#and one where dream is barely functioning by himself and is addicted to cigarettes

[tiniinbookland]

"future me will figure it out," I said to myself, fully aware that future me will, in fact, not figure it out

that's so real, future me has never figured out shit (well at least writing related)

the amount of drafts and notes i have where now i'm just like "where was i going with this" is. well it's definitely a number and it could be higher but i'm annoyed anyway

(also hi, lmao)

[salamanderflamewing]

Blood Sweat & Tears

Summary: In this world, all fantasies of magic, elves, and orcs are real.... the only thing is, it may not be exactly as one would think, elves starting large tech corporations, orcs becoming 5-star chefs and dragons transporting cargo across the world. In a world like a beautiful clock, there is the beautiful face and the inner gears. These inner gears are what allow the beautiful face to function... but the faces treat the gears poorly and ultimately all those gears turn into a version of Robert Rubert Grimly. A cynical white-collar worker who is addicted to cigarettes and caffeine products, living paycheck to paycheck barely having enough time to even have a social life outside of his cat Charlotte.

Introduction (for author): First and foremost I have never ever done this before, but I have a passion for storytelling and anime, I dream of being some form of mangaka/comic creator. I chose to progress through writing a light novel and then making comics from the light novel.  I personally have this really big story that I have decided to put on the back burner for a while to practice my story writing skills first. This story is one that will be for practice, I'm not sure how long this story will be but I hope to have it run for close to ten chapters. (If people really do like the story I may make the story a bit longer). This is an in-progress story so there will be updates, but keep in mind I go to school and have a job, so the updates may be infrequent. but without further ado please enjoy  

Chapter one: 

Waking dread 

It was a morning like everyone else's, and the main character followed suit. Unlike most stories about extravagant heroes and villains, this is about a character like ourselves: someone who has to hold down an office job to pay his rent for a shitty apartment. Robert wakes up finally feeling good in his body. He sits up in his bed after bringing the comforter off of him CRACK “Great there goes the back again”. He groans and reaches for the water on his nightstand while rubbing his eye, which causes all of his over-the-counter medication to fall off his nightstand and spill onto the ground. “Fuck, Great there goes what little happiness I felt for today” he muttered as he scrabbled out of bed to pick up all that he spilled. It didn’t take long to put up but it cost him his morning joy. Once he finally got the last pill, he stood up and did his huge morning stretch, grabbing his wrist and extending it over his head, followed by large crackling sounds. Robert stays there staring off into nothing for a while thinking about the day he may have at work. “Will it be another day where my ass of an orc boss gives me another 50 reviews to go over or will I finally get lucky”

Sighing to himself, he realizes it's unlikely and moves to open the blinds to see out his second-story window. Outside the window, Robert sees human kids playing heroes and villains beating up some of the other species' kids in the park, A variety of Teenagers playing on their P.M.C (Portable magical consoles) while waiting for the bus, and a bunch of dwarves smoking pixie dust.  “Why does it always feel so dull… like even the bloody sky is grey” “Cuz it's full of smoke from your company dumbass” “Right, I'm contributing to it… GReAT”. Robert finishes his dreadful ponder and puts on his white muscle shirt and socks without bothering to change out of last night's underwear. 

He walks by 5 employee group photos, a record of the past five years and some of the random nic nacks his mom gives him every year from her vacation spots. Without regard for anything Robert went right into the kitchen and started his coffee and was greeted by his cat Charlette jumping onto the shiny countertop and meowing. Robert smiled softly for a moment while petting Charlette “Sometimes you know you're the only thing in this world that makes me smile” he sighed while the coffee maker was bubbling in the background. As the coffee maker was finished he took a sip of his black espresso, while grabbing his tablet and cigarettes. 

With his coffee and cigs, he walked to the balcony, and Charlotte followed suit. He placed down his coffee, cigs, and tablet then fed Charlotte. Charlotte was chewing softly as Robert was smoking and reading the news with the occasional sip of coffee. Robert read slowly, First were the updates on how his company was making international moves which always reminded him of how shitty his job was. Then were some of the new song releases from the pop star Tinky Twink which he only listened to due to it reminding him of the freedom he had in high school while he jammed to nightcore. Lastly, he was reading about some of the newly discovered artifacts of history, some of them were ancient heroes ' weapons and some of them were the skulls of the old demon kings Apparently… it was just an extension of the myth of the generational heroes and demon kings, no matter how much the archeologists claimed these artifacts had traces of their mana, no one had the source code for it which in this society meant that it did not exist. 

As Robert was finishing his Cig and was putting it out  Charlotte jumped onto his lap with a cheerful expression he gave her some wonderful pets and whispered “Thank you, sweety now I can charge some of my social battery before having to head to work.”.  He started to swipe to a different news source while petting Charlotte; Centur mail, “Mmm interesting might as well” As soon as he opened it there was a large headline written in bold “ The badlands are approaching” Sigh… “Here we go again Hopefully it isn’t going to affect my way to work” he began to read it in depth, and the further he went the more dread and annoyance he felt… first it was the fact that some of the war vets lost contact in the frontlines and then it was the fact that the countries were refusing to work together and causing a number of these beasts to be released into cities and national airspace even going as far causing some delivery dragons to be brought down.  As Robert felt the life be sucked out of him he looked at Charlotte and felt at least a little bit of peace again. 

SPLASH… mid-sip of coffee both Charlotte and Robert were spooked out of their seats by a sparkly blue liquid being poured down from the balcony above them. Immediately as Robert realized what was happening he ran to the side of the balcony where it came from looked up and screamed “ HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL STEWERT STOP POURING YOUR STUPID PSEUDODRAGONS BARF DOWN THE SIDE OF THE BUILDING MY CAT KEEPS EATING IT AND IT FUCKING STAINS THE FUCKING TILES” Robert finished and waited for a response for a few moments…. SPLAT Stwert poured yet another bucket full of pseudodragons barf right into Robert's face then flipped him off… Speechless from what just happened Robert picked up Charlotte brought her inside, blocked the cat door, and went into the bathroom to wipe his face off. 

Looking in the mirror he could see the wrinkles around his eyes that he started to get after so many weeks of working overtime, his lifeless bloodshot blue eyes, and his short straw-like hair. Finishing cleaning off his face he took the mythical grade dragon eye drops that he keeps by the dozen and leaned back dropping at least 5 or more drops in each eye. Walking he trips over the dirty clothes that he hasn’t washed in at least a month going back into the kitchen where he pops in 2 pieces of toast for himself. While he waited he tended to Charlotte cleaning off her fur and giving her a treat for her good behaviour. 

He quickly buttered his bread and began eating one while putting on his tux for the day and finished the other while packing his bag. Once he finished he gave Charlotte a few more scratches and said “Be back soon, hope you get comfy and enjoy your naps” Charlotte meowed in response with a gleeful tone. As he walked out he noticed that the mailbox next to his door was filled to the brim with envelopes… sigh... “That stupid geezer still hasn’t notified the tenet”.  He walks over to the room next door 69 as he walked over he practically tripped over all the garbage and trash. Catching himself he holds his breath puts on his most presentable “work face” and knocks exactly three times… about 2 minutes go by and no one answers so he knocks again… another 2 minutes go by… no answer and no he was about to knock again but this time mid anger he was greeted by a huge orc that was the full height of the doorway and had the belly about the width of it. A few seconds passed and the smell finally hit him Robert's nose was on fire from how disgusting it was. In a deep guttural groan, the orc said

 “What's the issue, human”  

Robert sighed and spoke clearly with a stern face “ Firstly please refrain from calling me “human” and second I asked you politely to tell the mailman your new address” 

The orc looked at him in disgust and spoke sharply “ Firstly I don’t care about your feelings and secondly, I already did you slow-brained punk” 

Now clutching his nose bridge in tension Robert let slip an ounce of aggression under his breath “Well maybe if you actually took out your garbage he would come to the door” 

Now looking angry the orc furrowed his brow looking like he was about to attack and said “What did you just say to me”

Robert shook it off like nothing “Oh sorry I didn't mean anything.” 

The orc looked at him and slurred out “No I heard what you said… how could you say that man you know I have been going through a hard time lately” The orc began to cry as he finished… “at least get a fucking job then asshole, I’ve heard from the neighbours that you have been breaking their doors and stealing from them. We even got you on footage yet the useless police won’t do anything about it”  Robert sighed “Sorry man I've had a rough morning Sewert from upstairs threw his dragon puke down the side of the building again”  The orc stopped crying and stuttered out “Jusstt... Be careful dude I almost squashed you because I thought you were threatening me” “You thought I was threatening you!!! I’M NOT EVEN HALF YOUR SIZE Why on earth would I want to attack you I WAS EXPECTING YOU TO FUCKING JUMP ON ME… why on earth do I have to live in this god-forsaken place”.  Robert looked up at him and muttered softly somewhat mockingly “alright dude, just please fix the issue” as he handed him the mail while noticing Robert’s company seal for interviews. So he pauses and

[mostlycompetentwriter]

Pacemaker

F/M Pairing: Y/N x Bang Chan (SKZ)

Warnings: Let me be clear: this is a very dark narrative. I have lots of warnings for my readers, including explicit smut, vulgar language, toxic relationships, voyeurism, choking, sadism, smoking, and drinking.

Word Count: 8.2K

Genre: Sugar Daddy AU; Established Relationship

Summary: Y/N had made a lot of bad decisions throughout her life, but signing up for that stupid Sugar Daddy website? The worst of them all.

A/N: The title makes more sense in the end, but I can tell you that pacemaker’s are used to control arrhythmia's - and Seungmin might just function that way for the reader! Also, I’m really sorry for making Chan such an asshole.

Seungmin was a good best friend, even if he was determined to ruin his lungs with expensive cancer sticks. 

I had once tried to help him break the bad habit - stealing the cigarette boxes that he bought from the store and tossing them into the trash. But Seungmin made it rather difficult to break his addiction, and when I found him digging through the trash one evening, trembling fingers bringing the lighter up to his lips, I stopped trying to help him. And it might seem like a shitty thing for a best friend to abandon, but I was really tired of seeing my efforts die in vain when Seungmin made it loud and clear that he wasn’t willing to relent.

However, I was probably the worst person in the world to preach against his vices, especially when mine were far more consequential. Ironically, if I was to compare our biggest slights, then I might find a lot of similarities between our horrible habits. For instance, we were both prisoners to something toxic, and it was hard to push out those dark shadows when they had already snuffed out most of the light.

But at least Seungmin still had some control over his autonomy whereas I had allowed a single man to dictate every aspect of my existence. He decided the clothes that I would wear to his fancy office, and the things that I was allowed to do to my own person. He enacted so many rules that I could barely keep up with them, and he frequently reminded me that I was supposed to comply with whatever he demanded because I signed a foolish contract.

In the end, it was my fault for becoming so involved, but I could always rely on Seungmin for companionship when I felt another bout of existential dread. Because Seungmin was a good listener, and he made an effort to understand my problems even when he didn’t agree with my decisions. It was one of the things that I liked most about him, and I watched him with indifferent eyes as he stomped out his cigarette against the sidewalk.

Thereafter, his breath vaporized against the frigid air, and it was the only reminder that it was cold because my body had already grown numb to the sensation. “What happened this time?” Seungmin asked, raising a brow in question.

It was a deceivingly simple question because there was no straightforward answer that I could offer him in response. Instead, I shrugged while trying to collect my thoughts. Because I still wasn’t really sure how I felt about my latest rendezvous with him, but I knew for certain that it had affected me more than the other times.

“It was different,” I replied, and Seungmin nodded.

“Did he hurt you?” Seungmin asked.

“Yes, but not the kind of hurt that you’re thinking about,” I said. 

“Well, that’s still fucked up,” Seungmin said. “Tell me everything.”

Oh, but there was so much to tell him, and my mind instantly brought me back to the very beginning when I signed my name on a contract that promised so much only to deliver nothing but pain.

Six Months Ago

The worst decision of my life was predicated on my desperation for cash, and I was almost at the point where I would do anything to see another zero on my bank statement.

When I first moved to California, I had a lot of big dreams, and I was so excited to secure a scholarship to a highly-accredited University. It seemed that the world was finally on my side, and I left my home on the east coast to start a new life with more opportunities. Everything was going according to plan, and there was nothing preventing my success.

Except for me, of course. 

And it happened during the events of a single evening when I decided to attend a fraternity party on campus that my roommate recommended. The music was loud, the alcohol was unlimited, and any prior inhibitions had been thrown out the window much to my own detriment. I forgot all about my responsibilities, and I made one careless decision after another until I ended up in bed with a stranger.

I don’t even remember his name, but he was just one of the students who got busted by the police that night. Apparently, someone next door ratted us out, and they discovered a bunch of under-age students drinking alcohol without any supervision, including myself. But when the University found out, my scholarship was taken away, and my parents refused to send me extra money for tuition because they were determined to bring me back home.

But I wasn’t about to let one night ruin everything, and it was my roommate’s idea to suggest the stupid website. “It’s like a Sugar Daddy thing,” my roommate giggled. “All you have to do is sign-up, and then they’ll email you if there’s any interest.”

“Interest?”

“Well, they’ll probably want something from you in exchange for money.”

“How much money?”

“I guess that’s up to you to decide.”

Tragically, I was too desperate to consider the consequences, and I signed up without even thinking about the potential for disaster. And within a week, I got several emails from old misers offering me loads of cash in exchange for services that ranged from a private escort request to more explicit favors. But none of them stood out to me, especially in comparison to the young CEO who claimed to only be 28-years-old, but I could hardly believe his profile.

Still, I decided to entertain him, and I organized a meeting at a neutral location just in case anything funny happened. But I was still shocked to see the same man from the pictures waiting for me inside the coffee shop. And he was just as handsome as he appeared online: long, curly blonde hair, deep brown eyes, and a broad smile that took my breath away.

“Y/N?” he asked when I cautiously approached the table.

“Mr. Bang Chan?” I returned, and he laughed while rolling up the sleeves of his shirt to reveal strong, muscular arms.

“That’s me,” he said. “You can sit down if you want.”

“Of course,” I said, feeling rather foolish after standing there for so long. “I’m sorry, but I was really surprised because I honestly thought you might by lying about your age.”

“Why would you think that?” he asked, and I easily detected an accent carrying his words.

“Uh, considering the circumstances,” I said with a wince. “I feel like you could have any woman you want.”

“Oh?” Chan asked while raising one brow suggestively. “Maybe I just want you.”

“R-really?” I stuttered while wondering if I had made a good decision when I wore a skirt that afternoon. “You can probably tell that I’ve never done this before.”

“That’s alright,” Chan reassured me. “I don’t have much experience either.”

It seemed too good to be true - like there wasn’t any logical explanation for why this incredibly sexy businessman had signed up for some Sugar Daddy website when all he had to do was blink in my direction and I was already falling for him hard. “So, I guess you expect something from me.”

“I like how you do business,” Chan remarked. “We can skip all the formalities, then?”

“If you want,” I said, still feeling a bit sheepish as I glanced down at the table.

“From you, Y/N,” Chan continued. “I want a partner.”

“In what sense?” I asked. “Are you talking about something...sexual?”

“I’d really like that,” Chan said with a seductive smile. “But only if you’re interested.”

“Definitely,” I quickly agreed, throwing all caution to the wind as I surrendered to his ridiculous charisma.

“In return, you can have whatever you want,” Chan said. “Money isn’t an issue for me.”

“I really just need money for my tuition.”

“Is that all?” Chan scoffed as if he was in disbelief. “There’s got to be something else.”

I hesitated for a moment, wondering why it was so hard to ask him for those extravagances when the entire premise of our meeting rested on the basis of one exchange for another. “My apartment,” I said. “I plan to get a job in the future, but I’m struggling with rent.”

“Fuck the job,” Chan said. “I don’t mind paying your rent.” He smirked as he leaned back against the booth with a sigh. “I used to be a college student, Y/N, and I had problems paying for those things too.”

