#because i am really just playing incredibly quick and loose and dirty here

[blueberry-ash]

Writer’s Month 2024, Day 4 (‘stage’)

TKA, Chu Yunxiu &/ Su Mucheng. A The Earth is Online fusion, except that this is, like, only 1500 words long and the worldbuilding fits the wordcount. Don't think about it too hard.

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Don’t ask Chu Yunxiu whether the Earth going online at the climax of the Glory World Cup had been a good thing or a bad thing.

Well, it had been a nightmare, of course. How are any of them supposed to forget the horror of their in-game moves actualising into realness? The sudden burst of pain had been as impossible to process as the sight of their changed environment; and the weight of Chu Yunxiu’s hands, inexplicably raised in an Elementalist’s familiar casting pose, had been infinitely harder to comprehend than the blank expression on Li Xuan’s face as the white of his China Glory t-shirt had bloomed bright with blood.

(“Ding dong! The game ‘World Cup, Team Competition’ has been triggered. At 20:41 on August 6, players Team China and Team Russia have safely entered the game. The players have entered the sandbox, the game map is completed, the data is loaded…”)

Whether finding themselves abruptly in the game and bleeding had been more or less shocking than the Tower’s following explanation—who could say.

Nobody has talked about it in the three months since. Or—nobody has talked about it directly with Chu Yunxiu, anyway, unless her ambiguous little dialogues with Ye Xiu can be counted. It’s not as though there haven’t been frantically hushed little conversations as the members of their fractured group have parted ways, and played, and won, and joined back up again to travel slowly eastward. And it’s hard to imagine the remaining tacticians, at the very least, not having seized those overlapping moments to stress and strategize. Still, Chu Yunxiu has wanted no part of it. It’s considerably better not to think, Chu Yunxiu has decided.

At least—it’s better not to give her mind the chance to dredge up the things it wants to dwell on, anyway.

Bad enough to be plagued by them at night, at rest, in these brief moments of anxious, uncertain quiet.

(Her home.) (Why it was only Teams China and Russia vanished from the world’s gaze—Yu Wenzhou had been told everything from an outside perspective, later, by a shaken stadium employee—and brute-forced into a Tower Game during the Black Tower’s first announcement, when everyone else had been given three days to play or not.) (Her parents.) (“Ding dong! 498.16 million players successfully loaded the game…”) (Her teammates.) (“There are four ways to enter the Black Tower, and this results in four types of identities: pro players, official players, reserve players, and stowaways. Guess which the Tower hates the most!”) (Club Misty Rain’s silly orange kitten.) (“Ding dong! China District 5’s pro player Han Wenqing and official player Lin Jingyan have successfully cleared the first floor of the Black Tower!”) (Her friends.) (“All players, please work hard to attack the Tower!”)

(What it means, what it means, what it means—)

She’d once heard Fang Rui wonder whether it would have been better to have been back home when it had begun, or even to have never played Glory at all. He’d been concussed at the time, though he’d still held a knife flat across one knee. He’d asked Su Mucheng what she’d thought, and Su Mucheng had said nothing, only looked toward Chu Yunxiu. Chu Yunxiu had looked away.

Who could afford to imagine it—to have been on a regular summer break, and at home with her family. Or to have never played Glory at all—to have been one of the faceless sea of Chinese noobs pulled into a first floor level dungeon when Han Wenqing and Lin Jingyan had opened the Tower’s first floor; to have been ignorant and unskilled and perhaps very swiftly freed from all of it.

Fang Rui had only said it the once, and nobody had answered, but Chu Yunxiu had known—well.

It would have certainly been easier, at least.

But then—

But then Su Mucheng is shifting against Chu Yunxiu’s thigh, her sleeping face swiping drool across the bare skin of Chu Yunxiu’s leg, her fingernails flexing and scraping against the rough hairs on Chu Yunxiu’s calves.

‘Yunxiu,’ Su Mucheng mumbles, the tone of someone speaking from within a bad dream.

Chu Yunxiu rests a hand against Su Mucheng’s head, petting gently.

On the other side of the café, she can just make out the back-and-forth rock of one of Huang Shaotian’s drawn-up knees. The rest of him is still and silent, a careful pillow for his captain’s bruised face. She wonders whether he’s just as awake as she is, or whether his limbs crave movement even when he’s sleeping.

‘Brother,’ Su Mucheng sighs.

At Chu Yunxiu’s other side, Ye Xiu shifts in his sleep in unconscious response.

‘It’s okay,’ Chu Yunxiu soothes both of them. ‘It’s okay. Go back to sleep.’

It’s a lie, of course. Yesterday’s dungeon was hellish, and the next will be too. Chu Yunxiu feels that the lie still matters, though, even here in the looted mess of some Czech café. Or—especially here, probably. So long as there’s still someone to whisper it to, Chu Yunxiu figures. So long as there’s Su Mucheng, and—

Don’t ask Chu Yunxiu what she might have chosen, what she might have traded, if the Black Tower had forced her to pick between anything else and Su Mucheng. Don’t you fucking dare to even think about it.

Perhaps that’s the true silver lining to their World Cup championships having been taken and warped. Perhaps that’s the almost-bright-side coming out to glint dully beneath the stains of blood and loss and grief: the fact that Chu Yunxiu hadn’t been given a choice.

None of them had, not really. Not there. Not with the frozen burn of Chu Yunxiu’s ice turning real, and the harsh crack of Wang Jiexi crashing-tumbling-stumbling down beside her. Not with the Russian national team just as shaken and confused—just as unwilling to continue the match until the Black Tower’s rules had made themselves inarguably, explicitly, violently clear.

‘We could have been in the regular season,’ Ye Xiu had said quietly, after, when people’s tears had begun to fall. ‘We could have been at home, facing each other.’

(Ye Xiu had been crying, too. Chu Yunxiu had seen the dirty tracks of it before he’d swiped his knuckles across his face. She’d seen the salt amongst the blood and she’d seen his hands shaking.) (She’d seen the way he’d hesitated, earlier, silent and frozen when the Black Tower had abruptly offered him up like some kind of sixth player—a substitute for the fallen Li Xuan, it had said, and offered the Russians two more for balance. She’d seen the way he’d only burst into motion after he’d looked toward Su Mucheng and seen the trickle of blood along her cheek.)

Team China’s players had won, in the end. They’ve kept on winning, buffered by a kind of blank relief at finding themselves mostly in relatively straightforward dungeons, or having stepped accidentally into quests, and all of it horrifying but nothing so unforgivable as what they’d done that day in Zurich.

Better not to think about the Russian players.

Better not to think at all.

Su Mucheng sighs, and snuffles, and shifts around again.

Chu Yunxiu keeps petting, stroking her fingers through Su Mucheng’s short-cropped hair until her breathing steadies out.

Ye Xiu's shoulder digs against Chu Yunxiu's. The point of Ye Xiu’s umbrella—(“Pro player Ye Xiu has cleared the game and obtained the reward ‘Tower’s Manifestations Umbrella’ and ‘Trophy’s Grudge’…”)—scrapes across the cafe’s floor as he tightens his grip subconsciously.

He’ll be awake first, Chu Yunxiu knows. He’ll wake, and he’ll yawn, and he’ll dig out a cigarette for Chu Yunxiu to share. Maybe they’ll talk in low voices about the day ahead, or the nearby dungeon they’ve been avoiding, but, either way, there’ll be less talking than smoking.

Ye Xiu gets it, Chu Yunxiu knows. Ye Xiu understands there’s only one win condition that really matters, and if Ye Xiu’s definition is somewhat broader than Chu Yunxiu’s, well—the heart of it, for both of them, is still drooling in her sleep against Chu Yunxiu’s thigh.

Apply your brain, yes, but there’s really no room for overthinking.

And if other players have been surprised—Chu Yunxiu has noticed, unable to always hide the ironic twitching of her mouth—to discover that she isn’t at all the kind of person they should be relieved to be opposing, well—

It’s not as though Chu Yunxiu hadn’t been accustomed to that already.

Let them smirk across a mini game, when someone randomly recognises her. Let them murmur that she’d only ranked pro because boobs, because her team had carried her, because her Club had made money with her face on cosmetics.

Let them go ahead and die already.

Chu Yunxiu doesn’t plan to.

[thegoodgayshit]

Luz’s mother really doesn’t want to send Luz to camp. She knows once she leaves, there is no going back. But Luz has a knack for getting into trouble, and one day she stumbles into the same type of people her mother would have preferred she avoided. After helping Luz dissolve her high school bully into dust, Eda and Lilith know right away that this kid is just like them - a child of the gods. So Luz hops on a Pegasus and heads to Camp Half-blood, where she embarks on a dangerous quest that makes her both friends and enemies... and she might even save Olympus along the way.

Chapter Thirty-Six: I Have the Best Summer Ever

The rest of Luz’s summer was a total blur of the best kind of amazing, fantastic, demigod-ness a kid could even imagine.

Luz’s days were filled with training in the arena, playing capture the flag, and hanging out with her friends. Every morning that she woke up and put on one of her orange t-shirts was another reminder that as of right now, she really had it good.

Sometimes in the mornings she and Eda would head out into the arena and spar while King took his usual sunbathing position a few feet away. Eda would parry and block her strikes, give her dirty tricks to use in upcoming games or events, and sometimes Luz would even get lucky enough to disarm her or pull something new she wasn’t expecting.

“I swear kid, one of these days you’re going to be even better than me,” she’d say, reaching down to ruffle her hair and switch her weapon and get ready for another round.

More than once, she and her siblings in the Hermes cabin had banded together to play some light-hearted pranks on the other cabins. Viney and Jerbo were a mischievous force to be reckoned with, and while Luz liked to participate she never really got lucky in the “getting away” part. More than once, Lilith had caught her in the act while she was placing a prank and turned a blind eye, and Luz always felt a rush of affection for the daughter of Zeus. It was asking a lot for her to not snitch, especially since she was a stickler for rules.

Luz made it up to her once or twice by pranking Eda on her behalf with a little bit of help from Edric and Emira. When her mentor showed up to the dining pavilion once with her hair sticking straight up in the air thanks to some magic hair gel, the laugh that came out of Lilith’s mouth made it all worth it.

At nights, Luz and Amity would sneak out of their cabins and hide from the harpies, sitting with their sketchbooks in the strawberry fields. They would laugh, and talk, and kiss, and enjoy each other’s company until one of them inevitably almost fell asleep and they decided to head back.

The wall of Luz’s bunk was soon tacked to the max with drawings, some of them of her quest, and some of them with fond memories of camp. She always did her best to text one to her Mami once in a while, and let her know how she was doing.

Luz made sure her cabin would try and team up with Gus and Willow’s whenever they could. The three of them were officially a force to be reckoned with during capture the flag. Their combinations and chemistry in battle often resulted in very easy and very early wins, and some of the other cabins were quick to point out they had an “unfair quest experience advantage”. While Eda had just shrugged, Willow did her best to make sure the teams would sometimes even out a little better after that.

Gods kept visiting camp here and there, usually to come by and say hello to their kids. Aphrodite had the habit of showing up unannounced and snapping her fingers, giving everybody an unrealistically fashionable outfit and hairdo, while the clothes they’d been wearing got snapped back to their bunks freshly washed and laundered. While some of the campers hated it, Luz didn’t mind. Aphrodite certainly had her style down to perfection, and pocketing another free outfit was always nice. Amity had other opinions on the matter.

“I just don’t get why she has to do this!” She complained, adjusting the pink t-shirt Aphrodite had magically slapped onto her. “It’s so weird!”

“I think that really suits you,” Luz shrugged while pointing to the leather jacket slung over Amity’s arm. “And your shirt says Hexside! How cool is that!”

Amity rolled her eyes as Luz did a spin, showing off her new green jacket and beanie to Gus and Willow. “She gave me new shoes too! My old ones are torn to bits from the quest.”

“You have to admit Amity, it’s nice getting free stuff,” Willow said while examining her own yellow jacket. “And she’s not the goddess of beauty for nothing. These are nice clothes.”

“My clothes look exactly like the ones I already own!” Gus complained, looking down at his simple navy button-up and jeans.

“If it isn’t broken don’t fix it!” Luz teased with a smile, patting him on the back. Amity groaned in embarrassment, slapping her hands to her face.

When Hermes showed up the first few times to visit the camp, Luz said hello to him, but also made sure that her other siblings got to spend some one-on-one time with their dad. As he was leaving the third time he visited, he pulled Luz aside for a quick chat.

“I just want to let you know that the gods have talked about adding an additional reward for you and your friends after what you’ve done for Olympus,” he said quietly, and Luz’s jaw dropped.

“I… I don’t need another reward dad. The way you guys have been showing up at camp is more than enough.”

Hermes tilted his head, smiling softly. “Perhaps you don’t need one, but the gods want to give it to you anyway. You have no idea the gravity of the situation that Belos had created upon Olympus. He almost destroyed us all.”

He looked around to make sure nobody was listening, and then leaned in to whisper.

“As the god of messengers, I was responsible for delivering a package to your mother and the rest of your companion's parents. You should hear from them shortly.”

Luz gaped. “What? What do you mean…”

Hermes reached over and gripped her shoulders. “I am proud of you, Luz. And trust me when I say I will make good on my promise and be there more for you and your siblings.” He winced rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “And… don’t be the first one to use the shower this evening. Your siblings and I might have set up a bit of a cruel prank.”

With a flash of wind, leaving behind a thoroughly confused Luz, Hermes was gone.

Luz didn’t have to wait long to find out what exactly the gods had done, because her Mami was calling her on her cellphone almost immediately after.

“Luz! You’ll never guess what showed up in the mail today! You’ve been accepted for a full ride to a boarding school downtown…”

And she wasn’t the only one.

“I can’t believe this!” Gus had exclaimed while the four of them were sitting on the beach just after dinner. “We’re all going to the same school next year!”

“It really does seem too good to be true,” Willow grinned, handing Luz one of the illicit cans of Sprite that Viney had managed to sneak from out of camp in celebration. “My dads are sad that I won’t be staying at home in Wisconsin, but they had to admit it is a great opportunity.”

“I’m just excited to go to a school where I finally have real friends.” Luz had never been so happy to think about the start of a new school year before. “We’ll get to go see Olympus on the weekends! Working alongside the actual gods!” Luz turned to Amity, who was watching Luz with her own soft smile. “Are your parents… okay with this? After everything that happened…”

“Oh trust me, they’re more than pleased. They see this whole internship program to create a bridge between the gods and their mortal kids as a ‘once in a lifetime opportunity'. They’re even talking about paying for Edric and Emira to go with me and hope that my ‘success’ rubs off on them. They don’t love that you guys are also a part of it though…” Amity’s expression darkened for a moment, and Luz reached across the beach to squeeze her hand.

“I’m sorry,” Luz started, but Amity just shrugged her shoulders.

“Don’t apologize, this is a good thing. I’m going to get to stay here in New York full time.”

“We all get too!” Gus grinned, digging his hands in the sand like he was holding back a squeal. “Luz you’ve got to show us all your favorite moral spots in the city.”

Luz’s smile had stretched wide, already imaging the kinds of shenanigans she and her friends would get up to running loose in Manhattan. “Obviously! The city’s huge; we could do something new every night!”

“You’ll never be able to get away from us now,” Willow teased, passing Amity an amused look as she sipped from her Sprite. Amity tilted her head back and laughed.

“Oh gods, I better stock up on Advil. Between you three and the twins I’m going to have a constant headache…”

As it started to fade to late August, Luz’s days just kept getting better. Thanks to Eda and her training paired with the other camp activities, she was faster than she’d ever been, she could scale up the rock wall in record times, and her sword skills had gotten incredibly good.

So good, that when the annual sparring tournament came up in the arena towards the end of the summer, she’d been able to knock Boscha into the dirt with the pommel of Aletheia, leaving the red-faced daughter of Ares extremely bitter and her final opponent being none other than her girlfriend.

“No chance you’re going to go easy on me?” Luz asked at the campfire that night, really only half-joking.

“Nope,” Amity replied with a little smirk. “I’ve won this tournament two years in a row. I’m about to make it three.”

To say the camp was buzzing with excitement would be an understatement. The whole camp had watched as Luz the newbie quest hero and Amity Blight had grown obviously closer, and in the three days leading up to the final tournament match, the discussion of which girlfriend would be the winner was as common as asking what the harpies would serve for dessert that night.

“Come on, kid, this is what we trained for!” Eda said, smacking her shoulders encouragingly the night before the match. “I don’t care if she’s you’re little girlfriend, she won’t be going easy on you so you shouldn’t either!”

“Knock her into the dirt!” King screeched from his napping spot on the ground.

While they were only trying to help, it wasn’t the most reassuring advice she’d ever received.

Luz tried to turn a blind eye to the gossip leading up to the fight, but it was hard to ignore Emira and Willow exchange a bet right in front of her at breakfast right before the right.

“Seriously?” Luz scoffed, crossing her arms.

“Sorry Luz, but Mittens has years of training under her belt, and I’m out of allowance,” Emira shrugged while she shook Willow’s hand.

“You don’t see the way Amity acts around her,” Willow retorted. “If she’s like that today, Luz has a good chance.”

Emira hummed, “Shoot. I didn’t think of that.”

“Oh my gods,” Luz groaned, slapping both hands to her face, sinking into the bench of the table, mortified.

Once Luz had been fitted into a set of finally well-fitting bronze armor, she drew Aletheia and met Amity in the center of the field, where Eda and Lilith were standing to referee the match. As she approached, she watched Amity coming from the other side, armor almost identical to Luz’s strapped over an orange camp shirt, the crowd of campers cheering in excitement. As her gaze flitted up to Amity’s eyes, there was a glint that reminded Luz that Amity was not the person she wanted to be on the bad side of.

It was too easy to forget weeks after their quest that Amity was a demigod force to be reckoned with and not the kind of enemy you wanted to have.

As the crowd quieted to an anticipated hum, Lilith raised her hand. Her mouth was cocked in an uncharacteristically juvenile smirk. It made Luz wonder if the campers hadn’t been the only folks at camp to place bets. When Eda shot Luz a cartoonish smile with two thumbs up, before patting her pocket knowingly, it confirmed her suspicions.

Gods. Now she really couldn’t lose. Eda would never forgive her.

“Amity! Luz! Are you ready?”

With a single touch to her own wrist, Dike sprung into its full form, lifted just high enough to cover the grin that was spreading across Amity’s face. She swung her sword experimentally in her hand, the little flecks of a glinting in the sun. “Yep.”

Luz took a deep breath and raised her own blade nodding once. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“No holding back, right?” Even though Amity had phrased it as a question, Luz knew better. It was a challenge. The nerves in her stomach faded, and a laugh escaped her lips.

“Since when have I ever held back? ”

She smirked, “good point.”

“Alright your adorable banter is literally making me sick,” Eda scoffed, “let’s just do this already.”

Lilith rolled her eyes, dropping her hand. “Begin!”

Without wasting another beat, Amity charged and swung, and Luz lifted Aletheia to deflect it. A loud metallic clang echoed around the arena, and the watching campers erupted into cheers.

It was Luz’s toughest match yet.

The two of them traded blow for blow, each pushing the other to their limit. Amity was, inarguably, better trained, with mastered precision and skill that left Luz reeling with each strike. But Luz was more creative. She was able to flick her sword at the right angle to push her off balance and shove, she was able to dodge and weave without the extra weight of a shield, and she was crazy enough to take steps closer to her and press into her personal space, forcing her to recalculate moves.

As the fight went on for some time, the cheering got louder, their arms got heavier as they began to slow down, and the fighting got dirtier.

Luz did it first, though it was kind of an accident. Amity went to swing when she’d knocked Luz off balance, and she knew she wasn’t going to be able to stop it before it cut into her armor. Amity would have taken it out on herself later if she’d seriously hurt Luz, so it came out as more of an instinctual shout.

“Too low!”

She closed her eyes bracing for impact, but it never came. With a woosh, the sword went right over her head. She opened her eyes and saw Amity’s misty eyes clearing, before changing to a completely indignant look.

“Did you just use your Hermes bartering on me?”

She smiled sheepishly and swung Aletheia towards her, and Amity barely had time to raise her shield to deflect it.

She could hear the snorts and chuckles from both Eda and the crowd, but Luz barely had time to be proud of herself. Within the next two swings back and forth, Amity got her revenge.

Luz swung upwards, flicking the blade and finally getting a decent move that knocked her off balance. But as Luz went to disarm her, Amity’s eyes flashed and a curled smile crept up her face right as Luz brought her weapon forward.

“Don’t!”

And for a moment, all Luz could feel was the thrum of her heartbeat in her head as her vision went blurry. There was an overwhelming urge to get rid of Aletheia, back away, stop herself from getting any closer to Amity. All she could think about was how she couldn’t hurt her, wouldn’t even try. When her vision cleared, she had backed up five feet, and her sword slipped from her hand and clattered in the dirt.

She blinked, trying to figure out what had just happened before it dawned on her that she’d seen Amity do this once before. Aphrodite’s passion.

Luz looked down at the sword, then up at Amity, scowling. “Really?”

Despite the smirk on her face, Amity’s eyes were sparkling with humor and affection. “You started it.”

Luz barely had time to leap out of the way from another swing, doing her best to make a grab for the sword, but Amity wasn’t coming to play. She stepped right over it, and for a couple of moments, all Luz had was her speed. She ducked and dodged and weaved between swings, doing nothing but buying herself a tiny bit of time.

It wasn’t enough. Luz tried to make one last grab for the sword and Amity reached out with her hand, grabbing Luz by the arm and honest-to-gods judo flipping Luz over her shoulder. With a comically loud “oomph!” Luz was thrown onto her back, looking up at Amity as she grinned, her sword lifted in a faux-threatening position just below her chin.

“Alright,” Luz groaned, slapping her hand against the dirt. “Mercy.”

As Luz heard Eda groaning behind her and Lilith’s positively gleeful “and the winner is Amity Blight!” Amity sheathed her sword, reaching down with one hand and pulling Luz up to her feet.

And yeah, it was a tiny bit embarrassing to lose to Amity. But as her girlfriend lifted her fist to the roaring crowd of campers and grinned, her own hand wrapped tightly around Luz’s, she couldn’t find it in her to care.

The following night was Luz’s last night at camp before her first summer as a camper was over. She sat at the dining hall for hours with her siblings, joking, laughing, promising to stay in touch over the school year. Viney ruffled her hair and passed her an emergency pouch of Hermes tricks, while Jerbo reminded her not to be too close to this one when it exploded.

Edric and Emira snuck up on Luz at the table and informed them their parents did in fact enroll them in the same boarding school come the fall, and while Luz loved Amity’s twin siblings, the devious grin on her face did make her a bit nervous.

Right after dinner, Luz made a point to go find Eda and King, who were in their usual spot at the arena.

“Kid!” Eda said as she approached. “That was some great swordplay today.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t win, I know Lilith is probably giving you a hard time…” Luz said immediately, but Eda just held up a hand.

“Gross, sympathy. You’ve accomplished more than most first-timers this summer, and you’ve… made me proud.” There was a crooked smile on her face as Luz looked up at her, and she realized that Eda really was going to miss training with her. “Don’t be slacking while you’re gone. Keep your skills sharp. Stay out of the bad trouble, but in the good trouble. Don’t die. Oh, and if you’re getting chased by another empousai and need a quick getaway, there’s a great alley on sixty-second street-”

Luz rushed in, pulling Eda into a tight hug. While Eda huffed out a little groan at Luz’s overwhelming need to be touchy, Luz felt a rush of affection as the daughter of Zeus leaned into it anyway.

“Thanks, Eda,” Luz muttered into her shoulder.

A hand came up to pat into her hair. “No problem, kid. If Lili and I are ever heading to Mount Olympus, I’ll make sure we stop by that fancy new school of yours and say hello.”

“You better.”

"Can I come too?" King called out from at their feet, and Luz bent down to pick up the tiny hellhound scratching behind his ears.

"Yeah, can he?" Luz pleaded, and Eda rolled her eyes.

"Gods, you two are just the cutest things ever. Fine, whatever, the next time I go to Olympus I'll let him tag along."

After a chorus of excited cheering from Luz and King, it was time for the last campfire of the year. Luz finally got the true Camp Half-Blood experience. As Eda was leading the campers in a final last hurrah of songs and games, she walked over to Luz and reached out, handing her a leather necklace.

“As you all know, per tradition, every year we give our campers a bead to celebrate another year at camp. This year, the Hermes cabin designed the beads, and there is someone very special they wanted to honor.”

Luz blinked at it, taking it gingerly, and as she did Viney stood up, the twisted smile on her face visible through the crackling orange, magical, campfire.

“Luz, not only are you our newest sibling, but you helped lead a quest that not only saved Camp Half-Blood but all of Olympus. So with permission from the councilors from all the cabins, we dedicate this year’s bead to you and your quest!”

There was a whooping of applause as the beads were passed out, and when Luz took a look at it her heart clenched, affection and gratitude washing over her in a whirl.

It was a beautiful deep purple bead with a very familiar-looking sword and shield, and as she turned it in the light of the campfire, the glint of the light made it glow a beautiful magical bronze.

“So, did we nail it?” Viney asked as Luz was left speechless. Willow and Gus were grinning over at her with knowing smiles. Next to her, Amity squeezed her hand, looking just as emotional as Luz felt.

Luz leaned over and threw herself into the embrace of her half-sister, and the campfire erupted into more whoops and cheers. And yeah, Luz might have teared up a bit as she sat back down next to her friends, but if anybody noticed they didn’t comment on it.

That morning as she packed up what few belongings she actually had, electing to leave a majority of the items she’d bought for next summer, she was digging through her backpack when her fingers touched something soft. She pulled out a stiff, slick, feather, and immediately broke into a smile. Carefully sliding it across the leather to dangle right next to her bead, she clipped the necklace on and slung her backpack over her shoulder. Saying one final goodbye to the Hermes cabin, she walked out the door to go meet Willow and Gus in the strawberry fields.

When she got there, she couldn’t help but grin. Around the growing collection of beads on their necklaces, five and four respectively, a single matching feather was dangling from the middle. While none of them said anything about it at first, Luz watched as both Willow and Gus glanced down, their eyes softening with affection.

“Well?” Willow asked as she reached them, gesturing towards the now distant Camp Half-Blood. “Give us the verdict. What did you think of your first year at camp?”

“I…” Luz didn’t even know what to say. Sure, there had been the lows. The hungry belly as she traveled across the Midwest, the sword slashes, the monsters, the horrible villain who’d threatened to destroy the world. But right now as Luz looked between her friends and her new home, she felt nothing but love for her new life. The mischievous half-siblings, the rivals between the cabins, the eccentric camp directing duo that was the daughters of Zeus, Gus, Willow, Amity…

Luz couldn’t ever recall a time in her entire life that she’d felt so full.

“All I can think right now is that I don’t want it to end,” Luz finally said, and Willow and Gus stepped forward to pull her into a group hug.

“It won’t end, at least, not really,” Gus promised, his voice muffled as he was shoved into Luz’s bicep.

“Yeah, it’s just a short break,” Willow nodded, leaning her head against Luz’s shoulder and wrapping her other arm around Gus. “And in two weeks, we’ll all be together again on a new adventure.”

Luz laughed, “yeah, because the life of a half-blood is never really quiet, is it?”

“Well, that’s half the fun of it,” Amity said from behind her, and when Luz turned her head she saw her girlfriend walking through the field to join them. Her own backpack was swung over her shoulder, and she had a genuine, at peace, smile on her face.

“Spoken like a true Blight,” Willow chuckled from next to Luz, and Amity laughed.

“Well, maybe I’ll get lucky and this year away from my parents will shake some of that out of me.”

“You’re sure you’re mom and dad are okay with you staying at my Mami’s for two weeks?” Luz asked for what felt like the sixth time that week, and Amity shrugged her shoulders.

“I’m back to being their number one, despite all the… drama, that happened the last time we saw them. Edric and Emira will pack my things for school for me. Honestly… it’s kind of nice not going back to Colorado.”

After getting a first-hand glimpse into how uptight and uncomfortable the Blight Manor was, Luz couldn’t help but agree.

“Don’t have too much fun you two,” Willow teased, and Amity flushed over the sound of Gus’ laugher while Luz bumped her with her shoulder.

Whatever retort Luz would have come up with died in her throat as she looked down towards the pine tree. There, a few parents were already waiting at the border, with some campers joining them and saying hello. Among the waiting ones, Luz saw a man almost identical to Gus, and two other men standing together with their hands interlinked.

“We better not keep them waiting,” Gus said slowly, but he looked back up at Luz with a frown. Willow was standing there as well, and for just another moment Luz felt that same rush of love.

“No, you shouldn’t. Amity and I will meet you at grand central in two weeks, okay?”

“Two weeks,” Willow affirmed, and Luz pulled the four of them into one last group hug before Willow and Gus grabbed their things and went to go join their parents at the pine tree.

It wasn’t a real goodbye, nowhere near it. But Luz couldn’t help but feel her throat close up at the sight of them reuniting with their parents. Gus’ dad scooped him up into the biggest hug, and one of Willow’s dads immediately took her backpack while the other one kissed her cheek.

She felt Amity’s warm hand close around hers, and when she looked back, the daughter of Aphrodite was smiling softly.

“It’s going to be okay.”

“I know,” Luz said, and she meant it. She squeezed her own hand around Amity’s, taking a moment to really let the gratitude she had for this camp, for these people, sink in.

It wasn’t long until she saw another familiar person join the other parents near the pine tree. Luz perked up immediately at the sight of her Mami, still dressed in her scrubs. She’d probably gotten off of a shift at the hospital and rushed all the way down to Long Island just to meet her and was looking around anxiously at the other gathering parents and campers.

“Is that her?” Amity sounded nervous, and when she looked over, she was reaching up with her other hand to self-consciously adjust her mint green hair.

“She’s going to love you,” Luz promised, giving her a reassuring kiss on the cheek. “She’s been talking about how excited she’s been to meet you for like, three weeks.”

“That… somehow makes me even more nervous,” Amity breathed out. Luz chuckled, adjusting the straps of her backpack over her shoulder as her Mami finally looked up and noticed them. She beamed so widely Luz could see it from all the way up in the strawberry hills, waving towards them.

“Well, then let’s do this together.”

Amity looked back at her one more time, taking a deep breath. “Alright. Together.”

And as they walked through the fields hand in hand, slowly getting farther and farther away from camp, Luz felt her anxieties about the coming months slowly begin to fade. That was part of the magic of Camp Half-Blood. The place wasn’t just a training ground for young demigods. It was a safe haven. A family. A place that, even miles and miles away from it, you always knew it would have your back. It would be there for you, whenever you wanted to return. So leaving it didn’t feel like a goodbye, not really.

Instead, it was the promise of another new beginning as a child of the gods.

