Betty explains, sighing when Kevin immediately appears to read between the lines.

“Hm, betcha did,” Kevin demurs, taking a long sip from his beer. Betty flushes—it’s true that technically she overslept, but Kevin’s meaning isn’t lost on either of them and to deny that they didn’t afterwards have sex would be a lie.

“We’re going now,” Betty says, falsely bright as her fingers curl around Jughead’s arm. She introduces him to people around the room as they pass through it; most of the people here are friends from work or people from high school, and she says she only really knows a few of them. She doesn’t like Veronica’s coworkers very much and cleanly avoids them, but they have a decent chat with a guy named Dilton who happens to be in town visiting his parents and apparently recently sold his first tech company for a sum he seems itching to announce.

As promised, Betty protects him from small talk. She’s a completely natural charmer, skilled in a way that he could spend decades honing but still never match. She deflects and switches gears like the driver of a car she herself built. Once again, he’s in total awe of her.

Eventually, they find themselves with Archie and Veronica again, and he feels like he can breathe a little easier. Soon after, Veronica and Betty disappear to refill their wine glasses, leaving him with just Archie—which would be fine, except Archie is being evasive and seems uncharacteristically nervous about something.

Jughead opens his mouth to ask him what’s crawled up his ass, but Archie has other ideas. “Dude, wait, you know what I got?” Archie scampers off to a set of hooks and digs around in his coat pocket, one of those bombers that is made to resemble a letterman’s jacket. He retrieves a little Ziploc bag and dangling it in Jughead’s face. “Look what I snagged from Reggie before we left.”

“You stole his weed?” Jughead laughs. “Do you have a death wish?”

Archie scoffs. “Whatever. He’ll never notice, he has so much of it. So, wanna smoke?”

Given that he’s almost done with his allotted beer, he might as well. “Yeah, gimme. I’ll roll it.” He sinks onto a couch and clears a space while Archie disappears back to his jacket and quickly returns with a grinder, some rolling papers, a lighter and leaves him to it, saying he’ll be back in a few. It feels almost like high school again—left to roll a joint in the back of a foggy party he’s never quite sure he agreed to attend. Only this time, he definitely knows why he’s here.

As if hearing her name in his thoughts, Betty plops down beside him, placing her wine on the table as her chin nestles into his shoulder. “Jughead Jones,” she says slowly, and slightly impishly. “You getting high?”

He finishes grinding up the weed and turns to look at her. “Please tell me you were a D.A.R.E. pledge,” he says, which earns him a whack on the arm and a smirk. Depositing the bits of pot into the valley of the paper, he runs his tongue along the edge to seal the joint and then pauses, realizes Betty is staring at it, her pupils blackened.

Jughead finishes his work and tucks it behind his ear as she watches him, biting down hard on her lip. His hand trails up her knee and onto her thigh in order to shift closer. “Got something to share with the class, Officer Cooper?”

She’s looking at him in the way that usually precursors the moment that she pounces on him, but instead she seems to straighten her shoulders with resolve to do the opposite. Disappointment surges through him, but he understands why she might not want to start something she can’t finish in a room full of people.

Betty reaches forward, plucks the joint from behind his ear, and nestles it between her lips. “Got a lighter?”

He quickly grabs it from the table and holds it up for her, flicking on the flame. She drapes herself into the pillows of the couch and takes a puff. He likes this look for her—not necessarily just the joint between her teeth, but the relaxed lean in her posture, the half-lidded and comfortable glow in her eyes as she blows a bit of smoke out of the corner of her mouth.

He has already learned she’s not a person easily unwound, so to see her draped into a couch and smiling lazily at him is enough to fill him with warmth.

She passes him the joint, and he falls back into the couch alongside her as he takes a light hit. “Hi,” he murmurs.

“Hi,” she hums back. The once-familiar hazy din of the pot is already settling above his thoughts and he wants to kiss her so badly, but he’s not sure what she’s comfortable with in front of her friends. He gets his answer quickly though, because she soon closes the space between them. It’s a short kiss; something sweet, and more like a promise, but there all the same.

Hand-in-hand, Archie and Veronica arrive back at the couch just as they’re pulling apart and he tries his best to ignore the smug, satisfied look on Veronica’s face. “Yo, pass that,” Archie says, and Jughead complies. He takes too big a hit and coughs as he releases his smoke, trying to pass it on to Veronica, who declines.

“Not my thing,” she says, one hand held up and the other grasping a nearly empty wine glass. She seems a bit surprised when the joint is then offered to Betty, but more surprised still when she actually takes it. “Uh oh,” she says, amused. “You’re going to regret that.”

“No I won’t,” Betty insists, her eye rolls already becoming more exaggerated.

“I wasn’t talking to you, sweetie,” Veronica replies, glancing at Jughead. “Fair warning, Stoned Betty is a very Emotional Betty.”

“Okay, I don’t get emotional,” Betty scoffs, but it definitely sounds defensive.

Still addressing Jughead, Veronica says, “Last time she smoked pot, she lied on my floor, made me put on Fleetwood Mac while she silently stared at literally nothing, and then immediately spent half an hour crying at the memory of the time she accidentally stepped on a snail, or something.”

“You’re exaggerating.” She pauses. “It wasn’t a snail,” she tells her friend, but drops her head closer to Jughead, her eyes slightly glazed over. “But, I mean, thunder only happens when it’s raining! Isn’t that so beautiful, Juggie?”

She is absolutely already stoned, and he tells her as much, raising his eyebrows. She shushes him and shuffles closer so that she’s fully curled up besides him on the couch. He smirks, draping an arm around her shoulders while he takes another hit of the joint.

One of the things he’s always liked about weed is the body high; the tingling awareness of every inch of skin and the blood moving beneath it; the organs in his chest inhaling and exhaling to the beat of his nerves. With Betty next to him, it’s like that feeling magnified ten fold.

He can feel his heart plucking louder than ever, but the album has flipped. It’s a song he’s never heard.

.

.

.

After they’ve passed the joint around to its last nib, Veronica says they have to get off the couch before they’re all forever fused to it, and insists they dance. Jughead laughs and says no way, but Betty is tugging on his arm and pulling him from the couch, all the while he tells her it’s not going to happen several times. Veronica twirls by her lonesome at what is clearly her favorite spot at the center of the room, and Jughead notes that she’s well past tipsy at this point.

“Oh, shit—hold on, I know what I’m going to play,” Archie says, and then scampers off. The music cuts for the briefest moment before being replaced by the one song Archie must know is sure to annoy him the most. The opening chords to Don’t Stop Believin’ filter through the room, and he groans loudly as Archie approaches them, his head bobbing.

“Boo,” Jughead drawls over the guitar intros, making Betty laugh. “How many bad pubs in Southie do you have to hear this song in before you’ll get sick of it?”

But Archie’s barely listening through his set of air drums. “You can take the boy out of Boston, but you can’t take the pub out of me!” And Jughead doesn’t have a moment to call out how little sense that makes before Archie breaks out into the first lines along with the song, “Just a small town girl, living in a lonely world!”

“Please, I will pay you to stop,” Jughead moans, but Archie is drunk, stoned, and deliberately lost in the song and just waves his pointer fingers in Jughead’s face as he sings, “She took the midnight train, going an-y-whe-e-ere!”

Suddenly, Veronica has thrown her arms around Archie and has joined him in belting out, “Just a city boy, born and raised in South Detroit! He took the midnight train going any-whe-e-e-re!”

“You two are a match made in hell,” he mutters, as Veronica drunkenly announces that she just loves to sing. A few people have moved into the circle, joining along with the lyrics, and he spots more getting up, even Dilton.

That’s the problem with this song, and really, why he hates it—other than the fact that Archie always puts it on whenever they’re near a jukebox—it’s the hypnotic spell it casts on every person in the vicinity wherein they’re physically incapable of not singing along like complete idiots.

While the first guitar solo takes over, he glances over at Betty by his side, biting her lip through a mischievous grin, and he realizes what’s coming next. “Not you too,” he sighs, but she’s already joined the crowd in their rendition of, “A singer in a smoky room, the smell of wine and cheap perfume!”

As the lyrics announce that for a smile they can share the night, Kevin appears out of nowhere and grabs Betty by the waist, dancing her out of Jughead’s grasp, while the beats of the instruments rise and Veronica and Archie start bouncing and singing the first chorus up at the ceiling. “Strangers! Waiting! Up and down the boule-e-e-vard!” 

Figures move between them like shadows on the wall, and as if in slow motion, the haze of pot and the faint buzz of beer in his eyes, he watches Betty throw her head back in laughter as Kevin dips her. He whispers something in her ear and she giggles even harder. The guitar swells and she looks so beautiful under the dim yellow light.

He has a thought that he cannot admit.

“Fuck it,” he mutters, striding through the swaying crowd to reach her just as the song buoyantly declares that they’re living just to find emotion and hiding somewhere in the night.

Kevin releases Betty in order to drag his boyfriend into the throng, and Jughead happily takes his place, one hand at her waist, the other grasping her hand. It’s possibly the magnetic build of the music, or maybe it’s just the room full of people spinning in circles and releasing the words into the air as their beers slosh around madly, or maybe it’s the pot, or the delight in Betty’s eyes when he touches her, but he finds himself joining in.

“Working hard to get my fill, everybody wants a thrill!” 

Archie whoops and hollers in loud approval when he hears Jughead’s voice in the fray and Veronica’s arms are waving in the air above her, and Betty is dancing with him, their fingers laced, and he loses his voice to the song. “You know the words, after all!” Betty laughs, as he rolls his eyes. 

“Every single person in the country knows the words to this song, Betts,” he says, trying to sigh and appear appropriately brooding, but then the lyrics surge again and the attempt is lost. 

“Some will win, some will lose! Some were born to sing the blues!” They all collectively belt it out at the top of their lungs, practically screaming this goofy, cheesy, terrible, bonding-with-strangers type of music that he definitely hates, except as he twirls Betty in his arms, he thinks he understands the appeal a bit more.

Another guitar solo runs through them and the room is alive with energy. He feels at once so one with the crowd—an unfamiliar feeling, to say the least—and equally alone with just Betty as she moves against him in an entirely new way; with utter, bubbling joy, her ponytail bouncing with her. The song urges everyone to don’t stop believing and to hold onto that feeling and that the movie never ends because it goes on and on, and on, and on—

And he agrees, especially as the moment pulls back and becomes fisheyed, just like the reflection in a bubble twenty years ago.

He spins her again, and the moment goes on and on, and on, and on.

.

.

.

The playlist is clearly Archie’s, because the music that follows next is a procession of the Doobie Brothers, Steely Dan, and otherwise vague, crowd-pleasing bar music—including one that leads to a terrible rendition of the song Come On Eileen. And despite having exercised his limit of what might be considered dancing, he has to admit he’s having a good time, even as the pot wears off.

Eventually, and with considerable effort on her behalf given her height, Veronica slings her arms over both Archie and Jughead’s shoulders and informs them that they’re low on beer and would they please go get more and that there’s a liquor store just around the corner and please again.

Betty throws him a worried look, clearly not sure what his limits are, but he just kisses her on the cheek and assures her it’s really fine, following Archie out the door.

“Sorry I’ve been self-imposed as persona non grata lately,” Jughead says, as they meet the late spring night air. “I’ve just been…busy. Writing.”

“Uh huh,” Archie muses. “Is that what you’re gonna call it?”

“Shut up,” he says, shoving Archie in the shoulder just hard enough that he stumbles a bit. “I mean, yeah though. I’ve been with Betty.”

Archie waggles his eyebrows. “So I heard from Veronica, who heard from Betty. Sounds like it’s going well, dude.”