His attitude was nothing but nonchalant, and our terms were settled without a single complaint. Eventually, the deal was finalized when I met him later that evening at his lavish penthouse apartment, signing my name at the bottom of an exclusive contract that I hadn’t even taken the time to read. 

“It’s done,” Chan declared, and I watched his forearms bulge as he applied pressure to the official stamp. “We can have some fun together,” he added, and the look he gave me was nothing short of predatory. “Tell me, Y/N. Are you a virgin?”

“No, sir,” I said, watching him throw the contract aside onto the coffee table. 

“Good,” he purred while slowly unbuttoning his shirt. “Do you take birth control? I hate fucking with condoms.”

“Yes,” I whispered, and there wasn’t an ounce of shame in my entire being when I studied the hard planes of his upper torso once his chest was exposed to the room. 

Did I really just a sign a deal with a real-life Adonis?

“I’m gonna have a taste of that sweet cunt tonight,” Chan said, and one hand palmed himself over the front of his pants. “Bend over the couch for me, and keep your legs spread.”

“O-okay,” I agreed, hesitating because I wasn’t expecting him to move so fast, but I also knew that it was a foolish thought. What else should I have anticipated? There’s only one thing he wanted from me, and it’s not like it proceeded a romantic dinner or a long walk on the beach.

But it was still jarring to feel someone else’s hands on my hips - someone older and far more experienced. And his hands were proof of that confidence, perfectly assured in their motions as they drug my panties down my legs, fingers prodding against the folds of my labia. “You’re not wet enough,” Chan remarked, and I blushed because I was afraid that I had been doing something wrong. “We’ll just use lube.”

I flinched when I heard a loud POP! echo throughout the room when he opened a bottle from behind me. Then, I startled when something cold penetrated between my thighs because I wasn’t used to the overbearing sensation, and the flex of his fingers were incredibly thorough as they explored the private walls stretched around his intrusion. It felt nice, though, feeling him moving around, brushing against sensitive zones that had me moaning against the cushions.

“What a good slut,” Chan said, and I found myself whimpering at the derogatory term. “Let me use my cock instead.”

I gasped when his fingers disappeared in the middle of my approaching orgasm, leaving me clenching desperately for something to fill up the places that had left empty. But the sound of Chan shuffling out of his pants was reassuring, and he was nothing but teasing when he slid the head of his cock up and down my entrance. Spreading his pre-cum while prodding against me with the tip of his erection. 

If I hadn’t been wet before, then I was positively drenching from the surprisingly playful foreplay. “Please,” I whined, and he must’ve been feeling merciful since it was our first meeting because he pushed himself the rest of the way inside between my walls with a grunt. Satisfying that persistent ache which demanded some sort of satisfaction from the fat cock splitting me with every aggressive plunge against my g-spot.

“There we go,” Chan hissed, and his fingernails dug into my skin while he rolled my hips back onto his cock - repeating the motion with a sensual rhythm that was slow but fulfilling. Deep and full. Pounding into my hips with every thrust and chanting obscenities into the air while the smell of sex hit me with as much force as his thighs knocking against mine. “Feels so good around me.”

I moaned at his husky tone, and slid further down the armrest of the couch because my clit was rubbing deliciously against the furniture that he had bent me over, and I focused on the addicting friction and the impression of his cock drilling inside my pussy until I came with a loud moan. 

“Shit,” Chan cursed when I clenched even tighter around him, and the pleasure was like a dramatic rise - a climactic high - and I fell back into the moment with my heart pounding against my chest while Chan continued to plummet his cock into the stimulated entrance of my cunt before I felt his cum trickle down the inside of my legs. 

“Good girl,” Chan said, and he landed a sharp slap to my ass before he was walking out of the room, stuffing his cock back into his pants while I looked down at my hands and wondered what I was supposed to do next.

And several long minutes passed before I realized that Chan wasn’t coming back, and I tried to ignore the sensation of his cum drying on my skin as I pulled my skirt back on over my sore hips. 

Is this how it would be every time? 

I grimaced at the thought, but I knew it was still a better alternative than returning home to my disappointed parents. Because Chan would at least help me stay in school, and he wasn’t really asking for that much in return. 

Right?

But my heart was aching when I left his penthouse around midnight, returning to the shared apartment with my roommate and slinking into the shower while doing my best to remain quiet. Unfortunately, my thoughts were starting to become more rampant - louder than the prevailing silence - and I couldn’t stop thinking about the encounter with Chan. Because it was the second time that a random stranger had fucked me without consideration, and I would never forget how I felt in that moment, scalding my skin under hot water while scrubbing insistently with my fingernails scratching across my arms.

And I went to sleep that night thinking about the future for the first time since I lost my scholarship. For instance, how long would I have to keep doing this? Can it really end after my graduation?

Needless to say, I was unable to reacquaint myself with the familiar comforts of sleep, and I woke-up the next morning feeling like a much weaker version of myself. It was both a literal and metaphorical description for my current state of mind and physical being, and I forced myself to endure my regular routine so that I could leave for class on time.

But even as I was starting to feel better again, savoring the cool air of the morning as I walked through campus, everything was ruined when I received an unanticipated phone call from Chan around lunchtime:

“Can you come into my office today?” Chan asked, and I checked my watch.

“I can be there in twenty minutes.”

“Perfect,” Chan said, and I hung up the phone before jogging to the bus stop.

The Voyeur

Chan’s office building was extravagant, and I had trouble finding his company because it seemed like there was no end to the numerous corridors. Thankfully, a polite worker was willing to steer me in the right direction, and I greeted Chan’s secretary with a nervous exhale of my name.

“He’s waiting for you inside,” she said with a bright smile. “But make sure to lock the door behind you.”

“Oh, sure,” I said, puzzled by the strange request, but I entered the room with a dismissive shrug, glancing back to turn the lock before stumbling in my steps when I realized that someone who was not Chan stood in the middle of the room.

He was a younger associate, and his hair was slicked back with some kind of product as he observed me with the faintest hint of a smirk. “You must be Chan’s newest plaything.”

I gasped at the stranger’s words. “Chan-” I attempted to call for him, but cold fingers wrapped themselves around my throat in warning.

“Shhh,” Chan whispered into my ear, and I trembled when one of his hands went down to the waistband of my skirt. “You’re right on time, Y/N.”

“Sir,” I said, trembling when he found my clit through the fabric, applying rough circles with a growl.

“Go sit on top of the desk for me,” Chan said. “Take off your skit and panties.”

“But there’s someone else-”

“Did you not hear me?” Chan interrupted, and there was an intimidating warning in his eyes that I found myself unable to ignore.

“Yes, sir,” I said in compliance, and I tried not to think about the situation unfolding in front of me. Instead, I carefully walked around the unfamiliar man without making eye contact, even though his gaze was focused on me the entire time. “Is this what you wanted me to see?” the newcomer asked, and I startled at the sound of his voice as I slipped out of my clothes.

“I think she’s your type,” Chan said, and he nonchalantly strolled through the room with his hands tucked into his pockets. “This is what you like, Jisung? Sit back and relax.”

Jisung pursed his lips as he found a comfortable position on one of the futons, and I gasped when I realized that he had unzipped his pants, fishing out his cock while casually stroking the full length of his erection, gaze fixed on the place where Chan was standing in front of me.

“Bend over, whore,” Chan growled, and I turned around in an instant, shivering when he forced my legs to spread even further apart, applying pressure to my lower back as I arched even higher for him. “Have you ever seen a prettier cunt?”

“Finger her for me,” Jisung requested, and I closed my eyes when Chan penetrated three fingers inside at once. Because it was a distant shout from his treatment the previous night, and I found myself enduring the pain from being aggressively handled. 

“Is this to your satisfaction?” Chan asked, and he was moving lightning fast, thrusting his fingers so fast that my body wasn’t sure how to process the rapidly growing pressure building with every curl of his wrist.

“Fuck her then,” Jisung said, and I could hear the slick sound of his hand moving on his cock to match the pace of Chan’s motions inside of me.

“No problem,” Chan said, and his cock replaced his fingers with one harsh plunge, forcing my hips to collide with the side of his desk as he started an unrelenting pace, hands holding tight to my waist as he treated me as nothing more than his personal cock-sleeve.

My pleasure wasn’t a concern, and I could tell because he never once asked me if I was feeling good. Instead, he panted like a dog into my ears, groping along my chest while rolling his hips up into mine - grinding his cock as deep as he could manage. 

“Chan...” I trailed off at one point because there would surely be bruises once he was done with me.

“Is there a problem, Y/N?” he asked, and I quickly shook my head even as he started thrusting even harder, forcing his cock even deeper inside my gaping core - brushing against previously untouched places that awakened something almost feral.

“No, sir,” I managed, choking around a moan when his fingers tightened around my throat again.

“He likes to watch,” Chan whispered, slowing down to a sensual grind while he spoke to me. “It gets him off every time.”

“I didn’t know,” I said in return, even though no response was really warranted.

Especially when Chan leaned back once again, picking up from where he had left off from before, and there was a stuttered hiccup to the way he moved - like he was nearing his own breaking point. His fingers curled themselves into my hair, forcing my head to the side to meet Jisung’s unwavering gaze.

“Jisung,” Chan said, and the voyeur himself looked up at the two of us with lust reflecting in his eyes. “Is it everything you wanted?”

“Keep going,” Jisung simply said in return, and Chan was laughing in the moments preceding his orgasm, spilling his seed between my convulsing walls before pulling out with a groan.

“You did good, Y/N,” Chan said, and he reached down for my discarded skirt.

Meanwhile, I glanced around Chan to see Jisung reaching for the tissue box on the table. “Thank you for the show, Mr. Bang.” Jisung said, and he cleaned off his cock before tucking himself back into his jeans.

The Sadist

That unexpected situation should’ve been the first and only sign required for me to break off the engagement with Bang Chan, but I was starting to grow addicted to the ostentatious gifts that he sent me.

Because on that same afternoon, I returned to my apartment to find a brand new SUV waiting for me outside my complex. It was the newest model, and my roommate was hysterical with excitement as she jumped around the front lawn and told me all about how a random man had brought the car to our apartment asking for me. 

“I don’t know who you’re seeing,” my roommate remarked. “But if he keeps doing this kind of thing...”

“Yeah,” I agreed with a faint smile, and there was still an active part of me that thought I could put up with Chan if it meant receiving things like this in return.

Plus, I somehow deluded myself into thinking that everything was fine, and I guess my lectures on argumentative writing must’ve worked too well because I convinced my stubborn brain to endure the arrangement for a little while longer. 

It also helped that Chan hadn’t spoken to me much in the week following our little date in his office, and I was able to forget about the encounter with Jisung. Plus, my tuition was paid, my bank account was full, and there were always expensive things allowing me to take advantage of a lavish lifestyle.

It was hard to argue against the current trajectory of my situation, but there was still a painful reminder of its price when Chan eventually called me the following Friday with another request:

“I’m having a guest over tonight,” Chan said. “And you’re the entertainment.”

I swallowed hard at his brusque tone. “Entertainment?”

“It’s nothing to worry about,” Chan reassured me, and I could only process his words while the dial tone played in the background.

But maybe I could handle the addition of a guest, especially if it was just Jisung or someone watching again. That hadn’t been so bad, and the worst part was the initial shock of seeing another man in the same room. 

Maybe I was just overreacting, and this would be a regular night where Chan would fuck me in his bed and I would limp home and sleep on the brand new satin comforter he had bought for me.

Unfortunately, my initial enthusiasm was dulled when I knocked on the door to Chan’s penthouse, and he answered my summons with another man lingering in the background. But the other man wasn’t Jisung, and a single chill rolled down my spine when Chan’s guest turned around to look at me for the very first time. “You’re early,” Chan said with a pleasant smile. “We were just pouring ourselves some drinks.”

“That sounds nice,” I said, allowing Chan to take my coat before he led me into the living room.

“This is my associate, Lee Minho,” Chan said, nodding in the direction of the freshly identified man who was unreasonably handsome as he sat down across the room.

“The pleasure is mine,” Minho said with a smirk, and I had no words to match his arrogance, but Chan pulled me into his lap and I took some strange comfort from his embrace.

“Minho and I have been friends for years.”

“What a tragedy,” Minho remarked, and the simple jest was met with a chuckle from Chan who wrapped an arm around my waist.

“He was really excited to meet you as well.”

“Especially after listening to Jisung run his mouth,” Minho said, and I froze at the mention of the other man because that was the moment when everything started to plummet, and I could see the change in Minho’s gaze as he lowered his eyes to my chest.

“Can I see her tits?” Minho asked, holding his glass of scotch in one hand while the other disappeared down the front of his pants.

“Of course,” Chan said, and he didn’t seem to care at all about his friend’s vulgar request, pulling me back against his chest as his fingers worked apart the buttons on my blouse. “She doesn’t mind. Isn’t that right, Y/N?”

I shook my head, paralyzed by Minho’s impenetrable gaze as he inhaled sharply when Chan removed the shirt from my arms. “Those are nice.”

“Aren’t they?” Chan agreed, and his fingers tweaked my nipples. But I shivered at the pressure, nearly jumping in his lap from the sudden stimulation as his thumbs rolled across the hardening buds.

“You ever fucked them before?” Minho asked, parting his lips around the rim of his glass.

“No,” Chan said, and his tone reflected his disappointment. “I guess I’ll have to try that in the future.”

“They’re a good size,” Minho remarked, and I couldn’t help but feel humiliated because they were talking about me in such a vulgar manner - like I was just a piece of meat on display for them.

“I like her tits,” Chan agreed. “But I think her ass is my favorite.”

Minho scoffed at that. “Isn’t that always your preference?”

“Why do you think I like fucking her from behind?” Chan laughed, and Minho smiled before draining the rest of his alcohol.

“Where did you get her?” Minho asked, and I watched as he removed his expensive suit jacket.

“Do you remember that website Jisung showed me?” Chan smirked. “It’s probably the best idea that he’s ever had.”

“Mhmm,” Minho agreed, and his lecherous eyes continued to openly stare at my breasts. “Has Changbin seen her yet?”

“No,” Chan said, and then he sighed. “I’m afraid to introduce them.”

“She’s exactly his type,” Minho remarked. “He’ll want to fuck her for sure, and I doubt you’ll tell him no.”

“He’s convincing,” Chan said, and he smirked while his lips pressed wet kisses against my neck and his hands massaged my breasts. “What would you want to do with her?”

“Me?” Minho chuckled, and his dark eyes were appraising. “I’d probably fuck her mouth, and then maybe cum on her tits.”

“That sounds reasonable,” Chan said, and then he was shoving against me from behind. “Get on your knees,” Chan growled into my ear, and I shivered at the guttural sound before falling from his lap and into the floor.

Meanwhile, Minho continued to watch me while stroking his cock, tongue darting out to wet his lower lip. “Is this an invitation?”

“Take her mouth,” Chan said, and he reached out for his discarded glass of brandy. “I don’t think she’ll mind.”

Minho smirked in response, and he pulled the occupied hand from his pants long enough to stand up from the couch, taking another step forward until his crotch was level with my face. “Is that true, little girl?” Minho asked, and I held my tongue when his fingers traced across my lips. “Do you want to suck my cock?”

I could feel Chan’s eyes on me, and I knew better than to disobey. “Yes,” I whispered, and Minho closed his eyes around a groan.

“Channie picked a good little cocksucker,” he said, and he quickly undid his pants, pulling them down his thighs along with his boxers. I inhaled when his cock was freed from the confines of his underwear, slapping against his stomach with a bead of pre-cum waiting on the tip. “Go ahead,” Minho said. “Let’s see what you can do for me.”

I swallowed hard, and I decided to start with a few strokes of his hardening erection - feeling the length of him under my hand because I knew that it would be painful to fit him inside my mouth. “Don’t tease,” Chan said, and I shivered at his harsh tone.