[dehydratedpool]

hello again!! it’s the beginning of a new month, meaning a new fic rec post!! here are some fics that i read this month that are just... exquisite and deserve all the love and attention <3 

there aren’t as many as last time unfortunately, since i was quite busy this past month, but i promise next month won’t fall short! ((fics that i’ve reread this month are indicated with a **))

Foolishly Laying Our Hearts On The Table [11k] by runaway_train @runaway-train-works 

“You think Harry wants that?”

“Dunno. Maybe. Wanna make him happy.” Harry takes advantage of the red light he’s pulled up to turn and look properly at Louis’ face. He’s not even looking in Harry’s direction though, focused instead on something out of his side window, head drooped, mindlessly playing with the string of his hoodie between his fingers, lost in his own world somewhere. For some reason, it makes Harry’s spine straighten.

“Because he’s your best mate?” Harry questions carefully.

“He’s my boyfriend.”

He couldn’t have heard him right. “What?”

Louis releases a deep breath, still not turning around. Harry wonders who he thinks he’s talking to right now. “He’s so pretty. Want to kiss him all day long. And buy him a big house and give him presents and marry him.”

Or; The one where Harry is in love with his best friend Louis but doesn't think he stands a chance until some wisdom teeth and a rather unusual confession might just change his mind.

--> this is a new comfort fic for me tbh. i got rec’d this after louis tweeted about getting his wisdom teeth removed, and i’m so SO glad i decided to give it a read. it’s so precious and lovely and personally, i found it to be a quick read. it’s the kind of fic that makes me both warm and fuzzy inside but also highly upset that i’m single and will surely be alone forever

Just Let Me [14k] by HelloAmHere 

The party was going well. So well, Niall had already sworn undying love to one multi-tiered chocolate cake, two friendly corgi-poodle mixes, Zayn’s hair, and the entire population of Los Angeles. So well, Zayn had only laughed and ruffled Niall’s hair and not even twitched towards a cigarette. So well, nearly everyone had spilled far past the boundaries of the night’s original plans, extracting bottles of vodka from the cabinets and losing a lot of clothes. Harry had proclaimed that he was finally going to throw a small and very grownup dinner party and of course here they were three hours later, fifty people half-naked in the pool. Soon to be full-naked, if Louis had to guess. Everybody in LA loved a heated pool. Everybody loved Harry.

--> ok LISTEN. as some of you know, i just recently got into reading a/b/o fics and this one is definitely at the top of my fave a/b/o fics out there. it’s an interesting take on the trope, almost a bit more realistic in my opinion, and to quote the author’s note, “’what if a/b/o but less biological determinism?’”. i believe i found this one through a masterpost of “touch-deprivation fics”, so if that’s your thing, give this one a chance!

my ugly mouth kept running [4k] by theankletattoo @hadestyles

Another seed, another try except they know what caused the first wilt. They will be careful, they will be kind and together they will nurture it to life.

sometimes second chances are more important than the first.

--> rori, the author, never fails to disappoint when it comes to all of her works. i’ve said it once and i’ll say it again, she’s so incredibly fucking talented it’s unreal. her imagery is so vivid and real it leaves simultaneously everything and nothing to the imagination. as usual, h and l’s dynamic in this is an addicting portion to this fic that has you anticipating how their dynamic will shift and grow up until the end. if you’ve yet to read any of rori’s work, i suggest you add that to your to-do list for the month, and get a head start to her collection with this one!

**As Wicked As Anything Could Be [21k] by whoknows @crazyupsetter

It starts when Louis decides that he wants to lose his cherry and announces that he thinks the best way to do that is by going to a gay club. Naturally, Harry can’t let him go alone, so he tags along and spends the night rating guys with Louis until someone finally catches Louis’s eye.

Harry shoves him out to dance with the guy, and he can already tell that it’s going to be a quick and dirty hook up, so he’s not surprised that Louis and the guy disappear into the bathroom ten minutes later.

It is a surprise when Louis comes out not even two minutes later, pale and clammy, grabs Harry by the hand and drags him right out the door.

Somehow Harry comes to the decision that it would be a good idea for him to be in the room with Louis while Louis gets laid.

It’s a stupid fucking decision.

--> i discovered this fic a while ago on a whim and i have zero regrets. this is absolutely on my top ten fave fics list (that has yet to exist but perhaps i’ll post it one day). whoknows is a well known author within the fandom, so i’m sure i don’t have to say much about their immense talent, but SERIOUSLY, their plot progression, even their use of dialogue is wonderful in every way. as a writer, i envy them lmao. this fic takes me on a rollercoaster every time i read it, it’s yet another comfort fic of mine and never fails to disappoint every time i pick it up again. please, do yourselves a favor this april and read this.

Keeping The Flame Alive [19k] by whoknows @crazyupsetter 

Recording with One Direction never felt like this. There’s a couple reasons for that, Harry thinks. One is that they did most of their recording on the road, rushed and in busses and hotel rooms, never in one place long enough to really get an argument going. The other, larger and more important one, is that back then he had the sweetest, meanest little omega around to distract him from all of that frustration.

The first time around, when he’d been recording his debut solo album, it hit him pretty hard. He likes to think he’s better adjusted to it now, but frustration is warring under his skin nonetheless. He doesn’t want to be told what to do most of the time, and he especially doesn’t want to be told what to do when it comes to his music.

What he does want right now is that sweet, mean little omega right in front of him with his mouth on Harry’s cock. Unfortunately, the best he’s got is his own hand and a shared toilet. So. That’s really not going to work.

--> yes, for the first time in dehydratedpoolfics history of fic recs even tho i’ve only been doing this for a month i am rec’ing the same author twice, but seriously, how could i not??? this fic took me on a literal journey like... wtf. i have no words. seriously, i have none, i’m just that blown away, go read it for yourself .

**a trail of honey through it all [27k] by bruisedhoney @yvesaintlourent 

The boy in front of him, well really, the man in front of him, was like something out of a confusing wet dream. Built, tall, tan and muscular, his skin glistened with sweat after a long day of working outdoors with his hands. He was wearing a cut up old American football shirt, the bottom hem was torn and the sleeves were cut off to the point where the t-shirt was really just a loose tank top. The shorts he had on had clearly been full length jeans at one point, and were now just crudely cut off above the knee. His white socks were pulled up too high on his calves, and the brown work boots he had on were old as fuck, the leather peeling along the edges of the soles. Curly brown hair stuck out from the edges of his backwards snapback, and there was a smudge of grease wiped along his brow bone. The smattering of hair along his jaw proved that he hadn’t shaved in a week or two, the hair growing in thicker across his upper lip and around his chin. His sinfully bowed mouth was pink and plump, and Louis was suddenly hyper-focused on the way that he chewed at the toothpick stuck between his lips. He looked like he needed a shower. Louis wanted to lick him.

Or, the TPH fic we’ve all been waiting for.

--> okay look. i may or may not have a slight obsession with this fic. i reread it constantly, mostly for the iconic line, “are we fuckin’ or fightin’?”, because how can i not scream over that?? ((also patiently waiting for the sequel)) this is a literary masterpiece, one that defines an entire generation of this fandom i stg. but in all seriousness, hayley, the author, does such a wonderful job of giving the reader a vivid look into “nowhere, georgia”, and as a southern gal myself, i absolutely adore the itty bitty pieces of southern culture embedded into this, the tiny quirks that make this fic authentic. i could probably go on forever on why this fic is so iconic, but perhaps you should read it for yourself instead *wink* *wink*

SO. that’s all for this month!! if you read any of these, first of all, be sure to read the tags and author’s note (if any) before starting, AND please don’t forget to leave a quick kudos or comment, it means more than you may ever know <3

[aramisinaskirt]

Thoughts on “Friends and Enemies”

Note: Spoilers galore abound below the cut, and this is going to be an extremely long post, as most of my episode reactions will be. 

The opening scenes of this episode go by so fast! It  had been a while since I'd seen it before I started to try watching it again.   I'm honestly surprised by how well d'Artagnan fights, for a character who is supposed to be a farm boy from Gascony. Watching his father die in the rain is an incredibly moving scene, for which I give full credit to Oliver Cotton.

I almost immediately feel sorry for Athos. The ice bucket scene, while it makes sense as a quick way to sober up, will never not be funny to me.  One thing I love about what the series did is how well it summed up all of the boys personalities in one or two scenes, almost as if they wanted to contrast the things the fake Musketeers were doing.

God, the scene with Porthos playing cards with Dujon. The "Ooh. That's slander." when he's accused of cheating gets me every time. It makes me want to laugh but also makes me wince because I know l couldn't have fought off a Red Guard with a fork for a weapon.  I do love that Porthos acknowledges Dujon is a confident  man,  and that they highlight Porthos' tendencies as a thief. It's established early that Porthos is close to Aramis, and therefore is expected by Athos to know where he'd be.  The look that accompanies "Tell me he's not that  stupid!", is everything.😂

I'm a big fan of Santiago Cabrera (If you've been following my blog for a while you know that I swoon over him pretty much on the regular.😍🥰).  I know a lot of  people have varying opinions on Aramis, and I understand and respect that. I do have to admit that I facepalmed, hard, seeing who he was sleeping with.  I mean, Adele is beautiful. Her cajoling "Poor Aramis" as she traces his scars highlights the kind of character he is.    But, of all the women he could have had... Did he really have to choose the Cardinal's mistress? At the same time, I guess because I feel an affinity with him, I think I might have slept with Adele, too, if given the chance.  The scramble to hide his pistol is also hilarious. It surprises me that he falls for the “If you love me, you’ll jump.” line from her.  I never tire of the “Have you seen how far down that is?!” or the reluctant, “The things I do for love.”) Aramis reunites with the other Musketeers. He gets back to be immediately called on a mission  to Chartres.

The choice to switch viewpoints at this point to d’Artagnan and then to Louis is a bit of a headspin, but I understand that the Musketeers travel might be a bit boring. I do find the innkeeper hilarious as it seems everything important to a man costs extra if you’re staying at the inn.  The introduction to Louis paints him as a spoiled brat who can spend all day shooting pigeons.  The line about birds being “born to be shot, like rabbits and poets” says something. (Wait for it... just wait for it...)

The scenes with the Musketeers riding through cold and snow are pretty intense. The introduction to Milady, while cold, also gives us a side of d’Artagnan that we’ve yet to see. He agrees to duel Mendoza (which, in hindsight, oof!)

Armand shows up to visit Adele (also how did I not notice that she was hiding Aramis’ pistol and Richelieu saw it on my second watch through?!) I love that he realizes what he’s fighting. And it’s obvious he’s a control freak. Now comes the part I hate. d’Artagnan and Milady.  The promise of killing the man she loved comes too soon for me. Mendoza’s death before getting to duel d’Artagnan and the fact that the latter is blamed sets up perfectly!)

At least we do get to see d’Artagnan’s clever escape (although I wouldn’t want to be him landing in whatever that really was.) But this leads to us getting to see Constance and her fiery temper (”Touch me again, and I’ll gut you like a fish!” never misses me), but then her kindness takes over.  She offers him the way to the Garrison before he passes out. d’Artagnan is given some grand lines here.  (”I’m d’Artagnan. Please think kindly of my name, if you think of it at all.”)

We arrive back at the garrison to see that d’Artangnan has found the Musketeers, which gives him an introduction that reminds me a bit of Inigo Montoya in The Princess Bride. (”My name is d’Artagnan of Lupiac in Gascony. Prepare to fight. One of us dies here.”-- and Aramis is right. It’s one hell of an entrance.) The ensuing fight and the Musketeers defense highlights the classic “All for one” mentality without ever needing to speak the line.  My shock when Treville comes in to arrest Athos could probably be felt from miles away. 

The trial is clearly a set up and a shambles, and Louis is just naïve enough to believe it.  It’s interesting to me that we don’t see Athos given any time to defend himself. We also see him seemingly accept his fate as he refuses a last confession from a priest after telling him about a woman he loved who died by his hand.  

Milady meets with Richelieu and reveals she was hired to retrieve the letters from Mendoza. Aramis’ pistol shows up again in the Cardinals hands. Meanwhile, Louis and Richelieu discuss the letters, proving just how vulnerable Louis is.  This cuts to one of my favorite scenes-- Porthos and Aramis working the guards for information.   The final fight is everything you’d expect it to be-- Musket fire, swords, Constance dressed as a whore for a distraction. . .  and the ensuing chaos leads d’Artagnan to his father’s killer. (huge sigh of relief breathed here for all). This leaves just enough time for the crew to save a resigned Athos, while Milady hovers above.  The final scenes nearly made me cry, as we see Richelieu luring Adele to a frozen spot where she is executed with Aramis’ forgotten pistol. True to tragic form, Adele declares her true love (”I love Aramis, and I love him with my last breath!”) True to form, Richelieu cannot get his hands dirty--he can’t even bear to watch her be shot. She dies repeating her mantra, “I love Aramis.” I was honestly shocked that I didn’t cry here, but knowing how Aramis’ character is set up, I expected it. I was a bit stunned to see that  Richelieu barely flinches at the idea of Adele being shot.  The Musketeers celebrate a win as Richelieu ties up his loose ends by killing Dujon with poisoned wine while promising his freedom, and implicating himself. 

Aramis shows up at Adele’s only to find her gone. (This scene almost made me cry given what we’ve previously seen of his interaction with her. I don’t believe he loved her, but that pain!!)

The last, chilling shots of the episode establish Milady as truly heartless. She goes to confession only to be told by the priest that she is “a child of the devil..an abomination.” She then chokes the priest by his rosary and flees the church (”You don’t understand, I’m not looking for absolution.  I want revenge!”) That ending gave me a shiver, and I am honestly terrified of what she’ll do next! 

[quickspinner]

These Two Hands (I’ll Never Not Know You)

I worked on this for ages, and I just couldn't get it to come out right, so I put it aside and worked on other things. I hadn't looked at it in months, and then the WIP meme came along, and I started looking it over, and it turned out to be ridiculously easy to fix and finish, so here it is at last!

Shoutout to all my artist buddies, whose complaining about hands being such a pain to draw gave me the idea for this fic. 😆 Love you guys.

I don't think I said anything that specifically made it clear, but they're university aged in this one.

It was a beautiful summer day in Paris, with just enough breeze to keep the heat from being unbearable. Enjoying the weather and his music, Luka had no idea how long he’d been sitting there playing on the warm, wide stone steps of the Trocadero. A while, by the sun and the hollow feeling in his stomach. Luka packed up his guitar and slung it across his back. He started to descend the steps, but paused as he nearly trod on something at the bottom. He bent down and picked up the book, plain black and with heavy, weighted paper, like an artist’s book. It wasn’t battered or dirty, like it had been there for days, though the canvas cover was frayed a bit at the corners. Well-used, he concluded, and lost only recently.

Luka looked around, hesitant. He couldn’t see anybody who looked like they’d lost something. He went back up the steps and looked around at the top, with the same result. 

Luka sighed. He got so into his music, he frequently lost awareness of his surroundings, so while he knew some people had stopped on the steps to hear him play, he had no memory of what they looked like or what they’d been doing, other than Officer Roger passing by and giving him the stinkeye. Apparently the officer hadn’t felt like ruining a perfectly good day by hassling about permits and nonsense, though, and once he’d moved on, Luka had played without regard to his audience.

He went back down the stairs, thinking, and then sat down slowly on the bottom step. He felt like an intruder as he opened the book, as he thought of the battered spiral notebook full of embarrassing, half-finished scribbles he carried in his guitar case. He checked the inside of both covers first, but found only the initials MDC. No phone number, not even a full name.

Luka blew out a frustrated breath, fluffing his bangs away from his face. Reluctantly, he began turning pages. 

It was full of...hands. Hands planting a seedling, hands cleaning something indistinct. Hands buried in a lumpy mass. Clay? Or maybe dough? Hands twined in yarn, holding the vague suggestion of knitting needles. What they were doing was usually only lightly sketched in and suggested, but the hands themselves were detailed and bold. It was kind of weird at first, but as he continued to turn the pages, still checking each for some sign of the owner, he began to appreciate the different types of beauty and strength captured on each page. He could imagine the trembling in the wrinkled hands with swollen joints that held a flower stem delicately. There were fingers curved over a computer keyboard, charged with energy, and he could almost hear the rapid smack of the fingers hitting the keys. 

Luka found himself rubbing his fingers together. He’d never contemplated his hands from an aesthetic standpoint. Why would he? They were rough and scarred; his fingers from the guitar, his palms from the ropes and rigging on the boat, from the lifting and carrying required for the constant rearranging of the stuff on deck to make sure they could get around. He’d never thought about whether they were—any of what he saw in these pictures. 

He glanced up and around again, still feeling guilty to be poking through someone else’s private things, but no one was paying him any mind, and he still had no clues as to the owner. He tried to flip quickly, just checking each page for even a hint of where he might go to return it, but with everything but the hands indistinct there wasn’t much to go by. 

He stopped in surprise on the last sketch in the book, staring at the drawing of hands on a guitar. The guitar was just roughed in, once again more of a suggestion than a drawing, except where the left hand rested on the fretboard, pressing into the strings. 

The hands, though, were incredibly detailed, and, he realized with a sudden blush, they were his. He touched his thumb to the ring on his pointer finger absently. The right hand, curved to strum, the pick invisible from that angle but implied, had bracelets matching his stacked along the wrist. 

The nails were colored in, dark like his, but beyond that, he wouldn’t have recognized them without the jewelry and the small curving scar near the thumb of the right hand.

These hands were elegant, graceful, intentional. It had been a long time since Luka last consciously thought about the control he had over his hands, but he couldn’t help thinking about it now. It had taken him years of practice to get there, but when he played, his hands did exactly what he needed them to, found the strings he needed quickly and accurately. Though they were thin, they were strong and sure, equally capable of coaxing a melody and knotting a rope with speed and strength. 

That was what this person had seen in them, at least. 

“Oh!”

Luka looked up and found a girl staring at him with both hands over her mouth, her blue eyes wide. Her gaze flickered between him and the book. 

“Is this yours?” he asked without thinking. 

She nodded slowly, pink spreading over her cheeks. 

Luka closed it quickly and stood up, offering it to her. She took a hasty step forward, grabbing the book gratefully, but somehow got her feet tangled up and yelped as she tipped forward. Luka caught her shoulders and steadied her. “Woah, easy.” He shifted her back until she was solidly on her feet, and let go. “I’m sorry for snooping, it’s just I found it on the steps and I was trying to find a name or something so I knew who to give it back to. I wasn’t having much luck, though, so I’m really glad you came back.” 

“Oh,” she said, blushing and holding the sketchbook to her. “It’s okay, of course I understand. I’m glad it was found, at least. I just...I’m just kind of embarrassed, I know it must look kind of weird, and I usually ask before I draw someone but you were busy and the music was so lovely and I started watching your hands and just kind of got caught up in the moment but I’m really sorry—”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Luka said, putting a hand on her shoulder briefly to interrupt as she began picking up speed. “I thought they were cool, and I’m flattered you saw something in my hands worth capturing.”

She smiled shyly. “I like hands that make things. They’re my favorite. I mean, it started just as a drawing exercise, because hands are hard, and so I thought if I just kept drawing them I’d get better. And...and then when I started looking, I got interested, and I kept going. It’s kind of stress relief now. And that probably doesn’t make it any less weird.” She put one hand back over her face, the other still clutching her sketchbook, and made a little whine. “Why am I still talking?”  

“That’s amazing,” Luka smiled, and then hesitated. “Um, are you busy? On your way somewhere? Because if not, I’d really like to look at some more. If it’s okay with you.” 

Her eyes widened slightly, and the flush on her cheeks deepened. “R-really? I mean, sure, if you, um. If you want to. I didn’t really think they were that interesting, to be honest.”

“Well, I do,” Luka said, and backed up to sit back down on his steps, tipping his head to invite her to sit next to him. “My name’s Luka.”

She smiled nervously, perching on the step and tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. “I’m Marinette.” Luka turned back to the beginning of the book, and began to page through more slowly, pausing now and then to ask Marinette about a picture.

“That’s my grandmother,” she told him, as he looked at a picture of half-gloved hands resting on the handles of a motorcycle. “She travels a lot.” 

“I really like this one,” he said after a moment, pausing at the hands twined in yarn. 

“I, um,” Marinette hunched her shoulders a little bit. “I love drawing people knitting. They all look so different, even though they’re doing the same thing. Everyone holds the yarn a little bit differently, knits just a slightly different way.”

“And this?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. “I can’t quite figure this one out.”

“That’s my friend Kim,” Marinette explained. “He’s a swimmer. He was doing backstroke time trials and I just got really fascinated with the way his hands held onto the wall. I didn’t quite get the perspective right, though.” She giggled nervously, and Luka smiled at the sound. “The blurry spots are from when he dripped on me trying to get a look at what I was doing.” 

“I can see it now,” Luka nodded. “The tension in them, and why you did the eyes here between them—”

“They ended up looking kind of buggy, with the goggles,” Marinette admitted. 

“No, I really like it, though,” Luka looked up to flash her a quick smile. “You really get that sense of power about to let loose.”

Marinette blinked. “Y-yeah,” she smiled. “Yeah...thanks.”

“Why make the rest of the drawings so incomplete compared with the hands?” Luka asked curiously, looking up from the book to meet her eyes. “I mean, I get why the hands are the focus, but why make the rest of it so vague?”  

Marinette blushed. “It’s...stupid. I don’t know if it’ll even make sense if I say it out loud.”

“Try me,” Luka smiled. 

“It’s just, no matter how I draw them, it’s not the full picture,” Marinette said thoughtfully, and then glanced up at him with an adorably shy smile. “No pun intended. I just mean that there’s so much that these hands can do and when I draw them, I’m really only capturing one. I’d be fascinated to find out what else your hands can do besides play guitar,” she added, and Luka’s face flamed red, though Marinette didn’t seem to notice anything suggestive about what she’d said as she picked his hand up, examining it. Luka swallowed as she turned his hand over and ran her fingers over the calluses on his palm. “You didn’t get these from the guitar,” she said. “Sports? Or something else?” 

Luka cleared his throat. “I live on a boat on the Seine,” he said, watching her. “I work with a lot of ropes, and I’m always climbing around fixing something or other.” 

Marinette nodded, looking up at him, his hand still cradled in hers. “That explains the tan. What else?” 

“Um…” Luka blinked, trying to think. “I carry sound and boat equipment.” 

“Okay,” Marinette said, still listening. Looking at him like he was a puzzle she was trying to solve. He wasn’t sure what she wanted to hear, or why he suddenly very much wanted to be worthy of her interest, but...

“I...comfort my sister,” Luka said softly, dropping his gaze to his hand again. “She’s nervous, she gets worried. I put my hand on her shoulder so she knows that I’m there with her and she’s not alone. I...I calm my mother down. She’s kind of...passionate, she gets worked up about stuff a lot. I put my hand on hers or on her arm to remind her to take a minute to breathe.” 

“And you help up strangers who trip over their own feet,” Marinette giggled. 

“Yeah,” Luka smiled, looking at her. “That too.” 

“It sounds like your hands do a lot of good,” she said. “Your hands help people. Lift them up. You carry, you support. That’s very noble, Luka.”

Luka’s face heated. “Poetic, but...I think that’s giving me a bit too much credit,” he said, looking down at her little hands on his. He was beginning to be fascinated with their contrast, by the way their fingers looked together. Impulsively he closed one hand, capturing hers gently.

“You’re really special, Marinette,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anybody that thinks like you.” 

Marinette stared at him for a second, and then looked down at their hands. It seemed to hit her all at once that she’d been holding onto him, and she jerked her hands back, face reddening. “I’m so sorry—I’m being really weird, aren’t I?” Marinette hunched her shoulders. “I’m sorry—”

“Maybe a little bit,” Luka broke in, stopping her from another apology spiral. “But what’s weird anyway? Just something a little different than normal. Unique. Nothing wrong with that. Let’s just roll with it.” He grinned. “Embrace the weird. May I see yours?” 

She looked startled. “W-what?” 

“Your hands,” he said, holding out his own. “May I see them?” 

Marinette couldn’t get any redder but her mouth opened and closed soundlessly for a moment. “It’s okay,” Luka said quickly. “If you’d rather not. I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable.” 

“No, it’s fine,” she said, hunching her shoulders again. “It’s only fair, right? Gosh, I didn’t even ask you, you must think I’m so—” She made a wordless noise in her throat and held out her hands stiffly. 

“I don’t,” Luka chuckled. “I didn’t mind. It doesn’t have to be fair, though,” Luka said, making no move to take her hands again. “If you’re not okay with it, don’t feel like you have to.” 

“It’s really okay,” she said. Her hands relaxed a little, her shoulders came down, and there was enough sincerity in her smile to convince him. “It’s just, I don’t think mine are anything special.” 

“Hmm,” Luka chuckled, slowly reaching to take her hands. “I didn’t think mine were either, until today.” His hands dwarfed hers as he closed his fingers lightly. Her fingers were slender and elegantly tapered. Her fingernails were short but filed meticulously into perfect ovals. He ran his thumbs lightly over the backs, tracing the veins and gliding over the bumps of her knuckles.  

“So what do you do with these hands, besides drawing?” he asked as he looked. 

“Sewing, mostly. Some knitting and crochet and things like that, but mostly I make clothes. I’m in school for fashion design and I’m always working on some project or other. That’s why my hands are always so beat up.”

Gently Luka turned her hands over, letting go of her left hand to trail his fingers over the palm and fingers of her right, noticing the calluses on her fingertips and one on the side of her middle finger. 

Luka looked up at her and grinned. “You said hands that make things are your favorite.”  

Marinette shrugged slightly, smiling. “It’s worth the callouses. The business stuff, I could live without, but the making—it doesn’t feel like work. I like making things that help people express themselves.” 

Luka picked her left hand up again and noticed a shiny burn scar on the heel of it. He turned that hand up and let go of the other to run his fingers lightly over the scar. “What’s the story here?”

“A boring one,” Marinette chuckled, making a face. “I’m a klutz and I live in a bakery. I tripped and put my hand down in the wrong spot. I’ve gotten lots of burns for various reasons but that’s the only one that really left a mark.”

“Do you bake?” 

“Sometimes. Not for the bakery, but for friends and family on special occasions. I also do a lot of decorating. Cakes and cookies and stuff. I’m a master with a piping bag.”

“That makes sense,” Luka said softly, thoughtfully. 

Marinette tilted her head and looked up at him. “Luka?”

“These little hands create so much beauty,” he mused aloud, marveling. Marinette squeaked and he glanced up at her, a question on his tongue, but he froze instead, caught by her eyes, clear baby blue, framed with dark lashes, and currently wide and staring at him. It struck him all at once as he took in her vibrant blush and pretty parted lips that she was really, really beautiful, and that he’d been fondling her hands for the last several minutes and he should...he should probably let go.

He didn’t want to. 

He didn’t want to let go of those tiny, strong, capable, beautiful hands. 

“Sorry, I was just thinking,” Luka said, and cleared his throat to smooth out his suddenly rough voice. “What you were saying about my hands lifting people up. Your hands...make things beautiful. You take ordinary things and make them better.” He looked back down at their hands, rubbing his thumbs absently across her knuckles as he spoke. “That’s a pretty special gift, Marinette. Making the world a more beautiful place, or even just making it so that people can see the beauty that’s already there...you’re amazing.” He took a deep breath and forced himself to look back at her face. “Would you, um...this is going to sound really forward, but would you go out with me sometime?” 

“O-out?” Marinette stammered, looking rather like she’d just been hit in the head with a board.

Luka tried not to laugh. “Yeah. Out. On a date? Maybe this weekend? I know we just met, but…”

“I’d like to,” Marinette blurted, face red. “That...that sounds really great.” She dropped her gaze for a minute, and then flicked her eyes back up shyly, a slow smile curling her lips. “But if you want my number, you’re going to have to let go of my hands first.” 

Luka grinned back, squeezing her hands instead of releasing them. “Or I could just take you out right now. Are you free for lunch? I’m starving, personally.” 

***

It was another sunny summer day, on the same stone steps, and Marinette and Luka sat pressed close together, the fingers of his right hand threaded together with her left, as she sketched busily on the sketchbook in her lap. They’d been there for a while now, but Luka was comfortable and happy lounging on the sun-warmed steps, humming a tune to himself and trying not to fidget in a way that would tug on the hand Marinette was holding. 

He was staring blankly at nothing, remembering their first kiss. Well. Not their first kiss, standing outside of her home while he held her hands in his and leaned in to press his lips to hers for just a sweet, soft moment. Their first real kiss, when his hand came up to cup her cheek as hers slid back and slipped into the hair at the nape of his neck and he kissed her for real. He remembered noticing how his hand felt so big compared to her face as his thumb brushed her soft cheek, his touch feather-light and reverent even as hers was firm against him. She tilted her face to better meet him, and his thumb slipped down to her jaw, his calloused fingertips fanning out along the side of her neck. He remembered the way she gasped, leaning into his touch, which pulled her lips away from his. He’d kissed along her jaw as his rough palm skimmed down the elegant line of her neck and followed the curve of her shoulder before stroking back up again to pull her closer. How their other hands had met and twined together, fingers locked as they were now, palms pressed tight together. He remembered how the strength in those little hands had surprised him.  

Movement beside him jerked him back to the moment, as Marinette sat back to look at her page critically. Swallowing, Luka seized his moment. 

“Can I see?” he asked as he sat up and leaned over, and Marinette shifted the sketchbook so he could look at the drawing of their joined hands she’d been working on.  

Marinette had teased him a little bit about asking for such a thing, but not too much. He was just as in awe of her art now as he’d been the day they met, and she knew it. Her portraits of his mother’s hands and his sister’s hands were already hanging on his wall, so this was a logical addition to his collection.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, looking over the nearly-finished picture. “I’m loving it, but...I think it’s missing something.” 

Marinette frowned, turning the picture back towards herself. “What do you mean?” she asked, just as Luka shifted his grip on her hand. She looked back at their hands, opening her mouth to protest, but instead her mouth just dropped open as Luka slid a small sparkling ring onto her finger. 

“There,” he grinned, looking up at her face as Marinette did a credible imitation of a fish. “That’s better.” His eyes softened as he looked at her. “Marinette, will you—”

He never got a chance to finish as she tackled him awkwardly back onto the steps, her sketchbook falling from her lap and bouncing down to land in nearly the same place it had almost exactly a year ago.  

[atths--twice]

After the Credits

Hello there! Today is the 20th anniversary of Hollywood A.D. and I thought I would post my fic set directly after that episode. I’ve posted it before, but with a link to it and not HERE. I was new to Tumblr and didn’t know how to do much. I’m still learning, but I know a bit more now and thought I would reshare it here. 

When I first started to write fanfic, I wanted to change the ending of My Struggle IV. I wanted to do it for ME, but others showed interest when I would make comments regarding what I was thinking, so I started writing it in earnest. It quickly moved to many stories and THAT particular story was posted months later, with many stories in between. 

But this story... this is my baby. I actually posted it near the end of April in 2018 so it’s the anniversary of the story as well. I love this story. It’s fun, funny, lightly angsty, happy, cute, sweet, and sexy--VERY sexy. I’ve written over 100 stories and this one still remains the number one read story. I love that so much as I had an absolute blast working on it. I hope you enjoy it. 