It is, he thinks. He looks up at the dark sky and nearly imagines something translucent wiggling overhead, a bubble blown too big. They reach the liquor store, and he is almost thankful for the harsh white light of the fluorescent bulbs, because it feels like a dousing relief from the fog and warmth leftover from the party. He hangs back while Archie selects a few six packs and pays and then they’re on their way back to the apartment.

“Anyway, it’s not like I haven’t been hanging out with Veronica a lot too,” Archie says, grunting as he redistributes the weight of the beers in his arms. Jughead offers to take some, but Archie says he hasn’t been working out lately and that it’ll be good for him. “So it’s okay, dude.”

“Yeah, I just figure we get to see each other all the time, so I didn’t think it was really a big deal,” Jughead sighs. “And we’ll have the drive to Chicago, and back in Boston, and so on.”

Archie doesn’t say anything, and at first Jughead thinks it’s because he’s still trying to figure out the best way to carry all the beers. But then he realizes that Archie has put them down entirely, even though they’re still a block away from Veronica’s.

“Uh, about that,” he says slowly, scratching at his temple. “I have something I gotta tell you.”

“Gee, that’s not ominous at all,” Jughead tries to chuckle, but Archie’s face is rarely serious and it makes him hesitate.

“It’s good news,” Archie says quickly. “It’s… Okay, so I think I’m not going to go to Chicago. I can see my mom another time, and I wanna spend a bit more time with Ronnie here.”

Jughead sighs, because honestly he’s been expecting something like this for a while. Archie is already self-described as head over heels for Veronica and it’s definitely not unlike his best friend to throw away time with him in favor of a girl. And besides, he’d probably be extending his own trip if there weren’t such a specific reason for why he himself has to leave, so he can’t judge. Not really sure why he’d label that good news, but it is Archie, after all.

“Alright,” he says. “We wouldn’t really have had much time to do anything except drive, since we’ve been here so long. I get it. It’s cool.”

He turns to go, thinking that’s the end of it, but Archie is still rooted to the spot. “There’s something else too,” he says tentatively. “So…uh, I’m gonna move to LA.”

Jughead blinks, sure he’s heard him wrong. “You’re—you’re going to what?”

“I’m going to move to LA,” Archie repeats, much firmer now.

He stares at him, and then starts to laugh, even as his stomach sinks low. “What the fuck, Arch, no you’re not.”

“Yes, I am,” he insists, his voice growing stronger. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while, and…it just finally seems like the right moment.”

“You’ve been thinking about it for a while?” Jughead repeats, scoffing derisively. “Yeah, okay, sure. Then why haven’t I ever heard you mention it before?”

“Because—” Archie hesitates, but seems emboldened by the mocking scowl on Jughead’s face. “Because I know I’m, like, your only friend, and I didn’t know how you’d take it.”

“You’re not my only friend,” Jughead spits, even though it’s probably true. Really though, who else does he ever hang out with? He ended things with Ethel amicably enough, and he sees her sometimes, but probably not enough to consider her a friend. Does he even count Reggie, especially if their friendship requires Archie’s presence to bring them together?

“Look, I’ve been telling you for a while that I’m, like, at a wall with work. I can’t keep doing these stupid local commercials forever, it’s really bumming me out. My industry is mostly in LA, and if I’m there, I can try to do songs for TV or movies, or something,” he says in a placating voice, and Jughead hates that Archie actually has a valid point. But then he adds, “And…you know, with Veronica moving there, it just seems like the right time.”

Jughead releases a choked laugh and throws a hand into the air. “There we go. You know, you almost had me there, trying to justify this as a career move. Jesus, this is ridiculous, even for you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Archie says, his voice rising.

“I’ve been watching you pull shit like this my whole life, Arch. ‘Sorry Jughead, I can’t go to the Yankees game your dad saved up for because Pepper just really needs to see me,’ or, ‘Actually, Jug, I think I’m going to apply to Berklee School of Music because Valerie said she was.’ Take your fucking pick. You make these impulsive life decisions because of some girl you barely know, and then you’re completely confused at what went wrong when it blows up in your face!”

“I—okay, I applied to Berklee because of Val, but I went there because I love music, okay?” Archie is yelling now. “And fuck off, because none of that’s the same, because I love Veronica!”

Jughead slaps his hand hard across his forehead. “Jesus Christ—you can’t love her, you don’t even know her!” He yells, but as he hears the words come out, they sound oddly like a lie.

“Oh, yeah? What the hell do you know about it, Jug?” Archie snaps, his arms crossed. “You’ve never even been in love! Because you’re too much of a coward to ever try!”

“I’m not a coward,” he hisses, even as he feels as though he’s been sucker punched. A car drives by, the headlights passing over them as Jughead’s chest begins to stutter. He’s not a coward, he’s got issues. There’s a difference. Right?

“Yes, you fucking are,” Archie seethes. “Or it wouldn’t have taken you a million years to make a move on Betty when you were so clearly into her from the start. I mean, dude, have you even told her that you like her yet?”

“I—” Jughead feels all the words and breath leave his lungs all at once. “She knows I like her.”

“Have you actually told her that, though?” Archie scoffs. “Because Veronica said that Betty was really confused about what you wanted.”

He inhales sharply, indignation surging. “What the hell, do you guys talk about us? It’s none of your fucking business what—”

“Veronica was just asking because she wanted to look out for Betty, because she’s a good friend and a kind, protective person,” Archie interrupts, scowling madly. “And the woman I love.”

“You’ve known her for three weeks!” Jughead yells, almost delirious with exasperation. “You cannot love her! It doesn’t work like that!”

“Tell me how it works, then,” he snarls. “Go ahead. Enlighten your much stupider friend with a-a-all you know about love.”

His mouth opens and closes once. “It…takes work, and time—you—you compromise and grow, you don’t just—”

“That’s just a relationship,” Archie interrupts, smug with dark satisfaction for the moment wherein he understands something that Jughead doesn’t. “Love is the feeling when you look at someone, or how you feel when they walk in a room. It’s the way I know I’m not ready to say goodbye to her. You’d know that, if you ever even tried.”

He realizes Archie is right, and it sends his blood boiling. That kind of love is the thing one he’s always craved and all the while justified not looking for because it always felt so unattainably complicated, like a riddle with no end, and it cannot be that obvious or that simple. It just can’t.

He wants to punch Archie.

“Fuck you,” he says instead, and because he can’t admit to anything else. Jughead turns on his heel and storms away, with no destination in mind as long as it’s far fucking away from Archie and his childish fantasies about love and life.

“Yeah, well, fuck you too!” Archie shouts at his back.

His feet carry him past Veronica’s apartment, past Pop’s, past the turn off for Betty’s street, and onwards into the night. He stomps up the stairs to his motel room and slams the door shut loudly behind him, his fist punching uselessly once at the wall when that doesn’t satisfy him. He curses loudly and slides down onto the floor.

.

.

.

Later, he realizes he never actually popped the bubble.

In the end, Archie did.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

[takadasaiko]

Demons at the Door: Chapter Eight

FFN II AO3

Summary: Nez and Solomon weigh evidence, Whitehall brings concerns to Howard, and the Keens get an unexpected visitor at their home late at night.

Chapter Eight: Guilty Secrets

Nez Rowan had seen many things over the course of her life, and while it had left her with a healthy level of distrust in many people, she had never been able to shake wanting to trust those closest to her.

She met Zeke a month into life as a civilian, an injury sidelining her and she'd taken the medical discharge. The painkillers were her entry in, and at first she took them for the physical pain. They quickly doubled for the emotional pain, but they didn't last forever. She'd told Tom once that the doctors never found the right treatments when she went to them, and that's why she'd tried everything else just in case. Everything had been a little bit of an exaggeration, but when she found herself awake for days on end, nightmares chasing even the thoughts of sleep away and the VA shrinks having no luck to help her, the meds Zeke offered felt like a saving grace.

She wasn't the first service member he'd met that had similar demons to the ones that Nez fought. Somehow he'd managed to become her friend as well as her supplier, listening to the stories and letting her talk through thoughts that didn't always make sense. He never once judged her, never once told her she was weak. It was that friendship that he'd proven when he let go of one of his best customers. He wouldn't chase her down, but he'd be there if and when she needed the relief again.

Nez met Howard eight months after her discharge. He had seen her potential and had taken her in. Detox had been hell, but he'd sat by her bedside and his was the first face she had seen. He'd supported her and he'd believed in her. He'd gotten her clean, and no matter what Mattie said, she wasn't sure it was a debt she could repay, much less already had.

That's why she hoped she was wrong. For her sake. For Tom's. For Dumont's. For Howard's. She wanted to be wrong.

She was meeting him at a new location, but at least Solomon was waiting on her when she arrived this time. "I could use some good news today," she told him as she stepped into the back alley.

Her former partner tilted his head. "I suppose that depends on what you're looking for. One thing's for certain. Those two did not get enough couple's counseling."

Nez snorted a laugh and took the file from him and flipped through it as he spoke. "I've spent the last several days following up on leads. Mostly scientists and engineers linked to the prototype, though I came across a banker that was particularly chatty."

"These funds began transferring before Scottie fully took over Halcyon," Nez murmured.

Solomon hummed a soft affirmative. "At some point in there it looks like they were battling for this black budget," he said and Nez looked up to see his expression turn irritable. "It gets muddled. I can't tell you exactly where one begins and the other one ends, but I can tell you that this fight for control over Whitehall was going on long before we were involved."

She didn't like the evidence she was seeing. Solomon had always been thorough, and he had been with the information he had. "Scottie did try to have him pushed out."

"And there's a line item for maintenance done on his plane right before it went down. I did a lot of digging on that one. I couldn't link it to someone specific, but I was able to clear Howard of it."

"Is it possible we have a third party in play?"

Solomon shrugged. "Someone pulling the strings and hoping the Hargraves will go to battle and end each other? Possibly. Your new partner would have motive in that."

Nez shook her head. "No, it's not Tom."

"You sweet on him, Nez?" Solomon teased and she rolled her eyes.

"Listen, I know you don't like him, don't trust him, and with what went down between you no one can blame you, but Tom's just trying to find the truth."

"You trust him," Solomon murmured, the reality seeming to press on him.

"I do. And I need you to trust me on that."

He nodded slowly. "If it's not Keen, then he'd be a third party's next target."

"We've kept it pretty quiet about who he is. Even the Board doesn't know."

"Smart." His dark gaze shifted to catch hers. "This is all circumstantial, Nez. All we might be able to take from it is that the Hargraves are a seriously messed up family."

"And we thought we came from complicated backgrounds," Nez chuckled.

"Mmm. I need Whitehall."

"No."

"Do you want definitive answers or not?"

She shot him a long suffering look. "He's under heavy guard. Heavier once Howard catches wind that his engineers are turning up missing." She closed her eyes, searching for a better alternative. "I can get you Pendergast."

"The PI?"

"Yeah. Tom said he was one of the few people that knew Howard was alive after his plane went down."

"He's loyal then," Solomon said thoughtfully, but then shrugged. "Everyone has a breaking point."

Nez shook her head, Solomon's expression reminding her of a child about to get a new toy. One that he would likely rip apart and leave in pieces by the end of it.

"You told Keen I'm your source yet?"

"No."

"Better do that soon. My guess is that Hargrave Jr hates being kept in the dark after everything."

"None of us are fans of it," Nez murmured, knowing that he was right. The longer she went without telling him, the more of a hypocrite she was for asking for his trust.

"But first," Solomon said, pulling her out of her thoughts, "Pendergast."

"He's missing."

Howard looked up from the papers he was looking through to find Richard Whitehall standing at his office door. It was late. His secretary had gone home for the evening and the few people that might have seen him wouldn't have thought anything about it, but he didn't like being ambushed in his own office without warning. He set the file down, his sharp eyes meeting the other man's. "You'll need to be a little more specific than that."