“I’m sorry,” I said, and I decided not to waste another moment before I was parting my lips around the head of Minho’s cock, tasting the gathered pre-cum on his tip. It was bitter because it was overwhelming, and my jaw was already aching as I hollowed my cheeks and tried to prevent my teeth from scraping across the sensitive underside of his erection.

“Harder,” Minho growled, and he reached down to grab fistfuls of my hair while forcing the remainder of his cock down my throat - triggering my gag reflex with the sudden motion. 

“I guess she’s not used to it,” Chan remarked - like it wasn’t a big deal that I could barely breathe around the intrusion, and spit was dripping from my lips as he proceeded to use me like I was nothing more than a warm space to fill with his cock.

“I’ll teach her for you,” Minho said, but it wasn’t a kindness to feel the tip of his cock hit the soft palate of my mouth, dragging between my lips as he ground his hips while moaning around a curse. 

But I still tried my best, sucking at the skin and using my tongue to trace against the ridges. I also kept my hands firmly behind my back, trying my best not to reach out for his thighs because I was afraid that he wouldn’t appreciate the feeling of my nails digging into my skin. Not that he seemed to be extending the same courtesy - fucking my mouth with loud grunts and tugging on my hair with enough force that my scalp was screaming for me to intervene.

“Does it feel good?” Chan asked.

“Oh, fuck yeah,” Minho said, and his eyes were glossy from the alcohol settling into his system and the approaching orgasm which I could taste as I tried my best to swallow around him.

And it was almost disorienting when he pulled himself free, keeping one hand in my hair while the other stared to stroke the length of his erection with rapid jerks. “Look at me,” Minho growled, and I forced my gaze to meet his own. “I’m gonna cum on your tits,” Minho snarled, twisting my hair as I did my best to nod around the impossible hold.

“Shit, that’s hot,” Chan whispered, and I closed my eyes when Minho finally came, spraying his hot cum across my chest as his thighs trembled from the effort.

“Damn,” Minho said, and he took a strategic step back to survey me from afar. “She looks better this way.”

“I definitely agree,” Chan said, but I only felt disgusting as I sat there on my knees with their eyes observing my wilted figure. 

The Participant

For an entire week after my encounter with Minho, every time I spoke, or did something as simple as drink or eat with my friends, I was reminded of him. 

It wasn’t necessarily the worst thing that had ever happened to me, and I couldn’t deny that there was a small part of me that had been aroused at the idea of Minho’s rough treatment. But the problem emerged from the lack of disclosure from Chan because he seemed to take impressive liberties with the contract. And I didn’t mind having sex with the older man since I gave him my full consent, but these surprises that he sprung on me when I wasn’t expecting them? I wasn’t entirely happy about those.

In fact, the more that I thought about the incident with both Minho and Jisung, the more infuriated I became, and I couldn’t help the brusque tone that I used to greet Chan over the phone when he randomly contacted me the following weekend.

“Someone’s having a bad day,” Chan said, and I didn’t appreciate his accompanying laughter. 

“It’s just my classes,” I offered as a response, pinching the bridge of my nose to try and prevent an oncoming headache.

“I hope it’s not too bad because I’d like for you to meet me in the office,” Chan said, and I agreed without really thinking about the consequences. Because the last time I went to Chan’s office, I found myself being fucked on top of his desk with an executive watching in the background.

But I guess this was what I had literally signed up for, and Chan couldn’t possibly know that I hated our most recent encounters because I still wasn’t able to find the confidence to tell him. And maybe it was better this way since our arrangement was nothing but a superficial agreement between two consenting adults - we were both getting something out of it, and I didn’t want to risk losing the invaluable funding that he sent to my stunningly healthy bank account.

Instead, I put on my best smile for him when I walked into his office, greeting him at his Secretary’s desk as she offered me a courteous welcome. Does she know what’s going on? I wondered to myself when Chan took my hand and led me to the giant executive desk where he worked.

He chuckled when he patted his lap, and I dropped my bag onto the floor before dropping myself down between his strong thighs. “There you are,” Chan said with a smirk, tracing the pout of my lips with his thumb. “You look sexy today.”

“Thank you,” I said, and I hated to sound so timid in front of him, but he was still beyond intimidating, and I never knew what to expect from someone who continued to surprise me.

“I’ve missed you,” Chan said, and I hesitated when his hands found the hem of my t-shirt, crawling along the skin of my torso to hold me in place. “Last time was really fun.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, but it wasn’t very convincing. Thankfully, Chan didn’t seem to notice, and he brought me in for a sloppy kiss so that I could taste the mouth wash on his tongue.

“Let’s take a walk around the office,” Chan said, and I agreed because it seemed relatively normal in comparison to what he usually asked from me.

It was also startling domestic to hold his hand as he walked me through the maze of cubicles, talking about taxes and the stock market and whatever else he found interesting. In response to most of his conversation, I found myself nodding because I couldn’t comprehend his big text jargon or the complicated explanation when it involved his return on investment numbers.

“How about some lunch?” Chan suggested, and I agreed even though my stomach had twisted itself into knots during the ride over here.

However, when Chan reached out to hit the button to call for the elevator, he paused when he made eye-contact with someone walking out of the conference room. He sighed as he turned me around. “This is awkward,” Chan said, and I noticed that the tips of his ears were bright red. “I may have shown Changbin some pictures of you and....” Chan trailed off with a smile. “He really liked what I showed him.”

“Changbin?” I questioned, and Chan jerked his head to the side to indicate the exceedingly handsome gentleman who was lingering outside of the conference room with his eyes glued in our direction.

“Changbin really likes you,” Chan whispered, smiling as he allowed one hand to fall down and palm my ass.

I heard a sharp intake of breath, and I felt my entire face flush when I realized that it had come from Changbin. He was brazenly eye-fucking me from where he was standing, and I couldn’t even imagine the dirty thoughts running through his mind.

“He wants to fuck you,” Chan continued as if we were having a conversation about something as casual as the weather. “And I kinda want to see him pound this little pussy.”

He then audaciously cupped the heat between my legs and I squirmed around in his arms because we were in public. “What are you doing?” I asked, and there was every reason to panic when anyone could see us like this - when Changbin was already looking at us like we were incredibly interesting.

“He’s got a really big cock,” Chan added like that was supposed to convince me. “But I know that you’ll do it for me, right?”

I hesitated at his request, glancing back over my shoulder at Changbin who was still watching the two of us with a predatory gaze. “When?”

“Tonight,” Chan said before pressing a surprisingly gentle kiss to my lips. “I’ll have something nice sent to your apartment. Wear it for us, won’t you?”

“Of course,” I agreed, and the response sounded robotic even to my own ears.

True to his word, Chan had sent over a rather scandalous pair of lingerie to my apartment - a matching set of underwear that included a red thong and delicate bralette with lace elegantly lining the comfortable padding. There was also a very short black shirt in the package and a thin camisole which wasn’t meant to cover much of me. And I grimaced at my reflection in the mirror when I realized that I looked like someone out of Chan’s wet dream.

But instead of walking through campus with such an appearance, I had wrapped my scantily-clad form in a long coat when I greeted Chan that night outside of his apartment, hoping that he wouldn’t question my desire to ride the bus in something more appropriate for public viewing. But maybe he was too turned on to scold me, dragging me inside his apartment and closing the door before opening the front of my coat.

“Fuck,” he growled when he saw me in my outfit. “You look so good in this.”

“Thank you,” I whispered in return, and Chan tossed aside my coat while reaching down for my hand.

“There’s no reason to delay tonight’s fun,” he commented. “Changbin’s already waiting in the bedroom,” he said.

I swallowed hard the mention of the other man, trying to piece together my disorganized thoughts when Chan invited me inside the lavish bedroom that was the exact same size as my entire apartment. But I also wasn’t surprised by the ostentatious reminder of his tremendous wealth, especially when I realized that there was someone waiting inside just as Chan had promised. The same man from earlier at the office was sitting in a chair near the corner of the room, dressed in his work suit and looking at me from beneath a fringe of blonde hair while his fingers tightened around his whisky glass.

“You were so patient, Bin,” Chan remarked as he reached down to remove his shirt. 

“I think she’s worth it,” Changbin replied, and I tried not to squirm too much under his impenetrable gaze.

“What do you think of her outfit?” Chan asked, and he smirked while squeezing my ass through the skit.

“I’d rather see what’s underneath,” Changbin said, and his attitude was so nonchalant that I couldn’t deny that a small part of me was attracted to his eagerness.

“That can be arranged,” Chan agreed, and I held perfectly still as he removed my tank top before jerking my skirt down my thighs. 

He didn’t even need to tell me to step out of the offending piece of fabric, sliding it across the floor as I stood in front of Changbin in nothing more than the skimpy lingerie that Chan had chosen for me. “Damn,” Changbin grumbled, and one hand slid down his chest before settling on top of the obvious bulge in his pants.

“Shall we start?” Chan grinned, and I watched as he walked over to the bed to make himself more comfortable on top of the mattress before holding out his arms for me. “Come here, Y/N.”

I nodded, crawling over the silken sheets while Chan whispered compliments into the silent bedroom. “She’s so fucking hot,” Changbin remarked, and I held my breath when Chan used his raw strength to turn me around - bringing my back flush against his chest as one arm wrapped itself across my chest. I shivered in response to his impressive muscles, pressing myself even closer to him while his other hand crept down to remove my panties

“Look at this,” Chan whispered, ripping the fabric and exposing my bottom half for Changbin’s eyes. “Such a pretty cunt.”

Changbin inhaled sharply at the exposed skin, and he stood from the chair to walk over the edge of the bed. I closed my eyes because he was shameless, palming his erection over his pants while his eyes glued themselves between my thighs. “Spread her legs for me.”

Chan nodded, and I could feel the way his fingers parted the wet folds of my labia before he drug his thumb along my sensitive clitoris. 

“Oh, fuck,” Changbin growled, and his eyes were bright with lust as Chan continued to tease my throbbing sex while mouthing kisses against my throat.

“Do you see something you like?” Chan asked his friend as if the question was even necessary.

“Let me fuck her, Chan,” Changbin snarled, and I watched as he unzipped his suit pants before dropping them to the floor along with his boxer shorts, fisting his cock in one hand while the other worked at the buttons on his shirt. 

“I don’t know...” Chan trailed off with a teasing tone. “I’m not really in the mood to share.”

“We both know that's a lie,” Changbin said with a humorless laugh. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here right now.”

I bit my tongue to hold back a moan when one of Chan’s fingers penetrated my tight walls, putting on a show for Changbin as he maintained eye contact with his business partner. It was like they were engaged in some sort of competition over me, and I was melting from Chan’s ministrations, feeling him move around with his fingers curling against all the right spots. He also started to scissor his fingers to stretch me out in preparation for whatever else might happen, and Changbin whimpered as he continued to stroke his hand up and down the impressive length of his throbbing cock. 

“I guess you can have it,” Chan said, and I yelped when he shoved me off his lap, tossing his legs over the side of the bed. “Hands and knees,” Chan barked, slapping my ass for good measure before he walked over to the same chair in the corner of the room. “You’ll be a good slut for Changbin.”

I whimpered at the rough treatment, and I tried to avoid Changbin’s gaze as I positioned myself on the center of the bed, dropping down onto my forearms while I raised my ass high in the air. I was breathing hard against the sheets, feeling my pulse skyrocket when the bed dipped beneath Changbin’s weight as he mounted me from behind. 

“Are you ready for me?” he asked, and I shook my head when he started to grope my ass, pulling apart my cheeks as his fingers prodded against the dripping entrance to my cunt. “Say my name, slut!”

I nearly screamed from the force of the slap he landed on my ass, and I took a deep breath to manage the pain. “Please, Changbin,” I sniffled, and there was nothing but blinding hot pleasure when he rubbed the tip of his cock up and down my slit.

However, he wasn’t nearly as patient as Chan, and I was shaking around the abrupt intrusion of his cock. He also wasn’t gentle, holding my hips with a bruising grip before he fucked his cock inside my wet heat, leaving me no room to breathe before he was driving his hips against mine like there wasn’t enough time in the world to split me open for him. “Shit,” Changbin hissed, and I was powerless when he shoved my face down into the pillows, forcing me back into an even deeper arch. 

“Play nice, Bin,” Chan said, and I could barely spot him from the corner of my eye. “You know I don’t like it when you break my toys.”

“Can’t help it,” Changbin grunted, and I could feel the fat head of his cock brushing against my cervix. 

“She feels good right?” Chan asked, and I finally located him, following his voice to see that he was rubbing his erection through the tented fabric of his pants.

“Her cunt is tight,” Changbin agreed, and he wasn’t even thrusting anymore; instead, he was manhandling me up and down his cock, slamming his hips against mine and filling the room with the sounds of wet slaps and crude moans as he chased his own pleasure.

He was fucking me like a madman, breath hot on the back of my neck. Everything was fast and hard, and the sound of the headboard hitting the wall was especially loud. “Fuck,” Changbin muttered, and I thought he might be slowing down, but he just adjusted his grip and set a brutal pace and fucked me even harder.

It was all too much, and I wasn’t expecting to come, but when he lifted one of my legs for a better angle, I felt a sudden wave of arousal drip around Changbin’s thick erection because he was scraping across my G-spot with every stroke. I moaned at the direct stimulation, and it felt like there was an impossible pressure building at the center of my abdomen, stretching and stretching until my vision nearly blacked out from the intensity of my orgasm.

“Yes!” Changbin groaned when I inadvertently squeezed around his cock even tighter, providing enough pressure to trigger his own orgasm. And I could feel his warm cum as it decorated the cavern of my pussy, escaping the place where we were connected with a squelching sound when he eventually pulled out.

“What a mess,” Chan groaned.

“Such a good little whore,” Changbin purred, reaching down to stuff his cum back inside where it belonged. I whined at the over-stimulation, but Changbin growled in response and slapped my ass hard. “I want one more round,” Changbin declared, leaving me lying on the bed as he rolled over to the side. 

“Sure,” Chan agreed, and I felt his hand soothing along the side of my face as he wiped away my tears. “How long do you need to get it back up, old man?”

“Shut up,” Changbin muttered. “Give me ten minutes.”

‘Well, that’s all I need,” Chan remarked, and I whimpered when he took his turn to mount me from behind, twisting his fingers into my hair as he slid his cock inside with one hard thrust, grinding his hips in long, sensual circles while whispering the filthiest words into my ears.

Present

It wasn’t very much like me to reveal all those intimate secrets, but something about Seungmin’s presence was safe and comforting. “What an asshole,” Seungmin remarked, discarding a fresh cigarette that he hadn’t even bothered lighting before returning his attention to me. “You deserve so much better than him.”

“He pays for everything,” I said. “He pays for my tuition, and he sends checks for the rent...”

“So?” Seungmin scoffed. “I can help you get a job at the diner where I work. You can make enough money to pay for those things without him.”

“It’s just so hard...” I broke off with a sudden exclamation, and my emotions were spilling out despite my attempts to suppress them, holding Seungmin even closer by the collar of his jacket as I sobbed into his shoulder. “He owns me.”

“No, he doesn’t, Y/N,” Seungmin said with a firm tone. “Do you understand me?”

I shook my head. “I signed a contract!”

“Every contract has a loophole,” Seungmin said. “And I’m sure it expires at some point, or you can negotiate your way out of the terms!”

“He’s a businessman,” I argued. “There’s no way I can win.”

“Not with that attitude,” Seungmin said with a fierce look. “You’re not alone, Y/N. I’ll even help you figure out how to leave him, but that’s what you need to do because this relationship is not good for you!”

“I kept telling myself that I didn’t care,” I whispered, sighing when Seungmin carded his fingers through my hair. “I guess I cared too much.”

“It’s alright,” Seungmin said, holding me close as he spoke reassurances into my stubborn ears.

“I’m scared, Seungmin,” I told him, and he nodded.

“I’ll give you all my strength,” he promised, and the sincerity of his words triggered a fresh wave of tears, and I cried while thinking about the difficult situation that I found myself in. 