Chapter One  The Limo Ride 

Mulder and Scully spend the night after Hollywood A.D. putting Skinner’s credit card to good use. Fun times and hijinks ensue. Also, sex! Delicious wonderful sex!

They walk off the film set, hand in hand. Both still giggling over the absurdity of the film based so loosely on their lives. What a joke it has become. 

Mulder opens the door that leads them into the main studio lot. He holds the door as Scully passes, letting go of her hand, placing it on her lower back. The lot is busy with people hurrying to different sets. For a second, Mulder loses sight of Scully as a large group of people descend upon them. Dear god, it is a wall of muscly men, very scantily dressed, coming straight at him. Mulder stops walking and waits for them to pass. He has to close his eyes as too much muscled men skin bumps him on all sides. 

Scully turns when she notices Mulder is not at her side. She looks back trying to find him in the crowd of people. She sees him attempting to make himself physically smaller as the throng of half naked men squish past him. She feels a giggle bubbling up as she sees his eyes close, most likely holding his breath, wishing they would hurry. She starts walking back toward him. 

He opens his eyes and comes face to face with more flesh. This time of the female variety. About thirty exotically dressed women are hurrying past him. They all smile as they pass and a few even touch his arms or even his chest. He cannot help the goofy smile that comes onto his face. As they pass, he turns and watches them go. They look back at him, giggling and waving.  He looks his fill and then turns around, face to face with an eyebrow quirked and arms crossed Scully. 

“Coooo!” he exclaims as he stops himself short from plowing into her. “Jesus, Scully! You scared me.” 

“Hmm,” she says with a tilt of her head. “Yeah Mulder, I saw that you were a bit.. distracted. You see something that catch your eye?”

“Me? What are you talk? I was simply waiting for the onslaught of half naked men to pass by,” Mulder says, his face the picture of innocence. 

“Uh huh,” she says, rolling her tongue against her cheeks. “But the uh.. “onslaught” of half naked women was no trouble?”

“Scully, I am certainly not blind to the beauty of a woman’s body. Especially when presented in such.. minimal packaging.” Mulder says as he slides his hands into his pants pockets, a sheepish look on his face. 

She stares at him, eyebrow firmly in place. 

He looks in her eyes. Then down to her lips as he licks his own. Then he leans forward and whispers in her ear, “However, it leaves not much to the imagination. It is so much more titillating wondering what could be under.. say.. a business suit..or even a little black dress... and then getting to use your hands, lips, and tongue to find out.” 

He straightens up and takes a step forward. He hears her quick gasp of breath. He did not have to see her eyes to know they were dark with desire. He has been witness to it often enough recently to recognize it. He has seen it when he kissed her into a daze, when she has trailed her hand down his arm as they left the office- the silent invitation to come over. When he has made an innuendo and she can no longer simply ignore him. And his most favorite, when she looks up at him as he slides his cock into her. Every time her eyes are pools of desire from which he never wants to escape. He would gladly drown in them, if it means he could stay physically connected to her forever. 

She is still standing there, arms crossed, but trying to control her racing heart and breathing. God, he sets her pulse racing so easily. Truth be told, he always could. But now.. now his whispers and closeness are not pushed away and called up later in her fantasies. Now his whispers fill her ears as he trails his fingers down her naked skin. As he squeezes her fingers when they leave work -telling her he will be over later. When he stands so close she can smell him, when he brushes against her and it is as if an electric current passes through them. Imagination no longer is needed because she knows how the crook of his neck smells and tastes. The way his body feels on every inch of hers. She shivers and turns around. 

He has taken a few steps past her but has paused waiting for her to catch up. He is not looking at her, but he has his arm crooked out, knowing she will slip her arm through and join him. He waits and then feels her by his side. She surprises him and slides her hand down his arm and then laces her fingers with his, in his packet. 

It makes him jump in surprise. This is different, they have never done this before. It feels so incredibly intimate. Considering the amount of time they have recently spent naked and sated, this small act should not make his heart pound in his ears. Her small hand in his though, touching his thigh, so close to his groin.. god, he feels his cock start to stir. If she moved her fingers just a little, she might find a surprise. 

He pulls their hands out of his pocket and clears his throat, but keeps their fingers locked together. “So.. uh..” he says as he licks his suddenly very dry lips. “That uh.. credit card.. what did you uh.. have in mind?” 

He glances down at her and sees laughter in her eyes. Jesus, she is so beautiful. She is so happy tonight; her eyes are shining enough to light up a city. 

“Well,” she begins, her voice sounding like it did back in the studio lot; reminding him they were still young and alive. “What do you think about getting some food? That food at the cast party was a little too.. frou-frou for me. And, such small portions- such a waste of time. How about we grab a bite and maybe head to the beach?” 

She suddenly grabs his hand with both of hers and squishes close to him as more people rush past them. He feels her body press against him, her breast against his arm. Any thoughts he may have had, go right out of his head. All he wants to do is fuck her senseless. Food? He could take it or leave it. The beach? He did not care if he ever saw it again. 

If he is honest, all he really wants to do is go back to the hotel and spend the next twenty four hours with her-naked. They could order some room service, that was food, right? Christ, he has spent seven years not being naked with her and he wants to make up for lost time. 

“Scully, you know, they have this amazing invention called room service. We could order in, maybe watch a movie.. whatever.” He says nonchalantly, as if his only thought is not getting her out of her dress, seeing which panty set she had on tonight, taking it off and making her come on his tongue. 

They reach the street where the limos sit waiting. Scully feels so happy and carefree, she needs to do something. As much as she enjoys sex with Mulder, and oh god.. does she ever, she wants more than that tonight. She knows if they go to the hotel, they will end up in bed, no food, until they were both satisfied by each other’s bodies. God.. it makes her wet to think about it, and she almost relents. But, she wants to do something fun with Mulder that did not involve being naked. Spend some time in the California ocean air. 

She takes her hand from his in case someone from the film is out here and is watching. Turning to him, she looks up at him and motions for him to lean down. She stands on tiptoes at the same time and whispers in his ear. 

“Mulder, I want to get some food, take a walk on the beach. Do something fun with this credit card from Skinner. A non-work activity that we can remember and enjoy. But Mulder,” she puts her hands on his chest and trails them down to his waistband. “rest assured, you will definitely be coming inside me tonight. Hopefully, many times. And I am looking forward to coming on your tongue. You know how I enjoy that every time you do it. How wet you make me.” 

Mulder is breathing like a man who has just finished a marathon. As she steps back, she gives him a sultry smile and waves to the limo driver. He grabs her waist and puts his mouth against her ear. 

“Fucking hell, Scully..” he rasps hoarsely. “You don’t play fair. I don’t get to see how your body is responding, but mine is on full display. You’re going to pay for this later.” 

Now it is her turn to breathe hard as she feels her core throb. She feels herself get even wetter. She knows how much the dirty talk turns him on, just as it does to her. God, they have been mind fucking each other for years, no wonder they both get off simply from the other speaking. She had actually come just from Mulder talking to her the first time they had sex. He had not touched her. Just told her what he wanted to do, how he would do it, and how amazing it would feel when he did. After she had had a mind blowing orgasm, he had made good on all he had promised. Slowly and with immense care. 

He begins to straighten up and attempts to conceal his arousal, just as the limo reaches them, she whispers back to him, “You can’t see it, it’s true, but just know that I am positively drenched. It’s a good thing I decided to wear panties..” 

The limo driver stands there and clears his throat. Scully turns toward him with a million dollar smile. Mulder feels his knees actually go weak and he turns his back to the both of them. He is painfully hard and knows it is going to be difficult to hide. He takes off his jacket, commenting on the heat. He keeps his jacket in front of his crotch as he hears Scully and the driver discussing places to eat. 

“Mulder,” she calls in a voice as sweet as honey. As if she had not just told him she wanted him coming inside her later. That she wants to come on his tongue. God, she is a vixen. “What do you feel like eating?” Her eyes are dancing with mirth. She knows exactly what she was doing to him. He stares daggers at her. 

She is trying so hard not to laugh. She knows exactly where his mind has gone with that question. She smiles so happily at him, he smiles back. “Whatever you want is fine with me, Scully,” he says. He really does not care. If she is happy, then so is he. 

After some discussion with the driver, they decide on a Mexican place that boasts serving the best guacamole. Bonus, it is close to the beach. 

Scully climbs in the car and slides across the seat. Mulder slides in after her. He keeps his jacket on his lap, still keeping himself covered. As they began to drive away, she kicks off her shoes and he reaches up and unties his tuxedo tie. This one is worse than the every day ties he has to wear. He pulls the tie out of his collar and puts it in his pocket. He undoes the first few buttons on his shirt, then rests his head on the back of the seat, turning toward Scully. 

She has been watching him. He looks  so handsome in his suit, but watching him loosen himself from the confines of it, is sexy as hell. She recalls all the late nights, on so many cases, when he would sit across from her with his tie loosened and his sleeves rolled up. She sees him smirk. She knows he knows where her mind has gone. 

Two weeks ago, they barely made it further than her entryway, before they were on the floor engaging in fast, frantic sex. They had been on a case, a tough one. They had agreed to no physical activities while working. God, but it was difficult. This was still so new, it was hard to keep their hands off each other. 

He had walked her upstairs after catching all the flirty sexy eyes she was throwing his way. After they had walked in, she pushed him into the door and shoved her tongue in his mouth. Clothes had been ripped off, bodies caressed, completion achieved. 

After, she held him close, still joined, on the hard floor, uncaring and unwilling to have him move. She stroked her nails up his back and in his hair. Mulder had been surprised by her eagerness, but incredibly pleased. He murmured so to her as he lay on top of her, trying to catch his breath. She had given a low chuckle and told him it had been how he was dressed. His sleeves rolled up, his tie hanging down. All these years how sexy she found him when he had sat there with her, dressed in the same way. How she had had to stop herself so many times from climbing in his lap and fucking him senseless. Now though, she had said with a thrust of her hips, feeling him stir inside her, now she could do something about it. 

She breaks from her memory as she hears Mulder asking the driver a question, never taking his eyes off hers. “So, about twenty minutes?” 

“Give or take,” the driver replies  

“It’s been kind of a long night. Hope you don’t mind, but I’m going to close the partition so we can rest a little,” Mulder says, his eyes burning a fire into hers. He did not wait for an answer, just put the partition up. 

“Mulder,” Scully starts to say, but is cut off by his mouth on hers. 

He kisses her slowly, savoring the feel of her lips. He licks across her lips and pushes his tongue inside. He buries his hand in her hair as she shifts to climb onto his lap. She straddles him as their kiss deepens. He holds onto her hip and keeps one hand in her hair, anchoring her to him. 

God, she loves kissing him. She has spent so long glancing at those full lips, wondering how they would feel on her mouth and her body. Now she has access to them any time. He is  an amazing kisser, making her knees weak and body tingle. 

He breaks away, catching his breath. Then he begins kissing her jaw, her neck, sucking her earlobe. 

“Mulder,” she murmurs as she rocks her hips against him. “You need to move your coat.” 

His head snaps back and he looks at her in surprise.

“What?” she asks looking innocent and sinful at the same time. “Did you think you could kiss me like that and I wouldn’t want more?” 

“Thought about it, but didn’t expect it,” he says as he brings his hand to her inner thigh. His thumb stroking small circles, setting her skin on fire. His hand starts to creep up. Jesus Christ, he can feel her heat already. He pushes her dress up and his thumb brushes across her panties. God, she was not lying, they are drenched. 

She gasps when he touches her and throws her head back. He rubs his thumb across again and she whimpers. His other hand reaches for the zipper of her dress. 

“Mulder,” she says grabbing his hand from her zipper and bringing it to her breast instead. “We don’t have time for that. Fast, hard. I want you inside me. Move your coat. Get your pants open.” 

She climbs off him and stands bent over enough to work her panties off. He watches her with lust in his eyes, but does not move. Goddamn, she is truly the sexiest woman he has ever seen. 

She holds her panties in her hand and looks at him. She raises her eyebrows and looks down at his lap. He grabs his coat and tosses it without a care. He starts to struggle with his button and zipper, never taking his eyes off her. Standing there with her panties in her hand, knowing how wet she was, makes him incredibly hard. 

He finally gets his pants open. He raises up enough to pull them down over his hips, taking his boxers with him. His cock springs out and he grabs a hold of it, stroking. She bites her lip as she watches him touch himself. It is so hot, watching him do that. 

She had urged him to let her watch him one night. Watch how he liked to touch himself so she could learn what he enjoyed. Just before he had come, she had taken him in her mouth and swallowed every drop. Their love making that night had been hot and dirty. They said filthy things to each other and tried many different positions and places in her apartment. Scully had lost track of how many times she had come. It had felt like she had a nonstop orgasm. Never had anyone made her feel so wild and carnal as he did. He knew exactly how to touch her, to make her scream, make her wet, make her come.  It was like he had a guidebook to her erogenous zones. Even from the very first time, he played her body like a well tuned instrument. 

She steps toward him and straddles him again, her knees on the leather seat. She pulls her dress up to her waist, still holding her panties in one hand. Mulder looks down at her body as he continues to stroke his cock. He can see her pussy glistening with her juices and his cock throbs. 

She puts her hands on his shoulders and lifts  up higher and closer to him. He looks back up at her as he runs the head of his cock across her slit. 

“Fuuuuuuuck,” she breathes out, staring down at him. “Jesus, Mulder. Oh my god...” 

He pushes the head in as she starts to sink down. They both hiss at the contact. She is so wet, he slides to the hilt with one thrust. She sits flush against him as they try to control their breathing. 

She wraps her arms around his neck and places her mouth on his ear. “We have about ten-fifteen minutes before this car stops and we need to be presentable. Think you can make me come in about seven minutes, Agent Mulder?” She raises off his hard cock, her pussy slick and tight around him. 

“No, Agent Scully,” he says as he slams her back down. “I think I can make you come in five.” 

With speed and agility she did not anticipate, she finds herself on her back on the floor with Mulder still deep inside her. He begins to pound into her, her legs wrapped around his hips. He bends down and sticks his tongue in her mouth. He knows that she likes that. She had told him, the feel of his tongue in her mouth while his cock was inside her, made her feel like she was being fucked at both ends. She called him, after he had left one night, and told him how she had taken out her vibrator and fucked herself with it while thinking of his cock and tongue. He had stroked himself to an orgasm as she told him how it had felt. 

He strokes his tongue in and out as he did his cock. He feels her tighten her legs around him and her internal muscles grip him. He knows it will not be long for either of them. 

Scully reaches under his shirt and scratches her nails down his back, landing on his ass and pulling him close. She can feel her orgasm coming on. Christ, it does not take much. With other lovers, she had needed more.. everything. But with Mulder.. Jesus.. she seems on the cusp all the time. Seven years was a long time to deny physical needs, true, but it was more than that. They were connected in so many ways, that sex just added to it. Made it better. God.. so much better. 

“Three minutes, Mulder,” she says as she pulls her mouth from his. “I’m close... so close. Talk to me.. I need to hear your voice.” 

“Mmm Scully, three minutes is more than enough time. I’m close too. God, you feel so good, Scully. Every time.. so good. Do you need..” he trails off as he brings his hand to her clit. He starts to rub and she stops him. 

“I.. no.. just.. just..harder.. faster. Talk to me. Your voice makes me come. Your voice..” 

He swells inside her as he starts pounding faster and harder. He moves his hands down and cradles her head. He leans close to her ear. “Scully.. god.. I am so close. Oh.. god.. do that again.. yeah.. do you feel how hard I am? How hard you make me? Oh Scully.. you just got so wet. I felt it.. come on Scully.. come for me. One minute Scully. Come Scully.. come..,” he nips just below her ear as his thrusts became faster and sloppier. 

Scully scrapes her nails up his back and digs them in his shoulder blades. She cries out as his words bring her over the edge. She feels herself coming and him right behind. He keeps thrusting as he empties himself inside of her. He kisses her again as he feels her pulsing and releasing around him. She is humming against his lips, her body thrumming. God, he is so good at this. So good. A couple more thrusts and they are still. 

Mulder raises his head and looks at her. Her eyes are closed and she has a happy smile on her face. 

“Time’s up, Scully,” he says with a smile of his own. 

She opens her eyes and chuckles. “Five minutes on the dot, Mulder. You’re good.” 

He wiggles his eyebrows at her as he begins to pull back and then out of her. On his knees, he looks around and finds some linen napkins. He wipes himself off and then pulls his boxers and pants back up, but does not button them. He then turns and uses the napkin to gently wipe up Scully. He reaches up and takes her panties out of her hand and moves to her feet to slide them back up her legs. They are still damp, but better than nothing. 

“Up,” he says as he got them to her hips. She lifts her hips and he slides them into place. He pulls her up and pulls her dress back down. She feels weightless and blissful. She reaches over and starts tucking Mulder’s shirt back into his pants. 

“I can do that,” he says, as he moves her hands away. She turns and grabs her shoes as she sits down. She slides them on as she watches him tuck his shirt in and button his pants. He puts the napkin he used on them in his pocket, planning to throw it out when he found a trash can. He looks at her and they both grin. She smoothes her hair and starts to take out her headband. 

“Leave it,” he says, reaching for her arm to stop her from removing it. “You look so adorable with it on.” 

She smiles again and leaves it in place. He picks his jacket up and puts it back on, no longer needing to hide his erection. 

She rolls the window down, telling him to do the same. “It’s stuffy.. and it smells like sex in here,” she says as he gives her a questioning look. He nods his head, smiling, obliging her as he sits next to her. She reaches over and locks their fingers together. 

“Thank you,” she says in a low voice. “That’s one..”

“One?” he asks her, confused as he rubs his thumb across the inside of her palm. 

“Of many,” she says nodding, watching his thumb. 

He looks at her with a frown, not understanding her meaning. The limo is beginning to slow down and he turns toward the window. She tugs on his hand, silently asking him to look at her. “I told you earlier..” she leans close, kisses his cheek, and whispers in his ear. “You will hopefully be coming inside me many times tonight... so.. that’s one..” 

She sits back, smiling sweetly, keeping her eyes on him, as the limo stops completely. He leans in and kisses her softly. “In that case, I promise it’s not the last of the night.” 

The door opens and he pulls back from her, reaching for her hand to step out of the car. 

[revisionaryhistory]

Three Days ~ 35

Catch up on AO3

~*~Emma~*~

Sebastian's hands are incredible. The way he touched my body set me on fire. His thumb on my clit was secondary to his fingers. He stroked the perfect spot inside me. I'd never had someone touch me so intentionally. Had he asked, I couldn't have told him what I needed. I had no idea. Sebastian did. I remembered what he'd said our first night, the sex would get better as he learned how to touch me. He was learning now, paying attention to my reaction and changing accordingly. I didn't understand a word he was saying and it wasn't solely because he was speaking Romanian. He spoke in long sentences next to my ear where I could feel his breath.

I felt the pressure start to build and dug my nails into his bicep.

Sebastian's face came into view and the Romanian stopped, "You gonna come for me, baby."

That I didn't instantly was a miracle. "I am." His touch became firmer. "Oh fuck, Bastian. Your fingers. .." My words were cut off by my orgasm. The last thing I saw before I went blind, I mean closed my eyes, was his smile.

Sebastian kissed my neck and moved his fingers from inside me to my clit. "Wanna come again?"

Thirty seconds later I did. My body shook and I grabbed his wrist, too sensitive for more touch. I fisted the hair on the back of his head and pulled him away, where I could see him. His blue eyes were sparkling and the line of his lips was edging close to a smirk, "Yes?"

I loosened my hold on his hair, "You have very talented fingers."

"I couldn't leave you hanging." He pushed his head back against my hand. "I like the hair pulling."

"I think I was going to kiss you." I squeezed my eyes together for a moment, "My brain's a little scrambled."

Sebastian brought his mouth to mine, his tongue gently caressing mine. The intensity was high. Not an excited ramping up, more of a not wanting to let go holding on. Still, over time we did. He held me tight and I relaxed with my head on his shoulder. I didn't really know where to go after literally being fucked into a wall. I heard myself sign contentedly.

Sebastian laughed, "Yeah, I agree."

I stretched out across his lap, leaning back on the arm of the couch and wiggling my toes. A question popped in my mind, "What were you saying?"

"You're beautiful. You make me feel good. I’m glad I got here early to spend more time with you." He kissed me softly, "And a bunch of dirty stuff that would sound bad right now, but I'II happily repeat later."

"That sounds fun!" I ran my fingers over his cheek and down his chest. "We got the tournament bracket last night."

"Did you?" He rubbed his hand on my hip. "What seed are you? Is there a team name?"

"There is a team name. We are the Demonic Crickets." I couldn’t help but laugh.

"I feel a story coming."

"It's from Schitt's Creek." His lack of expression said he hadn't seen it. I reached behind me, patting the table to find the remote. I quickly had Season 1 Episode 7 "Turkey Shoot” pulled up on Plex. "It’s the opening." I let it play, pleased with his expression and light laughter. I paused at the credits. "I wanted milky exoskeleton, but Pete thought it sounded dirty and would be hard to pronounce drunk."

"He might have a point with the second part. Doesn't sound dirty, unless maybe your drunk and it comes out milky secretions."

I laughed, "Pete said those exact words. You two are going to get along." I remembered the first part of his question, "We're the three seed. First round is at noon. Have to be there at eleven."

"Three is good. Not the pressure of the one spot, or the angry runner up number two, or too far down to be taken seriously. Three is perfect to sneak in and take over."

I wasn't sure if he knew anything about seeding or was being supportive. "I like being a three. We play the five seed and that should be a good match, we'll get the nerves out and can make adjustments if our plan isn't working. One plays eight and two plays seven. Those mess with your head more. If you struggle you question how you'll do with a higher seed, but if you win easy you can get overconfident. Plus, if you breeze through you don't figure out what adjustments you need."

"This is going to be fun."

"I hope you’ll have fun. I'll have a blast." I picked up the remote to turn the TV off.

"No, let's watch. I've never seen Schitt's Creek. We'll find something I love that you haven't seen and trade off."

"I'll go back to episode one, so you know what’s going on." I moved around to sit a little more facing the TV with my legs still over his lap. I wanted to be able to watch the show and his face. And I just wanted to look at him.

Several episodes, tons of laughter, and making out during the credits later I heard a strange gurgling sound. I put my hand on Sebastian's stomach, "Hungry, baby?"

"Sounds like I am." He put his hand over mine, assuring I didn’t move. "I made us a reservation at the place we went last week. I hope that's alright."

"Same place?" There were several good places around town, but he wouldn't know them.

"Good food." He smiled, "Last week I wanted to take a walk by the river, but the storm ruined it."

I mumbled, "Among other things."

We both laughed. "Good memories too."

He picked my hand up off his stomach and brought it to his mouth. "Very. Reservation at seven."

I hit the info button on the remote. It was almost six thirty. "I need to change."

"The fairy costume has grown on me." He fluffed my skirt.

"My wings are smashed. Besides us out to dinner with me in a fairy costume is a guaranteed picture on Instagram that I don’t want to explain."

Sebastian pulled me into a hug. "I should change too."

"At least zip your jeans." I flipped the fabric before I stood up. He still had my hand and I waited for him to stand. I was amused by how dressed we were. His pants were open and mine were by the door. It had been a very targeted activity.

The look on Sebastian's face told me he was thinking something similar. He nodded to the door, "I'll grab my bag and your pants."

"Thank you." We separated at the stairs and I ran up. What to wear. What to wear. I ducked into the bath room to freshen up and came out in my bathrobe. Sebastian was in his boxers and a t-shirt. My mouth watered.

Sebastian was pulling things out of his bag, laying them on the bed. He paused to look me up and down. "Next weekend I'd like to take you out someplace nice."

I clasped my hands between my breasts, raising my shoulders with excitement, "Dress up in girl clothes nice?"

His eyebrows raised with the nod of his head and smile, "Exactly."

I sighed dramatically, "I miss dressing up and going out to dinner." I closed my eyes, "Live music, plays, art openings."

"Then next weekend you’re in luck." He picked up his shaving kit, heading toward the bathroom. He stopped to kiss me, "I know places to go in NY, unlike here.”

"There's some fine dining places here. Haven't dated much here, but I can research. Won't have the same energy as the city."

He closed the bathroom door, "I’m happy and sad you don't know good date spots."

I walked into my closet to find something to make my date's pants tight. Casual, cute, and a touch of sexy. I was pulling on my white mini skirt with an eyelet bottom when Sebastian came to the closet door. He was dressed in a pair of khaki shorts, a black polo, and a pair of loafers. "You look handsome." I was still adjusting to his shorn beard, with how young he looked. There was a hook on the door for my robe and I slid it off, handing it to Sebastian. He missed the hook because he wasn't looking in the right direction. He was looking at me in a bra and miniskirt. I could see him swallow hard, "This closer to your fantasy?"

"Closer, but not quite."

I took my blue chambray shirt of the hanger and dropped it over my head. It had a loose contoured cut and gathered in a knot at my hip. I added a few long necklaces and matching earrings before picking up my wedge sandals. Sebastian was blocking the door, his body filling the space. I put my hands on his waist and smoothed around to his back. Our hips connected, but there was space between our upper bodies. He kissed my head, "We look like casual summer lovers out for a night.

"Pretty accurate."

"Causal looking, not casual lovers."

The look on his face stopped my heart. I pressed my lips to his for a quick kiss that took on a life of its own, morphing in to a lazy long kiss. I broke the kiss and buried my nose against him, "You smell fucking delicious." I drew in a deep breath and let out a sigh.

"Didn’t bring cologne to move my parents."

"We had many things working against up last weekend.”

"And yet here we are."

'Yes, we are." I sat down on the bed to put on my shoes. "Adversity becomes us."

Sebastian knelt on the floor in front of me, sliding my shoe on my foot, “This is the least difficult thing ever.”  He took my hands as he stood up and brought me into his arms.

We stood holding onto each other for a long time. Last weekend was touching on Friday, sharing secrets on Saturday, hugging on Sunday, and sex on Monday. Seemed tonight’s theme was romance. I closed my eyes and clung to him, feeling the hard plane of his chest against my cheek and the slight twitch of a muscle in his back. I’d ask him last week if it was crazy to think you were falling for someone after three days. Thankfully he’d said no, because I didn’t think I was falling for him now, I knew I was. I wasn’t in love with him, but it wouldn’t take long, which is different for me. I don’t get emotionally involved with people easily, except those rare times like with Angie. It takes a while for me to trust and attach. Standing here wrapped in his arms I didn’t want to let go. Part of not wanting to let go was as sure as I was that I could fall in love with him, I knew the same was true for him, and right this second it felt so good.

Sebastian kissed my head and ran his hand down my arm to take my hand before stepping away, “Ready to go?”

“Yeah.” I nodded slightly and hoped my legs were going to work. I grabbed my purse on the way out the door, “Do you want to drive?”

“Yes, please.”

I got a thrill at having this man driving my vehicle. Absolutely ridiculous. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I was fifteen going my first date. It wasn’t even our first date. “Code is 0418.” He punched the code into the driver’s side door, hit the unlock button, and walked me to the other side of the car, giving me a kiss before closing the door.

He got in and adjusted the seat and mirrors before starting the engine, “I like driving.”

“I like being driven.” I waited until he buckled his seat belt before laying my hand on his leg. I couldn’t help but touch him and his smile made my stomach flip. “Remember how to get there?”

“Yeah.” He nodded and glanced over, “I drove. If I don’t drive, I don’t remember how to get anywhere. How far away is the tournament?”

“Umm, five minutes. It’s over by the Whole Foods. We should take an Uber.”

“Planning on getting me too drunk to drive?”

“And they set up checkpoints.”

The restaurant was quite a bit busier than last week. We were parked further away, but closer to the river walk. “Don’t move.”

He jumped out of the car and came around to my side, opening the door, and taking my hand. I needed to say something about this. I waited for him to close the door. “Wait a second.”

“What’s up?” He faced me and looked expectantly.

“You driving and opening doors, the chivalrous stuff. I appreciate it. I like how you treat me. You’re a gentleman.”

Sebastian smiled sheepishly, “I just fucked you into a wall.”

I gasped, “Oh my god.” I could feel my cheeks burning.

His expression dropped, “You’re blushing.” He pulled me close, holding my head to him. “Emma, I’m sorry.”

I started laughing, pushed him away and put my hand on his chest. “Just take the compliment, Seb.”

He laughed and wrapped his hand around mine, “Thank you.”

[artificialqueens]

Couples' Therapy: Chapter two and three (Branjie) - Blackhighheels

(Read on AO3)

Chapter 2: Annoyances and little love notes

“Hello, how are you doing?” Dr. Laurie smiles at them from her arm chair. Her hair is dyed dark red now and curled. Jose thinks that he liked the blonde better, but decided to keep his mouth shut about it.

“Good,” Brock smiles, but as his boyfriend Jose knows that he is nervous and jittery and just hides it behind the wide smile. He gets the feeling that the good doctor is on to him as well.

“Doing good. Nervous, but good,” Jose replies with more honesty.

“You really don’t have to be nervous coming here. Just see it as a way to have an extended conversation about things that are important for you as a couple. And I am your guide through it. Alright?” They both nod. “So, how did your homework go?”

“It was hard, doctor Laurie. Brought me right back to school, but this one wouldn’t let me copy the shit he wrote down, so I had to do it on my own.”

“It’s kind of the point that you do it on your own. I don’t think the stuff that annoys me about you is the same stuff that annoys you about me,” Brock points out and Jose knows he’s right. “He tried peeking the whole time. I had to hide the list, so he wouldn’t read it,” Brock adds in direction of the therapist.

“I didn’t wanna copy it, just get an idea what to write. What if I write stupid shit and you go all deep and intelligent. It ain’t cute to be a dumb ho the second session already.” Brock fixes him with an unnerved look that is a teeny tiny bit amused. “And I knew you hid the list in your red glittery pumps and still didn’t look.” Jose adds with a smirk.

“So, since it looks like you both managed to write something down, why don’t we start? Jose, how about you start with the first thing on your annoyance list?”

“We’re going to take turns?” Brock asks.

“Yes, that’s best. And one more thing before I forget it: No comments or justifications when you hear what the other one says. Just listen.”

“Ok, mama, here we go.” Jose rubs his hands, then takes the folded piece of paper out of his jacket pocket with a lot of flourish. “The first thing that annoys me that I wrote down is that he can’t clean up for shit. There’s always stuff everywhere. Clean and dirty clothes in the bathroom, on the floor, the chair, the door… when he eats he puts the dirty plate in the sink instead of just putting it right into the dishwasher. His jacket ends up on the couch, his empty cigarette pack on the table, his whole lotion, cream stuff around the sink along with his hairbrush… I think you get what I’m saying,” Jose stops his rant when he sees the small smile on the therapist’s face. Brock remains silent but pouts a bit.

“Brock, just a one word answer: Do you think Jose has a point here?”