"Banning," the scientist said sharply, stepping in and closing the door behind him. "I've been trying to get ahold of him for days. I finally went to the facility-"

"We've talked about you going there without me," Howard said.

"No one's seen him in days. Several of his people are gone too."

"Why is this the first I'm hearing about it?"

"You'll have to ask them," the other man huffed, taking a seat on the other side of Howard's desk. "They were spooked when I went. Afraid of something."

"If someone is kidnapping engineers they have every right to be. My wife has… people that could still be troublesome. If she was able to tell them the location..."

"You think she still has someone on the inside?"

"I think it's certainly possible."

Whitehall sat back in the chair. "That boy of yours. How sure are you he's still on your side?"

Howard bristled at the insinuation. "I'm not worried about Tom."

"You should be. He's a loose end with the situation with your wife."

"He's my son."

"That's been gone for years. I've known you for a long time, Howard. I know how desperate you were to find him. Desperate enough to be blind to the fact that Scottie's little blonde secretary went to him with evidence that could link you to your dead spy. He links that, how far do you think he'll need to jump to know that you and me are working together, huh? That Scottie didn't fund the prototype. You did."

"She would have."

"But she didn't, and that's all that'll matter to your long lost boy, and when he starts on that we're all screwed." He leaned forward. "You and I both know what my inventions can do, Howard. The good they can do, but only once they've been fully realized."

"And they will be," Howard said calmingly. "I'll find out missing engineers, and you'll see Tom had nothing to do with it."

"And if he did? It took Scottie downing your plane before you accepted she was a real threat."

"I'll handle whatever I find. You…" He pulled in a deep breath. "You need to lay low. Do not go back to the lab and don't come back here. I'll contact you."

The older man didn't look happy, but he didn't have a lot of room to argue. Howard funded his research, his lab, and the engineering of his designs. Who he suspected to be behind what could be a very subtle attack didn't really matter. Howard would get to the bottom of it and deal with the threat in his own way.

"So, you may have been right," Liz said as she took a seat on her side of the bed.

Tom looked up from his laptop, an old pair of glasses perched on his nose for the first time in a long time and a curious look settling into his expression. "Yeah? What about?"

"Aram and Samar. They've been trying to keep it quiet around the Post Office, but they're seeing each other."

"Finally," her husband chuckled.

Liz pulled her still-damp hair back, tying it out of her way for the night. "I think everyone but them saw it." She pursed her lips together, thinking her next question through. "Would it be weird to go on a double date with them?"

Tom's dark blue gaze slid over to her, amusement barely contained there. "Why would that be weird?"

"I don't know… I guess it's just blurring the lines between work and home."

"Oh yeah. Those are really strong lines there," Tom teased. "With your partners and your boss as our daughter's godparents, your father as your CI-"

"Okay, you've made your point," she laughed, kicking at him a little under the sheets and he grinned.

"It sounds great, Liz. A little bit of normal. We can have them over or go out. It'd be nice."

She hummed a soft agreement as she reached over and closed his laptop lid, leaning over him to set it on the nightstand.

"What's going on here?" he asked, the corners of his lips curling upward as she took his glasses off his nose and put those aside as well.

"We're done with work for the night. Whatever it is can wait until morning."

His smile only grew. "Yes ma'am."

She leaned in to kiss him, finding no protest in the movement. He shifted down, slouching against the pillows so that she was nearly on top of him, but the moment was interrupted by a knock at the front door.

Both Keens froze, listening hard to make sure it had been their front door and not a neighbor's. "You expecting someone?" Tom asked, and when Liz shook her head he slipped out from under her, starting for the front door. She waited only half a beat before grabbing a robe and following.

She peeked around the doorframe of their room and towards the front door as Tom pulled it open. "Hey, what's up?" he greeted and shifted enough that Liz saw who their visitor was.

Donald Ressler looked awkward standing at their doorstep, every movement of his body language screaming how uncomfortable he was. "I, uh, you know, I shouldn't have come. It's late, you guys look like you were already in for the night. I didn't wake Agnes up, did I?"

"No, she'd sleep through a nuclear explosion these days. Don't know how long it'll last, but we're loving it while it does," Tom answered and he stepped back, giving Ressler space to enter.

He hesitated and Liz stepped forward. "It's fine, Ress. Come on in."

It took a moment, but Ressler finally stepped past Tom and into the apartment, and Liz couldn't shake the feeling that something was very, very wrong. She hadn't seen that haunted look on him in a long time and as he passed her, going towards the couch she was motioning to, she kicked herself for not paying more attention. She knew giving up the evidence to link Hitchin to Reven Wright's murder was difficult for Ressler, but she should have been there for her partner through it. She knew him well enough that his first go-to wasn't to seek help. He was stubborn and he'd been through a lot recently.

He took a heavy seat and Liz heard Tom move around to the kitchen, sounding like he was putting a kettle on the stove for tea, close enough he was there if needed but not intruding on the conversation.

Liz took a slow, careful seat next to her partner. "What's up?"

Ressler drew in a sharp breath. "I…." he managed as he released it, but was up on his feet again in an instant. "I'm sorry, Keen. I can't. I shouldn't have-"

She wrapped her fingers around his wrist, the movement gentle but firm, and she eased him back down. "You need to talk to someone, Ressler. That's… pretty obvious. I swear to you that whatever you say will not leave this apartment."

He nodded, the next breath he drew in much shakier than the first. "I've done… Liz…."

The way his voice broke when he said her name broke her heart. She swallowed hard. "Ress, of all the places you could come to not be judged, this is the one. I know what it feels like to… bend your morals to the point that it hurts."

"I killed her."

Liz blinked hard. "What?" she managed. That hadn't been what she expected.

"Hitchin. She's dead. I… Oh hell, Keen."

She wrapped her arms around him and her partner folded in, trembling and shaking and terrified like she'd never seen him before. "It's okay. We're…. we're going to make it okay," she swore, glancing up as Tom rounded back into the living room with two mugs of tea still steaming.

"Yours has a kick," he promised as Ressler straightened to look at it, pulling a mirthless laugh from him and a quiet thanks.

Liz had thought her husband might turn and head back to their room, leaving she and Ressler to a private conversation, but instead he cleared his throat, running his hand through his hair in a nervous movement he made when he was approaching a delicate subject. "How'd you take care of the body?"

"Tom!" Liz hissed, shooting a glare towards him and he held up his hands in defense.

"It's a valid question."

Ressler flinched just a little and took a long sip from the spiked tea Tom had given him. "I called someone. Henry Prescott. He was… Reddington introduced us when Prescott led us to Reven's body."

"Did you give him your name?"

It was Ressler's turn to shoot him a glare. "I'm not an idiot."

"Just making sure."

Liz had to bite back her irritation. Tom, in his own way, was watching out for Ressler as much as she was. He was being practical about the situation and making sure that a man that preferred to stay well within the law didn't have that same law crush him. He was handling that side of it, and it was up to Liz to try to navigate the emotional side. "Walk us through it, Ress," she said softly.

He swallowed hard, squeezing his eyes closed and gripping the mug of tea tightly. After a long moment his eyes slid back open and his gaze was distant. "She…. Gave me my badge back. She said she wanted to make it clear what she expected in return for taking out the investigation into the Task Force. She grabbed me and I just… hell," he breathed. "I don't know if I hit her or jerking away made her lose her balance, but she fell. Hit her head. She was gone before I even knew what happened."

He was shaking again and Liz carefully took the mug from his hands before it fell. "Ress, look at me." She waited until he did and she held his gaze. "This is not your fault."

"I killed her, Keen."

"You didn't do it on purpose."

"I… I don't know. I hated her. She…. just looking at her I got so angry. Free and clear after everything she's done and that smug look like she knew it…."

"Hey," she said softly, reaching forward and touching his hand. "I know you, Ressler. You're a good man. You wanted her behind bars. This isn't your fault."

"I covered it up. I should-"

"Stop," she said, a bit more sharply than she meant to. "Do you remember a few years ago when I told you I was going to turn myself in for the harbormaster murder?" She did her best to focus on Ressler and not Tom who had taken a seat in one of the chairs a few feet away.

"Yeah," Ressler managed.

"I didn't kill the man, but I felt like I did because I covered it up. I was… responsible for the situation we were all in right then and…" She swallowed hard. "And you convinced me that the work we do, the lives we save in the Task Force-"

"This is different, Keen. This is no one's life but my own. If you went to jail, the Task Force would have been disbanded. If I go, you're just a man down."

"That's crap and you know it," Liz growled. "You're my partner. You're an important member of our team. You're family, and if Laurel Hitchin's body rots in some flower bed so you don't have to rot in jail, that's more than a fair trade."

Ressler sat still on the couch for a long moment, staring at her. He glanced over to Tom who offered him a shrug. "Hitchin tried to have Liz assassinated. I say let her rot."

Liz's partner loosed a breath, a shaky chuckle escaping on it. "I should have known better than to come to the Keen household and expect you guys to tell me I did the wrong thing."

"You're my partner, Ress. I'm going to have your back. No matter what. And you will get through this. I'll be with you every step of the way. Any time."

His smile was strained but real. "Thanks, Keen."

Notes: I've been chattering over on Tumblr with several people over how it'd be great to see Ressler reach out to someone about this, so I really wanted to work it in somewhere, and I'm actually rather pleased with the way it panned out in the end. I just want to wrap Ress in a blanket and protect him after that finale, but at least his partner can do it for me. And I'm pretty sure Tom was ready to go bury a body if needbe lol

Please feel free to leave your thoughts! Reviews really do help me write :D

Next time - Nez and Solomon uncover bad news all around, Reddington makes contingency plans, and Tom confronts his father.

[ilikemovies26]