The idea of Chan’s arrangement had once been enchanting because everything he promised seemed like a dream come true. But the reality was nothing short of a nightmare. And I was suddenly desperate to escape.

[monchikyun]

XVIII. bury a friend

It has been awfully quiet for about an hour now. As Connor ended his story with horrible dejection written all over his face, he turned around and initiated his stasis, refusing any and all comfort Gavin has been more than willing to provide. He did expect it to be something twisted and tragic like that, even imagined the worst possible scenario before being told how it really went down, just to be safe. If he’s honest with himself, the reality isn't very far from the most fucked up course of events his mind has been able to cook up. Still, it has been able to freeze the blood in his veins, which has paralysed his brain for the amount of time it took Connor to withdraw to his simulated sleep. 

Gavin has already cursed himself for being so goddamn incompetent when it comes to emotional issues, blamed himself for the cold shoulder he didn't even have the chance to receive. He still does, as he lies glued to the bed, counting the cracks in the ceiling. His nicotine addiction is begging him to go into the cold and give it what it needs to survive, but the warmth of his current company is impossible to leave. His hand aches for the smallest touch, for some confirmation that Connor is still here with him. So he directs his sight to the body next to him, letting himself be mesmerised by the constellations of freckles decorating the android's bare arm. It's a painful view, knowing that he still doesn't have the right to connect those dots with his own defects, to interpose himself with this amazing, flawed being who has carved a hole in his chest and invaded his heart.

He remembers how the android was back when he found him on the roof, finally realising the enormous difference created by the months they’ve spent together. Last spring he dreaded going to work, feared that Connor just wouldn’t show up one day and he wouldn’t be able to see him ever again. Or worse, all that would remain of him would be the empty vessel that used to house his colourful soul, something that would kill his last hopes. He was tempted to become a well-meaning stalker then, to always be near for when a potential threat arrives, but that idea was too exhausting for him in the end, and so he left his worries to a silent prayer which guided him all through to summer. 

With the warmth came the first smile and a myriad of gratitudes for his uncharacteristic kindness. That’s when they started having casual conversations, a big leap from the uncomfortable silences that filled their shared hours in the previous season. It was somewhere in July when he first regarded Connor as his friend, without his vigilant denial disagreeing that fact. Gavin has always found the android very attractive, like an eye candy specifically developed for his torment, but knowing there was a whole, unpolished person behind that plastic perfection has made his partner so much more appealing. He simply couldn’t stop himself getting drawn to him, despite all the countless attempts to emotionally distance himself from the one who lived inside his dreams. It was either letting himself be eaten by the monsters living in his past, or inviting in the one person who has the power to push them away from his corrupted mind.

For the longest time, he did neither. Though his inability to act on his feelings was due to more than just the inherent fragility of their source, he was simply afraid like he has always been when it comes to things that have the potential to hurt him. He'd rather be thrown in a paper shredder than to have his soul bruised again. Physical pain is easy to understand, straightforward in its healing. Time usually takes care of what needs to be done, but when it comes to the mind, sometimes even passing years will have little to no effect on the waste that has accumulated in someone’s innermost core. And Gavin didn't want to add onto the rotting pile of mess that has already been too much to bear as it is. But that was months ago, and as the earth was becoming colder, the warmth that had started budding inside of him turned into sweltering heat.

When autumn was nearing its end, he understood that he would soon burn up if he didn’t begin dealing with his problem. Maybe that’s how they got here, to a place where he doesn’t have to call his feelings inconvenience anymore, having breached the border that has kept them apart all these months. He wants to stop fighting it for good. This truth is sent to him from above as he puts his fingers on Connor's bare temple, tracing the ghost of the LED that used to signify his nature. 

He'd like to say that the fact that one of them isn't human is what prevented them from giving into their hearts' desires, but that is far from the truth. Life is much more complicated than that, not as black and white as he wants it to be. 

Gavin wishes their relationship was defined, so he could casually take the android in his arms and hold him away from the evil of the world, just for a short while, just so he can expand his collection of irreplaceable moments that he doesn't ever want to forget. 

He considers getting just a bit closer, weighing all the pros and cons that ultimately mean nothing because deep down he recognises that their sentiments are shared. So he lowers his steadying hand down from Connor’s temple, ready to enfold everything his partner represents. But fortune isn’t on his side tonight, because as soon as he begins his movement, Connor wakes up with a jerk that betrays confusion lined up with its best friend, unease. 

"Did you have a nightmare?" Gavin is more than familiar with the concept of being tortured by his own psyche as he lays it to rest, so he's aware of just how disorienting such illusions can be, how unrelentingly cruel and merciless they often are. 

"No, no... I-... androids can't normally dream. I wasn't really sleeping, just… thinking. More than I should." 

Gavin scoots over so their shoulders are just about touching, a decision his conscious mind has had no say in. 

"Do you wanna talk 'bout it?" A quiet, tentative question just barely escapes his lips for fear he gets denied entrance into Connor's trove of dark secrets. 

There is a short, excruciating period of silence before he gets his answer.

"You know how I can preconstruct any future scenario based on the information available to me?" 

"Yeah? I mean… sorta. Can't really wrap my mind around your technical stuff most of the time." That's only partially a lie. He ought to tell him that he doesn't want to picture his inner workings because they kind of scare him, but maybe that would be too inappropriate given the frailty of this moment. 

"Well… I saw you get buried…,” the android breathes out for reasons Gavin can only guess, “after you died, naturally." 

"Naturally." 

Why doesn't this even surprise him anymore. Of course Connor would paint himself the grimmest image possible, these are just his default settings. Give him the brightest colours and he'd draw you the darkest sky without a single star in sight. 

"That's not… I'm sorry I,... I didn't mean to… I just couldn't stop it since it went that way and��" 

"Hey, it's okay.” It hurts seeing Connor get like that, losing most of his coherency and feeling like he should apologise for it.  

“How…," Gavin takes a deep breath, trying to calm his racing thoughts down. Connor was the one who saw his funeral, not him, yet he feels like he’s been there already, among the dirt, not far from other decaying corpses. It’s an uncanny sensation. Not one he’ll be chasing any time soon. 

"How did it make you feel?" A stupid question, really, and yet the best his brain has to offer. 

"How do you think?" Gavin never knew that tears could fit an incredulous look, but the welling in Connor's eyes combined with the exasperation written all over his face is proof enough. Laughable, frankly, but he wouldn't dare. Not now, anyway. 

"Guess it sucked then." 

"That's putting it mildly." The android shakes his head and rubs his eyes before they have the chance to leak his sorrow. 

"I… I don't ever want to go through that again,” he says, desperation piercing his voice through and through. It would be easy to dismiss these ungrounded worries if it wasn’t for the two flaming brown lights probing his own mossy pools like they intend to hypnotise them and seize control over his soul.  

"You know that no one can force you to… be there... when it happens." 

"You don’t get it! That's not the point. I don't want to live in a world where two of my best friends are nothing but a memory. I realise that’s selfish, but… "

Gavin does, by all means, get it, he just tried to help, somehow. 

Connor’s eyes are turning into glass, threatening to melt again, so he closes his because God knows he does not possess the strength to witness it, not tonight at least. 

"Maybe you should just relax Con, the future will come no matter what, but we still have the might to shape it as we like. To some extent. Anyway,... I promise…," he cuts the sentence midway to inhale a big gulp of oxygen, an action which results in a minor coughing fit. 

"I promise to try my best to stay by your side as long as physically possible. " A statement which makes him want to cry instead. 

"Does it mean you’ll stop smoking then?" 

Oh, that devious android, of course this conversation would lead here, why wouldn't it. He glances at his nightstand, checking if the half-full box of cigarettes is still there, waiting for him to take its lethal fruit. Come to think about it, ever since their little trip his taste for cigarettes has somewhat diminished. Could be the fresher air just outside these thin walls, or the fact that Connor’s presence stimulates him enough already, so the need for nicotine is not as great as it is when he has to spend his time alone or surrounded by people who hold little to no significance to him, pretending like he doesn't crave something beyond the drug his body could very well function without. 

"Yeah..., yeah, okay." Gavin buries his face in his hands, disbelieving his consent. 

As he puts them away and folds them in his lap, he scroungers up a lazy smile meant to lighten up the heavy mood, to maybe clear Connor’s stormy sky a little. 

"But only if you promise to try to be more optimistic…  just a smidge.., " he makes a gesture with his two fingers to show how small of an effort would suffice. 

Then he gives Connor a friendly pat on his thigh, after which he realises that he doesn't have to limit his displays of affection anymore, not after all the intimacy they have been willing to submit themselves to already. 

So he lets his palm linger, allowing himself to rub gentle circles into the clothed skin. He doesn't have to be cautious with Connor, for the android isn't burdened with any biological organs that would make this situation uncomfortable for both parties. 

"Life isn't all bad, I’m sure you came across that particular information at least once during your time on this Earth. Experienced it, even. No?" 

"You're right." 

A trace of a hesitant smile on Connor’s lips is all that it takes for Gavin to heave a sigh of relief. He’s too tired to think beyond that feeling. Everything inside of him, all the emotions and memories blend into a blurry mixture as he starts losing the ground under his feet. 

But he must fight it, his friend still needs him awake...

"Let's go to sleep," Connor whispers, tugging him into a tender embrace. It’s warm and safe and he can't concentrate on anything but the wave of love pulling him under to the sweet slumber he’s always yearned for. 

Indeed, life can be ever so wonderful sometimes.

@a-convin-new-year

[cherr-e]

— disclaimer ➛ swearing maybe? trainee life?

genre ➛ angst and fluff

— title ➛ three a.m

summary ➛ It’s the final night as a trainee within the best K-pop company in the world. Oliver prepares to leave that life behind. Yet, one young boy has one last memory to create at three a.m.

AUTHOR’S NOTE:-  [mp3] when oliyong get to the window scene, make sure to listen to rosyln by bon iver (slowed would make it even prettier) [mp3] yeah it’s kinda shit but we move

masterlist

He turned left, the street he was used to for nine months greeting him. The black plastic bag rustling as it slowly swung backwards and forwards while Oliver sluggishly walked back to the accommodation his company had provided for him. It was nearing three a.m, the people who lived in this street were most likely huddled in their quaint homey places but also some were probably wide awake and alone - singular within their homes.

Oliver entered his apartment building he shared with other trainees, he ascended the first flight of stairs - the elevator was never on his favour. He only rode it once, the creaking wires and the flickering lights enough to make him prefer the stairs. Now, he was pressing the keypads - his mother’s birthday locked the dingy place up who he only shared with a frail boy named Taeyong. A trainee who only joined a few months back, Oliver found him cute - he was absolutely clueless when he first joined and those big puppy-like eyes made his heart warm up with love. Taeyong was like a younger brother he always wished for, and when he found out they lived together, he wanted to make sure that the young naive boy would adjust well. 

He taught him basic dance moves, a few chords on the guitar and rehearsed lightly with him. Oliver also made sure that his friend would eat, sometimes he would treat him out for some food with the little money he had from the monthly allowance his parents sent him. 

The machine let out a tune, and Oliver pushed the door open slowly - not wanting to wake up the only other person in the small space he lived in. When the older one first moved in nine months ago, there were other trainees who lived with him. Sammy and Jungwon, they had been with the company for years but realised they were not going to make their debut soon - so they packed their bags and left to their new lives, away from their dreams. For months, Oliver was always alone in this place, his passion for the stage beginning to slowly tumble but a new light had joined the house. They could both relate to each other, wanting to better themselves to debut or even debut in the same group. 

Taking off his worn-out trainers, he slipped into his black fluffy slippers and placed the bag on the countertop. “You’re here?” A high-pitched voice greeted Oliver and the boy nodded as he washed his hands. “Back from the convenience store, when did you come?” He asked as he took out the junk from the bag. “A few minutes ago...” Taeyong hesitated to speak, but it was Oliver’s last night with him. “It’s going to be weird without you.” 

Oliver let out a soft chuckle, “don’t miss me too much - you’ll find better ‘mentors’” He air quoted the last word and Taeyong was now giggling. The older popped the kettle on and pulled out his tattered cigarette box, “I never knew you smoked.” Taeyong arched a brow, curious on how Oli had gotten away with it considering the strict rules. 

“I only let it out when I’m frustrated or confused.” He replied, placing the lighter against the butt of the cigarette and shielded it for a few seconds before inhaling the nicotine and a cloud of grey left his mouth and nose. Taeyong coughed, suddenly feeling awkward and scrunched up his nose at the smell. “Sorry Taeyong, I’m filled with worries for the future.” The smoker cleared his throat and took another swig. 

“It’s okay, it’s not like you have to follow rules anymore.” The joke sounded monotone, or even depressing. The silence that followed made the situation at hand even more dark and gloomy than it already was - jokes beginning to tumble. Humour no longer able to protect reality. 

A boy who was confused with his identity, and what future he wanted to choose. Something he loved - music and dance - beginning to make him lose himself, and as well as that Oliver felt so lost with who he was and what he believed in. Continuing this life, would break him and hate the things he once loved. 

“Whether you’re signed underneath a strict label or not - you’re bound to break rules in this system.” He looked into Taeyong’s eyes, the kettle beginning to hiss but the frail boy wouldn’t look away. Oliver’s eyes were dark and mysterious, the person he was getting to know in the past few months seemed different from the one who stood there with his hands on either side of the table. He looked intimidating, scarier and just cold. 

“You seem different Oli.” The shorter one voiced his thoughts aloud, making the other one break out of his state through a cheeky smile wearing itself on his face. “Got a little philosophical there.” He spoke in a cheery tone, ripping open the cup ramen open as he picked up the kettle to pour into the snack. He folded the plastic lid back into place, letting nearby chopsticks hold the lid in place as the flavouring powder weaved its way in the starchy food. The cigarette still in between his lips, he looked real and tired. 

A sly smirk wore itself on Oliver Lee’s features, the end of the cigarette lighting up as he breathed in a new batch of nicotine into his lungs. A cloud of smoke left his lips again, Taeyong’s naive eyes still focusing on the stick in between his lips. Something so small was so addictive to many, that cigarette was a relief to many - like the man in front of him. Taeyong felt like Oliver was his cigarette, something he was irrationally addicted to, he didn’t know why. Moving away would be healthy for his best friend, and he should be happy for him but he was far from happy. Taeyong was upset, lost, confused and stupid. Nothing made sense in this world, he felt like a bullet soaring through the air, trying to reach something that he could penetrate and create home within. However, the bullet kept on flying. 

“Do you want some?” The older asked, pointing towards the cup ramen that had been spinning there for a few minutes. “Not really.” He replied, Oliver, nodding in acknowledgement - “let’s go sit in front of the window.” Taeyong suggested with a cute grin adorning his face, the idea making him all fuzzy inside. If he was confused with his feelings, he’d put that aside and fall for Oliver more - underneath the bright moonlight. 

Gosh, he really was entirely whipped. 

They got up and left the kitchen, taking a seat on the wooden floor which was often cold but they paid no mind to the temperature. The view they got with this place was beautiful, it was shocking as usually, companies housed their trainees in shitty dingy places with barely functioning necessities - which was true for the duo’s apartment. But the view made them forget of the worries they had, as well as the broken shower head. 

They stayed there while Oliver ate, finished smoking what he could of that cigarette. Being in the company of who he admired was enough for Taeyong, it was his last moment with him for a long time, the possibility of them re-uniting sparse and thin so he felt like he had every right to stay silent because it was better than useless small talk. “Why are you so quiet today?” Oliver asked, rubbing the butt of the cigarette on the top of the ramen plastic lid - he was now slightly liberated away from his thoughts. 

“Appreciating the lights I guess, it’s better than talking with no meaning.” His shoulders were slumped forward, eyes focused straight forward on the city lights as they switched on and off every few 10 minutes, reassuring him that three a.m made them feel restless. Just how he felt right now, heart quickening knowing that Oliver Lee was looking at him right now. 