The pout gets more pronounced, but is followed by a sigh. “Yes.” He admits.

“Jose, why does it upset you?”

“Why does it upset me that he a messy ho?” he asks just to be sure.

“Yes.”

“‘Cause I am not his maid! I mean, we have a maid but she only comes over once a week. So when we could be chillin’ for once when we both home, all I do is clean up after him. And then we start fighting cause I’m complaining and he thinks I’m overreacting. When he home alone and I’m gone, the maid comes in the day before I get back, because, mama, the last time she didn’t and I got back… Lord, it wasn’t pretty. If my momma hadn’t stopped me, I would have dumped all of his clothes into the pool, 'cause he just threw them all over the bed, knowing I wouldn’t be able to sleep without cleaning up his shit.”

“I was in a hurry and…”

“Nuh-uh, you heard the good doctor. No excuses.” Jose puts his hand up and interrupts him.

“So what did you do in the situation?” Laurie asks Jose.

“I slept in the guest room till I had to leave a day later. When he got back, he was home alone for like a week. If he wanted to sleep, he had to get his shit off the bed. Know what he did? Dumped everything on the armchair in the bedroom and dug through it when he needed to get dressed. I lost it first thing when I got back.”

“Ok, thank you, Jose. Brock, what is the first thing on your list?”

“The first thing on my list is his constant yelling and also just being incredibly noisy all the time. And it’s not only when we’re watching a movie together at home and he’s yelling at the tv. Also at the movies. It’s a wonder we haven’t been kicked out yet. But, yeah, most of all it annoys me at home when he's so loud.”

“Jose, you think he has a point?”

“Boo, there are moments when you love it when I’m loud,” he chuckles and Brock rolls his eyes, a little smile tugging at his lips.

“One word answer, please,” the therapist reminds him.

“Yes.”

“Can you also explain a bit more why it upsets you, Brock?”

“One, I never really understand much in a movie or TV show because all I hear are his comments. That’s when I’m actually watching with him. But also it’s hard to be on the phone, talking business when he’s constantly screaming obscenities at the tv because of some stupid reality tv show. Sometimes even when I’m asleep, I wake up because he’s singing, well, screaming in the shower or because he decided he wants to play with the cats and runs around chasing them. Or our friend Silky comes over and they party. After travelling for fifteen hours, that’s not really what you want to wake up to after just falling asleep.”

“I said I was sorry. The bachelor was just really fucking up when picking the right girl,” Jose mumbles and looks down to his feet, fiddles with a loose thread on his shorts. The moment when he woke up Brock three weeks ago and the fight afterwards was the actual reason why they finally made an appointment for the couples’ therapy. Jose had rarely seen his boyfriend as angry as he had been back then. Yelling was more his thing and less Brock’s, but that day Brock really lost it and had been so livid he’d slept in the guest room for three days.

“You’d woken me up already! Sorry didn’t fix it.” Brock bites back. His demeanour changes when Jose shrink back into the cushions of the sofa without looking up. “Sorry. I know you didn’t mean to wake me up,” he quickly says in a much softer tone and pulls Jose into his side. When Jose presses his forehead against Brock’s shoulder, he presses a quick kiss to his hair and gives his shoulder a squeeze. Jose instantly feels better, looks up, kisses Brock’s cheek and sits back up.

“My turn again?” he asks and looks at the therapist. She looks at them with curiosity written over her face, taking in every little detail of their interaction and then nods.

Jose is aware of Brock’s arm around his shoulders when he reads out the next thing on his list. “Number two on my list is that he always has to be early to everything. Not just a couple of minutes, but like an hour or more.”

“Brock?”

“It’s true,” he agrees without any protest.

“Why does it upset you?”

“It’s so inconvenient. He’s stressed and bitchin’ before we leave, all anxious that we could be just a minute late. Then we get there, way too early. At the airport it’s not that bad 'cause we can just get a coffee, but have you ever been an hour early to a club or show venue? Your dressing room ain’t ready, nobody expects you there and you’re just in the way. Once we had to wait in the freezing cold for half an hour because everything was still closed. All I’m saying is we could spend that time doing something more fun than just waiting. Your turn, boo.” he nudges Brock’s side when he is done.

“Funny you mention the 'being early’ thing, because my next point on my list is that you’re always late to everything.” All three have to laugh about that.

“You making that up,” Jose screeches and tries to glimpse at the list.

“I am not. Also, you know it’s true,” Brock holds his paper out of reach.

“Yes, it might be true… most of the time,” Jose laughs.

“And it upsets me, because I think that job wise it’s simply unprofessional. In private it’s rude to make others wait for you all the time. And sometimes it’s totally inconvenient, like, for example, when we go see a show and he’s so late he basically misses the first half, then walks in and asks me, mid-show and drink in hand, what happened so he can follow. He’d know if he were ready on time for once.”

“So, are you two usually early or late when you go somewhere together?” Laurie asks.

“We early when he thinks it’s important enough to nag about it. Sometimes he gets annoyed and leaves without me and we just meet there. And if he doesn’t really care where we going, like a birthday party or something, he lets me be late.” Jose elaborates on the matter.

“Ok, then. Jose, your turn again.”

“Alright, my last annoy-ment is that he’s always half naked in his insta lives for no fucking reason. He sitting on the couch with the kitty cats and Riley, talking about merch or some shit and suddenly he just takes off his shirt and talks about his hairy nipples.” Brock blushes and starts laughing quietly. “Stop laughing, bitch. It ain’t funny when you wake up all the way in Europe and first thing you see is your boo’s naked ass posted all over instagram, cause he posing in drag and didn’t put on pants!” Jose swats his chest, when Brock is still giggling. It’s not funny!

“Is that true?”

“Yes.” Brock is still laughing.

“Go check out his insta account or watch his horrible lives and you know what I’m talking about, Dr. L! Totally slutty naked ho, that one.”

“Why does that upset you?”

“Cause, you know, when you like single and looking for a new mans then I get that you posting sexy pics to reel them fish in. But we exclusive, he agreed and he still posting that shit. If he wants to send sexy pics, send them to me in private and not to the thirsty ass hos on insta, who then go and tell my man how he so sexy and so hot and send him all the dick pics, that I know he’s gonna look at. Makes me wonder if that’s why he’s posting that shit.”

“Oh, Jo, no…” Brock starts, but is interrupted.

“Mama, when I was single the only reason why I posted half naked selfies was to get them dick pics and get some trade without going on grindr. And if I catch you with any of that, you’ll be a dead sexy ho and single too!”

“Ok, let’s not get into this right now. This is something we will talk about in depth at one of the next sessions. For now: Brock, your last point on the annoyance side, please.”

“Ok, fine.” Brock takes a deep breath and Jose knows Brock doesn’t like leaving it this way either, but follows the lead of their therapist.

“My last thing is that Jose always speaks Spanish with the people closest to him, like his family or his drag mom, even some of his Puerto Rican friends, but he never teaches me any Spanish. All I know in Spanish I had to look up in the internet.”

“Is that true?”

“Yeah, yes, it is,” Jose agrees and is so surprised that his mouth hangs slightly open. It’s not like he refused to teach him, he just never thought it was important.

“Can you elaborate on why that annoys you?”

“It’s hard to follow a conversation when his mother or aunt are over because they mix English and Spanish. And from what I can tell, especially when the conversations get intense or emotional they switch more to Spanish and I’m out. Like, when we talked to your mom about the pool and key thing, she started yelling and later crying and both times I didn’t really know anymore what was going on, because both of you were speaking Spanish. And then you started yelling and got really upset and sad and I had no clue what was being said. It sucks. But when I ask you about words I picked up during conversations once we’re alone, you always brush it off, like it’s not important. I just… I wish you would teach me so I can at least follow what’s going on.”

“You could also watch telenovelas with me and my mama,” Jose smirks and takes Brock’s hand.

“Won’t happen. No way,” Brock laughs and Jose feels the squeeze he gives his hand.

“Great, then before we come to the little things you love about each other, I want to give you your homework. I want you to exchange your lists at home and then offer solutions for the things on there. I’d advise to try and do it on your own at first. Once your have at least one idea for a solution for each problem, you sit down and discuss them. Next week we will then talk about what you have come up with and how that process went. Alright?”

“Sure,” Brock agrees and Jose nods as well.

“Now, Brock, please go ahead with the first thing on your love list.”

“Oooh, love list, I like that,” Jose smiles and wiggles in his seat excitedly.

“First small thing that came to my mind that I love about you, is that you always make time for me, for us, no matter how busy you are. You always call, always pick up your phone, always reserve time for dates and just spending time together and make me do the same. I really appreciate that.”

“Of course, boo,” Jose shrugs and doesn’t really think it’s a big deal but only natural.

“Your turn. Tell me something nice,” Brock teases him.

“I love how damn cute you are with our babies at home. Always caring for them and petting them, spoiling them when you think I can’t see it. And when you talk to them it’s so cute it makes my okapis explode,” Jose gets very excited and basically yells the last part.

“You mean ovaries, papi, and I’m sorry to say but you don’t have any,” Brock is laughing again. At this point Dr. Laurie is also laughing so hard she snorts and they both turn to look at her.

“Sorry, sorry, don’t mind me. Just keep going. Brock your turn,” the doctor says when they both just keep looking at her. She wipes away her tears of laughter and tries to get a grip.

“The second thing I really love, are the small romantic things you always do. Making dinner look real nice and setting the table with candles or slipping little notes into my suitcases and then I find them when I unpack, wherever that is. Stuff like this. It always makes me happy because it shows that you really care and make an effort, even when you don’t have to. It’s so damn thoughtful and just so you.”

“Aw, I know you’re a secret romantic, honey,” Jose squeezes Brock’s cheek, before he sits back down. “My next thing on the list is that I looove what a great cuddler you are. Always holding me, pulling me close and touching me, because you know I like actions more than words.”

“You’re welcome,” Brock grins and pulls Jose close again, by wrapping one arm around his waist. “Last but not least on my list is how much you make me laugh. I can have the worst fucking day or have an anxiety attack and you do or say something that makes me laugh so hard I cry and suddenly everything is better, lighter.”

“I know my stupid ass Vanjie shit always makes you lose yours,” Jose feels his cheeks grow hot at the compliment. He knows that Brock thinks he’s funny, but he didn’t know how much he appreciates it when he makes him laugh when he needs it.

“Jose?” Laurie reminds him that it’s his turn again.

“Right,” he tries to stop grinning like an idiot before he speaks. “I love that no matter how crazy I get, how angry, emotional… whatever, you always stay calm or hold me, stop me from doing crazy shit… you my rock,” Jose sees Brock’s eyes filling with tears when he hears the last sentence. Before they can fall however, Brock pulls him in for a short but sweet kiss. “Love you.” Jose says when they pull back.

“Love you too,” Brock replies quietly and only for his ears. Dr. Laurie is smiling when they pull back and turn towards her again.

“Ok, that’s it for today. Thank you for your participation, honesty and trust. We will see each other next week and please remember your homework,” she bids them goodbye and gets up.

“See you next week,” they both reply and leave the office with their arms wrapped around each other.

Chapter 3: I knew I loved you

“Considering what you told me so far, I think we should take a closer look at three things: Trust, communication and anxiety slash fear. If it’s ok with you, I’d like to address anxiety and fear today, because we will need to take a look back and see where it’s coming from.” Dr. Laurie tells them after they talked about their homework. It had gone well and they both were surprised how easily they found solutions for the problems.

“Just hearing that is giving me anxiety,” Brock mutters. A moment later Jose’s hand comes to rest on his knee, as a simple reminder of support.

“All the more a reason to tackle it. Just imagine what a relief it is going to be when the anxiety is gone.”

“Honestly, I can’t imagine it. For as long as I can think I’ve dealt with it.”

“You gonna be fine, toes.” Jose encourages him, like always his biggest cheerleader. Brock covers the hand resting on his knee with his own and keeps it there.

“To ease into the heavier things, I think we should start with a small fun exercise. Knowing each other is the basis of every relationship and no matter how long a couple has been together, there are always things one doesn’t know. So, I have this bowl here with questions. I want you to draw one paper each, then read aloud the question, that your partner then has to answer.”

“Sounds good.” Brock is relieved to get a bit more time before he has to face his issues head on. He reaches over to the small box the doctor holds out to them and picks a paper and waits until Jose does the same.

“Name one vice you have?” Jose reads slowly after unfolding his paper and wrinkles his forehead. “Who dat?” he looks at Brock.

“Like a weakness,” he explains, knowing which word is causing trouble.

“Oooh, I know that one. I know what you gonna say.” Jose is bouncing up and down in his seat with excitement.

“Smoking?” Brock replies slowly. Not because he is unsure of the answer, but because he knows his boyfriend’s excitement will be gone as quickly as it has appeared, if he doesn’t say what Jose thinks he will say.

“I knew it! That was too easy, Dr. Laurie! Can I get another?” Before she has time to reply he has already reached into the box, taken another paper and unfolded it. “What was I wearing when we first met?” he reads and then smiles. “Oooh, that’s a good one, mama. No way you will get that one right.”

“Which time?” Brock asks and feels a bit smug, just by asking that question.

“What do you mean which time? The first time.”

“Yeah, but like seeing you from afar? That would be at a pageant when you were dancing for Alexis. I don’t remember which pageant it was, but you were wearing black pants and a black top with some kind of white blue sparkles.” He smirks when Jose’s mouth falls open. “Or online? Like when we became Facebook friends? Back then you had a profile pic that showed you at the MAC store and you had a bit of stubble and wore just a bit of make up.” Now Brock goes in the for the kill. “Or when we met at Drag Race, because that one is actually really easy, because it was the red dress with the blonde wig. And then later after we de-dragged you had glitter everywhere and wore a black shirt, black jeans, a leather jacket, and  the red…” he doesn’t get any further, because Jose’s lips are suddenly on his own and he is kissing him in a way that is totally inappropriate for where they are. He has to laugh and breaks the kiss, glancing at the therapist, who is just grinning.

“Fuuuck! You remember! And you think you’re no romantic, toes. You a liar, that’s what you are,” Jose exclaims so loudly that Brock suspects he can be heard three houses down the road.

“What? I know you remember as well what I wore,” he shrugs and refuses to make a big deal out of it.

“You bet I do!” Jose proclaims proudly.

“My turn,” Brock interrupts before Jose can go on to list every outfit he ever wore.

“Name one song that reminds you of me or our relationship.”

“Only one?”

“Only one, that’s what the paper says.” Brock confirms. “And please, try to NOT make it a Rihanna song,” he adds.

“Hey, don’t fuck with Ri-Ri! You know 'Rude boy’ would kinda be it right now,” Jose cackles and Brock rolls his eyes. “Uhm, you remember that one song I posted?” he becomes serious.

“That doesn’t really narrow it down. You post songs every day.”

“The one I posted with that picture of us at the show when we were together the first time? The post that the network made me take down and I got in deep shit for because no one was supposed to know we were together? That one always makes me think of you or us. But, fuck,  I don’t remember the name.”

“Oh, what was it?” Brock wonders. “I know they had another song called Truly, Madly Deeply.”

“Savage Garden,” the therapist supplies.

“Thank you, doctor Laurie, that’s it!” Jose gets excited again. “Savage Garden and the song is 'I knew I loved you’. I was listening to some love-song playlist and the song came up while I was touring and it made me think of you. And then I tried callin’ but you didn’t pick up the phone and then I posted the pic and then the network called me to whoop my ass. Mama, I thought they’d murder me through the phone,” he recounts.

“I remember the mess with the network and I remember the picture, but I don’t know the song. I just remember the small tag in the picture, because someone taggeded me on insta.”

“You didn’t listen to it when I posted it?”

“You’d taken it down before I could. I only know of this because of the whole network mess.”

“Jose, do you want to play it for him?” the therapist proposes.

“Now?”

“Why not? If you want to.”

“Sure, let me just…” he fiddles with his phone and after some car commercial on youtube the song starts playing. Brock faintly remembers it from the radio, but has never really payed attention.

“I dreamed you into life and a thousand angels dance around you?” Brock can’t help but snort once the song is over.

“It sweet and romantic!” Jose insists.

“It’s cheesy and tooth rotting fluff!” Brock laughs.

“Don’t mock my song, jerk,” Jose slaps his arm, but Brock knows he’s not really angry. “What song would you ho choose for us? 'Pony’ by Ginuwine? 'Let’s get it on’ by Marvin Gaye? Or the classic Candy shop?” Jose is on a roll now, but Brock can’t stop him, because he’s laughing so hard.

“'If you’re horny let’s do it, ride it, my pony. My saddle’s waiting, come and jump on it’,” Brock presses out. “Are you serious? That’s your idea of our pillow talk?” Now all three of them are in stitches; even Jose is laughing so hard he can’t continue his rant.

“Oh my god. You two made me laugh so hard I cried for the second time in a row,” the therapist points out and wipes away her tears.

“Welcome to my world.” Brock is still chuckling, but slowly gets himself under control.

“So, mama, spit it out. What song do you pick?” Jose, of course, doesn’t let it go. Brock thinks about it for a moment and when the solution presents itself rather quickly, because he has thought about this before, because there are songs that remind him of Jose, he suddenly gets nervous. “What is it? You don’t have to tell me, you know,” Jose offers, obviously picking up on his sudden anxiety.

“No, it’s just… you know, back when we first got together or when we broke up and then started hooking up again, there was one song that hit home for me. I always turned the radio off or skipped it on spotify,” he admits.

“Which one?” Jose asks quietly and seems to brace himself.

“'Too good at goodbyes’, Sam Smith.” Again Jose wrinkled his forehead and tries to remember the song.

“Can you play it for us?” Laurie encourages him and Brock does.

“Oh,” is all Jose says when the song is over. “Walked out a lot back then to do all the shows fucking everywhere.” He doesn’t look at him and the laughter from a minute ago seems light years away.

“But, uhh, if I had to pick a song now, and this is going to be very cheesy, I’d pick  Beyonce’s 'Halo’,” he admits and isn’t embarrassed at all, knowing he’d do anything to make the pain in Jose’s eyes go away. And then suddenly Jose smiles brightly, his eyes crinkling at corners and his dimples showing.

“What did you smoke that you can see my halo?” Jose asks with his usual sass, but kisses him softly.

“Ok, then let’s continue. You’re still okay with talking about fears and anxiety?” the therapist bursts their love bubble.

“Yes,” Brock sighs, knowing they have to talk about it sooner or later. Jose nods as well.

“Which of you wants to start?”

“Can I? Before I lose my courage and have an anxiety attack about talking about my anxiety?” Brock asks. Jose’s hand is back in his, gripping it tightly once more.

“So, Brock, what are the things that make you anxious?”

“Everything and nothing? Like, really, it can be anything. A doctor’s appointment, flying, talking about things I don’t want to talk about, thinking about a possible illness,  fear of failing at something, strangers… you name it,” he shrugs.

“How about meeting strangers at meet and greets? Does that make you anxious?”

“Not really. Before, yes, sometimes, because I worry that everything runs smoothly. But I don’t mind the pictures and small talk, no.”

“Can you describe a situation where strangers made you anxious?”

“My brother’s birthday party,” Jose provides immediately, even though Brock never really admitted to having an anxiety attack linked to this party. He knows the surprise shows on his face.

“Uhm, Jose’s brother celebrated his birthday and we were both invited. Because we had to work we couldn’t make it to the family part of it and we were supposed to just join him and his friends for dinner and a night out. But then Jose’s flight was delayed and like, the thought of going there on my own… I just, I couldn’t do it. Beside his brother I didn’t know anyone and they’re all so much younger and it’s not like we hang out with his brother that much… and I just, like, there was no way. So I called him and told him that I’d wait for Jose and the join them… he didn’t want that, wanted me there for dinner. I was freaking out.”

“How did that manifest?”

“I was nauseous, sweating, nervous. Like, all I wanted to do was hide in bed until it was all over.”

“Ok, what happened then?”

“Jose had changed flights and hadn’t told me. He came home in time and we went together.”

“From your reaction I gathered you didn’t tell Jose about your anxiety. But, Jose, you still knew, right?”

“I get home and he pacing in the living room, whiter than my teeth, all jittery and with eyes so large I thought he’d popped some pills. That’s when I knew he was freaking out.” Jose just shrugs, like it’s nothing that he can tell Brock’s moods just by looking at him.

“What did you do then to make him go to the party with you?”

“Nothin’.” Another shrug of the shoulders. “I kissed him hello like I always do, told him about the horrible flight and made the shit funny, then took him by the hand and pushed him into the uber.”

“I felt better as soon as he walked in and I knew I wouldn’t be alone with all these strangers.”

“Would you have gone on your own?”

“I don’t know. Maybe… I don't… I really can’t say for sure.”

“What did you fear would happen, if you went there alone?”

“I would just sit there like an idiot, not knowing what to say and who to talk to? People wouldn’t like me? What if they did something I didn’t like? Like drink and drive or get into some sort of physical altercation. They’re not exactly choir boys.”

“It seems like what makes you anxious are two things: Fear of rejection and the fear of losing control of a situation.” Laurie rephrases what she just heard.

“Yeah, I guess. Maybe that’s why meet and greets are ok, because I control the situation and I know people like me.”

“Would you say you faced a lot of rejection on your life?”

“As a kid, yeah. I wasn’t really popular. Got bullied really bad. And, like, my parents didn’t know I was gay, but I knew that being gay wasn’t acceptable because they were really religious. It was something shameful and bad and even once they knew it took a while for them to really accept me.”

“How about lack of control?”

“I had no control over anything. There were rules for everything: The music I was allowed to listen to, the movies I watched, the friends I was allowed to have… church and religion controlled every aspect of my life and I didn’t even believe in any of it, because I knew I was gay and therefor living a lie.” Brock fights hard against the tears, but a couple of them win. It’s Jose who gently wipes them away with his thumb. He also leans into Brock’s side to show his support. They are as close as they can be without sitting on each other’s lap.

“It might be necessary to talk about this some more, maybe even in a session alone, but for now what I want you to do when you feel yourself getting anxious is that you ask yourself what you really fear. Lack of control or lack or rejection. Maybe you’ll find something else, too. And when you figured out what it is, I want you to take a step further and think about what would happen if you lost control or if the rejection happened.”

“How?” He can’t really follow.

“Let’s stick with the birthday party. Let’s say you got there and no one would have talked to you. What would have happened then?”

“I guess Jo’s brother would have made an effort? Or I would have had dinner and then made an excuse and left? Or simply listened until Jo got there?”

“Does any of these scenarios sound like something you should be scared of?”

“Not really.” He admits.

“What about his fear of flying? He’ll kill himself one day with the Xanax he pops all the time,” Jose speaks up even though Brock wishes he hadn’t.

“Ok, before we continue with the exercise: I didn’t know you were on Xanax,” the therapist says.

“I was treated for anxiety and panic attacks before and they prescribed Xanax.”

“But you said you haven’t been to therapy before, right?”

“It wasn’t like real therapy. I was given the pills, it got better and that was it. To be honest, I didn’t really want to talk back then. I was dealing with depression as well and was not in a good place.”

“Taking Xanax is a way to treat the symptoms, but it doesn’t cure anything. And it’s highly addictive, the feeling of numbness and relaxation. If you are up for it, we can try other things, that are less dangerous and might actually help with the cause for the anxiety.”

“That sounds really good, but also really scary,” he admits, glad that Jose is still leaning into him. The weight and warmth of his body is what keeps him calm.

“There is no quick fix, but I think you can do it. It looks like in some situation you already found a way of coping without realising it.”

“Like what?”

“Like when Jose came home and calmed you down and distracted you. None of the reasons for your original fear had changed, but you were still calming down and went to the party.”

“True. I never thought about that,” he admits and smiles.

“So I’m your drug now?” Jose laughs and pinches his side.

“Yeah, but something opposite of Xanax. There’s no way you numb any kind of emotion,” Brock chuckles and feels so much better already.

“Call me cocaine, baby.” Vanjie is back in the house.

“If you want to we can make an appointment to look more closely at these things,” the doctor offers once they all finished laughing.

“I’d like that,” Brock nods. “Can Jose come though? Just in case I need it?”

“If it helps you showing up, then yes, absolutely.” She agrees and suddenly Brock doesn’t dread it as much. “Speaking of Jose: Your turn,” Laurie continues and as quickly as she had arrived, Vanjie leaves again. Jose deflates, becomes small and timid, the grip of his hand desperate.

“I don’t take Xanax,” he mutters, trying to bullshit his way out of the conversation.

“Last time you said you’re scared all the time, mainly scared of loss and rejection. Have you experienced that before?”

“Yeah.” Then there is silence.

“Why don’t you tell us about it?”

“Lost my dad, couple of step-dad’s, friends when we moved. Friends who fucked me up cause I wasn’t a tough guy. Then I got in trouble all the time and was bad news for a while, so I lost some more friends. When I told my mama I was gay she already knew, but some in my family didn’t like me no more. Got beat up at school a bit for it. When I started drag I embarrassed, like, the men in my family. Even, like, my brother didn’t wanna hang out with me no more. We were fighting all the time. Got so bad I moved out when I turned eighteen. My uncle got killed…. And my boyfriends… we either got into like real fights, like beating each other up or they cheated…” Jose trails off. Brock knows bits and pieces of this, but he is ashamed when he realises he can’t provide a full story on any of it.

“Brock, I can see that you’re shaken by what Jose just said. Can you tell him what you’re thinking?”

“I’m just so sorry you had to go through all of this, but I am also really shocked that I didn’t really know. I guess I never asked, but you know you can talk to me, right?” He turns in his seat so he faces Jose.

“I didn’t wanna talk about my fuck ups so you don’t, you know,” Jose doesn’t finish the sentence, but Brock gets it anyway.

“You’re not a fuck up. I told you this before and I’ll tell you again and again until you believe me. Nothing of what happened is your fault. I got beat up because I was flamboyant, you got beat up because you were out. It’s not something that was any of our fault. Kids are idiots, teenagers even more so.”

“I beat the shit out of others. I was the idiot,” Jose argues.

“And I was mean to others. But that’s not who we are anymore. What I understood at some point is that bullying is more about the bully than the person they are bullying. I was mean because for once I didn’t want to feel like crap. And I guess you beat up others so they wouldn’t beat you up,” Brock takes a wild guess.

“Not really. I wanted to run with the cool kids again and that’s what they did. Beat someone up, stole their money, messed with them.”

“Was that before or after you came out?” the therapist asked.

“Before. After there was no way they’d let me hang with them anymore. But I wasn’t allowed around them fuckers anymore anyway. My mama found out, because a some kid’s mother called and she found his shoes in my room, that I’d taken from him. Shit, she was mad. Thought she’d kill me with his shoes. They were these hard white trainers and I couldn’t sit down for like a week.”

“How old were you?”

“Like maybe 14? Was grounded forever, too. She only let me out for school and dance practise.”

“And you didn’t escape a couple of times?” Brock asks teasingly, wishes to lighten the mood.

“And fuck with my mama’s orders when she Latina mama mad? White boy, you have no idea!  When your mama gets mad that one thing. When my Puerto rican mama gets mad, that’s like… she’d be like 'No te mato porque dios es grande’ and then you can’t run, baby, you can’t hide and I knew I’d get it.”

“What does it mean?” Brock asks, because he doesn’t understand the Spanish part.

“Like, 'I’m not gonna kill you cause god is good’, but, yeah, there was always a 'but’ in there. You remember in the Harry Potter movies when they destroy the tiara in the room and then Voldemort’s heard comes after them with fire? That’s my mom when she’s real angry.” Jose is glad when Jose smiles a bit again.

“What is your relationship with your mother like today?” the doctor asks.

“Real good. She my best friend, my everything. I love my mama.” He’s fully smiling now.

“She’s really amazing. And knowing her explains the temperament and the crazy of this one,” Brock teases and pulls Jose into his arms before he can slap him or do something else crazy.

“Ok, sadly our time is up for today.” When the doctor speaks up, Brock checks the watch and realises they are actually twenty minutes over the time already. “Your homework for next week is that each of you picks a story from his youth or childhood, where he was either bullied or bullying someone and tell the other about it for four minutes in as much detail as you remember. Then you talk about it. And I want each of you to write down what he’s feeling afterwards, how the talk made you feel and how you’re feeling after the exercise, ok?”

“Ok,” Jose agrees.

“And Brock, let’s look for another appointment for your session real quick.”

“Sounds good,” he agrees and they both follow their therapist over to the reception area to make new appointments. For all they talked about today, Brock feels strangely ok with it all, especially because Jose is still right by his side, ready to tackle the next session and their homework.

TBC

[erintoknow]

try that again?

i’m just gonna let this one be what it wants to be

fallen hero fanfic chargestep, shouldn’t be any spoilers, i think? maybe borderline. risqué? nothing heavier than some, uh, heavy kissing at the start, all clothes are on.

––––––

You open your mouth to say something, but whatever it was is obliterated by the sensation of lips and teeth as she nips your ear lobe. She trails kisses down your neck. 

Julia sucks at your neck and you can feel the vibrations your own throat is making against the skin of her lips. She finally pulls back after what feels like a far too quick forever and gives you a small smile, her face flush. “You good?”

You manage to get a hold of yourself well enough to frown. “I’m not some… helpless damsel. I can take it.”

She looks pointedly at you, with the tiniest of eye movement towards your your hands bound in front of you.

You puff up your cheeks, taking refuge from embarrassment via indignation. “Oh, you think you’re so clever.” 

Julia waggles her eyebrows at you. “Only because I am.” She runs a hand down your arm, tracing the rope over your wrist and taking hold of the loose end hanging down between you two. Just the sensation alone is enough to send your skin into goosebumps. You’re still not used to this, Julia was always big on touching, but it was never quite like this…. never mind the past seven years either. “You sure you want to stay clothed?” She grins.

You chew your lip. This is the trouble with temptations, take one and there’s another further down stringing you along. Stick to your guns. “Clothes on or lights out, those are your options.”

She runs her hand against your face, brushing back your hair bringing memories of nights spent braiding that no longer seem quite so innocent in hindsight. “I do like seeing your pretty face.”

“What? No it’s not.”

“Of course it is.”

“Stop that.”

“Who’s got the rope here?” There’s a sharp tug of the rope and she pulls you forward into an embrace. One that quickly turns into an excuse to grab at your butt. “That’s right, I do.”

You huff, try a different tactic. “Well, your face is much prettier–“ She slaps you on the butt, a warning shot. “Hey!”

She tsks. “Oh no, that’s not how compliments work. You want to try that one again?”

You lean your head into her shoulder, against her neck. “What does it matter anyway, it’s just words.”

Julia grabs you by the shoulders, pulling you away so she can stare you in the face. “You don’t believe me?”

You look away, can’t bring yourself to look at her. “People say things they don’t mean all the time.” You chew your lip. “It’s just another way to hurt someone.”

Julia runs her hands down your arms to grab your hands, an unreadable expression on her face. “Okay.” She sits down on the bed and pulls you down next to her. “Time out. We need to address this.”