Whump 005 Continuation

@whumpthatiwant I'm sorry that I'm using your original idea as a premise for this post without your permission. It's just that your post was so amazing that I couldn't help but write down all the ideas it inspired. If anyone hasn't checked out the original "Whump 005" post, you should... like right now. It's amazing! @blackhatsbea this is just for you: a continuation of my continuation of "Whump 005". *** "Yes," the student sighed, "you do." The professor contemplated arguing for a brief moment, but he knew that he would be fighting a losing battle. He could hardly breathe without fiery agony stabbing at his chest, never mind walking to his car with all of his books and papers and his laptop. So, he said nothing. Instead, he simply nodded and let himself lean on the student. The student supported his weight without protest, despite being almost half his height and certainly less than half his weight. The professor's tall, muscular body had seemingly shrunk as he curled in on himself as they walked, in a poor attempt to lessen the pain. The student tried to ignore the professor's strained wheezes as they walked. Occasionally, she would glance at him; she would stare at his face, at the way his unruly, wavy brown hair was matted with blood, at the way his one eye was so swollen that he couldn't open it, and the other was surrounded by black bruising, making the bright green of his eye pop. For the first time - because his matted hair was pulled off of his bloodied forehead - the student noticed a scar, long and white against his olive skin. It ran over the professor's one eyebrow and into his hairline. "Where's your car?" The student asked as she fumbled with his papers and laptop, haphazardly shoving everything into his briefcase and slipping it under her arm. His body was unusually hot against hers, and he was trembling so viciously that it reverberated through her. "At the top," he said, his usually raspy voice now weak and strained with pain. The student gulped; that was the furthest parking lot from where they were - the lecture venue at the other end of the campus. "How am I supposed to get you to your car without anyone seeing?" She asked, thinking out loud. "You're not. I said I don't need help." The professor argued, but his point became moot as he suddenly turned an ugly shade of green and pulled himself from her grasp. He collapsed by a trash can just in time, as vomit - consisting mostly of bile - erupted from his mouth in a never-ending stream. The student fell to her knees beside him, placing a calming hand on his sweaty back. He was in shock, or pain, or both. She had to look away as he heaved, trying not to be sick herself. She had to stay there for him; he had done it for her many times before. He was a kind man: the kind of guy that went the extra mile to ensure every one of his students passed; the kind of guy that was willing to help his students in whatever way he could, even if it meant he could get fired. He had helped her. He had stayed behind after lectures to talk to her when she had fallen asleep on the desk, and when she had shown up to class crying, and when she had tried to cover up a black eye with makeup. He had been there for her - maintaining a professional relationship, but ensuring that he was approachable and a support structure for her. After what felt like hours - but had only been a few minutes - and the professor had stopped dry heaving and shaking, the student helped him back to his feet. He groaned and wrapped his arm around his chest tightly as she helped him rise. His legs almost gave out beneath him, and his had to press his forehead against her shoulder to ground himself. Once he was relatively steady, he straightened as much as his damaged body would allow - which wasn't much. His blood and sweat stained her dress and spread across her arm and shoulder. "Here," she said, handing him his jacket, "put this on." He slowly slipped it on, his movements halting and painful to watch. Despite his broad shoulders and intimidating physical appearance, he looked weak and vulnerable as he stood in front of her - hunched and shivering, breathing so hard that she would swear he had just run a marathon. "Good, that hides the blood." She lied, grimacing as she tried to adjust herself under his arm so as to hide the blood staining his shirt. The next challenge was to try to get him to his car without being noticed. She knew it was impossible, but she figured that if they did it quickly enough and without making a fuss, she could brush it off as something insignificant the next day. Soon, it would be forgotten. She hoped. She prayed. She begged. The first few minutes of walking were filled with awkward silence as they tried to find a rhythm. Any movement too fast aggravated the professor's clearly serious injuries, but any movement too slow looked suspicious. Wandering students and lecturers glanced at the couple suspiciously, either alerted by the site of a professor with his arm around a young student, or by the fact that he was sweating despite the chill in the air, and he was wheezing and panting. His gait was slow and clumsy; he kept tripping over the uneven surface, and the student strained to keep him standing. "Why did they do that to you?" The student asked, trying to distract her lecturer as she noticed him getting heavier on her shoulders. A million thoughts were ringing in her head, but that question was in the forefront. It was strange for her: she was a decade younger than him, but at that moment she felt older. She felt like he needed protection and she was the only option. Maybe it was the way his large, bloodied hand was gripping her so tightly that it hurt; maybe it was the way he kept looking at her as if she was the only thing he trusted at that point in time; maybe it was because he had faith in her ... enough so to let her guide him through the university. "I can't tell you," the lecturer managed to whisper through gritted teeth. His usually perfectly straight, white teeth were covered in blood, and his left incisor was chipped. His full lips were twisted into a heartbreaking grimace of agony. Every few minutes, the student had to stop to let the professor catch his breath. In these breaks, he would lean against a wall - his grip on her never being released - and he would try to be quiet as he took shaky, uneven breaths. His face was scrunched up in pain, his shoulders tense and the veins in his forearm bulging. The walk to his car was far more difficult than the student initially believed it would be. "It's not fair, you know," the student argued, having to readjust her grip so as not to drop the lecturer nor the briefcase once they managed to get going again. After every break, it became harder and harder to keep the lecturer up. She felt like she was the only thing keeping him upright. Turns out, she was. Her arms ached with the effort of holding him up, and her face was drenched in sweat from the exertion. "You exposed all of us to that and you aren't even going to explain yourself?" "I can't." The lecturer argued weakly. His sentences were nothing more than breathless words said between pained gasps and grunts. She tried to ignore the sounds he was making, because it made his pain too obvious, and it broke her heart. It had become increasingly obvious that everyone they were walking past knew something was wrong, because people stopped mid-conversation to turn and stare, or to take photographs, or to dial who-knows-who. The student accepted that that couldn't be helped, and by that point she only hoped that someone had already called an ambulance. She suddenly realized that she hadn't been thinking ahead: what was the professor going to do once he got to his car? He couldn't drive in the shape he was in, and she wouldn't let him, anyway. Why hadn't she just called an ambulance? "You know that by the end of the day, the entire faculty and student body will know, right?" The student sighed. She was on autopilot; her heart was racing; blood roared in her ears; tears welled in her eyes. How had she gotten herself involved? "I just... I need, uh..." the lecturer stammered, suddenly becoming dead weight in her arms. He fell to his knees on the brick path in the university gardens. She toppled over beside him. In the sun, the blood looked brighter, and his skin looked paler. His usually bright, sea green eyes were hazy and unfocused. Bruises were blossoming on every exposed part of his body, and it suddenly became obvious that he was bleeding from some sort of wound at the base of his skull. The blood was seeping through his clothing rapidly. "I'm sorry," the professor gasped, collapsing onto all fours. His one arm lifted and wrapped around his chest, staying there as he let his forehead rest against the floor. "What's wrong?" The student cried, frantically crawling closer to him. She was close to tears as she became aware of all the students and other lecturers surrounding them. They were watching with a mixture of concern and horror. "What's wrong?" She repeated, unaware of the tears suddenly streaming down her hot cheeks. "I... the world is spinning." Was all the lecturer offered before he went limp, collapsing in a heap on his side. The gathering crowd gasped, and the student simply dropped to a sitting position and placed the lecturer's head on her lap. Her heart pounded hard and fast, vision blurring, panic rising, as the sound of sirens neared the university.

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #85

“so you can throw me to the wolves; tomorrow i will come back, leader of the whole pack.”