“Your eyes sparkle a lot y’know.” He said, a light blush growing on Taeyong’s cheeks and turned towards the person who held his heart. “Don’t lie Oli.” “But they do, and there’s nothing wrong about it. They are actually quite pretty.” 

“Don’t say that,” Taeyong mumbled, palms beginning to sweat - he was slightly angry. “Say what?” Oliver was clueless, playing with his lighter in one hand as he looked into the city ahead of him. “You don’t say that to friends.” 

Oliver stopped with the lighter. The atmosphere turning tense, Taeyong felt like the only thing he could hear was his racing heart, beating quicker as every second turned into a different number. “You’re quite again,” Oliver spoke up, beginning to pull out the box of cigarettes for the second time. “Don’t smoke again, it hasn’t even been ten minutes since your last.” He wasn’t soft-spoken anymore, it was like all those months of annoyance at everything had been pointed at Oliver even though he didn’t mean too. 

The pressure to be perfect at his sparse talents, he didn’t know where to find them, the confusion towards having feelings you were supposed to have with a girl falling onto his best friend and roommate. His roommate not taking care of himself, harming and belittling himself. Taeyong knew Oliver felt like shit, it was so fucking obvious.

“Look at me Taeyong.” Oliver begun, waiting for a few seconds before heaving a sigh and repeating himself more sternly. He placed his rough calloused hands on the side of Taeyong’s neck, and the boy turned towards his touch. That place felt hot beneath his palm, itchy and the younger felt himself get sweatier. 

“What’s up?” 

He didn’t have words to explain himself, what would he even start with? Complaining about life, complaining about the greed he had for him? So, he pursed his lips in anger and stayed quiet and turned his head to look at his frantic hands. This led to Oliver getting closer, hand still situated on Taeyong’s neck, “speak Taeyong-ah.” 

With a swift movement, Taeyong leaned in closer and puckered his lips to meet Oliver’s. He felt hot and adrenaline had sought him out before his rational side had spoken, he pulled away slightly. At least he did it, at least he shared his first kiss with the person he admired. 

“I like you, Oliver. A lot, I don’t know how much but it is quite a la-” Amidst his ramble, the older one had placed his lips on Taeyong’s pouted ones. A habit he often had when he’d speak when worried or confused, Oliver placed his hands on the sides of Taeyong’s face as he kissed him harder, he parted his lips as the kiss got deeper. Lips on the other lips. Oliver tasted of cigarettes, his lips were soft and plush like Taeyong had always dreamed of. He had slipped a tongue in, both of them warming up with love and desire for one another.

He pulled back and had that stupid smirk Taeyong had fallen for. He didn’t know if he was mocking him or revelling in what had just happened, he wished it was the latter. 

Oliver pulled him in for one small kiss, and then they lay there below the moonlight shining through. The clock had just turned into four a.m, sleep enrapturing the both of them in each other’s warm arms - beneath a blanket Taeyong had strung along with him. They both wore their clothes, Taeyong felt safe in Oliver’s arms. 

Except it was short-lived, as he had now woken with sore muscles and an empty side. He slowly got up from his position, searching for traces of his love. But he was gone, and the only thing left was a note:

❛ I am glad to have been your first kiss and I am glad you were my friend in the last few months in Seoul. Focus on yourself now.  — Oliver Lee.❜

[shardclan]

Since the moment the old dynasty ended, Arcanus had been Telos' right hand. Before Bestealcian was trained well enough to be her Umbra Wolf, and before Lutia had healed enough to be Queen's Mage, Arcanus had faithfully been at her side. And despite the undeniable fact that his personality had softened and lightened and that he clung more openly to the few dragons he was attached to, most of his time was still undeniably spent watching Telos' back. 

So it was strange to finally feel what it was like to be on the other side of her desk, pinned in place by her gaze. 

It should have been a simple task. Shekhinah and Ranti were certainly going to be wherever Faded had cropped up, so Arcanus and Bestealcian were to go investigate. It was supposed to be quiet, in and out, even if they found something wrong they were not supposed to raise even so much as their voice. Yet even before they were deep enough into the city for the daylight to have fully faded, there was so much that had left Arcanus in the wrong state of mind for the job.

“What happened?”

Stubs of Carnelian's cigarettes. Dozens of them. Some old, some fresh. Arcanus hadn't seen him since their talk about Stellaria and how odd Carnelian's actions had been lately. But Carnelian hadn't wandered far on his supposed job, it seemed. Signs of his presence only grew thicker as Bestealcian led the way, and Arcanus knew the imperial had been to see Hitth. He didn't smoke during stakeouts.

Bestealcian's jab at his disquiet. It wasn't even that she liked to push his buttons, she just didn't have a single reverent feather on her body. Her tone had been light-hearted and joking rather when she asked if he was worried about 'his boyfriend'. He wasn’t so far gone such childish words could upset him, but his reproach was firm. "Don't say that. It would hurt Atsushi if that kind of thing reached him." 

Even as he said it, he knew he was saying something strange. Arcanus hadn't forgiven Atsushi in spite of his reform. Lately he sympathized with him--he could no longer regard unrequited love as a waste of time and energy that could be better spent on self-improvement--but that didn't mean he actually cared about Atsushi. But he did care about Carnelian, and knew instinctively that if such a stupid misunderstanding reached Atsushi’s ears, Carnelian would-- He would...

Oh.

Something about how simple it was had deeply embarrassed him.  He was still new to openly caring for his loved ones, and practically new born at being in love, and it amazed him how easily he could now recognize the seeds of it in others. The old him would have never noticed, and probably not believed it if he were told. A part of him wished he was still that stoicism on his side. It felt indecent and invasive that the nature of a could-be relationship between two people could creep over someone uninvolved and dawn on them like that. Romantic gossip had merely been frivolous nonsense to him before, but it seemed downright rude now.

So it was that Arcanus had stopped being in the right frame of mind to meet Hitth long before they actually arrived at the crumbled temple, and finding his brother there was merely the largest crack in the already crumbling foundations of his once-stolid disposition. That Ashes responded with wide, fearful eyes and clutched fingers didn't help.

It was the guilt in his brother’s eyes that set Arcanus off. It said “I know. I know I shouldn’t be here. I know this isn’t safe, that I’ve put myself in danger, and that I’ve hurt you.” If it had been the first time, perhaps it wouldn’t have been so bad. But Arcanus had already asked Ashes to stay away--had intentionally hid his visits from Stellaria and made a liar of himself. 

His sword was in his hand as he approached, and he was ready to become a murderer. “Not again!” he’d cried. “I WILL NOT LET THIS HAPPEN AGAIN!”

Then there had been the light. 

And the vision. 

His knees thudded in the dirt from a thousand worlds away, and the sword fell from his grip. Tiny insects that looked like motes of light in the high summer sun replaced the dark landscape. She was there as he’d seen in a thousand dreams, standing in the Summerlands with the high summer wheat waving around her waist. The unnamed scion was there with her, and of course she wasn’t unnamed. He heard a name called that wasn’t Shard and must have been hers but he was too overwhelmed to recall it. Telos’ eyes lit up in a way Arcanus hadn’t seen in near ten eons now, and Fragment appeared like a pouncing mirror from out of the stalking. He lifted her up, and Arcanus’ head and heart rang with the sound of her joyful laughter.

When he turned away, it was only because it was too bright to look at. He came to in that dark world with Ashes’ wild eyed, crying face right before him. Arcanus’ own face was wet, and it was not from his brother’s tears.

Bestealcian had ushered him back, but he had more or less been sleep-walking the whole way, right until the moment he had been called in. Ashes sat on one stool, another left open, Lutia on Telos’ left and Azricai standing to her right. Where Arcanus normally would have been. And when their eyes met, he felt his heart calm. He hadn’t asked her to. As the Judge, it was particularly illegal for her to use AREI on others. But he needed it the way Carnelian needed cigarettes and Eos needed the pearlcatcher scroll and Heaven needed pain. So he accepted that calming wave with as subtle but grateful an expression as he could...

...And didn’t say any of that. 

“When I saw Ashes there I lost control of myself,” he stated factually. “I made the move to kill Hitth, but when I did, I looked into...whatever it is they do. As we see, I made it back, but I am potentially contaminated as well now.”

Telos glanced sidelong at Azricai, who appeared vexed but nodded anyway. Her fingers drummed along the marble top of the desk, until finally she clasped her hands together. 

“While you were gone, something came through the rift were the seat almost tore through the veils during transport. It looked like a dragon, though it might not have been. Faded attached to it.” 

When she was assured by their recoiling that they understood the weight of that statement, she continued: “According to Ranti, it’s functionally a spirit, but very special one. And the rest of the coven will be coming to incubate and stabilize its presence in this world when Auspice departs them on the next full moon.”

“W...well that’s fine then isn’t it...?” Ashes ventured timidly.

“I’m not sure it is. When Ranti tried to explain it, words like ‘ultraplanar’ and ‘greater manifestation’ were tossed around. There is also the very interesting matter where Ranti is apparently capable of using her orogenesis to materialize pure white celestine.”

Recoil was not all that Telos got out the two this time. Whatever else had happened to them in Hewn City, Ashes was the former student of a powerful Archmage and a scholar who thrived on greater understanding of magic; and Arcanus was a magic knight who believed from his youth that the past was something that should be learned from. 

“Where is it?!” Ashes screamed. He had the sense to sound scared rather than excited for once. “It’s extremely dangerous to Arcanites! Even a small amount could kill any one of us!”

“Outside House Betelegeuse,” Telos said coolly. “Sealing shut the rift, because now that something has finally come through it, more things are expected to follow. Sit down.”

“But--!!!”

“Sit down,” Telos repeated, with Arcanus’ steely voice echoing her. 

Ashes flinched, more at his brother than Telos. His hands flexed open and shut, gripping his hair, his clothes, each other. Much as Arcanus had never been on the other side of Telos’ scrutiny, Ashes had never been on the other side of Arcanus’ anger. He sat down.

Telos, meanwhile, took to her feet and circled the desk until she was standing over them both. “Something is stirring in this clan. After all these untried eons of picking up the pieces and figuring out how to be responsible for the old agreements, were are again at risk from something or someone who actively  means us ill. Right now, Dreamweaver is weakened and exhausted. They would protect us if they could, but I intend to protect them right now. So I have no patience for weak hearts.” 

She pointed the pommel of her rapier at Ashes. “I let your visits to the Hewn City go uncommented on because I thought you would stop when Arcanus asked you to. But instead you went behind his back. So I can’t trust that you won’t go behind mine as well.”

From where she still stood like a stormy-faced statue, Azricai decreed: “You are sentenced to house arrest, with the specification that you will be confined to your lab so as not to interrupt your important work. When your expertise as Tribune is required, you will be accompanied to and from the designated site, and you are not to be without your chaperone at penalty of imprisonment.”

Ashes opened his mouth to cry out in protest, but wisely closed it even though he trembled in his seat. When Lutia rested her compassionately on his shoulder, he let himself be guided away in silence that was only interrupted by his hitching, barely-controlled sobs.

This left Arcanus alone under Telos’ scrutinizing glare. Though he had not actively disappointed her, he could see her assessing the odds that he would go the same way. Addicted to whatever hidden desire he had been shown and willing to brave the dark and treacherous avenues of the Hewn City for another glimpse. 

He must have passed, since she let her rapier rest back against her hip. “Whatever you have seen today, I hope you understand that it is an escape. The way things are here and now in this world will not change, whether you chase that vision or not.”

Arcanus kept a stony countenance, but his heart fluttered beneath his breastplate. How strong the Morning Queen had grown. This Telos was certainly not the withdrawn and cynical Xannite Alchemist, but nor was she her freshly-coronated self, who was easily frustrated and prone to becoming excessively anxious over even small problems. 

He was a fool to love her for sure, but he couldn’t decide if it was arrogant of him to be as proud of her as he was at that moment. 

“I hope your heart will be focused on what is and not what could be, Arcanus.”

The sound of her laughter in the arms of Fragment rose up from the back of her mind, but it found less purchase than he expected. An ideal version of events it might very well be, but his Telos was here, and no miracle would happen that brought her family back to her in this world. 

“You are my charge,” he answered finally. “That is above all other things.”

Beyond Telos, he noted Azricai’s grip relax atop her cane and her knuckles regaining their color. 

[salmagundimagazine]

ON GIRLS, ADDICTION, AND GROWING UP by Catherine Pond

from Salmagundi, Summer 2017 [The TV Issue]

[photo by Annabel Mehran]

   1

It was always winter that year, my first year in Brooklyn. Snow fell on the power-lines.  A grey tree shivered outside my bedroom window. I had many friends but none that I could call.

I wanted to feel connected to the city the way other poets had, like Frank O’Hara in his famous poem “Steps”— “oh god it’s wonderful/ to get out of bed/ and drink too much coffee/ and smoke too many cigarettes/ and love you so much”— but I didn’t smoke, nor did I drink coffee. I barely made it out of bed some mornings. It felt more like I belonged in Muriel Rukeyser’s poem “Empire State Tower”:

The far lands melt to orange and to grey. The city lies, quiet but for a rumor, A single voice. People are guessed. We hazard The world we know is there, below, unseen. And in the street the many beautiful Unstaring walk unwaiting the knives of doom…

   2

It was 2012 and I was 21, living in East Williamsburg in a two-bedroom on Frost Street with my roommate Paul. Paul treated the few women in his life poorly. He despised his girlfriend (uncreative, immature, and blank were some of the adjectives he used) but no matter how many times he dumped her, she’d be back again the next week, sitting on our couch, Paul avoiding eye contact with me. For her birthday, he bought her a $200 steak at Peter Luger’s. “Maybe you actually like her,” I suggested one day, and he shrugged.  

My romantic life was no less antagonistic. I often brought strangers home to have sex with, only to decide halfway through the act that I didn’t want them there, at which point I’d kick them out into the snow at some ungodly hour. Paul witnessed all of this but never brought it up, and I was grateful for that.

His great passion was television. He liked watching TV with his girlfriend; it was passive, I deduced, and allowed him to ignore her for long stretches of time. I didn’t understand television, and found it distracting and unsatisfying. His favorite show, still in its first season, was Lena Dunham’s cult hit Girls. Paul worked at a law firm and hated women, so this baffled me. When he turned it on, I’d note silently how obnoxious the girls were, then retreat to my bedroom to read Paul Celan.

   3

One night, unable to sleep, I wandered into the living room and watched the entire first season of Girls. Still, I made it a point to actively hate the show. I told everyone I could: “The girls aren’t smart, or driven, and none of them have jobs. I can’t relate.” Occasionally episodes would be filmed on my block, in my coffee shop, in my neighborhood bar. I’d continue my criticism to whomever would listen: “I don’t recognize the world they live in.” Each month a check would arrive from my father to cover my rent. “They’re such spoiled brats,” I lamented to Paul.

   4

Lena Dunham’s lime-green raincoat, dotted with pink flowers, falls open at the crotch. Her teeth are crooked; her lips bright red. It’s February 2017 and she’s posing on the cover of Nylon magazine, happy to capitalize on the character she’s developed: part-child, part-woman, all-provocation.  

Fresh out of college in 2012 and riding the success of her movie Tiny Furniture, Dunham launched the pilot for her show Girls to much fanfare. She snagged the dream network (HBO), the dream co-producer (guru Judd Apatow), and the dream co-writers (Jenni Konner & Lesley Arfin among them).

Girls invited both acclaim and criticism from the get-go.  Deemed “toxic” and “white girl feminism at its worst,” the show, set in contemporary Brooklyn, New York, features four protagonists: Hannah Horvath (Dunham), Jessa Johanson (Jemima Kirke), Shoshanna Shapiro (Zosia Mamet), and Marnie Michaels (Allison Williams).

Dunham is not the first to have the idea to follow four white girls around New York (see: Sex & the City) but she is the first to be held accountable for her show’s lack of diversity.  In The Atlantic in 2013, Judy Berman spared no mercy: “Dunham continues to cast non-white actors only when race defines their character—which is to say, she still doesn’t get it.”