You hunch your shoulders, a knot of tension worming in your stomach.

Julia’s voice is low, and you don’t want to look at her face. “Do you think I’m lying to you when I say ‘I love you’?”

“I…” You swallow, suddenly extremely aware of the rope you let her tie around your wrists. Suddenly it doesn’t seem so exciting.

“I meant it. It wasn’t a lie. It’s not a trick. I’m not playing a game here.”

“I don’t understand.” You manage to say.

“I guess I get it,” Julia says, she sounds a fragile as glass right now, and it’s scaring the hell out of you. “Maybe you haven’t seen how much things have changed the last seven years? Maybe you still think of me as that girl that flirts with anything that moves, like it as a game.”

“You never flirted with me.”

Her fingers dig into your shoulders, voice strained. “Dios mio, yes I did! But I guess… you never picked up on it?” She loosens her grip a little. “And then after you almost– it stopped feeling like a game with you, and I couldn’t even guess how you felt, so I stopped. I got scared.”

“You? Scared?”

“I wasn’t ready to really think about what it meant, being seriously interested in another woman. About what that might mean for me, or how the press would take it. You can’t fight the news.”

“Says the lady who’s punched a reporter.”

“It cost me my job.”

“Okay.” You soften your voice. “That’s fair.”

“And I told you before, you can be a terrifying woman when you want to be Ariadne.” You feel your face redden. She has no idea. You hope. You hope she has no idea. “But, Ari… Ari look at me,” She cups your chin with one hand, you let her turn your head to face her. “Please believe me.”

Are those…? Is she… goddamnit, she’s going to get you going too. “You’re asking a lot from me, you know.”

“I guess I’m just selfish that way.”

“And an idiot. Don’t forget.”

“I never do.”

“Okay.” You take a deep breath, clench your fists, unclench. “I– I’ll try.” You swallow hard, willing yourself to keep talking, keep moving forward. “That’s the best I can promise. I’ll try.” Some part of you hopes you aren’t lying again.

“Ariadne…”

“I… I love–” You dig fingers into the leg folder under you. “I love you too, okay?” You blink your eyes rapidly for no particular reason, feeling the pulse of your heart in your throat. Another window jumped, fool that you are. You let yourself fall over, onto her lap. “You never give up do you.” Why did you just admit that? Have you lost your mind? You’re trying to escape planet Julia not fall in further.

Ortega smiles, awkward. She rests a hand on your head. “I’m sorry, I swear I wasn’t trying to pressure you into saying that.”

You narrow your eyes looking up at her. Before you realize what you’re saying, you’re already doubling down. “If I have to– have to try to believe you, then you have to try and believe me too. That’s the deal. Okay?”

“Okay.” The way Julia is looking at you… You need to do something to distract from the guilt and regret welling up again.

You close your eyes, willing yourself to relax in her lap, letting her run a hand through your hair. “I love your hands.” You say.

Julia’s hand pulls back, hesitating. “What?”

“Your hands are beautiful.” 

“And your eyes are closed.”

With a huff you open them again. “Now who’s being difficult?” You reach up with your hands –which you realize are still tied together from your your aborted… make-out(?) session– and grab at Julia’s hand on your head, pulling it into your field of vision. Julia’s face reddens even if her expression is unreadable as you run your fingers over and around her palm, trace the insets of the electro-emitters that give Julia her pseudonym. “Does it hurt if I do that?”

“…it’s fine.” There’s a moment where it seems like she’ll say something more, but then glances away. “Anyway, I’ve got medication for it.”

Frowning a little at that, you trace the path of her bones under the skin, massage the knuckles.

“…what are you doing?” To your relief she sounds more curious than upset.

“Any good techie knows to take care of her hands.” You say with only mild levels of smug as you work on her hand. “Take care of your hands, and they’ll take care of you.”

“Sounds dirty.”

You bite your lip trying not to laugh. The two of you fall into silence as you work her hand. It could have been half an hour or only a minute when you finally let her hand go. “Okay, give me the other hand.”

“You really don’t have to–”

You raise your eyebrows, “Hand.”

Julia lets you take hold of her other hand. Again, you gently work the palm, minding the skin around the emitters. “It looks like they’ve improved the bonding between the plates and the rest of the skin?”

“It has some give now so it doesn’t tear as easily anymore. Still, sometimes it feels…”

“…like there’s a voice in the back of your head screaming ‘this isn’t how my body should be’.” 

A pained expression flits across Julia’s face. “Yeah, that doesn’t sound too far off.” When Julia doesn’t elaborate, you leave it be. She’s respected your boundaries about being trans, the least you can do is return the favor with her mods.

When you finish working her hand, on an impulse you kiss the knuckles before letting Julia pull back. “Did that help any?”

Julia doesn’t quite look you in the eyes, her face red. “…yeah. Thanks.”

You can’t help it, an incredibly smug grin creeps across your face. “Am I seeing the incredibly rare bashful Ortega?”

That jars her out of it. “Shut up you, you have no room to talk.” She laughs.

You laugh with her, stretching your arms out over your head, there’s something bizarrely enjoyable about the pressure of the rope against your wrists. “I guess we’ve graduated from braiding hair, haven’t we?”

“I wasn’t aware hand massages were part of the nerd skill set.”

“I’m just full of surprises, aren’t I?”

Julia laughs and runs through your hair. “Keep up that attitude, and it’s not the only thing you’ll be full of in a moment.”

Your cover your face in embarrassment as you go beet-red. “Jesus Christ, Julia.”

“Oh, He is not invited.”

You look up at Julia through your fingers. “So do you want to… try this again?”

“Do you?”

“…I’ll probably end up crying like always.” You admit, voice quiet, “but…”

Despite the copious mountain of evidence to the contrary, you’ve never liked to think of yourself as an adrenaline junkie. But when Julia leans down, you raise yourself up to meet her halfway. Every time you kiss Julia is weird and new and sometimes uncomfortable and always exhilarating and you hope it never gets old.

[wilhelmjfink]

The Great Divide - Ch. 15

A/N: hey!!! to the like 3 of you that follow this story sorry I’ve been MIA lately! I’m sure you saw my last post about being busy as fuck with the track season opening up and springtime means show season and birthday parties at the farm and blah blah blah..... anyways here’s chapter 15 :-) thank you xoxoxo

Previously: Daryl’s blood was boiling. He was furious — he was fucking livid. Even more so because there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it at that moment. The one fucking piece that he had that could lead him to Riley and the one fucking thing that he had that gave him a glimmer of hope that he could reach her again; the one frayed thread that connected him to his girl again that he was grasping onto for dear life... was laying dead at his fucking feet.

“Ya gotta be quick to find people’s weakness. Everybody’s got one — ya just need to know what you’re looking for.”

Riley stood still in front of Daryl as he taught her the only way he knew how -- hands on. And so they stood toe to toe in the patchy clearing of the woods, just the two of them and the shadows of the trees the lowering sun casted onto the ground out their feet.

It had taken that conversation and situation for Riley to realize that she’d never told Daryl, or anyone in her group for that matter, about her history of MMA fighting, the years of her own hands-on practice she’d had under her belt. It wasn’t intention or malicious that she’d kept it secret, but rather her defense mechanism, for when she’d first met them she didn’t want them to know all of her weaknesses because Daryl was right — everybody had one.

But after a small run in with some strangers out scavenging for anything to bring back to the Greene farm, he’d decided that she had to learn to defend herself. If not for her sake, for his; for he couldn’t understand why his heart pounded in his chest at the sight of her getting picked up by the dark skinned man twice her size like she was weightless, or why he cursed himself for not being on his game well enough to stop it from happening or just simply protect her. It was an innate desire deep inside of him he hadn’t been able to quell since his group had showed up on the farm some odd weeks ago; and so because he didn’t understand it, it just made him angry.

He stood closely behind her, gently guiding Riley’s body into a fighting stance as she allowed him to move her like an artist crafting his masterpieces in front of him. His touch always sent chills down her spine, and she didn’t understand why. The unspoken bond that had drawn the two immediately together — she didn’t understand that either, but basked in the decision to embrace it instead of question it.

“Now, say I sneak up behind ya, what are ya gonna do?”

Riley shifted slightly, waiting for him to adjust and position himself as if he really was a stranger running up on her and grabbing her from behind. And when his strong arms locked easily around her small frame, all of her memories and experience came rushing back, and she easily offset his balance with a slick bend of her elbow before jabbing it into his stomach -- perhaps harsher than she’d intended. He let go of her with a grunt, clearly blindsided by her response, and was even more shocked when she naturally spun on her heel and brought her right leg up in a well-rehearsed kick, her boot whispering over his by head mere inches, luckily just as she’d intended as opposed to kicking him across the jaw.

Dropping her arms, she smiled to herself proudly regardless of being slightly winded from being out of practice for so long. But Daryl stood up straight, his expression initially radiating anger... but Riley could easily tell there was some sort of admiration and relief underneath it somewhere.

“The hell, woman?” He was still catching his own breath after the impact to his stomach. “Ya said ya ain’t never fought before! Did ya really just hustle me?”

Riley looked away with a nonchalant shrug. “I guess I may have forgot to mention I did MMA for three and a half years. My dad made me do it.”

Daryl was really trying his best to remain stern but his features were betraying him and Riley noticed, feeling her cheeks flush at his expression of his secret praise for her.

“I thought ya said ya played piano, 'n... took some sorta drama or actin’ classes or somethin’ like that.”

His steely blue eyes were watching her closely and she found it incredibly hard to meet them, looking down at the ground with a laugh.

“Well, shit Daryl, where do you think I learned to hustle so well?”

Riley sat cross legged on the concrete floor of the makeshift bedroom, intentionally ignoring the dirty cot behind her to make some sort of stand, while the empty walls provided a perfect element to allow her to zone out and get lost in her thoughts as she racked her mind for any trace of knowledge that she could use to her benefit for that night.

Fuck, she was still sore as all hell from the previous day, her muscles straining just to sit still, only alleviating the slightest bit when she forced herself to stretch them out. It was a welcomed pain -- a sensation that reminded her she was alive which was bittersweet in that she had fought that long, but meant that there was surely more to come.

Her feet were still bandaged loosely and she was so angry that she considered kicking them off just in spite of Lidia, who’d done them in the first place. Her name felt sour inside of her mind, bitter, like an old best friend who’d betrayed her... which, she guessed, essentially what it was, but with more dire consequences. 

How could she have been so fucking stupid? How could she still, after everything she’d put herself through, be so blind to people? This world was not meant for friendships and camaraderies anymore — no, it was meant for enemies and it was survival of the fittest. She’d really thought the way things were before had held her in a dog-eat-dog world? She snorted in derision to herself: if only she could go back in time and show her younger self what it truly meant to survive in a world that was quite literally every-man-for-themselves.

She’d been lucky before — too lucky — when she’d come across her friends way back when. That was still when things were trickling downhill in the beginning of it all, and nobody really wanted to believe that the world and life as they knew it were crumbling beneath their feet. She found some good people then because they were still around. Nowadays, the trustworthy ones were all dead and gone. Because they were too good for this evil world. Daryl, as per usual, had been right all along, and she’d known it from the very start.

If anyone was meant to survive in this hell, it was him. He would be the last man standing.

There was a familiar pang of loss in her heart at the thought of him. Though there was some underlying guilt she couldn’t deny, feeling as though the last day or two she hadn’t really thought about him much — shit, she didn’t have any time to. She’d been on the go since she got there and when she finally did have a moment to sit and breathe, she took advantage of it and slept every second she could. She was exhausted still and she sang quietly to herself.

Carry me all through the night

I am the last light fading

If he was there with her, what would he tell her to do? To stick it out, because that’s just what you do. Every single time she’d ever asked him ‘are you okay?’ she’d gotten the same answer from him: ‘gotta be’.

She wondered what he was doing at that very moment. Was he still trying to look for her? Hell, did he even notice she was gone?

No -- she shook the self-pitying thoughts from her head. No more feeling sorry for herself. No more wallowing in what if’s and should or shouldn’t haves; if dog-eat-dog was what it had come down to, then Riley vowed to be the toughest damn dog that the world has ever seen.

The one good thing that came of her endless waiting in the closet-sized room in silent anticipation was that she god a decent meal for the first time in what felt like ages: a hearty serving of canned vegetables, two freshly baked dinner rolls, and a slab of venison; it was a little bit rare for her liking, but she sure as hell didn’t complain. It was even seasoned.

It also reassured her that somewhere in that filthy, dilapidated city there was sustenance and actual food to consume that wasn’t stale or moldy. There was actual livelihood there. And the more she thought about it, under Slavemasters menacing armor was usually just some tattoos or paint, but not dirt and grime. They were clean, too. There was something to be said for the way they carried themselves: cocky and confident and satisfied, thriving in the new world.

So she’d only seen half of The Divide. The name quickly became ironic as the thought crossed her mind; what a concept it was to enslave hundreds of men, women and even children and forced them into agonizing, exhausting manual labor and pack them into old motel rooms like sardines, feeding them old garbage when there was fresh food being made two, maybe three buildings over. It was the same slavery that tore the country apart hundreds of years ago. But it was so much different.

And at the same time, she couldn’t help but justify it... The Divide was by far the biggest and most successful community around and it was flourishing, only growing bigger by the day. And it wasn’t like the work the slaves were doing was in vain — she’d learned that a majority of the work went towards reinforcing the wall that surrounded the city or crafting weapons and other materials for survival like guns and armor. And that was an absolute necessity nowadays.

The Slavemasters all seemed pretty content. None of them were boney and starving and emaciated. In fact, they seemed to be doing pretty fucking well. And Riley was sure she could get used to that lifestyle. Comfy. Not worrying about safety or sustenance.

She’d already hold herself that she was done feeling sorry for herself. She was going to charge head first into this fight with every intention to win, and she was going to try her damndest. She didn’t care if it killed her, so long as she went down fighting.

“Some day, yer gonna run into the wrong group of people, and I just wanna know that yer prepared.”

Daryl shifted uncomfortably after his admission and Riley turned to look at him with a smile, his words filling her with warmth and butterflies, knowing that it was his way of saying he cared... at least a little bit.

“Well, aren’t you gonna be around to save me when that time comes?”

Her retort was meant to be sarcastic, but neither one of them could deny the hint of seriousness in her voice and especially in his reply:

“I ain’t always gonna be around, Ri.”

The words stung. They even tasted bad coming from his mouth, already feeling as though he’d let her down. It was true, though, and he would never be able to live with himself if something had happened to her that he could’ve prevented. “But... ya know I’m gonna do whatever I can to keep ya safe. Always.”

With a sigh she leaned back into him, feeling his body tense for a moment before he forced himself to relax into her, both of them staring up at the endless starry sky and enjoying their alone time in the guard tower, thankful for the night away from the claustrophobic prison.

“I know, D.”

“...But ya know were still gonna train again in the mornin’.”

She sighed. “I know, D.”

Riley had always humored him, allowing him to drag her out into the wheat fields of the Greene farm and the courtyard of the prison to spar, giving her tips and techniques that had served him well. Most of the physical aspects she’d been solid on — stance, pressure points, form and technique she’d all learned in her few years of professional training as a young girl. But she’d never really stopped consider the mental aspects of it: the clarity and focus that was necessary for defeating her opponent had never been an issue. She’d only ever practiced with her instructor and other classmates and abruptly quit when she’d discovered whatever hindered sobriety as she grew older. And granted Ryan was a grown man with over a decade of training under his belt, he was a skinny guy, and Riley had taken him down in sparring more than once. She had never really stopped and thought of him as an actual threat to her. There were big, mean people out there that she had yet to face.

“Ya gotta learn them real quick — exploit their weaknesses,” Daryl had told her. Take a half of a second to observe your opponent. Which hand was their dominant hand? Did they have any injuries, any limp as they walked? Were they confident, staring you down the whole time, or were they sketchy and afraid of you?

“Most of the big dudes are gonna look real tough, n’ they probably will be, but remember: that’ll make ‘em slow.”

Her head snapped up. “Holy shit,” she whispered to herself at the realization. That was her key to winning that night: sure, Raul was big and burly, but that would make him sluggish in his movements, and it gave him a long way to fall when he went down. That was it. She had a chance — she had a fucking chance. It was small, but shit -- it was there. “Thank you, D.” She closed her eyes, picturing his proud eyes and slight smile when he’d noticed she wasn’t completely helpless when it came to combat. “I won’t let you down, I promise.”

[midnightiscoming-kasabian]

'NEW INSPIRATION' Kasabian’s Serge Pizzorno on new hair and new start with his S.L.P. solo album

By Jacqui Swift | Photos: Neil Bedford

SERGE PIZZORNO didn’t want to make another Kasabian record without first searching for new inspiration.

After 15 years of hits, the creative leader of the Leicester band that formed in 1997 decided to do something different.

And so arrives The S.L.P., Pizzorno’s debut solo album under the guise of his initials S.L.P. (Sergio Lorenzo Pizzorno).

He says: “I just need to go and find some new treasures, go down the rabbit hole and see what I came back up with.

“The S.L.P. and Kasabian are two very different things. Two different sports that you would never combine.”

Pizzorno previously had no urge to make a record on his own and says its creation came as a surprise to him after “playing around in the studio”.

He says: “It was made for the right reasons and not to be commercial, just to see what could happen. There was definitely a childish reconnection of messing about and not having to consider playing it to 80,000 people.

“I’m not even using my name on the record and so probably in six months, people will go, ‘Did you make this record?’”

Kasabian fans needn’t worry that this solo project might mark the end of the band.

Pizzorno says: “I am in my band and I love my band. The best way to describe it is, it’s like another planet I can now visit whenever I want. It’s this planet that orbits and I can go there for a bit.”

‘NEW HAIR’

When Kasabian decided to take a break after touring 2017’s For Crying Out Loud, Pizzorno found himself in his studio with tracks and thought it was “very much now or never”.

He says: “When you get to six albums, you’ve got to keep it clever and make it interesting.

“Kasabian have had six albums — five No1 albums in a row. We’ve headlined Glastonbury, Leicester Stadium, The O2 and got really big in Europe, Eastern Europe and South America.

“Things rocketed after that last album and we needed time off. There is nothing better than being in a band but there are times, like when we are sat in airports, when it feels like hard work.”

I meet the 38-year-old at his publicist’s office in North London. He has just got the train down from Leicester. Tall and skinny, with new short hair and leopard spots dyed into the back, he says: “It’s new hair as I felt it was symbolic of a new start.”

Pizzorno has always enjoyed pushing the boundaries with Kasabian and no two albums have been the same.

He says: “This was a really quick record to make. I’ve always embraced just going with the beat or melody and seeing where it takes me.

“There’s an energy you create as a writer. With The S.L.P., I’ve been able to go even further. Some things aren’t right for Kasabian but work for this as it’s so different.” It was recorded and produced at his home studio, The Sergery, in Leicestershire. The S.L.P. shows off his love of film soundtracks, dance music and hip-hop.

Pizzorno says: “I’ve always liked film scores, the Balearic thing and really evil, dirty basslines and I’ve tried to channel those.

“I’d put a lot of my old synths and instruments into storage and worked on my little Casio keyboard, a couple of little drum machines and would just nick sounds from film and TV.

“There’s a lot of samples on the record but nothing specific, more like digital noises and sounds that I’ve collected over the years.

“If I didn’t have my hard drive, I don’t think I’d necessarily have an album — it was a good chance to dip into them. I like making collages and putting all the sounds together with the melodies I had in my head.”

Pizzorno reveals he had a comic-strip idea for the album, with a beginning, middle and an end starting with the tracks Meanwhile . . .  In Genova”; “Meanwhile . . .  At The Welcome Break”; and “Meanwhile . . .  In The Silent Nowhere.

‘BLEW MY MIND’

He says: “The whole album was very visual. I find imagery and write from it.

“Once I had these three pieces of music I could fill in the gaps. And it was good to start at my roots with the track Meanwhile . . .  In Genova.”

The story begins in Italy in Genova, where Serge’s grandad is from. The singer is a huge Ennio Morricone fan, this cinematic track is his homage to him.

Standouts on the album are joyous dance tracks Trance and recent single Nobody Else.

He says: “It’s dance music but there is also tenderness and little moments of simple messages.

“Trance is a lovely moment because it’s an anthem but way more French and sophisticated.

“Rave music was huge for me. Me and my pal used to spend hours dancing to it in his bedroom. And when we are playing festivals, I try to visit the dance tent to have a little dance as I miss that feeling. It’s mad.

“The Wu is a special track on the record too. I love that tune.

“It’s about going down hotel corridors listening for where the party is.

“I’ve spent a lot of times in hotels with the band listening to The Wu-Tang.”

The first single from The S.L.P. was Favourites, for which he teamed up with Little Simz, while Slowthai guests on Meanwhile . . .  At The Welcome Break.

He says: “I went to see Slowthai in Birmingham and he just blew my mind. He was phenomenal and the same with Simz. I had been in contact in the past with her and always loved her flow.

“I wanted the track to have a British voice on there. The album is very much where I see Britain and what I’ve observed here as myself over the years.

“Favourites came from listening in to a conversation with two young girls about online dating.

“I started thinking about the real you versus your online persona and how you are never going to live up to it.

“It’s thinking about where that is going to lead us and how we forget to live in the moment.

“The track Soldiers 00018 is about a cab driver talking about his hatred of things and how I had the feeling I need to fight back but with compassion, love and positivity.

“Meanwhile . . .  In The Silent Nowhere is about the need for communication and to start listening again. Whatever side you are on, you have to engage and try and figure it out and find some sort of middle ground.”

Pizzorno believes that in these troubled times, people feel disconnected — and the further away we are from each other, things will get worse.

He says: “I think it’s an artist’s job to bring people together to engage with each other.”

‘FRESH AND ENGAGED’

It is no surprise that Pizzorno’s project as The S.L.P. has been compared to Damon Albarn and Gorillaz, something the musician and producer sees as a huge compliment.

He says: “It’s a massive honour because I am a huge fan of his and especially Gorillaz. In the future I’d like to work with more artists, and not necessarily people you would expect.

“To have that opportunity and be in the studio with these different people inspiring new sounds is amazing.

“That is going to keep me fresh and engaged with new s**t.”

One person who continually inspires Pizzorno is The Mighty Boosh comic and Bake Off presenter Noel Fielding, who helped launch the S.L.P. at a special Q&A event in London.

Pizzorno says: “Noel is a real brother, and godfather to my kids.

“We met years back and kept in touch and spent a load of time together. I worked on two of his shows with him with the music and we’ve released music together that are loose tapestries.

“He is so talented and clever. I can’t keep up with his ideas.

“When I’m with him, it’s constant, mad laughter. My two boys watch him on Bake Off and he taught them how to paint.

“I’ve got this amazing photo of him with them when they were little, sat on his knee on a lawnmower wearing a pair of shorts and mad David Bowie boots.”

THE S.L.P. track list

Meanwhile... In Genova

Lockdown

((trance))

The Wu

Soldiers 00018

Meanwhile... At The Welcome Break (ft               Slowthai)

Nobody Else

Favourites (ft Little Simz)

Kvng Fv

The Youngest Gary

Meanwhile... In The  Silent Nowhere

Next month, Pizzorno goes out on the road to tour The S.L.P. with a number of select gigs across the UK and Europe.

He says: “I can’t wait. It’s going to be the album in its entirety with extended mixes and the aim is euphoria. I went to see David Byrne play and his show really inspired me.”

And how have Pizzorno’s Kasabian bandmates reacted to this solo work?

He says: “I have to say they’ve been incredible. Tom says he loves it. There’s not been any weirdness at all.

“I love being in my band and making my own record has inspired me for more Kasabian and I’ve been working on music for the band already.

“They know I wasn’t sure The S.L.P. was even going to happen and they realise it makes sense for me to do something.

“As a band, we’ve had everything thrown at us. Like any relationship, we’ve had massive highs and lows but we are happy together. Stepping away from Kasabian makes me appreciate the enormity of it and the power of our live show.

“The S.L.P. is a new start for me, which means a new chapter for Kasabian too.

“Kasabian is all about connection and when we return we will connect with as many people as possible.

“I will just have another outlet for extra music I fancy making.”

The S.L.P. is out on August 30.

www.thesun.co.uk

[the-captains-ayebrows]

Deal With It (2/2)

Rival Poker Players AU.  Emma Swan, poker hustler with more than just card tricks up her sleeve, meets Killian Jones, a fellow gambler, at a shady little casino down south. After a memorable first encounter, they seem to keep finding each other, but are they really ready to gamble with their hearts? Emma just doesn’t know if she can deal with it.

Rating: T for swearing and innuendo, Word Count ~2800 (this chapter)

[AO3 link] [Chapter 1]

A/N:This is not where I meant to end the story. I think we can end it here and be ok, but I also have about two more chapters worth of ideas for this AU. So, here's the deal: we'll say this is done for now, and there may be a sequel or bonus material if I ever get around to it.

This chapter is dedicated to @snowbellewells for her beta-ing and encouragement and to @wheres-your-rum for a really great liveblog the other day that made me think maybe I should keep posting things.  Thanks guys!

It's not like Emma was looking for Hook. Not really. It's just that it’s kind of hard to avoid someone if you don't know where they are. So, she kept a casual ear open for mentions of his name. Casually. And someone might have casually mentioned in passing that he might be playing in a tournament in Deadwood. Obviously she had to come here and check it out - to make sure her informational sources were accurate. Or something.

It isn't like she's going to let him see her. That would be incredibly counterproductive. She did take the guy for a few grand after all. Not that it didn't kind of serve him right because who the hell keeps that kind of cash on them? But still… better if he never actually sees her. She did the jail thing once. No intentions of going back.

Then again, she has been doing a lot better at the tables since their little encounter. Honestly, at the rate she's winning, she'll have enough money saved up for her entry fee for Vegas a month ahead of time. It's almost like robbing him ( kissing him ) changed her luck for the better. Gamblers are nothing if not superstitious creatures. Maybe, possibly, one more rendezvous and a little bit more good luck will rub off on her. Yep. Luck. That’s what she wants to rub off.

Besides, he was winning last time. That really chaps her ass. Like she told him, she was having an off day. A good run of bad luck. She needs a rematch to settle the score. Take him down a notch. He really is too damn cocky for his own good, all that swagger and smirk. Except that his swaggering, smirking self doesn’t seem to be here.

Emma turns slowly on her bar stool, swirling the teensy plastic sword piercing the olives in her dirty martini and holding in her huff of annoyance as she surveys the gaming tables, once again finding them Hook-free. Hookless? Whatever.

Emma lifts the little sword to her mouth and slides an olive off with her teeth. Maybe her timing is just off. It looks like a few of the tournament tables are on a break between rounds, but she’s getting antsy. Maybe she should down the rest of her drink and head to another casino. She’s wearing her favorite little red dress tonight, the one that hugs every curve. She is here to work after all. It’s not like she wore it for anyone in particular. It’s for the marks. It shouldn’t be hard for her to pick up a few-

“Now be a good girl and play along, because you bloody well owe me.”

Emma nearly chokes on her olive and that’s probably the only thing that keeps her from whirling around and punching Hook in the face. How the fuck did he manage to sneak up on her?

She coughs, clearing the traces of olive from her windpipe, and the hot breath on the shell of her ear turns to a quick peck on the cheek. She’s furious that he got the drop on her, but she doesn’t know what kind of game he’s playing yet, so she reins it in. Hook steps around to face her, a wide, innocent smile curving his lips, though his eyes are deadly serious.

“Darling, so sorry for startling you, but I’ve been looking for you everywhere. I was just telling these nice gentlemen here-” he gestures to the pair of brutes walking up behind him, “that I couldn’t possibly play a hand without my favorite lucky charm.”

Emma gives him a saccharine smile. “Would that be the blue diamonds or purple horseshoes?”

Hook barks out a forced laugh. “Ha! See boys? That’s why I love her. That delightful sense of humor. Now, if you lads will excuse me for a moment, I’ll join you at the table presently.” He claps one of the men on the shoulder and they amble away to take seats at one of the poker tables leaving Emma and Hook alone.

Hook watches them go, making sure they’re settled and not paying attention to him anymore before he turns again to Emma, that familiar smirk back in its rightful place.

Emma's vapid expression falls away, quickly replaced with an annoyed glare. “You’re pretty damn pleased with yourself, aren’t you?”

"Careful, sweetheart , they could look our way at any moment," Hook warns with a wicked grin. "And yes, I rather am. Fancy seeing you here. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Panic flashes through her at the question. Oh, you know, just low-key stalking you so I’d never have to see you again which is completely logical and not at all creepy. She hopes he can’t read the real answer on her face, but thankfully he chooses that moment to reach out with his hook and brush a lock of hair back from her shoulder. The easy familiarity of the gesture irritates her - irritation is much easier to deal with than the way his stupid blue eyes are doing things to her stomach - so she deepens her scowl and does what she does best: deflect and distract.

"Oh, no. No. We're not talking about me right now. What kind of scam are you running on the Big and Scary twins?" She gestures subtly with her almost empty drink to Hook's companions. Tall, broad and with matching ginger hair indicating some kind of familial relationship, each man looks as though he could bench press a horse.

"The Stabbington brothers over there - and yes, so help me that's their true surname - seem to think I owe them the opportunity to win back the considerable sum of money that they lost to me over a game of dice."

"Were said dice loaded?”

He cocks an eyebrow and shrugs. “Not that they know of.”

“And this all has what to do with me?" Emma crosses her arms beneath her breasts and doesn’t miss the flicker of his eyes down to her cleavage.

"Well, first of all, I'd like for them to be thinking about your neckline rather than their cards when you come over and kiss me on the neck in a few minutes."

"And then?" Emma didn’t miss the brightening of his expression that she hadn’t outright refused his scheme.

"And then I'd like an extra set of eyes on them to make sure they don't attempt to live up to their name when I win again."

Emma nods. "So you want me to watch your back while they’re watching my front. Got it. And you couldn't have just asked me without scaring the shit out of me first?"

Hook narrows his eyes. "Given the nature of our last encounter, I didn't wish to give you the chance to get away. You do owe me, Swan, and don't think I'm taking my eyes off you for a second."

Emma fixes him with her most sarcastic smile. "I'd despair if you did." She huffs a sigh. "What if I’m not interested? You don’t really have me in a helping mood right now, pal."

"I suppose I could report you to security and get you banned from every casino in town."

Emma's eyes widen and she lowers her voice to a threatening hiss. "You wouldn't dare."

"Oh, I'm quite daring, love. Don't you doubt that. But…” He pauses, letting his eyes roam over her face, studying her. “I think you are interested, and I'd much rather work with you than against you. I propose a bargain. Simple, really. You help me and I'll give you a cut of whatever I win."

"Half."

"Not a chance. 80-20. My 80, your 20 to be clear."

"Not worth it. 60-40."

Hooks features twist into a tight-lipped grimace of annoyance. "If we stand here arguing, you'll be getting 100% of nothing, as will I. Although I may get the parting gift of a broken limb from our friends over there. I'm already down one appendage, I'd prefer to keep those that remain in top form."