when was the last time you saw the person you like?   february what are you listening to?   markiplier playing "scp containment breach."  going on a nostalgia binge. would you take back your last boyfriend/girlfriend?   nope.  tyler wasn't for me. are there certain things that can’t be joked about with you?   rape and abortion. have you ever had a controlling boyfriend/girlfriend?   no. would you be upset if you caught your boyfriend looking at porn?   i'd be fucking pissed.  not out of jealousy, but because it's lustful and just generally disgusting. your last ex calls wanting to hangout, what do you say?   probably "stop fucking harassing me." do you have a friend named ashley?   no, but that's my older sister's name. are you an aunt or an uncle?   yep. did you use to watch blues clues?   of course. are you a twilight fan?   i never was. when’s the last time you threw up?   couple weeks ago.  one of my pills makes me sick sometimes. do you stutter when you get nervous?   terribly. what is your favorite superhero movie?   "ghost rider," if you count him. do you think that aliens exist?   no. do you own a pair of converses?   i've got a few. do you regret your last relationship?   i sure do. do you plan on having children in the future?   currently, no.  i really don't think i'm capable of raising another human being efficiently. when did you last go to the doctor and what for?   i went to my therapy appointment a few days ago. are you socially awkward?   agonizingly would you rather watch a comedy movie or horror movie?   horror if you could choose to be any mythical character, which would you choose?   dragon what is your favorite animal and why?   meerkats.  they're adorable, unspeakably brave and loyal, and so curious. do you find yourself on youtube a lot?   it's always open. what is something that reminds you of your childhood?   dinosaurs what show do you miss coming on television?   "meerkat manor" :( have you ever tried opening your eyes under water?   yeah.  don't like doing it though. have you ever been admitted to the hospital?   five times. do you have a hint of obsessive compulsive disorder?   a bit.  i used to have baaad repetitive thought cycles when i was younger. do you use any acne medication?   nah.  i don't really get acne anymore. if you’re offered a trip to either hawaii or alaska which would you choose?   alaska what cause (feminism, gay rights, abortion, etc) are you most passionate about?   the pro-life movement how much money have you saved by shop lifting?   what the fuck?!  i don't shoplift to begin with.  wtf. do you hate when couples are like “i love you” after dating for about 2 days?   it's ignorant as fuck to say, yes.  those are dangerous fucking words. have you ever run away?   yes. ever been attacked by a dog?   no.  my little sister has, though.  i'm pretty sure she still has the scar. ever had an out-of-body experience?   no. ever considered acupuncture?   noooo. do you prefer gory horror films or the psychological ones?   PSYCHOLOGICAL do you have a favorite youtuber? or do you not watch much youtube?   rhett&link + markplier are my literal babes. who do you text the most? or do you like to text at all?   sara. do you like ronnie james dio?   \m/, motherfucker. ever given a tattoo before? would you like to?   no.  i have tremors, so that'd be a terrible idea. have you ever had a pet bird?   no. do you have any siblings that you never seen before?   one half-sister, yes. have you ever heard a song that made you cry?   most notably johnny cash's version of "hurt."  the first time i listened to it, i couldn't help but cry.  like i know it's a cover, but his version just personifies pain. do you like the show “that 70s show”?   it's probably like my second-favorite show.  it's fucking hysterical. has your house ever been broken in to?   thank god no.  the bloods tried to break into our old house though while my older sister and her old best friend were home alone.  they were terrified. do you listen to blink-182?   some of their songs are great, sure.  i like a couple. do you listen to nirvana?   sometimes. what thumb do you use to hit the space bar with?   my right. do you like regular or chocolate milk better?   chocolate growing up, did you listen to country music?   not usually by will, but i did regardless.  my older sister usually controlled the radio and such.  if i wanted to listen to music on my own time, it was usually mainstream pop. do you have a gazebo at your house?   no do you like tomatoes?   nooo. what type of waffles do you like? (plain, blueberry etc..)   plain do you like chicken or beef better? or do you not eat meat?   i prefer chicken. did america really put a man on the moon?   yes. have you ever dated outside of your race?   for less than a day. were you born in a hospital, or somewhere else?   in a hospital. who is your favorite male singer?   patrick stump from fall out boy. do you listen to any acoustic bands, or singers?   not specifically. what is your birthstone?   amethyst do you go in at a fast food place or just hit the drive thru?   just go to the drive-thru.  i mean, isn't that the point of a fast food restaurant, to get food quickly and easily? do you like chinese food over pizza?   nope. if someone you know offered you pot, what would you say?   well first, i'd say no, and two, i'd most likely dissociate from that person.  i in no way get involved with drugs. have you ever been to a strip club?   hell no. how was/is the food in the cafeteria at your school?   some were actually pretty decent, others were hellish. what is your favorite song?   "do i wanna know?" by the arctic monkeys what do you think of the name courtney?   i like it. do you have a wild side?   not really, honestly. ever gone boating all day?   i've been on a boat while fishing most of the day, but not like, all day. what is your favorite thing about going to your grandma’s house?   honestly?  nothing.  i don't even get along with my grandma. do you like eggs?   only if they're scrambled and cheesy. who are your heroes?   mark fischbach and my mom. do you know who rodney atkins is?   i live in the south, buddy.  take a guess. are you tall?   no. when is the last time you wore a dress?   my sister's wedding. what is the last alcoholic beverage you’ve had?   a strawberry smirnoff. do you know someone that smiles ALL the time?   no.  that'd be freaky. who is the hottest person alive?   link neal, boys and girls. are you ready for summer?   hell no.  i hate everything about summer. do you like the sun or do you like snow better?   snow!! don’t you love pancakes?   hell ye boi. quick name a country singer:   tim mcgraw.  the only one i sincerely like. who did you last have an alcoholic drink with?   family. ever had fruit pizza?   ew, no.  fruit doesn't belong on pizza. do you know anyone named caleb?   i'm acquainted with one.  he's cool. how many friends do you have on facebook?   around 110, i think a little more? what was on the last sandwich you ate?   peanut butter. what sort of music did you listen to when you were in high school?   the same stuff i listen to now: heavy metal.  i went through a phase where i listened to even heavier, more emo-styled bands, though. what is your favorite thai dish?   never tried any. how many contacts do you have in your phone?   i think like 15, lol. when was the last time you made out with somebody?   around a year and a half. what month of the year was your mother born?   august. how many apps do you have on your phone?   only four.  my phone doesn't have a lot of memory. have you ever dated a smoker? if not, would you?   i haven't, and no, i honestly wouldn't. would you rather travel to japan or scotland?   hmmmm... i THINK japan, but i'm honestly unsure. what is your mother’s first name?   donna. do you share a middle name with any of your siblings?   yes. have there ever been any bushfires/wildfires in your area?   it's possible i guess, but i don't think so. how would you label your sexual orientation?   heterosexual do you consider your goals easily achievable or are they pretty grand?   eh, kinda in-between... my only real goal is to be a photographer, but the photography industry is SUPER competitive. what’s your favorite vegetable?   broccoli is yummy.  especially with cheese. would you rather eat italian or indian food?   italian have you ever missed a flight?   no. can you name five adjectives describing you?   passionate, shy, sleepy, nervous, and loyal. do you prefer long or short hair on the opposite sex?   a bit long. what is your favorite soda?   mountain dew what is your opinion on legalizing drugs?   you are honestly naive if you believe that's a good idea.  no offense. do you like country music?   no. have you ever done something illegal more than once?   yes. if you could marry any celebrity, who would it be?   mark fischbach omg can you swim?   yes. what are your fears?   pregnancy/childbirth, closed spaces, being alone in the end, long-legged spiders, the ocean, whale sharks, maggots/larvae, other things... do you shave your arms even though it supposedly grows back thick?   no. do you ever get too lazy to clean up your pet’s pee and leave it for your parents to do it?   i clean my dog's pee because he's my responsibility.  if cali pees, i tell mom.  bentley, i tell nicole. what insects or bugs do you fear most?   rhino beetles and wasps do you think weed is just as bad as cigarettes?   it's fact that it's worse.  it has more carcinogens. don’t you just love free samples?   obviously. are you someone’s best friend?   no. have you ever used alternative medicine or old-fashioned remedies?   i don't think so. what color and style is your hair?   it's red, but with overgrown roots. do you wear glasses?   yeah. do you want kids?   no.  there's just no way i'd be able to properly take care of a kid. what if you were in a fire and you could only save one object, what would it be?   i'm guessing family and pets are already safe?  then in that case, my laptop. what if you could ask god any one question, what would it be?   "why do people who aren't sure whether or not they believe in you go to hell?" what if you found a suitcase full of $1,000,000, what would you do?   honestly, i'd look for identification.  i just couldn't take that much money with a good conscience. what if you had to choose, would you give up your sight or your hearing?   sight.  i couldn't live in total silence. what if you saw a robbery, would you report it?   obviously??? what if you were given a chance to go to the moon, would you go? why or why not?  no.  i don't want to be in space that long. what if your friend could not have a child, would you carry her child for her?   honestly, no. my 1st job was:   game stop sales clerk favorite dog breed:   hmmm.  i really really like akita inus.  papillons, too. assuming you had the cash to make it happen, what would your ideal living situation be at this point in your life (i.e. with who, where, under what circumstances, etc.)?  how does your ideal compare to your current situation?   i don't have anyone i'd like to live with besides who i do now, but i know i'd really like a wood house in the woods by a waterfall.  it'd be different from where i live now, definitely.  we live right beside a road that leads to a small town. if someone were to travel to your city (assuming they have never been there before), what would you tell them to visit? is your city (or the closest larger city to you) a big tourist area at all?  lmao there's nothing to really visit.  and no. if, as a parent of a teenager, you knew that your teenage daughter was having sex/thinking about having sex, would you put her on birth control pills? do you agree or disagree with those who say that placing teenagers on the pill encourages promiscuous sex? if you’re on the pill, how old were you when you went on it? if you’re not, have you ever considered taking it?   i'd be pretty heavily trying to influence her to not have sex as a teen, but if that's what she really wanted, yes, i'd put her on the pill.  i don't believe it encourages promiscuous sex, no.  i was put on the pill when i was like... maybe 16, but only due to severe period cramps. what is the worst example of poverty you have seen in person? does this make you feel guilty at all (say, for throwing out food that you didn’t finish)?   the saddest thing i saw, actually recently, was a pregnant woman with her husband in the pouring rain with just a small umbrella and a sign.  can't remember what it said, honestly, but it was depressing.  and of course i feel guilty. do you look at sex as a special thing that is shared with someone you love, or do you treat sex more casually? if you are a virgin, are you waiting for the right person to come along, or do you have religious/moral reasons to wait?   it is 100% something special you share with hopefully one person.  and i'm waiting for both reasons. do you unfriend people on facebook who post endless status updates or seem to be begging for attention? what about family members or coworkers – are you comfortable accepting their friend requests?  is there anything on your facebook that could potentially cause trouble for you if someone were to see it?   if you're fishing for attention, hell yes i do.  i don't put up with that.  and i take invites from family, yes.  but i guess my use of profanity could cause some nasty looks from some of my family, particularly my grandma. when you have a significant other, are you honest about everything with that person, or do you think that there are some things better left unsaid? do you want your significant other to be willing to tell you anything and everything as well?   i'm entirely open.  and yes. grossest memory:   that one time my late lizard pooped aaall over my hands and shirt.  i nearly puked. what do you think of "abstinence"?   it's the safest option for everyone. don’t you just hate preachers?   uhhh, nooo...? does a mango smoothie sound good to you now?  omgggg yaaaas what’s something that you find trashy?  very short shorts.  cover your ass, please. crayons or markers?   crayons would you rather receive roses or sunflowers?   roses. do you like to stay in your pajamas all day long?   honestly, i'm always in my pajamas unless i have to go somewhere. mints or chewing gum?   gum. at one point of your life, have you been obsessed with dinosaurs or robots?   dinosaurs, yes.  i was obsessed as a kid.  i still think they're cool. have you ever been in a car accident?   yes. are you afraid of stink bugs?   yeah, they look freaky. are you interested in anime?  somewhat, sure. name your favorite cartoon.   pokemon are you afraid of the dentist?   nah. do you believe in abortion?  no. have you ever tried jolly rancher candy canes?   YUUUUM, yes ;v; do you go hunting?   no. what is your biggest accomplishment in life so far?   recovering. do documentaries bore you?   if they're about animals, no. are you usually happy or sad most of the time?  happy, as of the late. (: are you afraid of spiders?   most, yes. what is your most prized possession?  the plaque i have for graduating in the very top percentage of my class. do you sleep with your closet doors open or closed?  closed. have you ever peed in the woods?   no. ever used a gun?   no. who would you like to see in concert?  METALLICA, PLSSSSSS what’s your second favorite color?   pink do you know any african spiritual songs?   no. what kind of stuff do you like on your hot dogs?   mustard and ketchup. what’s one thing that’s happened to you that has made you a stronger person?   jason breaking up with me. what’s one thing that’s happened to you in your life that made you feel weak?   again, jason leaving. who do you think has had the largest influence on the person you are today?   myself? what is one thing you feel your life is missing?   adventure, definitely.  action. which blink-182 song do you think is the most depressing?   that i know?  "i miss you." what color lights are on your christmas tree?   we use colorful ones every year. are there hurricanes where you live?   yep. have you ever been to a rehab center?   i guess that depends on what you mean by "rehab center."  never a place exclusively to get off drugs, no.  but the mental hospitals i've been to doubled as detox centers.  which was remarkably stupid.  you don't treat mental illness patients the same as patients going through detox??? what’s your favorite flavor of ramen?   i don't like ramen. have you ever been given an ink blot test? if so, what did you see in it?   in a therapy thing, yes actually.  and i mean, lots of things?  i was shown various things. are you friends with someone who is a stoner?   no.  wait, yes actually.  but we don't really talk much anymore. do you like playing shooting games at the arcade?   nah. how long have you lived in the house you live in?   only like two months. where did you lose your virginity, if you have?   n/a what color car(s) do your parents drive?   i think dad's is black, mom's is white. what are your views on getting rid of the penny?   i don't really care. which asian country would you most like to visit?   japan have you ever had a nosebleed?   hasn't everyone at one point or another? do you have bangs?   no. have you ever kissed someone underneath mistletoe?   i don't think so. do you have a weak stomach?   no. which website do you spend the most time on?   youtube.  it's always open/i'm always listening to something, usually let's plays. have you ever kissed someone of a different race?   he kissed me, i didn't kiss him. do you read fanfiction? if so, what fandoms?   no, actually. would you go back to your ex if he/she asked you?   tyler, definitely not.  jason, not right away.  he'd definitely have to prove himself to me again. do you like stars, or hearts better?   hearts mickey mouse, or winnie the pooh?   pooh! where is the best place to get ice cream?   coldstone, brother.

[kpopausandscenarios]

Radio Station **~~** Min Yoongi One-Shot

So this is a original character story, I really hope you enjoy it, this was orginally posted on my Mibba .

Yoongi opened his laptop and clicked into the radio show, it was silent for a few more seconds before the voice that he had grown to love spoke. "Good evening you guys, glad I made it in time. We were having some really weird technical difficulties." Her voice let of a soft giggle, just the sound made the music major smile. He pulled out his music theory text and began to read over the passages they were going to be going over the next day during class.

"Next we have another anonymous submission. This song is titled 'I Am You, You Are Me'. “ A slower song began to flow out of the speakers on his computer. He would never admit it to anyone but he really just listened to the radio show because he liked the way the host sounded. She had a honey sweet tone when she spoke about music, her voice always calming and even.

Sohyun let out a sigh as she finished her radio show for the evening, it was already past 9:30. She turned in her office chair and closed her laptop, the sound booth and the office just out side of it were both empty. Heechul and Leeteuk had left after solving the broadcasting issue. She was completely alone. She thought back to her Music Theory class and decided she should go get a coffee and work on the reading for it. She shoved her laptop into her backpack and pulled the drawstring closed. She grabbed her phone off the desk and stood to leave.

The radio show ended and Yoongi looked up from his text, Namjoon was seated on the bed next to his. "How was work?" The older of the two questioned. "Hm? Oh it was pretty good, I had a couple people come in for consultations and I did the shading on that half sleeve I started a couple weeks ago." The philosophy major answered with a slight smile on his lips. "Music show already over? I was surprised she was playing Jiho's song, he usually doesn't send them in." "I didn't know he was submitting anonymously." Yoongi said, an eyebrow arched. "Yeah, he mentioned that he'd sent a couple of his songs in a while ago but he didn't put his name on them." Yoongi nodded as he closed his book and sat up from his bed. "Going to get coffee?" "Yeah, I'm gonna be up for a while longer."

Sohyun walked into the coffee shop looking around she noticed the lack of people, it was surprising due to finals creeping up on everyone. The ever cheerful Park Jimin stood behind the counter waiting to take orders and offer service with a smile. "Sohyun-noona!" He greeted with a grin. "Jimmine." She smiled slightly. "I was just thinking about you!" the younger man grinned even wider and commented "I listened to the show tonight! It was great, like always." "Kamsahamnida." She said with a slightly warm face. "What can I get for you?" "An iced Americano if you could, I'm sorry. I know it's really late and you probably want to go home soon." "Not a problem at all! What's the extra work? Major or minor?" "Minor, my music theory professor assigned a lot of reading for tomorrow so I figured I'd get coffee and do it really quickly." "Sure, I'll get that right out for you!" She passed him her card and he swiped it quickly.

"Hyung!" Jimin's voice filled the small shop a moment after the small bell on the door chimed. "Jimin-ah." A raspy and exasperated voice commented.