Lena Dunham, sometimes to her own detriment, is not concerned with political correctness (“I haven’t had an abortion but I wish I had,” she said recently in an interview). It is part of what makes the dialogue in her show so accurate and brightly humorous, and it is also part of what might be deemed problematic about her public and professional persona.

Is there an upside? This insistence on accountability has encouraged a long-overdue dialogue about diversity in television. And Dunham herself has learned a little something along the way: “When I wrote the pilot I was 23. Each character was an extension of me,” she told Nylon. “I wouldn’t do another show that starred four white girls,” she added.

   5.

In the first season, Hannah (Dunham) has weird, sloppy sex with the overly aggressive Adam (Adam Driver); Jessa misses her own abortion appointment because she is getting drunk and having sex with a stranger in a bar; Shoshanna sets out to lose her virginity; and Marnie dumps her boyfriend of five years because he’s “too nice.” Later, Hannah takes acid in order to write a more interesting article, and Adam sends Hannah a picture of his dick wrapped in fur, then quickly texts, “That was for someone else.”

Despite this (or because of it) Hannah falls in love with Adam. Adam, for his part, seems drawn to Hannah, but disdains her, presumably because she evokes emotional reactions from him that he’s not fully comfortable feeling. In subsequent seasons, he dates ‘conventionally’ beautiful women, but finds himself defending Hannah, as in a scene where the stunning Shiri Appleby (whom Adam’s character degrades sexually, then dumps) bumps into Hannah and Adam at a coffee shop. Appleby sizes up Hannah’s body and exclaims, with lacerating cruelty, “That’s her?”

Late at night I considered my own body in the mirror. I had a proportional hourglass shape, with big boobs. But my body scared me. I preferred being thin and wearing baggie clothes, and it was my worst nightmare that anyone would learn I had large breasts.

I liked watching Hannah move through the world partially clothed, because I couldn’t, and her obliviousness, while sometimes problematic, seemed in this one sense a blessing.

   6.

As the show progressed, I expected a personality transformation in the characters much like the one I expected in myself: I assumed Hannah would eventually mature, stop loving Adam, publish some writing, make a real career for herself. I thought Jessa would stop doing drugs, get her shit together, that Marnie would become less obnoxiously privileged and white, that Shoshanna would shed her Jewish-American Princess prissiness and learn to take care of herself. I hoped Adam would have a functioning relationship and make peace with his demons.

I was pissed when this didn’t happen. I was angry when Hannah went to the Iowa Writers’ Workshop and then left because she couldn’t live anywhere but New York City, and didn’t understand how to take constructive criticism. Her writing was self-referential and sometimes straight-up bad. When I first watched Jessa attend AA meetings, I thought it was silly. Jessa’s stint in rehab seemed futile, and she picked up drinking soon after.

When, on my 23rd birthday, I broke down in front of my brother and admitted I needed help with my alcoholism, I didn’t make the correlation to Jessa’s character. I was proud and vocal when I stuck with AA for one month, and then two.  And I was mortified and quiet when I stopped going and picked up drinking again, more heavily this time.

   7

Around the time the fourth season came out, I fell in love with an artist named Charlie, who had dated a friend of mine years earlier. This friend was particularly possessive of him.

I made lists of all the reasons why my attraction to Charlie was bullshit, why it wouldn’t work, why I should avoid him.  I assumed the attraction was based on some subconscious yearning, the fucked up parts of me attempting a ruinous self-sabotage. In a fury with myself, I used the money from a poetry prize to buy a ticket to France for a week. I decided in that time I would get over my bizarre crush and move on with my life.    

I fell in love anyway. I lost my friend. And eight months later, I lost Charlie too.

   8

In the fifth season of Girls, something surprising happens. Adam begins pursuing Jessa. As Hannah’s best friend, Jessa is furious to find herself falling for Adam as well. They date. Hannah finds out; Jessa begins to resent Adam.

“Y’know, people hate me,” Jessa confides to Adam. “I’m a hateable kind of person. I don’t know why, I can’t help it, maybe it’s because I have a big ass and good hair but I know, I know that I have principles and one thing I don’t do is steal people’s boyfriends. But you ruin that. Don’t you see that? We could die in the same bed and I will never forgive you.”

Adam, livid, replies: “Hannah is a lazy, entitled, manipulative, myopic narcissist who knows a lot less than she thinks she does. Why do you think I fucking hated you for so long? Because Hannah fucking hates you.”

Jessa whips her long blonde hair. “Welcome to having a friend,” she digs coolly, and Adam smashes a lamp against a wall.  

   9

As the other characters slide into caricature in the late seasons of the show, Adam seems actually to begin to mature, even playing guardian to his nephew after his unstable sister (the brilliant Gaby Hoffman) disappears. In this way he serves as Hannah’s foil, and his maturity highlights the ways in which Hannah fails to grow up with the world around her. Ironic that the character with the most interesting arc on Girls is a man.  

   10

I consoled myself a lot in my graduate school years by comparing myself to those I deemed less intelligent. I was convinced I could’ve written Girls, but better, and I protected myself this way, moving through the world with the conviction of my own gifts, and no awareness of the deep uncertainty I harbored inside. In the poems I wrote, I was at the mercy of everyone in the world who didn’t love me back.  

Girls, for all its flaws, anticipated and mirrored my own life in ways I did not want to acknowledge.  As I grew older and more forgiving of myself, I found myself more forgiving of the characters on the show, and their myriad missteps. Annoying, immature, adolescent—sure. But Lena Dunham had something I wanted: agency.  

It’s this that I think we all work towards as we get older.  Agency in our relationships, in our writing, in our careers, and in ourselves. I still want to be, as Hannah Horvath puts it in the pilot episode, “the voice of my generation. Or, you know, a generation.”    

   11

I haven’t spoken to Paul in years, but I think of him each time I watch Girls. How badly we behaved back then. How scared we were of being hurt.

I think of telling him how he saved my life with his dumb shows and giant flat-screen TV. How safe I felt, hearing him have hate-sex with his girlfriend through the wall. How I loved him, though I never said it. How I knew him by heart.    

When I walked past the other day, Frost Street was quiet. Three trees struggled under ice.

I live on South 3rd now, a street with small fenced-in yards, and a happily neutral name.

[goddammitlance]

KLangst Week is here!!! I’m so excited. Today was Unrequited love/unrequited pining. I am a sucker for pining Keith, so here we are. @klangst-week

Rating: T+ for mild swearing

WC: 1,331

AU: Modern, wherein Keith pines over his best friend and is guilty for it

         It was windy. So windy that Keith wondered how Lance stood upright as he did.

    Well, okay, disclaimer. It’s pretty typical of Oklahoma to be windy, and as someone who grew up in the area, Lance was a bit experienced in high winds, Keith supposed. It was crazy, downright insane weather and winds so powerful that Keith wouldn’t be entirely surprised if it was enough to pull brick buildings up off of their foundations.

    In all honestly, Keith was a little afraid that that might just be the case, and Lance’s parent’s house would be blown clean away.

    When Lance roped Keith into watching his parent’s house with him, Keith thought that it would be a fun time; it would just be Keith and his best friend, hanging out in Lance’s childhood home. There were plenty of snacks, the bed Lance put him up in was pure heaven, and the flatscreen they used frequently was fantastic. It was going to be a good time. Hell, it was going to be great!

Well, that’s what Keith tried to trick himself into believing.

    In reality (because that’s what this was, not some fairy tail where Keith’s bad boy charm, or whatever, would finally cause Lance to fall for him) Keith was using this opportunity to get over Lance. There would be “bro bonding time,” where they would simply watch the house and play video games with each other. There was nothing to spur Keith’s crush on, no cute moments to cause Keith to fall further into the dark depths of one-sided pining.

    Mm, mm, mm, guess what. Keith had two problems. First off, Keith was pining, therefore very, very weak. He tried to find some way to find Lance un cute. Like, ugly-fy him or something. Apparently, due to Keith’s very extensive research, that was fucking impossible. Because Every Single Fucking Thing Lance did made a thousand butterflies burst out into Keith’s chest, wreaking havoc on Keith’s very normal heart beat.

    For the love of God, their second day at the house, Lance went to eat a chip and Keith nearly had a heart attack. A chip. No big deal right? Except that the chip was covered in nacho cheese - and whenever Lance made to put the accursed chip in his mouth, he got cheese on his upper lip.

    The surprised, wide blue eyes and the adorable sound Lance made haunted Keith’s gay-ass pining dreams.

    The next day was The Trial by Pond. Lance had taken Keith out in the ATV, the Mule, as Lance called it. He took Keith a couple of acres past the pastures, where there was a lovely little pond. There was shirtless swimming and endless internal screaming. So yes, Keith was weak. The weakest.

    The second problem was this: Lance was Keith’s best friend.

    There were so many problems with how Keith was feeling. There was a certain betrayal Keith was committing to every time he looked at Lance, watching the curves of his body, or the lines of his muscles. It felt so wrong, because he was betraying every ounce of trust Lance had him, because he wanted to kiss him. He wanted to do things with Lance that were so impure, the guilt that came along with those thoughts rested on his shoulders for days.

    It was at night that he had the biggest problems, because Lance had given Keith his own bedroom to sleep in. The sheets, the air, the pillowcases all smelled like Lance. It was comforting, but Keith hated himself for indulging himself in it as he did. He would flop onto his back and try to resist pushing his face back into the pillow, to inhale that bit of scent that he loved so.

    It made Keith sick as he thought of this side of things, so much so that he often lost his appetite.

    It was like taking a drag from a cigarette, he supposed. The first drag was startling and you don’t know how anyone could ever like that sort of thing. That is, until you took another breath. You get used to the smoke; you start to crave the nicotine. You get addicted. You don’t know how to function without your regular cigarette. It leaves a bad taste in your mouth and there’s this lingering thought in the back of your mind, the what ifs. The possibility of the long terms side effects is all too real. Your smile, once so white and pretty could turn sour, your teeth yellow. Something a bit more serious, like cancer could wait just around the corner.

But you crave your cigarette.

    Keith recognizes that he needs to quit, but he doesn’t know how. How do you unlove someone? How do you force yourself to unsee someone like that - like you’re pining after them with all of your being, just wanting them to love you in such a way you know they never will?

    He didn’t know.

    He wished that he could hurry and find out. Or that this goddamned Oklahoman wind would blow him away into the dark night.

    Keith swallowed thickly, trying to put away his musings in a little box in the corner of his mind and focus on what Lance was saying.

    “-I’m glad we pulled all of those plants in the garage, otherwise they’d be fucking toast,” Lance said. He swirled his bar spoon in his glass. It clinked against the sides and the glass. The noise was quiet against the howling wind.

    Keith nodded. He took a drink of his tea, looking out over the hills. “Yeah, but the cherry blossoms are all but toast.” He squinted against the wind coming behind the rims of his glasses. He looked over the horizon, to the bright oil rigs dotting the land in the distance, to the blinking red dots of light telling airplanes of the windmills reaching towards the sky.

    It funny, how Keith could barely see anything in the yard, or in the pastures beyond, but the distance was brightly lit, with all of the rigs around.

    “Ugh, you’re right,” Lance granted. “But I still hope we get at least something.” He hugged one arm around himself, trying to rub warmth into his arms.

    He had been at the whole crunching-in-on-himself-to-conserve-warmth thing for the past half an hour they’ve been out here on the porch. They watched the sunset, subjecting themselves to the chill for the beauty of the whole thing. Keith didn’t know why neither of them went inside after that, even though they were both obviously very cold, even in the June air.

    Keith sighed. “If you’re cold go inside,” he muttered into the rim of his mug. “You’re making me cold with your shivering and teeth chattering..”

    Lance snorted. “It’s the wind making you cold, trust me. It’s not my chattering. And I’m not cold.”

    Keith looked over, doubt in the way his eyebrows were lowered. Lance raised his hands in defeat.

    Alright, fine. I’m cold.” He shuffled in place. “And I think I will go inside. Maybe make some popcorn and get a movie going.” He made it across the patio. Keith kept his eyes solidly on the oil rig directly in his line of sight. Lance’s flip flops made a little sound on the concrete as he spun on his heel to face Keith. “Are you coming?” he asked, curiosity coloring his voice.

    Keith bit at the inside of his cheek. “No,” he croaked. “I’m gonna stay out here for a while, look at stars and stuff.”

    Lance laughed. “If you get too cold, come in, Don’t freeze yourself being stupid.” That was the comment he left Keith with before he went inside, letting the back door slam behind him.

    Keith let out a breath, slumping and leaning against one of the four brick pillars on the patio. He wished the cold would cut into him and make him numb to the pain biting into him.

[lovelyrhink]

no day but today

the heart may freeze, or it can burn. the pain will ease, and i can learn. there is no future, there is no past, i live this moment as my last

rhett used to be famous. well, at least before the virus took hold.

the year is 1989, new york city, december 24th, 9pm, eastern standard time. rhett sits in his chilly warehouse apartment plucking out a few sorry chords with numb fingers. he’s grunged up and broken down, and his roommate, gregg, is scavenging the place for loose scraps of paper, posters, and screenplays. the eastern wind is bitterly cold, and heat is not a luxury either of the artists can afford. gregg convinces rhett to stop moping about long enough to fashion a makeshift fire in a large metal tin, and the two gripe to each other about their overdue rent before dumping the embers down into the street with the rest of the tenants on the grimy block. rhett and gregg look out over the city from their metal balcony, desperately ignoring the bleak days ahead. little does rhett know, there’s a skinny, blue-eyed dancer smoking a cigarette on the balcony below him, deciding right then and there that he’s going to make rhett his.

now rhett, just freshly 23, once had a future in music. he was the pretty boy frontman of a relatively popular rock band, and with guitar in hand, he’d croon out grungy ballads to a motley crew of druggies and drinkers at any downtown bar that hosted them. he loved performing and all the activities that came with it - long night drives through the city, smoking, and kissing pretty girls with beer-tinged tongues. however, during one show, more than a year ago now, he spotted a girl unlike any he’d ever seen, with a dangerous mischief in her eyes that had him captured by her every whim. they had a fast, sexy relationship that had them both running on the high of rock and roll and other drugs, and soon, spliffs turned to smack and addiction caught both of them off guard. realization hit both rhett and his girlfriend hard when they were tested and came up HIV-positive. rhett’s girlfriend then slit her wrists in the bathroom and left him to struggle through a year of withdrawal alone.

that’s where he is now, stuck in the middle of waiting to die and waiting to live. he tries to write music, but hasn’t found much inspiration. he and gregg are both broke and constantly unable to pay rent, and avenue A is littered with the ashen remains of people like them. yet, on good days, rhett can find comfort and joy in his friends. gregg is, in every sense, his best friend, but gregg’s friends and ex girlfriend bring a sense of community to their shitty lives. there’s jessie, gregg’s ex, and her new girlfriend, christy, as well as collins, a professor at MIT who was expelled for his theory of actual reality.

on this particular christmas night, rhett meets someone that changes everything. after gregg leaves, he’s planning on going back to stoned sulking when he gets a knock at the door. he turns and yanks open the heavy metal slab, “what’d you forget?” already out his mouth.

“got a light?”

there, standing before him, is the scrawny kid from downstairs. he’s got a pretty, kind of dirty face, and his eyes are bloodshot and bagged, but they’re blue and beautiful all the same. he holds out an unlit candle as he cocks his head playfully. rhett takes a moment to look at him: he’s in a light gray tank top, loose patterned flannel, and ripped black skinny jeans - far too exposed for this weather. his bright smile is daring, though, and he scratches his stubbly jaw as he waits for rhett to respond.