Emma leans back against the bar and slowly sips the last of her cocktail. "Then quit arguing with me and give me 40%."

Hook drops his head in defeat, and Emma beams knowing she’s won. He lifts his eyes to hers again, and she’s sure he’s trying to be all commanding and intense, but she can see a hint of mirth dancing in those baby blues. The bastard is actually looking forward to this.

"Fine. But you'd better earn it, love. I need you to be quite convincing as the adoring girlfriend. Feel free to let your hands wander. Don’t be afraid to, you know, really get into it.”

He says it with a scrunch of his nose that has Emma rolling her eyes, but some traitorous part of her is kind of looking forward to this, too. She’s a gambler for God’s sake, the prospect of a little danger and intrigue fires up her pulse. She hasn’t run a two-person job since…

And just like that the spark fizzles out. Hook seems to notice the change, but doesn’t comment, only cants his head to the side in question. Emma braces herself, her old defenses rising, but he doesn’t ask. He just snaps his own mask back into place, and gives her thigh a squeeze as he leans in close to her. Her heartbeat begins racing again, but this time for a very different reason.

“Now be a good lass buy us another round. My tab’s open, and I’ll have anything with rum."

Emma has to admit to herself (though certainly not to him ) that she really did enjoy their little game. After getting the drinks, she’d gone with his original request and sashayed over the table, bending very deliberately at the waist to set the glasses down. Rather than immediately taking her seat next to Hook, she’d moved behind his chair, leaning down to loosely drape her arms around his neck and letting the fingers of her right hand slide inside the open collar of his shirt. Not too far - just enough so she could feel the increasing thrum of his heartbeat when she nuzzled into his neck and grazed a kiss across the corded muscle of his throat. He’d swallowed hard as she drew back, her nails scratching through the coarse hair on his chest as she retracted her hand. She’d smiled to herself at that, and couldn’t help leaning close one more time to whisper in his ear, “ For luck .”

Watching Hook play without having to be concerned about playing against him was truly educational. His powers of perception impressed her, and the few tells and signals he seemed to miss, she was able to silently communicate to him with a subtle glance, brush of her hand or nudge to his leg. He never ignored her cues, either, trusting her instincts as much as his own. Well, except that one time…

“Why the devil did you make me throw that last hand, Swan? I had them!”

It’s hours later and with several hundred dollar bills tucked into her bra, Emma sits next to Hook at the bar for a celebratory drink.

“I didn’t make you do anything. You chose to fold-”

“After you slid your hand up my leg all the way to my-”

“You said feel free to let my hands wander.”

Hook leans toward her and raises a dark eyebrow in challenge. “And how is a man supposed to concentrate when you’re taking such liberties with him? You knew I would fold.”

Emma leans in as well, propping her elbow on the bar. “I knew you needed to fold. You’d won too many hands. I’d already sweet talked the one with the gold teeth into backing down when he started reaching for the knife in his boot. I didn’t want to have to schmooze the one with the eye-patch, too.”

Hook laughs lightly at that. “You were bloody brilliant, Swan. Those dolts were powerless against you.”  

He’s practically beaming at her with something that looks almost like pride, and Emma has no idea what to do with that. She doesn’t know what to do with him at all. He’s her competition, but here they are working together - pretty seamlessly if she’s honest about it. And what’s with all this supportive crap? She’s used to guys wanting something from her, to use her to stroke their ego or their cock. But this guy? She can tell he’s attracted to her, but all this other stuff - the listening to her, the actually seeming impressed with her - it’s confusing and unsettling.

To make matters worse, he’s just as likable, kissable, fuckable, everything- able as she remembered, and lord, has she been remembering. As much as she tries NOT to think about it, their kiss drifts into her mind at the most inopportune times. Like right now.

She takes a sip of her gin and tonic (no more olives for her tonight), and brushes off his compliment. “Yeah, well, you’re lucky I saved your ass.”

“Cheers to that.” He raises his glass and she clinks hers against it, but before he drinks, he asks, “How did you know he had a knife in his boot?”

Emma had been waiting for this question and times her answer just as he’s taking his sip of rum. “I was playing footsie with him under the table.”

Hook half chokes on his drink and splutters, “You what?”

Gotcha.  Emma shrugs, letting a little of her internal gloating show on her face. “Hey, you told me to keep them distracted. You were no help at all.” She flicks her wrist to backhand him on the shoulder. “You kept antagonizing him! You’re a really shitty damsel in distress, you know that?”

Hook chuckles, rubbing his hook gingerly over the imaginary bruise she’s apparently left on his arm, then leans closer and waggles his eyebrows suggestively. “Ah, but I make up for it with my many other talents.”

His voice is laden with innuendo, and it’s cheesy as hell, and yet it’s all Emma can do to stop herself from shifting in her seat at the mental images he inspires. She manages to limit her outward physical response to a dramatic eye roll.  “Hm. At least you won enough money to make this worthwhile.”

“Aye, that I did. You know, I don’t mean to upset you Emma, but I think we make quite the team.”

Emma stiffens at the word ‘team’, unwanted memories from her past returning for the second time tonight. “I work alone. This was a-”

“One-time thing? I seem to have heard that before.”

Emma ignores him, trying to change the subject. “What were you doing playing absolutely-not-loaded dice with those guys anyway? I thought you were supposed to be here for the poker tournament.”

She sees the change in his expression the second her words register and clenches her glass until her knuckles turn white, cursing herself internally for the slip.

“And how would you know I was entered in the tourney?”

Emma presses on. “Why loaded dice? I thought you never cheated. All that bullshit about good form?”

His brows furrow in offense, and Emma relaxes a little, thinking she’s successfully diverted him again. “I don’t consider good form to be bullshit, Swan, and I never cheat at cards. But... “ and here he gives her a rather pointed look, “some pickings are a bit too easy to pass up.”

“Touche.”

“And speaking of easy pickings…” Hook looks disdainfully at the half-empty glass in his hand. “This swill is hardly worthy of our celebration, but I did happen to appropriate a very fine bottle of top shelf rum from a storage closet round back that someone had thoughtfully left unlocked.”

“Stealing rum? Loaded dice? You really are a pirate.”

Oh, and there’s the smirk, this time with added smolder. “What do you say, Swan? Fancy a nightcap?”

A little thrill runs through her at the prospect. Nope. No way. Definitely not. Terrible idea. “Yeah.” A small smile tilts the corners of her lips. “I mean, we need to keep up our cover act in case those goons are still around. We should at least be seen going upstairs together.” Dammit.

He answers with a dazzling grin and neatly steps down from his bar stool, extending his hooked arm to help her do the same. She grasps the hook and alights from her stool, but for a split second she sees emotion flash behind his eyes, gone before she can decipher it. He seems frozen in place, his face a blank slate. It takes her giving him a little tug with the hand still holding his hook to get him moving.

“Come on, pirate. Show me to the rum.”

[neuxue]

Wheel of Time liveblogging: The Gathering Storm ch 39

VERIN!

Chapter 39: A Visit from Verin Sedai

Where were we? Oh yes.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

“You never held the Oath Rod,” Egwene accused her.

Odd that that’s the first conclusion she jumps to. Verin has the ageless face, after all; she must have sworn oaths of some sort. Then again, I suppose Egwene can be forgiven for being thrown a little by that reveal. And for not wanting to jump to the other conclusion that might immediately come to mind.

“I don’t trust you,” Egwene found herself blurting. I don’t think I ever have.” “Very wise,” Verin said, sipping her tea. It was not a scent Egwene recognised. “I am, after all, of the Black Ajah.”

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

She!

She just!

Did that!

Just came right out and said it. I waited ELEVEN BOOKS to find out what her deal was. ELEVEN BOOKS of wondering and suspecting and second-guessing and she just SAYS IT. LIKE THAT. RIGHT THERE.

WELL NOW WE KNOW, I GUESS.

Just. Well played. So very, very well played. One of the characters who held her cards closest to the chest all series, one of the most difficult to pin down, and so of coursethe reveal is on her own terms, direct and straightforward and stunning even if it’s not completely surprising.

Well. Played.

Also I’m suspicious of how often and pointedly the tea she’s drinking has been mentioned. The scent you don’t recognise is called foreshadowing, Egwene.

Egwene felt a sudden chill, like an ice cold spike pounded directly through her back and down into her chest.

Damn it Brandon get your hemalurgy out of my WoT.

Verin was Black. Light!

Nice forced juxtaposition in the phrasing there.

Those eyes that always had seemed to know too much. What better way to hide than as an unassuming Brown, constantly dismissed by the other sisters because of your distracted, scholarly ways?

Indeed. Who looks too closely at the absentminded scholar? Who suspects duplicity of a plump older woman with ink smudges on her dress? Who thinks too hard on disturbing comments made by a distracted Brown with little attention to tact? Verin, and people like Verin, are so easily…not even overlookedso much as set aside. I wonder, sometimes, why we’re so quick in times of crisis or uncertainty to disregard those who have made it the subject of their life’s work and study. Why we hold so strongly to this notion that scholarship means setting oneself aside from the ‘real world’, even when, without the real world, there would be nothing to study.

It’s my whole thing with the ‘lol the mapmaker can’t actually navigate’ nonsense with Roidelle a few chapters back. Like listen, fuck you, I can read and use just about any map you give me. I can navigate by the stars in either hemisphere. You think I spent my Ivory Tower Years studying the earth without getting my hands dirty? I did not haul a literal bucket full of shit through a jungle in volcano-melted shoes for this.

(Yes, there are parts of academia that are, to put it kindly, Out Of Touch, and whose publications are more self-referential and inbred than your average European monarchy. But the ease with which we write off ‘scholars’ and ‘academics’ as hopeless in all matters relating to the Real World is kind of mind-boggling.)

Anyway. Rather than diving headfirst into an essay on the insidious nature of anti-intellectualism, I’ll just say…Verin really did have the perfect disguise.

Not quite as much to the reader – it’s been very much made clear that she was up to something and that the distracted-and-muddled act was very much an act – but in-world? Even in ourworld, without the insight given by the narrative, who would have looked twice?

Verin, of course, just responds to Egwene’s shock with possibly the most English thing she could possibly say aside from ‘shit weather we’re having, isn’t it?’:

“My, but this is good tea.”

I love her.

What a troll.

She just SHOWED UP IN EGWENE’S ROOM, DRINKING TEA, AND ANNOUNCED THAT SHE’S BLACK AJAH. AFTER ELEVEN BOOKS. OF GIVING AWAY NOTHING. EVEN IN HER THOUGHTS.

She is, truly, On Another Level.

I’m also just running through everything she’s ever done or said or thought in the last eleven books with the certainty of hindsight and my brain feels a little bit like one of those flipbooks you play with as a kid.

Just…*shakes head* well fucking played, Verin.

“I would offer you some tea, but I sincerely doubt you want any of what I’m having.”

Even I don’t mention tea as frequently as it’s been mentioned in these last two or three pages. What exactly is in that tea, Verin?

Egwene’s still in panic mode, and I love the way this is played out, with her thoughts scattered and frantic, juxtaposed against Verin’s calm, collected, and utterly shocking matter-of-fact, conversational, mild statements.

But while Egwene – I suppose understandably – sees Verin immediately as a threat after that admission, I…don’t.

“I compliment you on what you’ve done here, Egwene.”

‘I’m Black Ajah, but more importantly, I love what you’ve done with the room! Such a good eye for colour, and the minimalist style is so in right now. Tea?’

When you get an opportunity like this, you don’t squander it. And she is making the absolute most of her chance here, and I honestly don’t even blame her. She could say something reassuring, but where’s the fun in that? Besides, Verin has always dealt in truths, not platitudes.

I love her, you guys. I love her so much.

“It was more important to continue my research and keep an eye on young al’Thor. He’s a fiery one”

TOO. SOON.

That was rude. Fuck. Wow. Okay.

“I’m not certain he understands how the Great Lord works. Not all evil is as…obvious as the Chosen. The Forsaken, as you’d call them.”

Two things here. One: there is absolutely no way Verin is truly aligned with the Shadow. Two: she gets it. She understands what’s going on, with Rand and even, I think, with how the Shadow is manipulating him without ever having to truly turn him.

“I’m convinced that it isn’t intelligence, craftiness, or skill that makes one Chosen—though of course, those things are important. No, I believe it is selfishness the Great Lord seeks in his greatest leaders.”

YES. THIS.

THIS, EXACTLY.

Of course Verin is the one to put it into words so clearly. With one exception, they are so focused on their own power and their own promised rewards and their own plans and successes and positions of favour that they don’t even see the game they’re truly playing. They serve themselves, not a cause, and because they are intelligent and crafty and skilled, they become incredibly effective pawns in that game, set on a board they hardly understand and let loose to serve a purpose they never truly consider because they are so hell-bent on their own. And so they will destroy the world and themselves with it and never notice until their own flames consume them.

It’s also an interesting statement to consider in the context of Rand, given that Verin has just voiced her worries that he doesn’t understand how the Great Lord works.

Because Rand has an…interesting relationship with selfishness and altruism. Especially now. He has pushed himself into a state of literal selflessness – total denial of the existence of a self – but for the sake of self-preservation. He did it because it hurt too much to hold on to anything of who he was, to let himself feel. So it’s a selfish motivator…and yet, the motivation behind that is a layer of altruism, because that need for survival arises from a need to fulfil his duty to a selfless cause.

And so we go around and around in circles; is he selfish or selfless in his choice to leave his humanity and life and redemption behind? Is it more selfish to seek death or survival, to martyr himself or to endure, to live for something or to die for it?

Listen, I’m a scientist and a programmer and an atheist, and also I cannot get enough of spiralling questions of eschatology and metaphysics and fate in fiction. It’s a thing.

(And that’s not even getting into my obsession with divinity as an entire concept).

But back to the Forsaken. I think Verin has it absolutely right here – power and cunning and other abilities are all well and good, but if you want a group of people you can control and predict and move around like the pawns they are (while they believe themselves to be the players, and masters of the game), selfishness is a perfect trait to select for.

Wise of Verin to see that.

And, back to Rand for just a moment here, maybe that’s part of where he struggles: he’s too close to the Forsaken in his knowledge of them from Lews Therin’s memories to take that step back and view them as an outside observer, yet at the same time he’s so far on the other side of the spectrum in terms of motivations to see this unifying trait and understand how it works and how to use it.

“The Chosen are predictable, but the Great Lord is anything but. Even after decades of study, I can’t be certain exactly what he wants or why he wants it.”

Because, unless you’re Moridin, I think it would break your mind to truly understand what it is he wants. None of the Chosen seem to fully understand it either, because if they did, would they still fight for it? Total destruction of everything, a world remade in the image of chaos, wouldn’t serve any of their goals. And yet because of that selfishness, they are made to serve precisely that cause, and are kept blind by their own narrow ambitions to what end they truly work towards.

“And what does this have to do with me?” Egwene asked.

“Not much,” Verin said, tsking at herself. “I’m afraid I let myself get sidetracked.”

In which Verin’s tangents are more insightful than many character’s introspection. Not to mention about a hundred times more communicative, suddenly. I love when an enigma of a character finally decides it’s time to spill her secrets. It’s so satisfying.

Verin’s so proud of Egwene for what she’s done with the Tower. It’s lovely to see, not just to have someone in a position to recognise and appreciate what Egwene has managed to do, but to have it be someone who’s known Egwene since even before she went to Tar Valon, someone who watched her first learnings and chided her for her early mistakes, and also who knows and understands what’s going on, on a level that seems to be far deeper than most Aes Sedai. Verin sees. And so her praise is worth far more than most. Especially now, when she seems to be so sure that time is short, when she’s making her final play.

Egwene’s still trying to figure out what the hell is even going on here, and…

Oh.

“A number of years ago, I faced a decision. I found myself in a position where I could either take the oaths to the Dark One, or I could reveal that I had actually never wanted—or intended—to do so, whereupon I would have been executed.”

ALL THE SECRETS COME OUT.

DOUBLE AGENT VERIN.

So this was the mistake she alluded to in her thoughts. This is why she’s thought so many times about how sometimes you just have to make the best of the situation you’re given.

“Many would have simply opted for death. I, however, saw this as an opportunity. You see, one rarely has such a chance as this, to study a beast from inside its heart, to see really what makes the blood flow. To discover where all of the little veins and vessels lead. Quite an extraordinary experience.”

“Wait,” Egwene said. “You joined the Black Ajah to study them?”

YES!!!!!!!!!!

VERINNNNN!!!!!!!!!!

THIS IS EVERYTHING I EVER WANTED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The scholar driven by a desire for knowledge, faced with the consequences of that search, and choosing to push forward anyway, to sacrifice herself not by dying but by living, and swearing herself to a cause she never wanted to join, and seeing it as an opportunity. To keep studying them. HOW FUCKING AWESOME IS SHE?

“Tomas. Does he know what you’ve done?”

“He was a Darkfriend himself, child,” Verin said. “Wanting a way out. Well, there really isn’t a way out, not once the Great Lord has his claws in you. But there was a way to fight, to make up a little of what you’ve done. I offered that chance to Tomas, and I believe he was quite grateful to me for it.”

No man can walk so long in the Shadow…I wonder if Ingtar knew.

It’s such a lovely little addition to this whole reveal; Tomas is a fairly minor character, but it adds that extra bit of depth to an already fantastic scene that she found a way to offer him some small form of redemption, by joining her in hers. It ties everything together just that little bit more. There may not be a way out, but there is a way to go forwards, a way to fight.

Verin was a Darkfriend…but not one at the same time.

It’s not so different from Ingtar’s choice, really. It’s just the timeframe that’s different.

“You said he ‘was’ quite grateful to you?”

And, like Ingtar’s choice, I don’t think there’s much chance of this not being a fatal one.

“The oaths one makes to the Great Lord are quite specific,” she finally continued. “And, when they are placed upon one who can channel, they are quite binding. Impossible to break. You can double-cross other Darkfriends, you can turn against the Chosen if you can justify it. Selfishness must be preserved. But you can never betray him.”

I just love the way she gets so cleanly to the heart of it with her observations of the role of selfishness. It explains so much, so neatly. And yet they are all bound, though they claim to set themselves above everyone else; all of them must serve, in the end, but they are so easily manipulated into believing that they rule.

She looked up, meeting Egwene’s eyes. “‘I sear not to betray the Great Lord, to keep my secrets until the hour of my death.’ That was what I promised. Do you see?”

…oh.

Oh, Verin.

The tea is poison and this is her final play. Killing herself in order to betray all of her secrets, because it’s the one loophole open to her. The only way to share the knowledge she spent decades collecting.

Decades of secrecy and evasion, of hiding behind that distracted scholarly mask, of observing, unseen, from within. And it all ends here, in a single hour of honesty, with the captive Amyrlin she can look at and be proud of.

VEEEEEERRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNNNNN

She joined them to stay alive because the alternative was death and now she’s choosing her own death as a way of allowing herself to betray them THIS IS TOO MUCH.

“A curious hole in the oaths,” Verin said softly. “To allow one to effect a betrayal in the final hour of one’s life. I cannot help wondering if the Great Lord knows of it. Why wouldn’t he close that hole?”

Because no one selfish enough to serve him would ever think to use it. Because to use it would be an act of absolute altruism, anathema to any in a position to do so.

Except Verin.

“Perhaps he doesn’t see it as threatening,” Egwene said, opening her eyes. “After all, what kind of Darkfriend would kill themselves in order to advance the greater good? It doesn’t seem the kind of thing his followers would consider.”

What she said.

Or…maybe it’s almost meant as a taunt, a cruel reminder of the cost of betrayal. A way of saying to those who might be considering it, who might be regretting their choice, ‘you can betray me but to do so demands your death’. A loophole kept as a warning sign, and a way of making any who might be wavering turn back.

Egwene shook her head. It seemed such a tragedy. “You come to me to confess, killing yourself in a final quest for redemption?”

Not quite, I don’t think. She wouldn’t waste all those years just to gain peace of mind in a confession. She’s come to share knowledge.

IN THE FORM OF HER NOTEBOOKS.

ALL HER NOTES.

THIS IS GOING TO BE GOOD.

“Every woman in the Brown,” Verin said, “seeks to produce something lasting. Research or study that will be meaningful. Others often accuse us of ignoring the world around us. They think we only look backward. Well, that is inaccurate. If we are distracted, it is because we look forward, toward those who will come. And the information, the knowledge we gather…we leave it for them. The other Ajahs worry about making today better; we yearn to make tomorrow better.”

That, right there, is a perfect and utterly lovely redemption of the stereotype of the scholar. Thank you for this.

The desire to leave something lasting, to not just know but to share that knowledge with those who come after, to lay the foundations for future generations to learn from and to learn beyond. A distractedness that comes not from ignoring the world but from looking to its future. A study of the past or the present for the purpose of that future. This is absolutely beautiful. I want it framed on my wall.

I love Verin so much.

“That tome is the…work. My work. The work of my life.”

The work she is quite literally giving her life for. It’s sad but there’s this sense of absolute triumph to it as well.

“Names, locations, explanations,” Verin said. “Everything I learned about them. About the leaders among the Darkfriends, about the Black Ajah. The prophecies they believe, the goals and motivations of the separate factions. Along with a list, at the back, of every Black Ajah sister I could identify.”

And with that one book, with this one hour, with this single but incredible act of betrayal that should be impossible, she’s just dealt a potentially crippling blow to the Shadow.

It costs her life, but she’s done what so many aspire to: created something that could change the future. All that knowledge she gained, all those years of studying, and now she can leave it in the hands of someone who can use it. She can quite literally hand it to the next generation, leave the knowledge she gathered in the hands of the one who will shape the future. It’s a quite victory, witnessed only by Egwene, but what a victory it is.

I. LOVE. VERIN. SO. MUCH.

I just.

I love this tone of triumphant sadness, of a sacrifice that is the exact opposite of in vain. She’s dying for this, but in doing so she’s achieving the the epitome of her Ajah’s ideals. She’s carrying out the most thorough betrayal the Shadow has perhaps ever seen, and handing Egwene information no other Aes Sedai has even come close to managing to uncover.

Her life’s work is thorough and practical and meaningful and could quite literally help save the world.

“I doubt I caught them all,” Verin said, smiling. “But I think I got the large majority of them. I promise you, Egwene. I can be quitethorough.”

And this is one of those things that could so easily tip over into deus ex machina territory – handing a protagonist a list of everyone in the secret evil organisation that’s been causing problems for the whole series and also several centuries previously, right as we move into the final act? Giving her a list that multiple characters and plotlines have been spent trying to find even part of? – and yet manages to avoid that entirely because of how perfectly Verin’s character has been written since the beginning.

Because this doesn’t even remotely come out of nowhere. This has been seeded from the very start, even if I never would have been able to say that this is specifically what it was going to come to. Verin’s been there almost from the beginning, and she’s been so clearly up to something, yet in a way that never quite reveals exactly what…but the fact that she’s been around, and keeping the reader guessing, makes this kind of reveal work. Because you know that somekind of reveal must be coming. And everything she’s done up until now fits so perfectly in hindsight, and makes absolute sense, and it all feels like a natural and surprising-yet-inevitable end to her storyline.

It doesn’t come out of nowhere; it just finishes and ties off what has been there all along.

Egwene looked down at the books with awe. Incredible! Light, but this was a treasure greater than any king’s hoard. A treasure as great as the Horn of Valere itself. She looked up, tears in her eyes, imagining a life spent among the Black, always watching, recording, and working for the good of all.

“Oh, don’t go doing that,” Verin said.

I mean, if I were someone who cried at books, I’m pretty sure I’d be doing the same.

I’m glad that not only does Verin see and understand and and appreciate all that Egwene has done, when so few others are really in a position to, but Egwene understands just how much Verin has done and sacrificed, and what it means.

“This is worth one woman’s life. Few people have had a chance to create something as useful, and as wonderful, as that book you hold. We all seek to change the future, Egwene. I think I might just have a chance at doing so.”

And I’m glad that Verin herself understands just how much of a victory this is, and sees it as such. This is worth her death, and she knows it, and so there is a sense of peace and acceptance rather than tragedy.

Magic bookmark! I want one.

“I will admit that the poison was a backup plan,” Verin said. “I am not eager for death; there are still things I need to do. Fortunately, I have set several of them in motion to be…seen to, in case I do not return. Regardless, my first plan was to find the Oath Rod, then see if I could use it to remove the Great Lord’s oaths. The Oath Rod appears to have gone missing, unfortunately.”

Saerin, Egwene thought, and the others.

How beautifully ironic. They’re using the Oath Rod to try to find the Black Ajah, but because they have it, a Black Ajah double agent couldn’t use it to free herself of the oaths preventing her from betraying the Black Ajah without killing herself.

Also, the Oath Rod itself seems like a bigger loophole than the ‘hour of my death’ phrasing. Or would a Black sister not be able to voluntarily free herself from her oaths because to do so would be a betrayal of the Dark One? Maybe it only worked with Talene and any others because they didn’t decide to renounce all oaths that bound them; they were forced to? Otherwise it seems like a huge vulnerability, to swear Black Ajah members to these binding oaths but leave them free to unbind themselves should they so choose.

Verin, at least, seems to think it might not have worked, even if she hoped it would.

What are the other oaths they take, I wonder?

“One of the Chosen is in the Tower, child. It’s Mesaana, I’m certain of it. I had hoped to be able to bring you the name she was hiding under, but the two times I met with her, she was shrouded to the point that I couldn’t tell.”

I mean, I think you can be forgiven for not uncovering the secret identity of the Forsaken you’ve identified in the Tower, given everything else you’ve done, Verin. I’m also anything but sure of who Mesaana’s hiding as. I suspected the Brown who helped Elaida with the coup, but now I can’t even remember her name (which is kind of unlike me; I have crap memory for people’s names IRL but I’m great with fictional characters) so that tells you how sure I am.

“So many decisions you must make, for one so young.” […]

“Thank you, Verin. Thank you for choosing me to carry this burden.”

Verin smiled faintly. “You did very well with the previous tidbits I gave you. That was quite the interesting situation. The Amyrlin commanded that I give you information to hunt the Black sisters who fled the Tower, so I had to comply, even though the leadership of the Black was frustrated by the order. I wasn’t supposed to give you the dreaming ter’angreal, you know. But I’ve always had a feeling about you.”

It is a lovely way of bringing so many things full circle here. Egwene being set to hunt the Black Ajah all the way back in TDR, and Verin giving her the information, and choosing to trust her with the dream ter’angreal…and now Verin coming to her, and choosing to trust her with her life’s work and her secret and her redemption, and handing her the key to the puzzle she was set to all that time ago.

And this whole scene has been full of this sense of mutual recognition and understanding and respect between them; Verin of what Egwene has done and Egwene of what Verin is doing here, with her last act, and what it means.

So much trust, and oh, how it is rewarded.

Trust usually is, in these books, on the rare occasions that it happens.

“You will be Amyrlin. I’m confident of it. And an Amyrlin should be well armed with knowledge. That, among all things, is the most sacred duty of the Brown—to arm the world with knowledge.”

HAVE I MENTIONED THAT LOVE THIS? BECAUSE I LOVE THIS. THIS IS SO GOOD. It’s just a slight…shifting of angles, in a sense, on the usual perception of Browns, but it casts so much in a different light, and it’s beautiful. We’ve almost exclusively seen the Brown from an outside perspective, and they almost always are portrayed as distracted, esoteric, intelligent but more caught up in knowledge than in anything ‘useful’, absentminded…and Verin doesn’t contradict that so much as shine a light on everything behind it. She gives the Brown Ajah depth, and with that, purpose and meaning and value. To arm the world with knowledge. That is a sacred duty, and a necessary one, whatever the knowledge may be.

It’s what Rand himself was trying to do, by setting up his schools in order to try to preserve something against another Breaking of the World.

And it’s just so, so nice to see, after twelve books of fond disdain for the Brown Ajah. To have them redeemed this way, illuminated this way. To have the narrative itself illustrate the fallacy of such a limited view of scholarship and knowledge.

“I’m still one of them. Please see that they know, although the word Black may brand my name forever, my soul is Brown. Tell them…”

“I will, Verin,” Egwene promised. “But your soul is not Brown. I can see it.” Her eyes fluttered open, meeting Egwene’s, a frown creasing her forehead.

“Your soul is of a pure white, Verin,” Egwene said softly, “Like the Light itself.”

Verin smiled, and her eyes closed.

Ahhhhhhhh.

What a perfect farewell to such a fantastic character.

It’s a completely different context and manner of death, but it still puts me in mind of Ingtar, and his final redemption. The way his last words were ‘for the Light, and Shinowa’ as he turned at last away from the Shadow, after Rand offered him understanding and his blessing and, through that, redemption. Egwene does something similar here, in promising to let the others know the truth—and what a beautifully sad last request that is, to have done so much and to just want it known that she was truly of her Ajah, that she did what she did in the service of the Light—and in that last evocation of the Light, and the sense of peace it brings.

Goodbye, Verin. You were every kind of awesome and you will be missed. But damn, what a way to go.

It felt callous to double-check, but there were some poisons which could make one appear to be dead and breathe only very shallowly, and if Verin had wanted to trick Egwene and point a finger at the wrong sisters, this would have been a wonderful method. Callous indeed to double-check, and it made Egwene feel sick, but she was Amyrlin. She did that which was difficult and considered all possibilities.

Callous, but good to be certain. She trusts Verin, and admits and accepts that trust…but that doesn’t stop her from doing the pragmatic thing just in case. And yet – perhaps more importantly – her ability to do the pragmatic thing, and her consideration of all possibilities, does not prevent her from trusting. She doesn’t step across that line into paranoia; she’ll check because it’s a possibility she should be sure to eliminate, but she will also trust. She’ll do the callous thing when necessary, but she doesn’t allow that callousness to become her only mode.

Her heart trusted Verin, although her mind wanted to be certain.

That’s a good way of putting it, actually. And she can balance those two, rather than blocking one off. No point not double-checking, but she can use that as a way to affirm her instinctive want to trust, rather than as a way of rejecting it completely.

All in all, they’re each incredibly lucky the other turned out to be worthy of that trust, aren’t they? If Verin were Black Ajah in purpose as well as in name, or if Egwene were truly powerless or incompetent, that could have gone very badly for one or both of them.

And now she has a babysitter again. Good timing, all things considered; she could have shown up five minutes ago and then where would they be? Still, I can absolutely sympathise with Egwene’s annoyance at someone interrupting what otherwise promises to be a solid chunk of reading time.

Slow clap to Egwene for managing to hide a bodyin half-truths.

She would simply have to wait. And read.

And RAFO.

Kind of literally.

She shoved aside the longing to embrace the Power and create a ball of light by which to read. She’d have to be satisfied with the single candle’s flame.

There’s something about this that feels rather…fitting. Symbolic, even. The Amyrlin Seat, the Flame of Tar Valon, dedicated to the victory of the Light, imprisoned and effectively powerless but for a single candle’s flame, with which to reveal the secrets that will help her bring down the Shadow. She doesn’t need enormous power, or a force of light; she will make do with a single candle’s flame. One candle against the Shadow, but it can be enough.