Sohyun looked up to see a young man with messy bleached out hair standing before her, he was in her music theory class. He had a rather annoyed expression on his handsome face. They made brief eye contact and she looked away quickly.

"Sohyun-noona! Here you go~!" Jimin practically sang as he brought her Americano over to her. "Kamsahamnida." She said bowing her head and speaking quietly. She turned her gaze back onto her book, deciding she should probably focus on what she was supposed to be doing.

"Americano." The raspy voiced boy said. "Hot or iced?" Jimin asked. "Hot." Yoongi glanced at Sohyun, she was one of the smartest people in their music theory class. She always seemed to have the highest grades, but she never spoke. He'd heard her say one word and that was as Jimin handed her the coffee she's apparently ordered. The music major took a seat at one of the tables near her as he waited for his coffee.

"Hyung, have you met Sohyun-noona? She's a brilliant piano player!" "We share a music theory class." The older man commented looking up from his book. "Oh! She's such a nice person, I was talking to Jin-hyung about her the other day. Sohyun-noona," Jimin called out. "Ne?" She said softly looking up at him. Her black hair falling over her eyes, her wire framed glasses slipping down her nose bridge. "Seokjin-hyung was wondering if you'd be coming by our building any time soon, he wants you to try something he's been working on for class." "Ah, um. Well, I'll text him and ask him about it." Sohyun's voice sounded so familiar, Yoongi couldn't put his finger on why. Maybe she said stuff during class and he was used to hearing it there.

She rose from her seat and put her book into her bag, she bowed politely to both Yoongi and Jimin and paused before leaving. "Have a good night Jimmine." She dropped her head and then quickly left. The door shut with a slight ring of the bell connected to the top. "She's so kind." Jimin commented thoughtfully. "Hm." Was all Yoongi could manage. "I think you two are very similar. I was actually talking to Jin-hyung about it the other day, he agreed with me. You two are very focused on what you want in life, you're both quiet, but extremely intelligent." "Are you trying to hint at something Jimin?" Yoongi raised a brow. "I just think you two would look nice together, that's all."

Yoongi leaned against the table unable to put his finger on why Sohyun's voice was so familiar, he was almost sure she never spoke in class. How had he become accustomed to hearing it? He felt his shoulders slump and he gave up that train of thought to focus on his book again.

Sohyun wracked her brain to recall the blonde boy's name. She laid in bed staring up at her ceiling, it finally hit her. "Min Yoongi." She muttered quietly, finally able to remember the boys name. He usually gave all the answers with confidence, his rough outer appearance had no holding on his skills in music. Sohyun had watched him compose a piece in one sitting during a study class their instructor had given them. He wrote and edited it all in the two hour study period. She could feel her eyes getting heavier as she laid in her bed. Finally they slid shut and she drifted off to sleep.

Sohyun looked over at Jihoon who was sitting a seat away staring at his text intently. Out of the corner of her eye she saw someone sit down beside her. She glanced over and saw Yoongi sitting right beside her, it was strange because he usually sat near the front in the middle rather than towards the back of the stadium seating with her and Jihoon. There were less people around them so it was easier to concentrate. "Is this seat taken?" His deep and lazy voice asked. "No." She mumbled, looking away quickly. She wasn't use to him sitting so close. From this close range she was able to look at his face, he was extremely handsome.

He wore a pair of thicker framed black glasses, his hair mused like he'd just rolled from bed. He wore a loose fitting white t-shirt over a pair of black ripped up jeans. A leather jacket slung over the back of his seat. Sohyun once again forced herself to look away from him like she had in the coffee shop. She could hear the casual tapping of his pencil on the wooden desk top.

Their professor came in and quickly began to lecture. Sohyun felt relieved that her mind was more distracted now that she was taking notes and not paying a great deal of attention to Min Yoongi. He was a closed off person, not to much unlike herself.

"Sohyunie!" Heechul cooed as she entered the studio. "Heechul-oppa." She smiled at him sweetly. "We shouldn't have any issues tonight, I had Teuk-y look over the equipment once more to make sure. You should take a night off sometime this week! You're here all the time!" "A-ah? But I enjoy it. I don't really have any plans so it's okay." "You should go on dates and interact with the people in your major! For a communications major you sure are closed off." "Eh? I'm sorry." She mumbled looking away from the older man. "No, it's not a bad thing. You really should take the night off on Friday. I insist, as your boss you have to." "Kamsahamnida." She bowed deeply and stood straight up again. "How are classes going?" "I'm doing well. I think the orchestra wants me to perform with them sometime in the next few weeks." "Good! You'll have to tell me so I can come watch you!" He grinned and nudged her side with his elbow. She nodded slightly and looked down at the clock on the wall, her show started in less than fifteen minutes.

Yoongi looked over at his phone to check the time, 8:27. Only a few more minutes until the radio show started. He'd sent a submission in under his stage name, Agust D. He honestly wasn't expecting much to come of it but he hoped to hear it. "Good evening!" Her voice startled him, she had started the show early. The soft, honey sweet tone filled the room. "We got the equipment working in a timely fashion tonight. I figured it'd be okay to start a little early. With finals coming up we've been getting a lot of anon submissions. I guess music is one of the greatest stress relievers."

He wasn't willing to really admit that he'd practically fallen in love with her voice and the personality she projected over the radio. "Our first submission is from one Agust D, the song is called The Last. I was listening through it today during one of my study sessions and it's a really deep song about struggles that a lot of people, especially in college, face. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do." His heart leap up into his throat at her comments over his song.

Sohyun finished playing The Last and smiled to herself, she really loved the song. She played a lot of hiphop because there were a lot of underground rappers on the campus that enjoyed sending their songs into get some airtime. "Our next song comes in from an anon. It's called Awake." She quickly queued up the next song and thought back to The Last, his rough sounding voice discussed the struggles with mental illness. It was simultaneously rough and smooth, a low voice that sounded lazy but still confident. It was the perfect contradiction.

The sound of the office outside of the recording booth's door opening made Sohyun look up from her laptop. The show had ended half an hour prior, she wasn't expecting Heechul to come back. She tensed up but then she saw the grinning face of Park Jimin from the window. "Jiminnie-ah! It's open." She called out. The door was thrown open and the young man grinned at her. "I love the show, like always." "Ah! Good, I'm sure it gets boring to hear me just ramble about music." She chuckled, self-deprecation coloring her tone.

"Nonsense! You have such a calming voice. I feel like people just listen to hear you talk. Anyways! That's not why I'm here." "No? What can I do for you?" "Well you see, there's a friend of mine that needs to relax. You're a lot alike, really. I was wondering if you'd maybe want to go on a date, well it doesn't have to be a date but sorta a date-" "Jimin, the point?" "Right! I was wondering if you two could possibly go to dinner or something this week, I think it'd be great for you both! I feel like you'd really hit it off!" "Um. Well I have Friday off, Heechul-oppa is covering my show." "Ah! Great! I'll check his schedule! I'll text you." The younger of the two grinned at her widely and turned around to leave the room. "Have a good night." "You too, Noona!"

"Hobi-hyung! You should help me convince Yoongi-hyung to go on a date with this person I want to set him up with." "Who is it?" "Have you met Myo Sohyun? She's a Communications major? Plays in the orchestra." "Oh yeah! I've sorta met her, she's really quiet. She'll play piano for some of the Ballet Principle students." "Yeah, don't you think they'd be good together? Get this, she's the host of the nightly music show on the school radio station." "Ah? Yoongi-ah listens to it every night. Does he know it's her?" "I don't think so, he didn't seem to realize it when they talked briefly the other night." "I'd be glad to help you." The taller of the two grinned.

"Yah! Why are you so loud? Don't you two have things to do?" Yoongi all but yelled as Park Jimin and Jung Hoseok leaned across the piano he was practicing on. The pair giggled with large grins. "I really think you should go on the date, she's just your type!" Hoseok commented. "I don't have time." The oldest of the three fought to keep the exasperation from coloring his tone. "Nonsense! Tell you what, if you go on this date I won't come to your dorm and eat your snacks for a whole month." Jimin grinned. "How am I supposed to trust that? You have a key to my dorm." "Hyungggg! I promise!" Jimin all but whined, "You two will really like each other!" "If it gets you two to lay off, fine." "Great! You're free Friday, right?" "I guess." Yoongi mumbled. "Okay! I'll text you a time for the date!" With that Jimin pranced from the practice room, closely followed by Hoseok.

Sohyun glanced at the time again, it was 7:30. She knew that Jimin wanted her to meet this person at a small sushi place a station away from the campus at 8:00. She finished getting dressed, as she began to close the clasp on her necklace her phone started to ring. - Incoming Call from Kim Heechul "Hello-" "Ah! Sohyunnie! I'm so sorry! Apparently my Sociology final got bumped up to tomorrow morning rather than Monday! Who has a test on a Saturday? I really should be studying, I know I told you to take the night off." "You can't make it, that's okay. I don't mind."

She felt bad to admit that she felt the weight lift from her chest at hearing she was needed at the station. "I promise I'll make it up to you, I'll buy you dinner next week as a thank you and I'm sorry." "Okay, fighting oppa!" "Kamasahamnida! Saranghae!"

She quickly sent a text to Jimin explaining that she had to host the show due to the unforeseen test on Heechul's part. He was quick to reply - Ah! That's okay, I'll just send him to the studio. I'm sure it'll be fun for you both! He loves music! She felt her blood temperature drop a bit as he said that. - Ne. Sounds great! Was all she could manage in response to his excited reply.

Yoongi made his way across the campus towards the radio station set up in the communications department. He nervously straightened his jacket and tapped his fingers against his leg as he walked. Finally he found the room where the radio was broadcast from. Inside he saw a figure hunched over a computer, her long black hair cascading over her shoulders. She turned around and he felt his breath catch. Sohyun met his eyes and looked down quickly, she motioned with her hand for him to come inside the room.

This was the voice he'd fallen for? This was the music taste and humor that he admired and love to hear? It all seemed to fit at that moment, that's why her voice had seemed so familiar. He pulled open the door and walked inside.

"Hi." Her soft voice greeted him, she still looked down at the laptop in front of her. He could see the redness on her face as she spoke to him. He wasn't even sure what to say, he felt his face getting hot as well. "Hi, I-ah. Jimin sent me?" "Ne. Ne, I'm sorry about that. I was suppose to have the night off but Heechul-oppa has a test tomorrow." "No! No, it's not a problem." He couldn't bring himself to tell her that he really loved her radio show.

"Make yourself at home, really. I'm sorry, this isn't exactly most peoples ideal first date-er. Well I mean not date but-" "Date..." He smiled slightly, "Really, I don't mind at all." "Do you listen to the radio station?" She questioned, trying to keep her nerves at bay as she set up the equipment for the show which would be starting in a few minutes. "Ne, I listen to your show every night. I usually study to it-aish. Sorry that was embarrassing." He quickly cut himself off, his pale skin turning a shade of dark pink.

"Oh, really? I'm glad someone listens to it at least." She could help but chuckle as she plugged the aux cord into her laptop. "I know a lot of people listen to it, you have a nice voice." Her face felt hot at the sound of his praise. "E-eh?" She looked up, her eyes widening as she took in his blushing face. "U-uh?" He looked away quickly. "I-if it's okay with you, I'm going to start broadcasting now." "Oh, um yeah. You do what you have to, I'll just be here."

Yoongi felt embarrassment flooding his body as he watched her finish getting ready for the show. She flipped a few switches and typed a few things into her laptop and then began to speak into the mic. "Good evening everyone." A smile lit her face as she spoke into the mic. Her melodic voice sounded even nicer in person than it did over the speakers of his laptop. "I have a pretty wonderful selection of music tonight, it wasn't suppose to be me this evening. My sunbaenim was suppose to host tonight but he had a test he needed to study for. Fighting oppa!" She ran her fingers through her hair as she spoke.