“i know you,” rhett says. the boy smiles wider and lingers in the doorway, swaying a bit. rhett can’t take his eyes off the moonlight in his dark hair. “you’re shivering.”

the boy then invites himself inside and plays a game with rhett as he introduces himself. he asks rhett to light his candle, and rhett does, sparking the wick with a lighter as if he was meant to all his life. as the flame glows orange and steady between them, rhett stares at the stranger as if he were an apparition, suddenly here before him and making the whole world feel different. he grins at him again, and there’s a certain mischief in his smile that reminds rhett of someone else.

“what?” the stranger asks as rhett loses himself in his eyes.

“it’s nothing, your smile reminded me of...”

“i always remind people of... who is he?”

“she died.”

“she?”

“her name was april.”

the boy’s candle goes out again and he says he’s sorry about rhett’s friend. he then quickly moves on and resumes what rhett reads as flirting, taking every opportunity to press into rhett’s space and use the glow of the low flame to throw him dark, lusty eyes. rhett can only blink stupidly, roses in his cheeks, as he plays the boy’s game, sparking his wick over and over. rhett’s completely flustered by the time he’s telling rhett that he’s dropped his stash (”it was pure! is it on the floor?”) and begins crawling around on his hands and knees. 

“they say that i’ve got the best ass below fourteenth street,” he says, peeking over his shoulder, rump in rhett’s face. “is it true?”

rhett can’t help but stare. it’s small and round and perky and utterly spankable. “what?”

“you’re staring again.”

rhett goes hot. “oh no... i mean, you do have a nice...”

the boy with the great ass then chuckles and asks rhett to help him look. as the two of them crawl around looking for powder, rhett learns that he recognizes the kid from the cat scratch club, the night club where he works. rhett remembers seeing him there when he used to go out, they used to tie him up. he was so incredibly sexy there in the lights in skimpy, skin-tight clothes, crawling around and putting his little ass on display for everyone, handcuffs binding his wrists as other dancers twirled around him and rubbed dirty twenty-dollar bills over his ass and crotch. rhett burns at the thought, then realizes he doesn’t look any less seductive now, talking to him in his apartment and prowling his floor, albeit dressed down. he also teases the kid about his age (”you look like you’re sixteen,” “i’m nineteen!”) and his signs of addiction. when rhett finally finds the little baggie of dreams that fucked up his whole life, he hides it in his back pocket and continues to melt under his neighbor’s clever tricks, feigning innocence. though he’s not yet twenty, the dancer sure knows his stuff, and he guides rhett back down on the couch and nearly sits on him, curls his fingers around rhett’s hands and tells him they’re big like his father’s, and flicks his druggie eyes at rhett’s lips so many times that rhett can’t help but lick them, wanting to put his tongue in the boy’s mouth. he doesn’t, though. the kid just asks him to dance, then circles him and takes his stash from rhett’s back pocket. he flicks it in front of his face, says, “they call me link,” and leaves rhett’s apartment with a sway of his hips.

fortunately, that isn’t the last time rhett sees him. in the morning, when collins brings home a new friend - angel - rhett sees that link has written, “xmas brunch, just us? - link” in the frost on the window. gregg, angel, and collins all tease him about it and ask him if he’s going, but rhett’s heart is closed. though he felt more than he’s felt in a long time the moment link asked him to light his candle, he’s still jaded.

hurting and disappointed in himself, rhett pushes up onto the roof of their apartment building and looks out over the city. all the gray and brown squares against the smoky horizon will be here long after he is, though it’s not a thought he’s unfamiliar with. he is a single working cog in the city’s machine, but his body is failing to function, and with it, takes his heart. he puts his hands on the cold stone railing, empty sigh on the city breeze. how can he love again when he’s dying? when he’s coming off a year of addiction? how can he let someone in when the wounds of april’s suicide still burn? and while link brings moonlight in his hair, he also brings memories of being a young junkie, shivering and sweaty and eager for a fix, and rhett’s not looking to go back. this idea of link - whatever he stands for, sex, romance, adventure - it’s all too much, and rhett can’t bear to try. he can barely find the music inside him, how can he let love bloom where there’s only pain? rhett struggles to find glory, to write one last song before he goes. if he can’t even make the most of his last moments on his own, how on earth can he enjoy time with someone else? the truth is, he can’t, even if he did enjoy their strange little encounter, even if he wants so badly to take whatever those blue eyes are offering him, to hold that skinny boy in his arms and make him forget pain. fear is, to put it plainly, a ferocious thing. and as a new yorker, fear is rhett’s life.

it’s late christmas night, rhett all alone in the apartment, just him and his guitar, when link barges in once again. this time, he sneaks up the balcony and breathes hot steam on the icy windows. rhett goes warm at the sight, but something within him fights back. link unhinges the window, dark eyes on rhett all the while, and crawls through. tonight, he’s apparently just gotten off a shift at the club, because there’s a smudge of silver-purple shadow over his lids and a soft pink gloss on his lips. he’s wearing a tight black shirt atop a mesh layer, and his pants are charcoal, tight, fake leather. his hair’s a mess, no doubt from a few handsy customers, and his body moves in a way that makes rhett think he’s still working. he saunters towards rhett, that unplaceable mischief still on his lips, as he crawls up on the table, takes powder from his pocket, and pulls rhett in for a kiss. his lips are warm and sticky with gloss, and in the slight swivel of his head, rhett feels the barest hint of tongue peek through. rhett wants to melt, he wants to lay him back on the table and take it all, but his heart resists. he pulls back, angry, and screams at him. he says how dare you come to me now? how dare you ask this of me? you act as if you know the answer, but tell me, if you’re so wise, then why do you need smack? take your needle, take your fancy prayer, and don’t forget, get the moonlight out of your hair. long ago, you might have lit up my heart, but the fire’s dead, and it ain’t ever gonna start.

rhett can’t admit that he’s scared of trying when he has no time left. he can’t tell those sad blue eyes that while they’d do another dance, heat at the seam of their bodies, he just... can’t. there’s too much pain there. too much fear. so he turns his back on link (he can’t bear those unsmiling lips) and tells him to get out. link is stubborn, though, and fights back. 

what are you afraid of? he says. why won’t you take your chances? there’s only us, there’s only this, forget regret, or life is yours to miss. the heart may freeze, or it can burn. i can be your fire. please.

“another day,” rhett says. “come back another day.”

“no day but today.” link’s voice is firm and pleading. let me love you.

but rhett doesn’t let him. he keeps yelling at him until link’s all the way down the stairs and back out on the street. he’s a lone piano key against the gray stretch of road, and looks up at rhett’s balcony, tears in his eyes. although he hates himself for it, rhett leaves him there in the cold and doesn’t look back. he doesn’t see gregg, collins, and angel coming up the street, or the way link hugs angel as if he’s just had his heart broken. perhaps he has.

rhett can’t sleep that night, though he never can. he knows he’d made the wrong decision the moment he pulled back from link’s lips, but it’s too late now. he tosses and turns all night thinking of link’s eyes, eyes that he can’t get out of his head, and by morning, gregg has had enough. he convinces rhett to go and do something about it, chase the love he deserves, and rhett bucks up enough to agree. later that night, gregg’s ex, jessie, is hosting a protest performance in an empty lot, and on the way there, rhett finds link buying from his old dealer. he can’t stand the thought of such a young beauty wrecking himself the way he did, so he says hello, hoping to guide link away. his dealer curses him for stealing his client, and rhett snaps. he pushes him back with two hands on his chest, hard, and says, “you didn’t miss me, you won’t miss him,” and leads link away.

“i’m sorry about last night,” rhett confesses. “i was out of line. can i make it up to you?”

link plays coy and hesitant but there’s still hope in his smile. “how?”

“a bunch of us are getting together tonight after jessie’s show.”

“and?”

“would you like to go with me?” it’s the most forward rhett’s been since april, but he knows he has to take a chance. he doesn’t know if he’ll wake tomorrow, and he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if he never allowed himself to love again.

“yeah.” link’s eyes dart from rhett’s face to the bums shuffling about the graffitied lot. “i’d like that.”

rhett smiles and they begin walking together, falling into step as if they had been all their lives. link’s tall, but not as tall as rhett, and he fits so perfectly beside him that rhett can’t keep his eyes off the beautiful angle of his face and jaw. link nudges him playfully and puts up his fists. “so you’re a tough guy, huh?”

rhett goes bashful and grins like he used to, the two of them weaving through the crowd in search of their friends. the place is packed, swatches of brown and beige winter coats shoved together in a sea of bodies, jessie’s stage at the front, glittering with wires and equipment. she arrives on a motorcycle to thunderous screams, scrambles up onto the stage, and flips her long dark hair out of her helmet beneath the golden lights. christy’s up high, shining a spotlight down on her, no doubt glowing with pride.

jessie’s show is incredible because jessie herself is incredible. rhett understands why gregg was and is still so in love with her, and christy too. she’s a powerhouse, singing and dancing and dragging all the big-wig three-piece-suits to hell with little empathy. she inspires the crowd so much, actually, that a riot breaks out, and rhett, link, collins, and angel dip before they get hurt. gregg stays behind, filming.

later, along with jessie and christy, the four of them wait inside the cafe for gregg. he arrives just before they get a table and tells them that someone bought his footage of the riot. they celebrate by moving the cafe tables together to form one long banquet and drinking wine and beer until their sleepless eyes grow fuzzy from booze and smoke. rhett gets so caught up, however, that he seems to forget link. link approaches him as he fiddles with the guitar at the cafe stage and asks him why he’s being ignored if he was invited.

rhett tells him he’s sorry, he’s trying. a beeping interrupts them and link takes a tin from his pocket. “AZT break,” he says meekly.

that’s when rhett knows. he knows that link is so brash and risky because he doesn’t have much time left, either. no day but today means today is all we have, for the both of us, so let’s make the most of it. they’re both battling the same virus, and rhett’s suddenly not the only one afraid. it breaks and mends rhett’s heart at the same time, and then and there amidst the busy hum of the live cafe, he feels more for the dancer than he did when he was shivering with an unlit candle in his apartment two nights before. he realizes they’re in this together, that while they’re both crumbling from the inside out, they’re allowed to fall in love and fuck freely because they share their darkest trait. 

“you?” rhett asks quietly, almost inaudible beneath angel’s bubbly laughter. 

“me. you?”

“link...”

link says nothing as he guides them outside and into the snowy alleyway. he looks so small and fragile beneath his sweater, and rhett wants to put his hands on his skin if only to heal him. he knows he can’t, though, so he pushes his hands into his pockets and lets the brisk winter wind keep his chapped lips far from link’s face, far from doing something stupid.

they walk together in the snow, slowly, shoulders brushing. snowflakes fall around them, onto their shoulders and into their hair, and when rhett looks at link, he can see the faintest frost on his dark eyelashes. link sighs, breath just steam on the wind. “well,” he says, alone with rhett now and vulnerable once again. “here we go.”

“i should tell you -” rhett starts, but he can’t seem to find the words. he doesn’t know where to begin, he doesn’t know how this goes. it’s been so long since he’s opened his heart, and he’s ready to let it burn, ready for link to light it, but he’s still hesitant.

link senses his fear and goes first. “i should tell i blew the candle out just to get back in.” 

it makes rhett brave. “i’d forgotten how to smile until your candle burned my skin.”

now on equal ground, they stop at the center of the alley and lock eyes. rhett looks down at link, white snowflakes in his dark hair, eyes navy under the night sky. he looks young and fresh and beautiful and pure, not the druggie stripper kid he is on paper. his lips are pink and slightly dry and the snowflakes on his lashes haven’t get fallen away. he is truly magnificent, looking up at rhett, and when his hands find rhett’s hips and pull him close, rhett soaks up his warmth and forgets, just for a moment, that they’re both dying.

they kiss, and it’s beautiful. link tugs rhett down into him and rhett accepts, letting himself free fall into whatever adventure link brings him. they keep it short and sweet, though rhett is hot and aching for more, and dip back inside the cafe before anyone knows they left at all. the moment they get inside, however, they brush the snow off each other’s shoulders and hair, and link wraps his arms around rhett’s neck and goes in for another kiss in the process. this time, they linger, soft lips and wet tongues and bodies pressed close, losing themselves in time and heat, and suddenly pull apart to the sound of applause.

their friends are cheering for them, and rhett has never been so happy. the whole bunch of them then celebrate once more, though this time for more than jessie’s show. they celebrate life, the bohemian life, to be exact, and boost each other up both in spirit and to dance on the tables and bar. they cheer for those who can’t, who’ve been lost to aids or suicide or frost or accidents or hate. they sing for dykes and homos and trannies and fags, taking those bitter slurs and making them their own, wearing their tender hearts proudly. they dance for artists and writers and anyone else who creates, to famous poets and kinky lovers and everyone outside the mainstream. collins smokes up the cafe as he honors marijuana, and angel shimmies her hips for all the fashion-forward divas making dresses out of trash bags. they drink for bums, for students, and for single mothers, they kiss and make love in the glory of sodomy, dildos, and anything taboo. they understand the importance of culture and activism and diversity, and each of them fights for a better world. actual reality - stand up, fight aids! the opposite of war isn’t peace, it’s creation, and all rhett’s friends and comrades remind him every day that it’s not too late to wield his weapon and make a masterpiece of his life.

in the week between christmas and new years, rhett falls deeper in love with link every day. they spend hours together just kissing and smoking and talking, and by new year’s eve, they’ve confessed to each other that death is the one thing they’re afraid of and the one thing they can’t wait for. and this time, to celebrate 1990, rhett, his boy, and their friends wander times square, drunk and high off their asses, and he has never felt so alive. that is, until they come home and realize their apartments have been padlocked. such is life for them - they love and they love and they find joy in anything they can, and still, something comes along to knock them down. but rhett isn’t afraid. he’s got link by his side, and he’s ready to face anything.

well, that is until he learns link had a fling with gregg’s old roommate and their current landlord, benny. he knows it happened before they met, but something bugs him about it that he can’t shake. benny is, in every way, better than him. he’s more successful, rich, clean, and... not dying. it’s hard not to compare, and while it puts a strain between them, they push on like stubborn lovers do. 

link is everything for rhett, he’s the light that guides him home and the ground beneath his feet. it’s not been very long, but they also don’t know how many days they’ll really have, so they take it for all they’ve got. and god, what a beautiful thing that is. not only are the kisses mind-blowing and every touch fire, but the sex is out of this world. rhett knows the dangers of sex, especially with men, and while they’re honest and open with each other about safety and protection, they’re still horny bastards in every sense. they fuck so good, so hot and wet and rough, that gregg sometimes doesn’t see rhett for days on end because he’s downstairs in link’s apartment, spending day after day wrecking link’s body and getting wrecked in return. it’s a give and take, push and pull, and everything is wonderful, albeit oftentimes tense.

when christy and jessie get engaged, link spends the majority of the reception in rhett’s lap, champagne in one hand, the other in his shaggy hair. he kisses him silly and pulls off for a moment to toast the happy couple, then goes back to shoving his tongue down rhett’s throat. and rhett, well... he doesn’t mind at all.

the next few months pass blissfully and... painfully. rhett and link, while completely smitten with each other, haven’t yet said i love you, and the nature of their sorry living situation has them struggling to pay rent and feeling good in their own skin. link also falls deeper into his addiction as time goes on, and rhett can’t bear to watch. he spends all day in his bed with his powder and his needle, and rarely do his eyes light up the way they used to. he begins to sweat and shiver even more than that first night, and rhett tries his best not to give in. he tells link that he’s there for him, but that he has to fight on his own as much as he can. rhett has felt everything link’s going through, but it doesn’t make it any easier. although link goes to rehab, withdrawal hits hard, and rhett often finds him curled up in a ball in the tub, skinnier than ever, damp with sweat and trembling. his pale skin goes paler, his deep-sunken eyes go darker, and he doesn’t glow like he used to. when he breaks his rehabilitation, rhett sometimes finds him in the alley with his old dealer, buying again with the few scraps of money he earns from the club. he can barely stand it, watching link kill himself like this, and it gets to the point that rhett will shake him, snatch the drugs from his hands himself and throw them in the street. one day, after link tries and fails to be better, after the fire that once bloomed between them fizzles under the weight of addiction, rhett leaves him and doesn’t look back.

rhett knows that he can’t live without link, but link can’t live without drugs, though they’re killing him more every day. it’s a situation he can’t stand to be in again, he can’t watch someone else he loves die, even if its inevitable. without link, he trudges on, feeling worse than he did before they’d even met. he and gregg fight too, over work, over passion, and rhett doesn’t think he can hurt any more. that is until he finds out link’s back with benjamin. then, as if he hasn’t suffered enough, angel dies.

angel. the only good one out of the seven of them. gone. 

his funeral is on halloween, and everyone is forced to see each other again. christy and jessie, who broke up shortly after their engagement, awkwardly make eyes from the pews, and rhett tries desperately not to look at link and benny from his place beside gregg. all of them watch, quiet, as collins bids his lover goodbye, saying he will always cover him in one thousand kisses, in this life and the next.

as rhett trudges through the cemetery, remains of their broken family behind him, link steps up beside him and asks if it’s true that he sold his guitar and bought a car. “i’m leaving now for santa fe,” rhett says, ready to be gone, eager to live out angel’s last wish for him. this sparks a painful goodbye between all of them, one last fight between couples. christy and link accuse jessie and rhett of not committing, and rhett tells link he needs to learn to love himself before he can love anybody else. collins, heartbroken beyond belief, finally silences them. 