Especially contrasted against Natrin’s Barrow, just before this. Where all the light the Dragon Reborn with the Choedan Kal could summon couldn’t seem to keep the Shadow at bay and, if anything, seemed only to help it.

I just like the contrast of images, and of the moods the evoke. Rand, illuminated to the extent that he looks like little more than Power and light made flesh, and yet everything about it is cold and frightening and ominous. And then Egwene, quiet and unable to channel and alone in a dark room with nothing but a candle, and yet there is a sense of hope and energy and victory, of a much-needed true victory for the Light. Even if it is only a small candle against so much darkness, it is enough.

She’s gone straight to the list of names at the back of the book—I guess Egwene doesn’t share my aversion to spoilers.

Katerine, Alviarin, Elza, Galina, Sheriam…all names we already know, so far.

Steel yourself, Egwene, she thought, continuing to read down the list.

Steel yourself, as she reads through a list of women’s names. How…perfect. That has to be deliberate.

(A list of dead women’s names, one could argue; it seems unlikely most of them will be allowed to live).

She worked through the feelings of betrayal, the bitterness and the regret. She would not let emotions get in the way of her duty.

Here, again, we have a slight similarity to Rand that is actually more of a difference. True, she steels herself against the names on the list, hardens herself to face them. But more accurate, perhaps, to say she prepares herself to face them. She knows it will be hard, knows it will hurt – it already does; some of those names are already shocking or painful. This is not an easy task. And she also knows she can’t let emotion overcome her, or get in the way.

But she doesn’t shut it out. She works through the feelings of betrayal. She allows them to exist, and processes them, acknowledges them before setting them aside. She lets herself feel, even as she reminds herself to not let that get in the way of what she must do. It’s not a binary switch, a complete suppression of emotion to the point where she denies even its existence. She’s just…doing something difficult, but something that must be done. It hurts, and that’s part of it, and she can steel herself against it to some extent, but she doesn’t try to block it off entirely. She just has to get through it.

There’s a difference between setting aside emotion in order to approach something rationally and trying to shut it off altogether in an attempt to avoid the pain it causes.

Her role as Amyrlin demands that she read these names, and deal with the truths they reveal, and figure out what to do about it. And so she will, and she’ll do that even though it hurts Egwene to have to read them. But she doesn’t deny that part of her that is Egwene, that part of her that does hurt. She just works through it and puts it to one side for now, because now is a time for being Amyrlin.

Moria? Isn’t she the one who convinced the rebel Hall to vote in favour of an alliance with the Black Tower? Damn. I liked her; that was a good speech.

Each name was like a thorn through Egwene’s skin.

At least it’s not (yet) a white-hot line of fire across her soul.

I have to say, it’s not easy to make a character reading a list into an interesting or engaging scene, but this is well done. There’s a palpable sense of tension running through this whole section, even if most of it is simply names strung together with brief interludes of Egwene’s thoughts on them. It draws the reader’s focus alongside Egwene’s; we’re seeing these names through her eyes, an relentless assault of name after name that she has to confront, some of which area easy or mean very little, and some of which are harder, but she can’t dwell on them. The fact that we do only get those brief thoughts from her, before returning to the list of names, helps drive this feeling of urgency and also of…Egwene trying to hold herself together, in a way. Of pushing through and steeling herself and having to just keep reading, keep confronting truth after truth, trying to keep herself rational and calm and together.

So Elaida is not Black Ajah. Or at least, Verin was all but sure she isn’t. That’s no more surprising to me than it is to Egwene, but it’s good to have sort-of-confirmation.

Hi Nicola. Perfect timing yet again – both interruptions have come exactly when they’ll be the least incriminating or disruptive. First right after Verin died, and now right as Egwene has finished reading and hidden the books.

Hidden notes in the food; we’re deep into intrigue territory now.

And now Meidani stops by…and the ruse is up. Verin is very obviously dead and Meidani is understandably a bit ‘um what the fuck why is there a dead Aes Sedai in your bed’.

“Verin Sedai was poisoned by a Darkfriend shortly before her conversation with me. She was aware of the poison, and came to pass on some important information to me during her last moments.”

I love half-truths. An elegant lie spoken with not a single untrue word is honestly a thing of beauty.

Meidani paled, then looked at Egwene, likely wondering how she could be so callous. Good. Let her see the collected, determined Amyrlin. As long as she didn’t see a hint of the grief, confusion, and anxiety inside.

She can be that collected, determined Amyrlin…but she also doesn’t deny that the rest exists beneath that surface, even as she maintains it. She can hold a separation that isn’t a true denial or suppression. She can be callous when necessary, but she can also still feel that grief and confusion and anxiety.

And she also doesn’t spend time hating herself for having to be callous when callousness is necessary, because she accepts that necessity. She may not like it, but she doesn’t turn it against herself, doesn’t direct that pain inwards as some kind of punishment. Whereas I think part of the reason Rand has reached a point where the only way he can endure is to deny all feeling whatsoever, and simply accept that he is damned and there’s no point trying to save any part of himself, is that he internalised too much of that anger and pain at what he had to do, turned it into self-loathing and used it to punish himself for what he must do. And so now the only way he can be callous when needed and do what is necessary is by becoming that entirely; otherwise, the pain of his self-hatred at having to do any of it becomes too much. Easier to just accept that he’s damned and have done with it; he still hates himself but now he doesn’t have to fight against it.

Whereas Egwene doesn’t allow necessity to develop into that sharp-edged self-hatred, because she understands that it is simply necessity, and that she, Egwene, is still there beneath it. She can work through the emotions she feels and set them aside when needed, but she doesn’t spend time inflicting pain on herself as punishment for what she must do. Instead she embraces the pain she must endure, because she can hold onto the knowledge that she is doing all of this for a purpose, that there is a reason for both the pain and for the harder things she has to do, and that it will be worth it. That she’s fighting for something important enough to make those things worthwhile.

That all makes far more sense in my head than I can seem to get it to on paper but I tried.

Meidani’s basically here to act as a news feed: Elaida’s still Amyrlin but the Hall is pissed off, mostly.

“They informed Elaida that the Amyrlin was not an absolute ruler, and that she couldn’t continue to make decrees and demands without consulting them.”

Must—not—make—political—analogy—

“[Saerin] also noted that your own insistence that the Red Ajah not be allowed to fall—spread by a group of novices who overheard you—was part of what kept Elaida from being deposed.”

Sucks when doing the right thing makes your life harder. And yet she couldn’t have done anything else; she is here to heal the Tower and she cannot let another Ajah be broken apart if she is to do that. This is just a test of her resolve, really.

It smelled of a compromise; Elaida had probably met in closed conference with the head of the Red Ajah—whoever that was, now that Galina had vanished—hashing out the details. Silviana wuld still be punished, although not as strongly, but Elaida would submit to the will of the Hall.

But at least the government will remain open and the Aes Sedai won’t have to work without pay.

So not a perfect outcome, but it definitely seems as if things are tipping, slowly but more and more, towards Egwene. Though this may have played out too soon; it wasn’t quite enough to push Elaida over completely, and now the issue has been resolved, so there will have to be something else to push them again.

Luckily – for a given definition of luck – Tuon seems to have set something in motion that could do precisely that…

Given just a little more time, Egwene was confident she could get the woman overturned and the Tower reunited. But dared she spend that time?

She glanced at the table, where the precious books lay hidden from eyes. If she staged a mass assault on the Black Ajah, would that precipitate a battle?

Somehow I don’t think you’re going to be given the chance to find out. I’m not precisely sure how Egwene’s timeline lines up with Tuon and Rand’s, but I rather doubt, given the pace this book is setting, that Egwene’s going to be given much time to consider how to proceed before events decide it for her.

“I want you to report to the others. They must take Alviarin into captivity and test her with the Oath Rod. Tell them to take any reasonable risk to achieve it.”

Or not. Alright then. Egwene’s not wasting any time.

She may not be able to act on all of Verin’s information immediately, but she certainly isn’t going to just sit on it and wait for some sort of opportune moment. Fair enough; this is important enough and bigger than any personal goals she may have. Once again she’s putting the Tower ahead of herself: it’s not about becoming Amyrlin or gaining power for her own ends; it’s about healing the Tower and part of that, now, means taking the steps she is now in a position to take to eliminate the Black Ajah if she can. She’s not going to wait until it would give her a strategic advantage if she can do something about it now. And that is impressive. It would be so easy to hold everything back, to wait and make it part of a play for power. And maybe it still will be, but if it is, it won’t be because she’s withholding information or delaying acting for the sake of her own goals. It will be because that coincides with what she can do for the Tower in any given moment.

“It’s well known that [Nicola]’s one of your greatest advocates among the novices.”

It was odd to hear that of a woman who had effectively betrayed her, but the girl couldn’t really be blamed for that, all things considered.

How easily she can brush off that betrayal, now.

It’s growth even from Honey in the Tea, when the thing that broke Egwene’s determined calm was seeing Beonin and thinking Beonin must have been the one to betray her. Now, she’s moved past the point where it matters who betrayed her and why, because because again, it’s not about her, and holding a grudge against a novice won’t help the Tower, so what’s the point?

So Egwene sets Meidani to the task of ensuring that Alviarin is captured…and then just tells her essentially ‘oh and hide the body on your way out’. Bless.

And then she puts herself to sleep for a quick dream visit. Now that her bed is vacated of the corpse. I just…wow, Egwene. Wow. She has things to do and a Tower to heal, and she’s not going to let anything stand in her way. Or lay down and die in her way, as the case may be.

While she waits, she’s following all the possible trains of thought regarding Sheriam being Black Ajah, which basically results in a mess of what-ifs pretty much designed to cause system overload.

I do like the way we get a full three paragraphs of it; it conveys the full sense of both how tangled everything can get when you know even one person is Black Ajah, and the sense of panicked back-tracking trying to find all the possible places that could have had an effect, and also the sheer overwhelming impossibility of doing any such thing…but the difficulty of switching off that line of thinking, once you’ve started it.

What of Egwene’s own rise to power? How many of the Shadow’s strings did she dance on without knowing it?

That way lies madness, Egwene.

This is an exercise in futility, she told herself firmly. Don’t go down that path.

I should have just turned the page. But yes, that. It’s so easy to get caught up in that tangle of hypotheticals to the point where you paralyse yourself in terms of doing anything at all for fear of making things worse…but that’s not going to help anyone. She can’t look back; all she can do is look forward with more information now than she had before, and try to make the most of the situation she finds herself in. Trying to figure out all the possible ways in which she was pushed into it is tempting, but ultimately isn’t going to help her get anywhere. Find the winning move based on where the pieces are now, rather than wasting time trying to figure out how they got there.

For a moment, she felt herself to be the country girl many thought her to be. If Elaida had been a pawn for the Blacks, then so had she. Light! How the Dark One must have laughed to see two rival Amyrlins, each with one of his loyal minions at her side, pitting them against one another.

It is good that she can recognise this, though. She can’t afford to dwell on it, but she’s not arrogant enough to think that she’s somehow exempt from this manipulation. And there is a bit of anger at herself here…but she fairly quickly shifts it and refocuses it outwards rather than inwards, into determination rather than self-destruction:

Whatever his plan, she would fight him. Resist him. Spit in his eye, even if he won, just as the Aiel said.

There’s nothing she can do about what has already happened except learn from it and keep fighting, and find a way to move forward, find a way to turn what she has now into a position of strength.

“Siuan,” she said curtly. “You may want to summon yourself a chair. Something has happened.”

Siuan frowned. “What?”

“First off, Sheriam and Moria are Black Ajah.”

Don’t waste any time there. She did tell Siuan to summon up a chair, I suppose she figures that’s warning enough. I’m with you, Egwene, I hate small talk when there’s shit to be done.

“I need time to plan and think, an evening perhaps.”

An evening to process several decades’ worth of spying and research and a near-comprehensive list of hundreds of Aes Sedai who secretly serve the Shadow and to figure out how best to deal with all of that doesn’t seemlike too much to ask, especially as she’s not even getting any kind of overtime pay, but this genre being what it is…not sure you’re even going to get that much, Egwene. Think fast.

“This could be dangerous.”

And the award for UNDERSTATEMENT OF THE AGE goes to  SIUAN FUCKING SANCHE.

“Are you still captive?”

“Not exactly. Elaida has—” Egwene hesitated, frowning to herself. Something was wrong.

You’ll have to be more specific, Egwene. The list of things that are wrong could fill Verin’s journals several times over.

Oh.

Shit.

She didn’t even get ten minutes, much less an evening.

Nicola shaking her arm. “Mother,” she was saying. “Mother!” 

The girl had a bloody gash on her cheek. Egwene sat up sharply, and at that moment the entire Tower shook as if from an explosion.

And it was shaping up to be such a quiet, relaxing, peaceful evening.

Oh shit she can’t channel, can she? That’s uh….Bad.

It wasn’t Tarmon Gai’don, but it was nearly as bad. The Seanchan had finally attacked the White Tower, just as Egwene had Dreamed.

And she couldn’t channel enough Power to light a candle, let alone fight back.

GODDAMN IT SANDERSON THESE CLIFFHANGER CHAPTER ENDINGS ARE KILLING ME. Have some mercy for those of us who make terrible life choices and decide to liveblog these books!

Next (TGS ch 40) Previous (TGS ch 38)

[laisselfreemaiden]

Grandmother’s Ring p.2

Pairing: I have it decided but ;)

Warnings: Cursing and...idk honestly I forget. Is genderneutral friend a warning?? Idk probably not oops

Summary: Your grandmother left you a silver ring. What happens when you find a new world after it’s yours?

A/n: I have a genderneutral friend for you in here, but if I missed a they/them in there please let me know, I’ve never used those for a single character before so it’s weird for me to get used to ^^; and I made your interactions and nicknames like how I talk to my friends so sorry!

    You wake up ten minutes before your alarm goes off, making you groan and roll over with your face in your pillow. You have no idea what could have woken you up, but something had. And it feels horrible because you were in the middle of a good dream, too. Rubbing your eyes, you decide to just get up for work. You shut off your alarm, put on your black pants and off-white t-shirt, then grab your bag and head out the door. You say goodbye to your cat, scratching behind her ears, then lock the door behind you. Your best friend is waiting outside in his car for you, texting on his phone as you slam the door shut.

    “Who you texting?” You lean over his shoulder with a grin, seeing “Beautiful<3” in the chat.

    “Just Mac. Ready to serve coffee and candy to people for like...five hours?”

    Your eyes roll. “How are they, anyway? And no, it’s gonna suck ass, but at least I get good enough tips.”

    He smiles and starts driving to the cafe you work at. Mac and Jace have been your friends since middle school and you are definitely their biggest cheerleader when it came to their relationship. Mac is a huge sweetie, but they’ll kick ass if anyone messes with you or their boyfriend. They may be a shorty, but they are absolutely your bodyguard.

    You thank Jace for the ride and head inside, seeing Mac already handing out different coffees and chocolates to a small family. They shoot you a smile and wink as they put the money in the register.

    “Hey, baby girl, ready to work for your living?”

    “No,” you laugh softly as you wrap an arm over their shoulders. “But it can’t be so bad if you’re here.”

    Mac laughs softly at that, then pats your shoulder gently. “I’m glad to see you’re back to normal.”

    It’s been two days since the funeral, four since your grandmother passed, and almost a week of you being in a depressive slump. You’re not sure what had broken it, maybe having some of her things have helped. Like her ring. It’s an oddly comfortable weight against your chest.

    “Yo, you feel okay, babes?” Mac nudges your arm, then snaps next to your ear.

    You jump on instinct. “Ah! Um, s-sorry, I guess I spaced out.”

    They smirk. “Thinkin’ about a booooy~?” The teasing lilt in their voice doesn’t go unnoticed. “Aw, did he even get you a ring?” 

    When they reach for it, you playfully swat at their hands. They pout and whimper, cradling their hand like you’d actually hit them.

    “Hey! I have paper skin!” You know that’s a joke, so you shoot back at them.

    You roll your eyes. “Yeah, just as thin as your lies, isn’t it?”

    They grin at you, leaning against the counter as you start making orders. “So? Where’s the ring from?”

    “Apparently,” you hand off a latte and make change real quick, “my grandmother had it hidden away for me. Weird note, too, she played a pronoun game.”

    “So...you’re either gonna meet a mentor or horrible evil villain. Can I tag along?” They laugh softly again.

    “Yeah...I also knocked myself out, too, and woke up in a weird place. Really pretty, like something out of National Geographic.”

    They whistle lowly. “Trippy. Sure it wasn’t just a dream?”

    You shrug. “Something hit my head and I still have a bruise. Though maybe that’s from hitting the floor.”

    “And no concussion? Maybe it’s a lucky ring!” Their mouth forms an ‘o’.

    “I don’t believe in luck or magic like that, remember?” You playfully flick them, earning a laugh.

    “Cuz you’re boring!”

    “Hey!” Your manager snaps. “Maybe try working instead of chatting!”

    “Sorry,” you both say in unison.

    “Regardless,” they say as you both start working the machines. “It’s a beautiful ring.”

    “Yeah, thanks, Mac ‘n’ Cheese.”

    You and Mac work for about two or three hours until your break, when the both of you went outside to wait for Jace to pick you up for food. Well, he’d pick up food and bring it to you both. That’s his assigned job, according to Mac. He doesn’t seem to mind, though, since that means he can sneak food from your bags while he drives.

    When he steps out with two bags of food, Mac grabs their favorite before pecking his cheek. You smile. They really are cute together.

    “So, my two amigos,” Jace says casually as all of you sit on the steps, “who’s excited for the extended weekend tomorrow?”

    “Extended?” You tilt your head curiously. Why didn’t you know about this?

    Mac makes a noise around a mouthful of food. Then they mumble something with sporadic hand gestures and acting like you could understand them. You blink a few times before looking at Jace.

    He chuckles, ruffling their hair gently. “Boss called Mac last night and said that since Monday was a holiday, you guys could just take off the weekend and Monday.”

    You shake your head. “Nah, man, I gotta work Monday, or else my mom will find out and I’ll have to do God knows what.”

    “But we were gonna do Three Amigos shit!” Mac cries out after swallowing.

    “Sorry, babes, I can’t.” You say with a sigh. “You know how she is.”

    “She just cares about you, Y/n.” Jace leans back slightly. “When your dad just...disappeared, you know she basically only had you. And you only have her.”

    You get up and throw your trash away before heading back inside. “No. I have you guys. And I had my grandmother.”

    Monday has been the second worse day of your life. You flop face first on your bed and scream into a pillow. Not only was your manager an absolute dickhead, some idiot let their child sit on the counter and then the child almost threw their hot coffee at you. So, your work shirt is ruined, your head is pounding, and you really, really wish that you could fall asleep and wake up somewhere different. Anywhere different. You’d even take The Hunger Games at this point.

    Rolling onto your back, you feel the cold metal of the ring slide from your neck to rest above your shoulder. You hadn’t even noticed its weight all day. You close your eyes just to rest a few minutes. Just a few. Didn’t you deserve that? 

    When something whispers around you, you groan, wondering if Mac and Jace had let themselves in again. You keep your eyes closed, seeing if you can gauge where the voice is whispering from, but you can’t. It seems to be almost everywhere but nowhere near you. So, you sit up, wondering if you’d summoned a demon or ghost at any point in your life at this apartment. Nothing. The whispers haven’t stopped yet, though, but the voices seem to be coming...from the ring and your closet, which sunlight seems to be streaming from.

    “What the hell...I have to be losing it, right?” You mutter to yourself, getting up to walk closer. May be a stupid thing to do, but your closet is literally glowing by now.

    You put your hand into a beam of light. It’s warm, a stark contrast to the world outside and your apartment. If the landlord would turn up the damn heat.

    “If this takes me to Narnia, I’m gonna flip my shit,” you mutter, opening your closet and covering your eyes before the light could blind you.

    When you open your eyes, you’re greeted by green grass and warm sunlight. Your changed hair is in a loose braid and your clothes are slightly different, but you know it’s the same place. The smell of coffee is still on your skin and hair, but it’s almost completely masked by the pure smell of the world around you. No polluted air from factories, no global warming. It’s just...perfect.

    Taking a deep breath, you find yourself on the hill overlooking the town of curly haired people. You quickly made your way down, only to find that the tallest are nearly a head shorter than you, and you’re not really that tall. Their feet are bare and fuzzy and their faces are merry, but a bit dirty. Their clothes are bright as well.

    “No way…” you mutter before running to see if what you think is real.

    You stop abruptly at the sight of a curly haired man in a yellow vest smoking a pipe. He looks at you in surprise as the need to fix your outfit grows.

    “Good morning,” he says politely. “Can I help you, miss?”

    “Umm…” you trail off as you pretend you aren’t having an existential crisis. “C-can you...tell me where I am?”

    Bilbo gives you a confused look. “The Shire. Bag-End, to be precise. Are you alright? You look flushed.”

    Not willing to admit you believe you’ve probably died, you nod and squeak out, “I’m fine.”

    He taps his pipe with his index finger as he wiggles his nose in thought. “Well...I was just about to make some tea. Would you...like to join me? It might settle your nerves.”

    Tea with a hobbit. Not just any hobbit, either. The one and only Bilbo Baggins of Bag-End, who finds the One Ring and goes on incredible journeys and is one of your favorite characters, mostly because of his sarcasm and how he’d rather stay home than go out.

     You follow him in and you just fit under his lights, which surprises you. Maybe the magic also made you shrink a little. Honestly, you have no idea what the rules of this world are really.

    “Please, sit. What kind of cake is your favorite? I will see if I have any.”

    You blank for a moment, blinking a few times before you snap to your senses. “Oh! Ah, yes, um...if you have...um, any strawberry cake?”

    He smiles, nodding. “Lucky you, I went a bought a few today at the market.” He then disappears into his larder room.

    You slump down in your chair, sighing heavily as you try to grasp everything that’s happening.

    Let’s start from the beginning. One, you got your grandmother’s silver ring. Two, you went home after work. Three, your closet was glowing and you walked through. Which probably was stupid in theory. What if it had just been a really bright light? That would’ve been a prank Mac would pull on you. Four, you somehow have made your way into MIDDLE EARTH OF ALL PLACES from that closet. Has it always been there?

    Come to think of it...all these crazy things only started when you got the ring.

    You sit up more as Bilbo comes back with a tray of tea and cakes. You’d have to think more about this later. Up until you saw the cakes, you didn’t realize how hungry you are.

    You’ll think more about this with a full stomach.

[hxbbit]

Walk The Line Pt. IV

Part I   Part II    Part III  Part V   Part VI

Words: ~ 2.2k Warnings: Some smut, sexting, a little bit internal angst

Jake was seemingly relieved to see you safe and sound at home again, but he didn't say anything. He knew how you felt and he respected that, even if he was not okay with it.

And for that you loved Jake, but again, it also made you feel so incredibly guilty.

If you would tell him what you were up to once you got away from him, he would deem you mad, he wouldn't understand and – hell – you can't blame him, because you didn't even understand it either.

The only thing you knew for sure, was that you wanted more. You needed more.

And if anyone had told you that you'd ever be sleeping with the enemy, you would've called them crazy. But here you were. Having had sex twice with him, and even worse, you had loved it.

No one had ever fucked you like him. No one had ever made you cum like him.

Just thinking about your encounters made your nether regions tingle, but you tried to ignore it.

But that didn't work for long, because it seemed like Donald Pierce wanted to make this even harder on you.

I can't stop thinking about you riding my cock.

That was the first message he sent you later that night.

You didn't know what to reply, but fuck, you couldn't stop thinking about it either.

You wanted to repeat all of that, so that's what you told him.

I need you inside me again.

Simple, but definitely getting the point across.

But not too soon, we don't want your little friend to get suspicious.

Don't want him to know you're being a very bad girl.

He texted back and you could literally hear his voice in your head, laced with that signature smirk of his.

You sighed, frustrated. He was playing a game with you.

He wanted you to want him. And it worked. Because you wanted him like no one else.

We'll be moving again tomorrow, but I'm sure I can show you afterwards what a bad girl I really am when I take that big cock into my mouth and swallow every drop of your cum.

Two can play this game, so you decided to turn the tables on him.

You felt yourself getting wet just thinking about it. Thinking about him.

But you had to wait and you had to be patient. You tried taking deep breaths, trying to calm down and trying not to think about him any more.

One of the downsides of being on the run with someone was the constant company.

If you had been alone right now, you would've slipped your hand into your panties and touched yourself, thinking about Donald Pierce. Probably reaching orgasm in a matter of a few minutes, because just thinking about him and your previous encounters got you so aroused.

But because that was not the case and Jake was just sitting a few feet away from you, you just had to endure the aching feeling between your thighs.

And Pierce most likely knew that.

I can't fucking wait.

That was the last thing he texted that night and you didn't feel like this needed a response. So you just put the phone away and tried not to think about it anymore.

The next day you did like you had told Pierce. You were moving again.

Jake convinced you to go further inland this time, so you were not that close to the US border.

You agreed that it was a good plan, but it also meant traveling more, which was always exhausting even when the distances were relatively short.

Because you always had to be vigilant. Always on the look-out and that always made you so tense.

The only thing you had to look forward to, was meeting Don again.

And in your head, you scolded yourself for thinking that.

You were not supposed to be excited about meeting your enemy.

And it wasn't that he was just your enemy. He was Jake's, too. He had tried to kill him just as many times as Pierce had tried to kill you.

So this also felt like betrayal. Like you were betraying Jake.

But here you were, practically the only thing keeping you going during this long day, was meeting Donald Pierce again.

And not just meeting him, but having sex with him.

You knew you should break it off. But you couldn't, not yet at least. Your cravings were not yet satiated.

Once settled in your new home, you texted Pierce.

Where are you? You knew that he must've followed you, so he probably was around, it was only a matter of where exactly he was.

Around the corner.

He quickly answered you.

You bit your lip, not knowing how you could approach it so Jake would let you go.

“I'm going out for fifteen minutes, just checking out the area”, you just told him and before he could even really answer you, you were already out the door. Not wanting to engage in a long discussion once again.

You went around the corner that Pierce must have meant and you could already see his black Jeep standing on the side of the road.

You walked up to it with with a quick pace and then immediately got in.

“I don't have much time, I told Jake I'd be back in fifteen minutes”, you quickly let out.

“Hello to you, too, baby”, he grinned, clearly enjoying how eager you seemed.

Without another word you leaned over and kissed him hungrily.

His hands came up to your face, cradling it with his hands while yours trailed down his body, getting to work on his belt buckle.

Once belt, button and zipper were all open, you reached inside, very pleased to feel that he was already hard for you.

You slowly started moving your hand up and down his length still inside his boxers, making him moan into your mouth.

You then released his lips and pushed his pants and underwear so far down that his cock was free.

Starting to pump him again you looked at him with a wicked smile as his brows started to furrow and a deep moan fell from his lips.

“I'm gonna be making good on my promise”, you said, before leaning down and slowly circling your tongue around the tip of his rock-hard cock.

Immediately his breath hitched and you loved how his body reacted to your ministrations.

You let your tongue run up and down his length a couple of times, before closing your lips around the tip, sucking on it just a little bit before releasing him again. Teasing him.

By now Donald had his left hand tangled in your hair, gathered up loosely in a pony tail, while his right hand rested on your back.

“Fuck, baby, you're gonna kill me if you keep doing that”, he then said and you could hear the strain in his voice.

You decided to give him what he wanted, slowly taking him into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and then moving up again.

You kept doing that, taking your hand to work in tandem with your mouth and you loved how moans and groans escaped his mouth every time you took him deep into your mouth.

You also noticed how his right hand traveled lower on your back, squeezing your ass, metal fingers digging into your flesh, before moving even further and slipping them between your legs.

You were also now letting out a moan that was obviously muffled by his cock deep in your mouth, but the vibrations of it in your throat added even more pleasure for him.

Every once in a while you decided to take him as deep as you could, hitting the back of your throat and nearly making you gag, before you pulled him out again.

“Shit, your mouth feels so good around my cock”, he muttered in that Southern accents that you loved so much.

His robotic hand between your legs, started to run circles over your clothed clit, the slightest touch was enough to make you shiver and moan.

And by now you could also feel that he was getting closer to his release.

His hips started to move with you and especially when you were taking him in deep, his hips seemed to buck up more or less involuntarily, pushing in all the way.

The grip in your hair increasing, while also helping you to move up and down his length.

His other hand still working on your clit through your jeans, and just because of that, you were already also so close.

“Baby, I'm close”, he then breathed out, barely above a whisper, but loud enough for you to hear.

You increased your speed a bit and he did the same with his hand and you were also close to your own orgasm, but first you wanted him to finish.

His breathing became labored, heavy.

And it only took a few more seconds and you knew he was about to come. You took him in deep once more, the tip hitting the back of your throat, before he spilled his seed and like you had promised him, you swallowed every drop.

Then it only took a few more movement of his fingers for you to come, too, finally allowing yourself to reach your peak after having kept your promise. It wasn't your most intense orgasm, but you took your pleasure from his.

You let go of his cock and slowly sat up again.

You looked at Donald. His head was leaning against the head rest, eyes closed, breathing heavy as he started to tuck himself back in.

He then opened his eyes and looked at you.

“You really are one bad and dirty girl”, he smirked, before moving closer to capture your lips into a deep kiss, moving his tongue against yours before you moved back.

“I have to go”, you whispered before connecting your lips again for another kiss.

Again you were the one to break the kiss.

“No you don't. Just come with me”, he then said.

“What?” You had no idea where this was suddenly coming from. Go with him and what? Abandon your best friend? Run away together in some modern, twisted version of Romeo and Juliet?

“I could make you feel so good if only you came with me. No more running, no more run-down houses, no more fear”, he more or less explained, but you still didn't know why he was suddenly saying these things.

But the words itself didn't scare you as much as your reaction to them. You wanted to say yes. You wanted to stop running, you wanted to live in a normal home again and you wanted to stop living in constant fear. However, that wasn't what you feared most. The thing you feared most that you wanted those things with him. Your enemy.

At what cost, though? Leaving your friend to fend for himself? Leaving your best friend without even saying goodbye, without an explanation?

No, you couldn't do that.

“You know I can't do that”, you then slowly whispered, not trying to look into his eyes while you told him that. You didn't want to see his reaction.

“But you want to”, he whispered back and you heard a hint of amusement in his voice.

You didn't know what else to tell him, so you just stayed quiet, now looking up at him again.

He seemed to understand, because he nodded his head, a small smirk on his lips.

Pierce knew what this was when you started.

You knew that no matter how great the sex might be right now or how much you actually started to enjoy each others company, there was only one possible outcome. Pain.

There was no happy ending.

However, you could enjoy this as long as it lasted – and as long as the guilt didn't eat you alive.

And right now you also had no clue how you could ever quit this; quit him.