As the show went on she got more excited and happy, she ran her fingers through her hair again. As she pulled her pale hands through her thick, black hair and raked it into a bun. She grasped at her wrists for what was apparently a hair elastic. Yoongi smiled to himself, she seemed so comfortable and happy in that setting. "That's gonna be all for tonight, I hope everyone's finals go well! Please tune in on Monday night for more music!"

She flicked a switch and turned in the desk chair to face him. "There we go, sorry." "Don't apologize, you seemed really happy. Plus it was nice to hear you and see you. This really is your element." "I...I should buy you some ramen to make up for this inconvenience." "No, it's really okay. Let's go get some food anyways, come on." He tugged on her hand.

They walked side by side on the way to the station, most of the noise came from the surrounding area. The hum of cars and snippets of others voices could be heard, the cooling air creating a sort of calm. Finally Sohyun spoke, "Do you have any hobbies?" "E-eh? I really enjoy composing and writing lyrics. It's something that gives me piece of mind." "That doesn't surprise me in the least." She giggled softly, "During one of our classes you composed an entire piece off the top of your head. It was really amazing." "What about you?" "I really love to play piano." "You play with the orchestra sometimes, right?" "O-only when you're unavailable." Her face warmed again. "Ah, I should be out more often then. I'd love to hear you play."

"Sohyun-ssi?" Hearing her name she looked up from her bowel to see Yoongi looking away with a slightly red face. "N-ne?" "I didn't fully explain earlier what I meant about your show. I listen to it every evening because your voice helps me concentrate. It's relaxing and soft." "My voice?" Her eyes widened at his statement. He nodded, his messy blond hair falling in his face ever so slightly. She felt her heart lighten and her face get warmer at his unexpected compliment. "Kamsahamnida." She all but whispered.

The last train of the night was almost entirely empty, Yoongi and Sohyun sat beside each other. She pulled her phone from her pocket and some headphones. After a moment she offered one to Yoongi, a slight smile on her lips. "You don't mind?" "I wouldn't offer if I did. Plus you said this is a date, it'd be rude if I just put in my headphones and ignored you." With a small smile he took the earbud. He put it in the ear opposite to the one closest to her.

The sound of his own voice fell into his ear. "I really like this song a lot." She mumbled quietly. "I do too." He smiled to himself, deciding to mention it was his a different day.

Yoongi felt something warm thud against his shoulder, he glanced over and saw the Sohyun's eye were drooping and she was now leaned against his shoulder. A glassy, drowsy look overtaking her features. He decided if she was this tired there was no point in waking her up.

"Sohyun-ssi?" "Ne?" She yawned quietly. "Our stop is next." "Mm." She sat up and blinked a couple times, her face started to redden. "Ah, that was really forward of me. I'm sorry, so sorry." She bowed her head quickly, now seeming fully awake. "I don't mind." He said softly.

They exited the station next to the campus, the wind that seemed so calm and cool seemed to have picked up making it colder. Yoongi walked closer to her, his manners causing him to walk on the outside of the sidewalk to keep her as far from the street as possible. "Thank you for being willing to endure such an...odd, first date." Sohyun finally commented as they neared the campus. "It was wonderful." He said earnestly. He watched in delight as she smiled widely at him, her lips pulling back to reveal a sweet gummy smile. "We should do this again." He commented nonchalantly. "Ne." She said quietly.

"Here, let me walk you to your dorm." Yoongi said offering his arm to her. She slowly reached out and grasped it, her pale hand contrasting with the black leather of his jacket. She took in his profile; his pale skin and blond hair stark against the night time scenery around them. Looking over him she noticed the small things, his ears were lined with a few piercings. His lips quirked up into a slight smile as he spoke of music. He had beautiful lips, his voice was so relaxing. Lazy and rough but smooth and soft at the same time. As they slowly walked towards her dorm building it seemed bittersweet to part so quickly.

"Yoongi-ssi?" She finally said as the stopped in front of her building. "Ne?" He looked over at her with a slight smile on his face. "Um," She faltered, not sure if she wanted to mention the fact that she'd had a crush on him all semester. "I wanted to mention the face that I'vehadacrushonyoumostofthesemester." He blinked as if processing and deciphering what she had even said. "Good, I feel the same." He finally said, a smile on his lips. "I hope this isn't to forward."

As the words left him he pulled her closer to him, their lips pressed together lightly. The heat that radiated from him warming her body as they stood pressed against each other. Warm bursts of air fell against their faces as they look at each other, their breathing slightly heavy. "We should really do this again." Yoongi finally whispered.

[gizmrcom]

This is a story about how ended up buying Asus Tuf FX505DT.

Hello, I’m “dreamer” and this is my first post in Gzimr.com. I hope you like it. In this post I’m going to explain my thought process behind choosing my gaming laptop and why I ended up buying Asus Tuf FX505DT. Hopefully, if you also think like me, you can also choose this laptop and it will never disappoint you.

First, let’s talk about myself. I’m a gizmo addict and have a lot of interest in trying various gizmos. Being a gizmo addict I also have enough interest in playing games casually. I do not say that I’m a hardcore gamer, but I do play occasionally.

Being a corporate employee, I do not spend hours and hours playing games, but when I play I demand flawless performance. I’m a highly skillful gamer as well and look to finish games with the utmost perfection.

Since my old laptop has given up, I have been in the market for a good gaming laptop. Being an Indian, I seek value for money and would like to get as much value as can from my hard-earned money. So, I literally spent a whole month researching various options and dissecting what I want and what I can get in the market for the budget I have of Rs.50,000.

First, let’s start with the basics. When I say I wanted to buy a gaming laptop, the laptop should have a very good graphic card or GPU.

When I say I wanted to buy a gaming laptop, the laptop should have a very good GPU.

GPU (Nvidia GTX 1650):

The challenge is to find the laptop with a capable of GPU that can play all the latest games at full resolution with at least at 30FPS. There are quite a few choices to choose from and here is the list.

Nvidia GTX 1050 & GTX 1050Ti

Prices of Laptops with this GPU starts at Rs.49,999

Older generation

Can play most of the AAA titles at full resolution

AMD RX560X

Prices of Laptops with this GPU starts at Rs.46,999

Less powerful than the GTX 1050

Power-hungry GPU

Nvidia GTX 1650

Prices of Laptops with this GPU starts at Rs.49,999

Latest generation and upgrade to older GTX 1050 and GTX 1050Ti

Thinner and more power-efficient

Nvidia GTX 1660Ti

Prices of Laptops with this GPU starts at Rs.74,999

Super powerful and can handle almost any game at Ultra settings

Future proof

Nvidia RTX 2060

Prices of Laptops with this GPU starts at Rs.79,999

Ultra-powerful GPU

We don’t have to know more about this as it is already out of the budget and I definitely don’t do justice for all the power it has

You could see from the above list that, it doesn’t make any sense to buy laptops with older generation GPUs, so laptops with GTX 1050 and AMD RX560X have been removed from the shortlist. Now the choice is between the laptops which have GTX 1650 and GTX 1660Ti. Even though I crave for more power, GTX 1660Ti is clearly out of my budget.

GTX 1650 actually fits my bill rather perfectly well. It is the latest generation and has enough power to push any game to its limits. Finally I decided that my laptop is going to have GTX 1650 GPU.

GTX 1650 actually fits the bill rather perfectly well. It is the latest generation and has enough power to push any game to its limits.

CPU (Ryzen 5):

A capable GPU along with capable CPU makes experience rather wonderful. As I have already finalized the GPU, the list of laptops has drastically come down along with list of CPUs.

Now I have two options.

Intel Core i5 9th Gen

Prices of Laptops with this GPU starts at Rs.59,999

Very Good Battery Life

Sustained performance under continuous load

AMD Ryzen 5 3550H

Prices of Laptops with this GPU starts at Rs.49,999

Mediocre Battery Life

Performance is equivalent to Core i5 8th generation

These two CPUs are powerful and the difference is visible only when pushed hard. For day to day tasks, they offer similar performance and hard to distinguish what is what. As I only use this laptop at home, battery life is not a big concern for me.

So, I couldn’t justify Rs.10,000 extra for Intel Core i5 over AMD Ryzen 5 variant and I decided I will stick to AMD Ryzen version with GTX 1650 GPU.

I couldn’t justify Rs.10,000 extra for Intel Core i5 over AMD Ryzen 5 variant

Storage:

This is one important aspect everybody should pay attention to. SSD storage is almost 10X faster than HDD storage. As was my previous laptop has an HDD and Apple Macbook Air which I use it officially has an SSD, every time I could feel the difference. After this experience, I decided that my next laptop is going to have an SSD for sure and HDD no longer cut it for me.

SSD storage is almost 10X faster than HDD storage

Shortlist of Laptops

As I have decided on my CPU, GPU, and Storage combo, I wanted to see which laptop actually fits my needs. Here are the laptops finally featured in my shortlist.

Acer Nitro 5 AN515-43 – Rs.57,990

AMD Ryzen 5 3550H

4 GB – GTX 1650

256GB SSD + 1 TB HDD

15.6 inch, 120Hz Refresh Rate IPS Display

55 WHr Battery

2.3 kg

  Asus Tuf FX705DT – Rs. 54,990

AMD Ryzen 5 3550H

4 GB – GTX 1650

512GB SSD

17.6 inch, 120Hz Refresh Rate IPS Display

64 WHr Battery

2.7 kg

  Asus Tuf FX505DT – Rs.58,990

AMD Ryzen 5 3550H

4 GB – GTX 1650

256GB SSD + 1 TB HDD

17.6 inch, 120Hz Refresh Rate IPS Display

48 WHr Battery

2.2 kg

Final Words

Being a 17-inch screen, Asus Tuf FX705DT is too big to handle and is bulky at almost 2.7KG and is ruled out immediately. So, I left to chose between two Taiwanese brands, Asus and Acer.

So, I left to chose between two Taiwanese brands, Asus and Acer. 

Here is why I chose Asus Tuf FX505DT over Acer Nitro 5 AN515-43.

Why I did not chose Acer Nitro 5 AN515-43?

Looks bulky

Uninspiring design

Slightly heavier at 2.3kg

Bitter past experience with Acer laptops

Why I chose Asus Tuf FX505DT?

Looks sleek and edgy

Lighter than it’s counterpart at just 2.2kg

Military Grade MIL-STD810G, means more durable for general use

Asus experience of making gaming laptops with its ROG series

#gallery-0-5 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-5 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 33%; } #gallery-0-5 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-5 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

It’s been over 6 months since I got my Asus Tuf FX505DT now and I’ perfectly happy with my purchase. That 120Hz refresh rate display is just fantastic, battery life is livable and performs rather flawlessly.

The best gaming laptop you can buy in India – Asus Tuf FX505DT ! This is a story about how ended up buying Asus Tuf FX505DT. Hello, I'm "dreamer" and this is my first post in Gzimr.com.

[bestportablewm]

Best Desktop Audio Interface

Are you looking for a top audio interface card? Tired of those plug-and-play solutions that have latency problems? Don’t want to deal with USB and Firewire ports? On a budget? See below for several options when it comes to professional recording desktop interfaces for your podcast, music production, and overall recording needs!