“you’d all said you’d be cool today,” he says. “i can’t believe he’s gone.” he looks to rhett. “i can’t believe you’re going. i can’t believe this family must die. angel helped us believe in love. i can’t believe you disagree. i can’t believe this is goodbye.”

rhett takes a deep breath, so deep it hurts, and looks at link. his eyes are big and wet and sorry, and as rhett turns to leave him behind once again, he misses link’s quiet voice calling to him. goodbye, love. 

santa fe is the change rhett needs, and he spends his days writing and playing music in a city that isn’t tinged by disease. all the same, he sees link everywhere - in the streets, in his bed, on the subway - beautiful and healthy, a blue flower in his hair to match his eyes. he misses him so much he can’t breathe, so he takes a train back as soon as he can, finishing his song messily in blue and black ink on the ride there.

when he returns, link has disappeared. he fell out of rehab and, according to benny, started using again. gregg, rhett, collins, jessie, and christy reconcile before putting fliers up around the city in search of their lost friend. no luck. soon, fall turns to winter, and the five of them know a skinny thing like link won’t be able to survive - it’s getting cold out there. 

then it’s christmas again. rhett and gregg are back in their warehouse apartment, and the city resumes its bustling frenzy, gray graffiti streets and fires in metal tubs reminding the two of them of how it was just one year prior, when everything was different. collins arrives on time and asks gregg to throw down the key. the three of them celebrate with a quick drink, toasting to angel in heaven and better days ahead, when they hear jessie scream from the street. “gregg! rhett! somebody, anybody, help!”

it’s just a moment before the men are out on the balcony, looking down. someone is sandwiched between jessie and christy, limp and lifeless. rhett’s heart stops. link.

“we can’t get him up the stairs!”

everything is a blur of pain and hope and terror and pain again as they bring link home and lay him on the kitchen table with a blanket and pillow. he’s trembling and weak, coughing through pale, cracked lips. christy tells them they found him on the street, nearly frozen to death. rhett doesn’t know what to do but hover over him, willing his body heat to seep down and heal him. he hopes link can sense him.

“link...” he calls. “link, i’m here.”

“rhett?” he’s almost gone, but not yet. not yet.

rhett’s eyes are blurry with tears. “yes, baby, it’s me.”

“i should tell you...”

rhett pets his head and holds his face in his hands. “no, link, come on-”

“i love y...” but link drifts off, turning his face to cough. rhett has no time left. he has to say it now. 

“who do you think you are?” he whispers. “leaving me alone with my guitar. hold on, there’s something you should hear. it isn’t much, but it took all year.”

with the last of link’s reality slipping away, rhett begins to sing. he sings the song he couldn’t find last christmas, the song only link could pull from him. as his muse lays dying, rhett struggles to get the long-awaited lyrics out. 

your eyes, he sings. as we said our goodbyes. can’t get them out of my mind, and i find i can’t hide from your eyes. the ones that took me by surprise the night you came into my life. where there’s moonlight, i see your eyes. how’d i let you slip away, when i’m longing so to hold you? now i’d die for one more day, cuz there’s something i should have told you. yes, there’s something i should have told you. when i looked into your eyes - why does distance make us wise? you were the song all along. and before the song dies...

link goes limp.

i should tell you, i should tell you... i have always loved you. 

rhett’s crying now.

you can see it in my eyes.

but link’s already gone. rhett picks him up and holds him to his chest, sobbing his name, his friends gathered around them. rhett rocks the body in his arms, then lays him back down gently. he turns away. if his heart was broken before, it’s nothing compared to this. this is hell. 

in the moment rhett doesn’t look, the moment he never wished would come, link’s fingers twitch. he shifts on the table slowly, then coughs and sits up. he pushes the blanket off his legs as everyone rushes to his side. link blinks, soaked in sweat, and begins to speak. rhett, jessie, christy, gregg, and collins all hold their breath.

“i was headed towards this warm white light,” link whispers. “and i swear... angel was there. and she looked good.” 

collins gives a watery laugh. link turns to rhett.

“and she said, ‘turn around, boyfriend, and listen to that boy’s song.’”

“you’re drenched,” rhett says, unsure what else he can possibly say in the face of a miracle.

they then kiss, confirmation that they’re human, they’re alive, and the rest of the gang follows suit. gregg, who had been working on a documentary in the year rhett hadn’t found his song, now switches the projector on and lets the colored light dance on the bare apartment walls. angel’s smiling face comes through, as if he’s there with them, and the six of them bless their lives over.

they live in ruins, on the cusp of death, and yet they still find love. the past year has cursed and saved them all at once, but they come out of it knowing exactly how to measure it. you measure a year not in days or months, nor daylight or sunsets or cups of coffee... no, you measure a year in love - 525,600 minutes of nothing but loving and fighting and loving again. 

rhett knows that now. and with his friends and his boy at his hip, the days ahead don’t seem so bad. 

@reedytenors @liinkstar bye

[peaks-fever-dream]

Twin Peaks: The Return, Part 3

Preview Date: 5/22/17

Warning: Contains Spoilers

Locations:

     The non-exist-ent, Another Place

     The Power Station, Another Place

     The Broadcast Station, Another Place

     Las Vegas, Nevada

     The Red Room/Waiting Room, Another Place

     Twin Peaks, Washington

     Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

It was in the third installment of the original series that Twin Peaks completely melted my mind with the Red Room dream sequence and officially made me a life long Twin Peaks fan. Of course this sequence was actually filmed for the ending of the European release of the Pilot, but it was the third installment where it ended up as part of the series and where I first witnessed it on television way back in 1990. I think it no coincidence that they have done it again in the third installment of Twin Peaks: The Return with the scene in what I am now referring to as The Power Station. I call it a Power Station because, not only do we have the large, high power, outlet within the room it’s self, but from the outside it looks like a large Dam on the water. And Dams are used for generating electricity.

The Style of the Power Station scene is reminiscent of David Lynch’s first feature film Eraserhead and his short film The Grandmother.

Who is Naido?

     Although we do not get her name in the course of the show, the woman without eyes in the Power Station is played by the actress Nae Yuuki, who is listed in the credits as playing the character of Naido.

What is pounding on the door of the Power Station? Is it “Mother” who is referred to by the American Girl, and what exactly is she?

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The number above the large outlet on the wall of the Power Station first reads 15. Later, after the switch is pulled by Naido on the Broadcast Station, the number reads 3, The number 315 is the room number that Agent Cooper had at The Great Northern Hotel in Twin Peaks. We later see this reintroduced on the key chain that Cooper still has in his pocket for the hotel. The fact that the numbers here are reversed (first 15, then 3), are consistent with the backwards motif throughout both the series (old and new) and Fire Walk With Me.

Another thing which I myself did not catch, but was pointed out, is that when the number reads 15, the outlet is a large circular hole like the cigarette lighter in Evil Coop’s car. When the number is changed to 3, it is a 2 pronged outlet like the wall socket in the house that Dougie occupies. The significance of this is that it means Naido is in cahoots with Evil Coop as she prevents Cooper from approaching the outlet when it links to Evil Coop’s car and then herself switches it to link with Dougie’s location.

I went back to view this scene for myself only to discover that i had been misinformed. The outlet in the Power Station is always for a two pronged plug, whether the number is 15 or 3. At no time does it turn into a round outlet like the lighter plug in Evil Coop’s car. To me this is good news, because I never got the vibe that Naido was in any way a negative being, It seems to me that she kept Cooper from the outlet when it said fifteen because the current was not right and something bad would have happened. Then she went up to the Broadcast Station and flipped the switch, risking hr own well being, so that the current would be right and Cooper could use it to escape.

When Cooper is atop the Broadcast Station he sees the face of Major Briggs, from the original series, float past and say “Blue Rose.” The Blue Rose is a reference to Fire Walk With Me. Lil wears a Blue Rose, signifying that the Theresa Banks murder investigation is one of Cole’s Blue Rose cases. A Blue Rose is code for a supernatural case.

Some are arguing that the fact that Briggs is a disembodied head here makes a case for the argument that the body in Ruth Davenport;s bed is that of Major Briggs. While there is a compelling argument for this to be true, which I will discuss with Part 4, I do not think that this floating head is a strong argument for that case. More than likely, this passing head is just a means for Lynch and Frost to pay homage to Don Davis, who had played Major Briggs. This episode is dedicated to the memory of both Don Davis and Miguel Ferrer, who have both passed on. Part 1 was dedicated to the memory of Catherine Coulson (the log lady) and Part 2 was dedicated to the memory of Frank Sylva (killer bob).

Why is Ronette Pulaski in the Power Station? Ronette was never taken into the Lodge, and as far as we last knew she was still alive.

Well, the truth is that it is not Ronette in the Power Station. While the character is played by the same actress who played Ronette (Phoebe Augustine), the character is listed in the credits as American Girl. Still, it does seem a bit odd that such a familiar face from the original series would be used for this role.

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In Part 2, The Arm gives the number 2-5-3. When the American Girl’s watch turns to 2:53, the outlet starts to hum and precipitates the events with Evil Coop and Dougie which ultimately lead to the return of Cooper to the real world. 2:53 is the designated time to call Evil Coop back to the Lodge.

What is up with the Creamed Corn?

Garmonbozia is Lynch and Frost’s version of Loosh, an energy created by negative emotions which is consumed like food by dark entities. In Fire Walk With Me, Garmonbozia is defined as Pain and Sorrow. Throughout both the original series and the film, Garmonbozia is represented by Creamed Corn. Both Dougie and Evil Coop vomit up what appears to be a mixture of Creamed Corn (Garmonbozia) and Motor Oil. In the original series there is scorched motor oil at the crime scene of Laura’s death, remembered later by Ronette Pulaski, and smelled by Dr. Jacoby when Leland/Bob kills Jaque Renault. Scorched motor oil is also used as a tool to open the door to the Lodge.

Who created Dougie?

We learn from Philip Gerard (Mike) that Dougie had been created for a purpose. It seems apparent that this is what Evil Coop was referring to when he said that he had a plan to escape from being taken back to the Lodge. He created Dougie to take his place and get sucked back into the Lodge instead of himself. There are those, however, who argue that Dougie was created by good forces in the Lodge as a means of allowing Cooper to be able to get out of the Lodge and take care of Evil Coop. This, however, seems unlikely to me for several reasons. The first is that those in the Lodge appear to believe that Evil Coop will return, and appear to have been unaware of the evil Arm’s attempt to get rid of Cooper until it occured, so why would they have created Dougie in the fist place? Second, Gerard seems confounded by Dougie, what he is, and his sudden appearance in the lodge.

What is up with the Owl Ring?

It is the Owl Ring that appears to hold Dougie together while he is in the real world. As soon as he gets to the Lodge, however, he begins to shrivel up and the ring falls off. As soon as the ring is absent, he quickly comes apart.

The symbol of the Owl Ring first appears in the Original series in Owl Cave. The ring it’s self appears in Fire Walk With Me. There seems to be an uncertainty from the scenes about whether the ring is ultimately good or bad, although it seems to be a tool of the dark forces. When Theresa Banks wears the ring it makes her arm go numb, just as it does with Dougie. Agent Chet Desmond disappears when reaching for the ring where it rests on a pile of dirt under the Chalfont’s trailer. The Arm has the ring in the scene above the convenience store. All of this makes it seem to be dark. Yet when Laura puts on the ring it prevents Bob from being able to possess her, leading him to ultimately kill her instead.

Dougie’s head bursting is again reminiscent of Eraserhead, when his own head pops off.

What is the cause of Cooper’s mental issues?

Upon returning to the world, Cooper seems barely able to function or process information. Some have suggested that this is a result of having spent 25 years in the Lodge. I, however, disagree with this hypothesis:

When we see Cooper in the Lodge, he seems to have retained his mental faculties even after spending 25 years there, if he actually has been there that long. He continues to appear to retain them later while in the Power Station. It is only after he has been zapped and pulled through the electrical outlet that he appears to have problems. Cooper’s loss of faculties must, therefore, be the result of the electricity scrambling the electrical pathways and functions of his mind.

What is the significance of Cooper’s shoes?

Now we are getting more into symbolism. When Cooper goes through the outlet he loses his shoes and must then put on Dougie’s shoes. This represents the fact that he is in effect taking over Dougie’s identity, at least for a time. He is literally wearing someone else’s  shoes.

Who is after Cooper/Dougie and why?

We see that there are two men attempting to assassinate Cooper. My assumption upon seeing this was that Evil Coop had sent them to kill Cooper when he got out of the Lodge. After all, they say that one of them must die. There is a hint in Part 4, however, that suggests that there may be another reason that they are after Cooper.

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When the assassin goes to put what appears to be some sort of explosive on Dougie’s car, a drug addict in the house across the street begins to repeat “one, one, nine!” We assume that this means 911, the number for the police. That it is being said in reverse continues the backwards motif in Twin Peaks.

What’s up with Andy and Lucy?

As part of creating an arch for the characters, it had been my hope that Andy had been allowed to grow as a character. After seeing the things he had seen and becoming a father, I had hoped that Andy would have become a strong and confident figure rather than the bumbling and crying comic relief character that he was in the original series. Instead, Lynch and Frost seem to have doubled down on the characters of Andy and Lucy, making them ridiculous caricatures of the original characters. When Lucy noted the missing chocolate bunny, it was the first time we saw even a glimpse of the Lucy that we had known and loved from the original series. Although I had wanted to see them grow, I now miss the old Andy and Lucy by comparison.

Of course there remains the possibility that what Lynch and Frost are saying is that the dark forces are effecting the minds of average people like Andy, Lucy and Ruth Davenport’s neighbor in Buckhorn and making their minds unable to function properly.

Is it about the Bunny?

The chocolate bunnies are a reference to the pilot of the original series where Cooper says into his recorder, “Diane I’m holding on my hand a small box of chocolate bunnies.”

When Hawk says “It’s not about the Bunny! Is it about the Bunny?” it is a call back to Fire Walk With Me when, after Bobby shoots the drug dealer, Laura says that he killed Mike. Bobby says “This isn’t f_cking Mike! Is this Mike?”

What is Jacoby up to with the gold shovels?

Gold shovels are traditionally used for ground breaking ceremonies. With Lynch, however, you never know. We shall just have to wait and see.

Why didn’t the FBI find the image of Cooper on the images from the Glass Box in New York?

This does seem a bit odd. They do say, however, that only one camera picked up the image of the weird creature that killed Sam and Tracy, and then only briefly. So it is possible that none of the cameras managed to pick up he image of Cooper.