Top Computer Audio Interface Cards For 2019

Name: Rating:Price on Amazon: M-Audio M-Track 2X2M5.0 (Best Overall) Focusrite Scarlett Solo4.8 (Best For Music Production) BEHRINGER Audio Interface4.7 (BEST For Live Music )

M-Audio M-Track 2X2M

M-Audio seems to be constantly looking for what a consumer desires in low-cost consumer audio gear. As time and technology progresses, it seems that home audio interfaces are becoming faster, smaller, and more feature-packed than ever before. At first glance, the Fast Track Ultra seems to fit perfectly into this mold. The unit is an development on the previous Fast Track Pro, and finds a happy middle-ground between being a small and lightweight portable interface, and a studio tool with a wealth of I/O options and high-quality components.

As a longtime owner of the now-aging M-audio OmniStudio interface, I was curious how this new M-audio interface would stack up against what I considered my small home-studio workhorse. So is M-audio able to continue to improve upon their product line, or are their promises becoming too good to be true?

The Unit

The body of the Fast Track Ultra is clearly a tight squeeze for a unit containing four XLR mic pre-amp inputs on the front face. While my M-audio OmniStudio would support rack ears, the Fast Track is only just over a half rack space wide, clearly showing it is intended mainly as a desktop interface. The unit’s body is plastic, as opposed to the OmniStudio unit which is cased in an aluminum shell. Combined with some questionably loose 1/4” inputs, I am reluctant to say whether the unit would be able to endure heavy use as a portable audio interface. Nevertheless, it is a very attractive unit with easily accessible connections and knobs, giving it a very use-friendly image from the start.

The I/O

Many low-cost and portable audio interfaces seem to fit into two categories: The small 2-channel interface for simple projects or stereo remote recordings (Presonus Firebox, M-Audio Fast Track Pro), or the expanded units, often with eight built-in pres (Presonus Firestudio, Alesis MultiMix). With four built-in mic pre-amps, the Fast Track Ultra fits nicely in the middle.

The M-Audio Fast Track Ultra provides a complete recording solution, with six channels of analog inputs and outputs plus 2-channel digital S/PDIF I/O. Unlike most USB audio interfaces, it features two dedicated inserts on the first two channels, giving you the ability to insert outboard processing before A/D conversion. Easy connection via a single USB 2.0 cable delivers both audio and MIDI communication with your computer.

Getting Connected

The card is the first interface released by M-audio to have USB 2.0 connectivity, a change that seems a bit late. After booting up your computer, you may be surprised to find out that the Fast Track Ultra will power up as well, even without a power adapter. The unit can run with a minimal 2-in 2-out connectivity while being powered through the USB bus alone. A 5V power adapter, which looks oddly like a cell phone power supply, allows for full usage of the I/O options.

I noticed a weird problem after tracking some MIDI keyboards using the unit’s USB bus power. In order to hear playback, I put on my headphones and immediately noticed a hum. After unplugging the MIDI cable, the hum vanished. I decided to leave the MIDI cable inserted and plug in the power adapter. After restarting the unit, the hum again was gone.

The included drivers and software couldn’t have been easier to install on my Mac. The unit supports ASIO and WDM on PC, and core audio on Mac. The installation includes a Control Panel that exists both in the Applications folder and in System Preferences, bringing up the software mixer and monitor controls. Within less than ten minutes, you should be setup and ready to go.

The Control Panel

The m-audio allows monitoring all eight direct inputs (six analog channels and two of S/PDIF digital) as well as software returns, all of which can be separately adjusted in the Control Panel. The monitor windows are clean and simple, and allow fast and easy adjustments with flexible routing. The window looks like a basic mixer and includes a fader, pan, solo, mute, stereo channel link, and an effect send, as well as master out faders with effects return.

Adding up to monitor control, there is a tab for settings, meters, and a status screen labeled “about”. There is also a unusual tab named “flow” that initially seems to be a visual means of re-routing I/O. The screen is, in fact, a diagram for reference, perhaps to give a better on-screen understanding of the unit’s signal flow.

The settings tab has a sample rate selector, a toggle between internal and external clock sync, and settings for the hardware DSP processors, but before you get too excited, this is not intended to be a software plug-ins solution, but pretty a tool for routing monitor reverb or delay to a player without exhausting the cpu. This is a smart and useful, yet partial concept. Each channel is given an individual effect blend via the control panel, but the effects are restricted to several reverb, delay, and echo settings, all of which do not sound particularly great. Even so, this feature is not found on most units in this price range, and is a nice tool to have handy, regardless of its limitations.

The Sound

After completing a project, I am very pleased with the functionality of the unit. I connected it to an iMac with an external firewire hard drive, and we recorded up to six channels flawlessly, with very minimal latency and no clicks or other digital errors.

My only complaint is that the headphone outputs did not have enough gain to my liking, especially for drum tracking. A solution to this could be a better isolating pair of headphones.

Although the build quality of this audio interface seems decent enough, it is still a downgrade from my older OmniStudio, which has a heavier chassis and tighter knobs. Even so, I think the fast track would resist the test of time as long as it’s treated with care.

Whether you’re a musician, producer or DJ, the powerful combination of Apple and M-Audio  gives you everything you need to put together a high-powered personal studio.

Best Audio Interface for Electronic Music Production

Focusrite Scarlett Solo

I use the Focusrite Scarlett Solo for recording podcasts, acoustic songs, and even vocals for some of my club mixes. Even with that wide variety of uses, I have to say that this audio interface gets the job done. My system is an everyday HP desktop that I purchased online that’s a little bit on the more advanced end of the spectrum. For software, I use Adobe Audition as I’ve been using its previous version, Cool Edit Pro, since high school. The Delta 44 and Adobe Audition have been a winning combination for me on my desktop.

The problem I had in the past with recording solutions was the constant snap, crackle, and pop of the audio. Reviewers complained about this issue with the Focusrite Scarlett Solo as well, but the informed reviewers stated that with the proper tuning and by actually reading the instruction manuals, you can have a professional recording setup on your desktop without breaking the bank. Initially, I was skeptical due to the negativity, yet I decided to take the plunge and try things out myself. The worst that could happen is a refund or putting it for sale somewhere online for a little bit of a loss. To me, that’s no big deal so I went along with it.

When the audio card arrived in the mail, I knew I had to do as the positive reviews suggested. I read the instructional manual, took into consideration some tips of reviewers, and even checked some other information online. When I felt I was ready to get the show on the road, I popped open my desktop tower and inserted the card into one of the PCI slots on my motherboard. Yes, even as a top audio interface today, this audio card still relies on a PCI connection rather than a PCI Express connection, which is more common nowadays.

Even with the slightly dated technology, this audio card runs like a charm. My first test was to record one segment of my upcoming podcast for my buddy’s exercise and health website. I made sure my buffer settings were just right – not too high and not too low as suggested by a reviewer of the the Delta 44 online. My voice has never sounded so clear, and this was without any filters. So once I applied my usual filters and effects with some tiny tweaks to mesh better with the new audio card, I sounded like a professional radio personality. Considering how much I spent on this audio card compared to my previous audio interface, it was basically a steal. I guess that’s what happens when you switch from a USB solution to an audio card interface.

So if you have the capacity for a top audio interface in your recording rig, you need to get this Focusrite Scarlett Solo . A few years ago, I purchased a Lexicon Lambda USB interface for my Dell laptop at the time. For what I wanted to do, it got the job done, but took way too much time to configure to get subpar results. There was constant sound popping and recordings cutting out no matter what I did. Even after going through page upon page of support topics, I didn’t get the end results I needed. With the Delta 44 though, everything’s working with much better ease. My acoustic songs sound pretty close to professional quality even though I’m recording things from my bedroom and my recent dance songs have more punch to them.

On the side, I moonlight as a DJ at the local clubs in my area. Aside from spinning remixes of the latest hits on the radio, I like creating my own songs and mashups with my own vocals. A lot of people have been digging my originals, so I had to step things up with better sound quality. The solo delivers.

If you’re in the market for a top audio interface that delivers professional results while on a budget, then the Focusrite Scarlett Solo  is what you need in your recording rig. As long as you read the instruction manual and understand the basics of setting up this audio card with the rest of your recording equipment, you’ll be able to create sound recordings pleasant to the ears.

Best Audio Interface for Live Performance

BEHRINGER Audio Interface

Having experience with M Audio in the past, I knew I needed a more robust BEHRINGER Audio Interface controller compared to what I had before. I was making progress with my electronic music, so an upgrade was needed. My recording adventures began in high school when I would simply record acoustic tracks and vocals with my Dell desktop’s cheap computer microphone. With a couple of tweaks within Cool Edit Pro (now Adobe Premiere), I was able to get some decent sounding recordings.

When I got to college, that’s when I got heavy into acoustic recordings and gigs with my roommate at the time. However, I gradually saw myself transitioning into electronic dance and pop music. To me, there’s nothing like really getting into a beat and wanting to bust a move in a fun environment. So on my computer, I’d mess around with Fruity Loops, Reason, and Garageband once I got a Macbook Pro. For a while, I used an M Audio Radium 61 as my MIDI controller in Reason and Garageband. I really enjoyed its solid construction and its overall functionality. However, I needed an input device with a full keyboard. That’s when I knew I had to drop more than $100 or $200 on a MIDI controller to get what I wanted.

After some digging through M Audio reviews, as I knew I would be sticking with this solid brand, I found the BEHRINGER. Like my previous controller, it’s USB-powered, so I don’t have to worry about lugging around a clunky AC adapter or dealing with a bunch of wires. The wires involved with my Macbook Pro and other equipment are enough for me. However, some people might prefer using the optional AC adapter to relieve some stress off their computer’s calculations and whatnot.

The Oxygen 88 also comes with 4 velocity curves and 3 pedals – 2 sustain pedal inputs and 1 expression pedal.

What I absolutely love about the Oxygen 88 are the hammer-action keys. Rather than pressing onto something that feels cheap and overly plastic, it really feels like I’m pressing the keys to a legitimate upright piano. For how much I paid, that’s a pretty solid deal.

Of course, if I wanted to simply play piano, I could’ve gone with something more cost effective, but of course I bought this BEHRINGER Audio Interface controller to make awesome beats. For a few weeks, I messed around with Garageband and Reason utilizing the built-in functions of this MIDI device. Gradually, I got back to that level of comfort I had with the Radium 61, and I actually enjoy using this more due to those hammer-action keys. At first, I was reluctant to upgrade my MIDI controller because its keys just felt so right to me. Now I don’t see myself using a cheaper device again. Actually being able to feel the weight of the keys helps when I’m trying to add a certain effect or certain level of expression in my songs. This is something that is hard to create in mixing software without having to manipulate the settings and filters.

Now that I was feeling more comfortable with my new MIDI setup, I decided to test things out at a mug night for the upperclassmen at school. They apparently needed someone to replace this local band that was supposed to play for their event. One of my buddies was running this mug night and knew I liked DJing and throwing in a few of my own custom mixes, so he asked if I wanted to fill in that empty spot.

The night went on without any problems. Sure, it’s a different ballgame going from using this BEHRINGER Audio Interface controller to program notes to playing bits and pieces live, but I felt I knew what I was doing. Well I hope so. Most people wouldn’t have noticed anyway given the type of event I was playing for. Regardless, I was really feeling my songs – beat by beat, track by track. Having those extra keys on the Oxygen 88 really helped me out with my live playing. It was so much easier being able to assign instruments all across the board, especially since I was experimenting with more layers in my songs.

Everyone at that mug night event seemed happy and I was happy with how the Oxygen 88 helped me win the crowd over. I doubt I would’ve been able to pull this off if I was using a shorter keyboard. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying the Radium 61 is a bad MIDI controller, as it was my pride and joy for years. It’s just that with the layering and complexity of my songs now compared to in the past, the Oxygen 88 is the right BEHRINGER Audio Interface controller for my needs.

  The post Best Desktop Audio Interface appeared first on Best Portable Reviews.

from Best Portable Reviews https://bestportablereview.com/best-desktop-audio-interface/