It scared you how quickly your feelings of fear changed into something else. How quickly you started to feel a closeness towards him.

You then reached out for his hand, his metal one, and took it into yours.

He first glanced down at your joined hands, before he then put his human hand on top of yours, squeezing slightly.

It was a soft gesture. A gentle gesture. And somehow it meant so much more. It showed you both that this – somehow – was more than just sex.

“You should go now”, he then brought out, pulling his hands back slowly, and you nodded.

You pressed your lips against his once more before opening the car door and heading back to your new home.

You hated how leaving him made you feel. You didn't want to have feelings for him. You didn't want to feel like this. You wished that this could only be sex, but you knew the second you had left him for the first time, that this was going to be more. So much more and so different from anything you had ever experienced before.

He had his hooks deep inside your flesh and they were about to dig into your heart, too.

yall i honestly didnt think i would write another chapter and by now probably no one cares about it anymore lmao, but i just want to finish something for once in my life. so i think ill write like two more chapters and then bring it to an end. thank you so much for all the kind words and compliments on the previous chapters.

im just gonna tag some ppl that have previously replied to the chapters, just in case anyone is still wanting to read this, if you want me to remove you just shoot me a message!

@missphanosaur18 @crazyfreckledginger @nicetrytopredictme @star-girl-pryde @aint-he-dreamy @myweirdfangirlstuff @smoogey @prettieparker86 @helofluffyness

[fanfiction-for-me]

Party in the House

It was a very busy afternoon in the Rad Youth residence, because that night we were having the first party that would introduce us to the world of music and Rock n' Roll. Every notorious band and solo artist we could think of was invited, and the disco room in our estate was set ready to have the time of our lives that night.

Why were we throwing a party, you wonder? Well, little more than a year ago ago we came together as a band when we found Davie on a Café playing guitar and singing. We immediately knew he was the one we were missing and he was integrated as the bassist. Sass and I already had some success and money from selling pastries and sweets back home, enough to move to the US and try to make it here (Ah, the ‘merican dream). It was always our life-long desire to form a band together, and every choice in our lives we had taken to achieve this.

Well, back to the story: after finding Davie and together with our incredible drummer Lila we worked our asses off like never before. It was pretty fucking hard and much tears, sweat and blood had been shed, but eventually we created something we were so proud of. After that we could only pray we get signed for a record deal, which eventually (another 3 horrible months of surviving on instant ramen), we did. What happened after was so unreal. Our debut single blew the fuck up; everyone wanted something from us, people worldwide went crazy overnight... We had made it! Soon we were building our humble home in L.A. at the same time we recorded our debut album. Everyone expected greatness and needless to say, we delivered. Our album sold billions of copies worldwide the first week of its release... something truly incredible for newbies such as us. And that brings me back to now: half a year into the craziness and we start touring in two days... so we’re throwing a party!

I still couldn't believe that less than a year ago Lila, Sass and I were looking for a bassist and a record company to get signed in and now we are a very famous and recognized rock band. Our luck was too much; we were still trying to get used to the whole fame thing and it was already happening. People screamed when they saw us walking on the street and asked us for pictures and autographs, our favorite bands knew who we were and wanted to meet us at our party and there were billboards of our tour on the streets and pictures of us in magazines. 

I was currently in my room, thinking about all this and trying to find a dress that would make me look even more gorgeous than I already am, with Sass, who was looking for some matching earrings for her outfit. I finally find this low-shoulder, long-sleeved bubble gum pink dress that was up the knee and splattered with black paint around the hem. It went just perfect with my hair, and I knew exactly the shoes I was going to wear: my high-heeled combat boots.

"Yo, Sass, look here, you like?" I grinned wide at her as I held the dress from the hanger and waved at it dramatically with my free arm.

"Cool dude", Sass laughed and gave me the thumbs up. "This party is gonna be mega epic"

I went inside my closet to put on the dress and talked loudly so Sass would hear me. "I know! Hopefully all the bands we invited come"

"Of course they will bro, everybody wants to meet us; we are like, the lucky noobs in the business"

"Yep, you're right. I'm worried though" I said as I walked out smugly out of the closet with my dress. "Ta-da", I turned as I wiggled my eyebrows at Sass.

"Be-ah-u-tiful my dear" she approved, "but why are you worried?"

"Well-", I walked over to my toilet case and started to take out makeup, the blow dryer, hairspray, earrings... "I dunno, I'm just afraid that I might not be able to contain my excitement and look like a fangirl around them. What if I like, spit my drink when I see Beyoncé, or squeal when Jared Leto walks into the room?" I violently brushed my hair to untangle it, and looked back in panic at Sass from the mirror.

"Oh, you're right. But, I guess we'll be fine. I know I'll probably cry when I meet My Chemical Romance, but you shouldn't worry about meeting 30 Seconds to Mars because you've already seen them in person before. You were paralyzed, but at least you were not going crazy. And if you do go crazy this time, you can fix it." Sass paused and I still looked at her a little uneasy. I'm still not sure if I can keep my fangirly-ness in control tonight.

"We are famous now, Chelita. I bet they will take the time to actually talk with us and hear what we've got to say to them, and not only because of that, but also because we are the hosts of the party, remember? So chill, and go crazy if you want to because I bet that even after that they'll think you are awesome."

I smiled at Sass. She could be overly sarcastic sometimes, but right now she was being honest. "Thanks dude, guess I will be able to handle it"

"Any time my dear". I just finished applying my lip gloss, when Lila and Davie burst into my room.

"Everyone ready to party?!" Lila screamed full lung; Davie following close behind, looking really hot.

"Fuck Yeah!" Sass replied.

"Davie! Show yourself baby" I clapped my hands and moved closer to where Davie was leaning against the wall. When I said that, Davie laughed and stood up straight, walking to the center of the room and jumping on the bed.

He was striking poses like a mad model. "What? Do I look hot today?" he asked with a fake ignorant tone, very conscious that he always looked gorgeous. We tried to not feed his ego for that reason, but today we were allowed to brag our looks because we all looked really good, and we were excited for the coming evening.

Davie was wearing a loose V-neck with cool motives which was way more expensive than you would've thought it was. He had gray aviator sunglasses on, his dirty blonde hair shining like the sun under my pink Christmas lights. His jeans were plain black and he was wearing a chain instead of a normal belt because that's how we roll. Ah, the benefits of being a rockstar: back then when we dressed this way we were looked down as weirdos but now we were setting trends. People can be very stupid.

"Get your butt off my bed David" we all hit him as we laughed and he cussed.

"I thought you wanted to see me!"

"Yeah, we have plenty time for that"

Davie got off the bed and looked down at us "Your turn to model" he chortled and pulled me up on the bed.

We all showed our outfits in between laughs and loud flattering comments. I wore my pink dress and my hair loose. I used to be a brunette but right before we released our album I dyed it Barbie blonde, and just to give it attitude I added a black streak over the longest bang, the one I usually wore over my eye. I really liked the contrast my hairstyle made with my pale face and my dark eyes.

Sass and Lila also changed their look, but it wasn't as drastic as mine. Sass wore a short black studded dress over shredded thighs and combat boots, the dark attire making the purple streaks over her black curls jump out. Lila was using metallic gold shorts, a fancy blouse that had many black and white sequins under an electric blue leather jacket which contrasted beautifully with her pixie orange hair, and of course combat boots. We love combat boots. Even Davie was wearing one of his many pairs.

After we finished modeling, we went downstairs to check everything was okay. The party area looked awesome; the ceiling was covered in disco balls and stage lights of every color. People were still setting the buffet, which was mostly fancy and tasty snacks, and an ice sculpture of the logo of our band stood huge over the center of the long table. The DJ was already playing some test music and the sound of it reverberated throughout the near rooms, making our chests thump to the rhythm of the bass. The bartender looked like he had everything set too. Elegance and Rock n' Roll was our theme; black and red roses that matched with the table mats and chair bows; the dance floor was wide and speckled over with glitter and petals.

In conclusion, everything was perfect. We were chilling around the busy party crew, waiting for our guests who will soon arrive, when the doorbell rang. We all froze for 5 seconds before running to see who was at the door. Our butler Sebastian opened it and it was our manager, Tom Kafer. We all groaned simultaneously, expecting it to be someone famous, but when we watch the door again, Kafer is waving someone in... Lady Gaga?

"Oh my God!" "Holy shit!" "I’m gonna flip!"

We were going nuts; Lady Gaga was in our house! But before we could get used to the fact she was there, Beyoncé steps in with Jay-Z. Then Rihanna. Then Adele. And Bruno Mars.

Aweeesome. I never thought I'd get to see these performers in real life, much less in our own home. We were still looking at the arriving guests in wonder when Kafer made us snap out of it.

"Guys, guys, guys!" he clapped on our faces until we looked at him. He looked pissed (as he does). "What are you doing here sneaking glances like little children? You're supposed to be in the room waiting for your guests and introducing yourselves! Move guys, quick, before they come in; move!"

We moved into the room in a daze. We could hear it was getting crowded by the minute inside. The stars started to come in and we introduced ourselves. Most of them seemed genuinely interested in meeting us, smiling and congratulating us for being "the next big thing at such a young age". Others even looked starstruck by us which was... strange. Soon, there were so many celebrities that we had to split in order to give them the proper attention.

I could see Davie was near the bar talking with Taylor Momsen, Lila was concluding with Katy Perry and Sass was welcoming Adam Lambert. I had just finished letting Fall Out Boy in, so I went over to Lila, who had already finished with Katy.

"So far so good, huh?" I nudged her arm with my elbow as we both contemplated the scene in front of us.

"Yep, our party is pretty awesome, everyone looks like they are having fun" she said with an air of proudness, then, a little down she added "too bad our potential boyfriends probably won't be able to come"

"Yeah..." I felt sort of blue now that she reminded me of the fact that Big Time Rush, one of my favorite bands, was on tour at the moment, and although we had invited them (well, technically, Kafer did), they wouldn't be able to make it because they had a show today. The gig was right here in LA, but they still wouldn't make it after they finished.

"Well, guess we'll meet them some other time... After our 6 month tour" Lila rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, hope James is still available after that" I added.

"Why wouldn't he be?"

"I have no idea, I'm just being paranoid."

"Well, don't be; I'm not. I'm pretty sure James will fall for you the minute he sees you" she teased with a wide grin.

"Ha-ha, you're right, and I bet Kendall will also think you're hot!" I laughed, "too bad they won't see us all dressed up and beautiful like we are now"

"Who knows? Besides, dressed up or not, we always look good cuz we are good looking" she concluded. Lila was right, we are hot. Who wouldn't like a pretty Latina girl? Well... I didn't actually look like a Latina much as Sass did, even less now that my hair was blond, and our spanish accent was only slightly noticeable (studying in a bilingual school for 15 years and then go out to live on the US does that to you).

Lila and I were wondering what song our Big Time Rush prospects could be performing when I almost fell backwards as I saw who was entering the room.

"30 Seconds to Mars!" I screeched and waved my hands frantically over my face. My favorite band was here to see us! Jared Leto, Shannon Leto and Tomo Milicevic entered the room with the confidence only a rock band as successful as them could have. I wish one day we will be like that.

"You have to go and talk with them!" Lila pushed me over in their direction and I almost fell over in my heels, but I managed to balance. I checked myself in my pocket mirror already knowing I looked cute; I did, and with that I walked over to the guys that had inspired me to dream bigger than I've ever imagined I could. I just hope my voice doesn't crack because my lungs feel empty on air.

"H-Hi" I uttered and, dammit, it didn't come out as steady as I wanted.

"Hello there" Tomo, the guitar player said and I almost squealed again.

"Um, I'm Michelle Oviedo the lead singer of Radioactive Youth... I-I'm a great admirer of your work, you have no idea- you-"

"We know who you are" Shannon said with an amused smile.

"You-you do?" my idols knew me? Oh, right! I'm famous... I didn't know they listened to my band though...

"Yes, and we are also admirers of your work. You've got a fine voice right there" Jared winked and signaled nonchalantly at me, but always serious and professional, and, holy hell, Jared Leto said he likes my voice!

"Wow, I don't know what to say and I wish I could stop blubbering because there are so many things I want to tell you and I just don't know what to start with because I love you so much and-"

"How about we start with a hug and then we can go sit and talk?" Shannon suggested, and with that I threw my arms around him and hugged him hard. 

Soon I sensed two other pair of arms wrap around me. It felt like that feeling you get when you finally get to your house after a long trip: at home and at peace. I swear I could've cried right there but I didn't want them to think I was weirder than they probably already thought I was, hugging them like a dork and shit.

I spent the next hour gone from the rest of my band and the party, talking with my life heroes about music, our lives and any trivial theme that came in the conversation. I couldn't appreciate what was happening around me because I was having such a great time with 30 Seconds to Mars. They were so funny and even greater than I thought they were. When I finally looked up, curious to know what my bandmates where doing, I could see they were probably having as much fun as I was.

Davie was chilling with the guys of Metallica... Metallica? Whoa, even they were here? Cool, though they look a little intimidated with Davie's over-excitement; poor guys. And holy shit, Sass was laughing at something with the guys of My Chemical Romance! They are Sass' favorite band and one of mine's as well; I'll make sure I go and say hi before the party ends. Lila on the other hand was... Where was she? I can't see her anywhere. Maybe she went to the bathroom or-

"MATE." someone painfully jabbed their fingers at both sides of my waist and with that I knew who it was.

"Oh, God! You know I hate that! I was looking for you, the guys here were-" I gestured to my favorite band before being interrupted.

"Mate!" Lila looked at me wide eyed and solemn.

"What?"

"Big Time Rush" she said unnerved.

"What? No, that can't be; they are in a show, you're seeing stuff-"

"Then who are the guys that are standing there on the doorway?" Lila signaled urgently at the entrance, an expression of lucidity and anxiety combined on her face. Over by the door were Logan, Carlos and our "future boyfriends", Kendall and James; shy expressions on their faces as they studied the space crowded with celebrities.

"How the-?"

"I don't know and I don't care either; they are here and we need to go and talk to them!" Lila grabbed me by my arm and almost dragged me with such a force that always made me wonder how something so tiny has such strength!

"I'm sorry, we need to go and see- you know, they-" I didn't know what to say actually. "I'll be back, just-"

"Go get that boy" Jared winked; smiling suggestively, while Shannon beamed, wriggling his eyebrow and Tomo cackled like a hyena at his expression. How the hell did Jared know I have no freaking idea (am I that obvious?).

I let Lila drag me to where the four good-looking fellows stood up, probably looking for a seat in the crowded place. Before we reached them and they could see us I stopped her. "Wait- how do I look?" I was nervous and insecure all over again. Most of the times I acted over confident and extroverted, because that's how your ideal lead singer should be, but deep inside I was still the shy awkward girl I've been trying to hide and tonight she was coming out pretty often. That made me feel frustrated.

She rolled her eyes "Great, beautiful, whatever; let's go!"

"Don't you want to know how you look?"

"Why?"

"To cause a good impression on Kendall"

"Chelle, they will think we are cute, believe me. And I'm pretty sure I look good; common, I'm wearing a decent outfit today and I have makeup on!" Lila looked at me with an impatient face and I decided to agree even though I was still not sure.

"Yeah, you're right"

"Okay, deep breaths mate and try not to faint".

Together we walked, trying not to fall or do die in the way, for the floor was already covered in the stickiness caused by the drinks dropped when trying to dance with them, and some of it was still wet. The lights were low and the music loud enough so that the boys wouldn't see us coming. Every step took us closer to them and made my hands colder. I could see now that Logan was talking with Kendall about something, Carlos nodding and pointing at what was probably the object of their talk, James stayed silent behind them, tapping his foot and moving his head to the rhythm of the music.

Lila cleared her throat when we were basically in front of them. "Hey, welcome to our party".

The four boys stared back at us and smiled, replying with four different enthusiastic "hey's". I was, on my part, still quiet, until Lila elbowed me so indiscreetly, that even the boys noticed.

"H-hey, um Big Time Rush? Welcome to our party, I am-"

"You're Michelle Oviedo! Better known as Chelle because that's how you like people to call you, right?" Carlos interrupted and damn, I am surprised he is equally excited to meet us than we are. Only Carlos wasn't nervous; does Carlos ever get nervous?

Taken aback, I started to talk again "Um, yeah I do-"

"I'm Delilah Carter, but you can call me-"

"Lila! Drummer right?" this time James interrupted, strong voice making me jump.

"We know who you all are" added Logan.

"We have listened to your album and it's really good" Kendall explained.

"You can't imagine how surprised we were when our manager told us we had gotten invited to your party" said Carlos.

"It's pretty cool to finally meet you"

"Everyone talks about you"

"Logan bought your album twice because I stole the first copy"

"When we saw the video of 'Rebel Generation' Kendall said that-"

Pinch me hard, someone! Was this really happening, or were the BTR guys fangirling over us (well, fanboying in their case) harder than Lila and I over them? We are trying to control ourselves but they just started bombarding us with nice comments! Well, if we did that I bet it would be less "I believe your live performances are neat" and more like "My ovaries explode every time I see you perform Love Me Love Me"; so, on the inside, I guess we are still the biggest fangirls. But we will never let them know that...

"Guys? Guys. Guys... GUYS!" Lila interrupted, looking all cheery and glowing.

"Yes?" the four answered at the same time and for a moment it felt like we were in their TV show.

"Do you want to meet the rest of our bandmates and- if you want- talk later?"

"Sounds great" and Kendall winked at Lila. She glanced back at me and mouthed something that seemed like "omigosh", and looked pretty stoked. I would've been too if James winked at me.

It was time to take action, so I moved next to Logan and James, while Lila was walking in front of us in between Carlos and Kendall. I still couldn't believe we were walking together with the guys of Big Time Rush; if I were seventeen years old again or just nine months ago and you would've told me this would happen, I wouldn't believe it. Our lives had changed so fast and we were definitely living the good life now; I'm so grateful for this moment that I'm not even wishing to be James' girlfriend or something, but just enjoying his and his bandmates' company. Besides, being his girlfriend would be too much luck and I think I already spent all the luck I have in getting to the top with my band.

Now that I was past the shock of the moment, I started to really look at the guys and I wondered... How the heck can they look hotter in real life? I mean, Kendall's eyes have always been beautiful, but here under the flickering lights of the dance floor they blazed a silvery green, and it was something hypnotizing to see. Logan's hair was lighter than I thought it was, and Carlos' smile made me want to smile as well. But James was otherworldly for me. He was everything: sexy, adorable, handsome... gorgeous. He stood a head over me and I swear all of his body was covered in muscles; gosh, he is so hot. He even smells like hotness! (Is that even possible?). It's getting a little warm inside my dress too; I just hope I don't start sweating.

I tried to distract myself by pretending I was looking for Sass or Davie, but my eyes couldn't toss the opportunity of staring at the beauty that was James Maslow, so they turned to see him only to realize that he was staring back. My dark brown eyes locked with his sparkling hazel ones for a second, before he flashed his straight white teeth in a very lovely smile. Was it possible that he was checking me out? I'd like to think maybe, after all, I am kinda cute. Even though I am still almost five years younger than him. Yeah, that's right almost five (four years and a half to be exact). It doesn't sound that weird to me though, because I am 18 and he is 22 right now, and that's not so bad, is it?

I tried to smile back, but my cheeks felt warm, so I guess I was blushing; great. Where are Davie and Sass? I'm humiliating myself here.

"Oh, there they are" said Lila. Davie and Sass where standing by the food table, talking to no one else but the guys from Black Veil Brides, and Sass kinda had a thing for the vocalist, Andy Biersack. She looked sort of annoyed at Davie though, and I bet it was because he was fanboying. Black Veil Brides is one of Davie's favorite bands.

"Let's go and say hi" I suggested. I was still ecstatic for being with Big Time Rush but that didn't stop me from being excited about meeting another band I love.

"Yo guys! These are Kendall, Logan, James and Carlos from Big Time Rush and they wanted to say hi" Lila caught our bandmate's attention and signaled to the group.

"Hello, nice to meet you" Sass replied, but I could see she was a little distracted with Andy laughing at CC's ridiculous dance moves on the background. Andy was pretty cute even though he was wearing all black and had his war paint on. It's possible, believe me, he has a baby face.

"'Sup?" Davie mumbled and turned around to slap hands with the four guys. Then, he addressed Lila and me "Hey, aren't these the guys that you were so sad 'bout that they wouldn't be able to come?"

We looked at Davie with a crazy "you are not supposed to say that in front of them" face. Seriously? Guess our secret was out now.

Lila and I could feel four pair of eyes watching us.

"We kinda like you too... We are Rushers." Lila explained.

"No way!" James grinned at both of us and I reddened more.

"Yeah way" I slurred and laughed a little. "We thought you guys wouldn't come; our manager-"

"Hey, do you have any booze here? My throat is drying up!" Andy called attention to himself with his low and loud voice.

"Sure, come with me" Sass grabbed him by the arm and took him to the bar. Nice to see she was feeling confident!

"Cool meeting you, Big Time..." Andy struggled to find the word.

"Rush" they all answered at the same time

"Oh, yeah. Bye!" and with that he left with Sass.

"Sorry about that" I told them.

"Meh, it's okay, as long as you girls know who we are, its fine" Logan winked. So it is true that he is the flirt of the band...

Carlos bumped Logan on the arm "Hey Loges, let's go and say hi to Selena" "Okay. Hope you girls don't mind being with these two dorks" he pointed a James and Kendall, who rolled their eyes at him.

"No, we're good, go and have fun; that's what we threw this party for!" Lila playfully slapped his arm and we both waved bye at him and Carlos.

Now we were alone with our Big Time Crushes.

"So... What do you want to do?" asked Lila.

"Well, I'm kinda thirsty, could we go for a drink?" suggested Kendall.

"Sure"

"James, you coming man?"

"No, thanks, I'll stay here"

I watched with dread and relief as Kendall and Lila left me by myself with the man of my dreams. We were finally alone; I'd never thought I'd actually be alone with him! But what am I supposed to do? I'm too nervous to think about something intelligent to say or ask so I'll probably stay silent until I figure something out, which will probably be in a long while and I'll bore him out and then bye bye opportunity to seduce James Maslow. All this time while I was panicking in my head, James had been answering a text, and now he was putting out his phone.

"So..." he started

"So...?"

"Cool party." James concluded.

"Yep" and thank God my brain had a question in mind, "-hey, I never knew how come you were able to arrive, I thought you had a show tonight at the House of Blues?" I was surprised that my voice came out casual. Well, it had to; after all, I was the hostess.

"We did, but it got cancelled"

"Mm, too bad"

"Yep, I was pretty excited for it. But being in your party is better, I would've been more upset if I lost this" he motioned around him.

"Really? Why?" I've got to say, I was genuinely surprised.

"Are you kidding? You're just new in this thing and you're already the rock band of the moment, or as Rolling Stone wrote 'the promise of Rock'" he made quotes in the air and chuckled.

"Right, that does sound attractive" I laughed. Did Rolling Stone really write that? "It does. Plus, I had already heard your music and I think it is really good. And I'm not a Rock type of guy!"

"Glad you like it" I smiled "Do you have any favorite song of ours? And don't say 'Rebel Generation' please, because everyone likes that song" I teased him and he chuckled at my comment; I was making him laugh, that was a sign that I wasn't boring him out so I immediately relaxed. Being with James was more comfortable than I thought it would be. I wasn't even noticing the way his lips moved when he talked, or even his large hands, or his beefy pectorals... Well, okay, I was, but which girl wouldn't?

"Well I have a few, besides 'Rebel Generation', of course" James looked at me, looking guilty as charged "' Your Sick Heart' has a great guitar solo and the drums in 'Solstice' are sick! But lately I've been obsessing with 'On my Mind'; that song is plain beautiful"

"You think so? I wrote that song!"

"You did? Well, no wonder why it's so amazing" he winked at me, and I hoped he didn't noticed how my breath came out a little shaky. That man could make my body respond in weird ways.

"Thank You" I responded modestly.

"Welcome; shall we sit?" James offered. I felt like I should tell him something about his band too, since he was flattering mine so much and also, I wanted to do it. We sat front to front on a small table that was next to a wall, far from the dance floor. For a moment we just looked at each other, smiling and shifting nervously, neither of us having something to say. Just when I was about to tell him how much I had liked their latest album, James spoke.

"I like your hair, it's unusual... and it suits you."

"Thanks, you know, I used to be a brunette..." I spoke, not really calculating why he would want to know that.

"Like me?" he questioned with a cocky grin, and as he did so, James flipped his hair with a movement of his head that almost made me start hyperventilating.

"Uh- yeah, sort of, mine was darker I think" I brushed my tips with my hands in a hurry out of a nervous habit.

"Why did you dye it?" I don't really know why would he want to know all that, but he seemed interested, so I answered.

"Well, I thought that I would need a more rock and roll-ish appearance if I was going to be in a band and I chose blond because I have always wanted to be blond for some reason; I thought it would suit me"

"It does," James agreed "but I bet you looked pretty with brown hair too"

He had me now. I didn't know how to respond to that, so all I did was grin at him and blush like the shy girl I was. James just looked at me in my eyes and smirked, a mix of self-consciousness and measured flirting. His perfect tanned face looked soft under the very faint light, and I wanted nothing more than grab him by the collar of his jacket and make out heavily with him. I instinctively bit my lip as I thought about his lips on mine. Big mistake, for we were still making eye contact. The moment I took in that, I stopped doing it, viewing down at my hands, bracelets making noise as they made contact with the table. James was almost in the same position as I was, and before I could steady myself and say something, I stared as his hands moved next to mine touching my bracelets too. If it were any other guy, I would've thought the move was totally random and weird, but since it was James Maslow, I thought it was the best thing ever, of course. My eyes moved up to his face only to see him still eyeing at me with a friendly expression. We stayed staring at each other, and just when his glare moved to my lips (which totally meant something! Right?), our golden silence was broken.

"CHELLE!"

I flinched as I heard my name and then stood up fast from my seat "What?!" to be honest, I was pissed.

"Help me! Please?"

"Excuse me for a minute James?" I said in a sweet tone that was a complete contrast to how yelled just now. James just mouthed a "sure", looking bewildered and slightly curious.

I took Davie a good 6 feet from James and lectured him "David Alexander Tscharke, I was having a beautiful moment back there with James freaking Maslow! What the shit is wrong with you, interrupting like that?"

"Whatever Chelle, I needed one of you; it's an emergency!" I have to admit, Davie did look worried... but I still wanted to kill him.

"Then why didn't you call Lila or Sass?"

"I can't find Lila anywhere; last time I saw her she was talking with a blond guy; Sass is with Andy and she told me that if I bothered her she would kill me!"

I sighed exasperated. Stupid Davie. "What's the problem?" I asked tiredly, hands on my hips. It wasn't the first time, or even the tenth.

"Well, I sort of accidentally knocked someone out."

"What the fuck Davie?" I couldn't help shouting; was he crazy? If someone heard about this it would be on the news and they would see us as a violent band! I'm also pretty sure James heard me, because I could see he was choking a little on his drink. Great, now he will think I have a potty mouth... Although I sort of do. 

"Davie, how the hell could that be accidental? Are you insane?" I whispered loudly.

"No! I swear- it really was an accident! I was on the bathroom releasin' the drinks I had taken, when this fat guy with a cam'ra comes and opens the door- I didn't knew it wasn't locked! He must've been a papzz though, cus he had a fancy lookin' cam'ra over his neck an' he snapped a picture of me! PEEIN'!

If I wasn't so mad at him, I'd laugh at what he just told me.

Davie continued his story "So my first reaction was to shoot my fist out right at his jaw, but he moved a litt'l, so the punch landed on his right temple"

"Goodness Davie, why would that be your first reaction?" that was a rhetorical question actually because I already knew the answer. Back when Davie lived in Australia, his house was located near the beach and also near the wilderness of the jungle. He had to know how to react fast to danger (specifically animals). This wasn't exactly dangerous, but it was an "act quickly" situation.

"Well, what do you want me to do about it?" I couldn't find out why he would need my help.

"You're a woman, Michelle; maybe you could- I don't know- nurse him?"

I tried to give Davie my best death glare as I crossed my arms.

"Aw, common! Look, you can bring your boyfriend over there; he could help too" Davie pointed at James.

"He's not my boyfriend Davie, and in no way am I gonna ask him that!"

"Please! I need someone strong to help me move the guy; he's pretty fat!" Davie begged.

I decided to give in. After all, friends help other friends."Fine" I said curtly, and Davie punched the air in triumph. Ashamed, I made my way back to the table where James was fumbling with the edge of his glass.

"Hey, James? We need your help. Well, Davie does"

"What's wrong?" and I explained the whole story of how Davie had left a paparazzi unconscious for taking a picture of him while peeing. James snickered adorably at this, and in return Davie glared back, which made him shut up. I looked at Davie with narrowed eyes and he let it go.

"Okay then, I'll help you". We all moved together to the "crime scene", where a fat guy (he really was fat) lied thrown on the floor, camera at a side, looking dead to me. I sighed and moved to the floor to check if he was breathing. He was.

"He's not dead!" I informed. Davie sighed a breath of relief and James chortled, earning another glare from Davie.

"Stop that" I warned him again. He was being sort of rude, considering James was helping him.

"But he's laughing!" Davie protested childishly.

"Sorry" James apologized. He was too sweet.

"Don't worry James, I would be laughing too if this wasn't such a stupid situation" I looked at Davie as I made my emphasis and he frowned back at me. I ignored that. "Start moving him before anyone sees this" I ordered.

The two guys proceeded to do so; James shrugged out of his leather jacket to reveal a black button up shirt that hugged around his muscles perfectly. I gawked dreamily, but was interrupted by Davie's low whistle.

James looked between us, confused, and I threw one of the fancy soaps that were near the sink at Davie. The fucker just laughed hard.

"Ooookay... Are we gonna lift him?" James interrupted Davie.

"Yeah, yeah. You grab him by his feet and I grab his arms."

Davie and James started lifting the guy with a lot of effort, and I picked up his camera from the floor. I peeked throughout the pictures and even found some of myself! What was a paparazzi doing at our party anyways? Guess he got served then. After a few more photos I found what Davie was talking about: a picture of him peeing. Luckily, the guy hadn't captured his dick, but you could see the arc of pee coming out of him into the toilet. I couldn't hold my laugh any longer so I burst into mindless giggling.

"Michelle! Stop lookin'!" and with that said, he dropped the fat man on his head, leaving James struggling with him.

"Davie c’mon, you’re killing him! And don't worry, I already deleted it, see?" I showed him the camera. "Now go and carry the dude out".

Davie grumbled, but went back to help James out. I followed both of them as they made their way to the backdoor of our kitchen, enjoying how James' muscles tensed at the weight of the unconscious paparazzi. When we were finally outside, Davie and James laid the guy down against the wall, with his camera a top his belly.

"Phew" Davie breathed "thank you so much Chelle"

I coughed.

Reluctantly, Davie shook hands with James. "...thanks man" What's wrong with him?

"Welcome dude", James answered back.

After a small awkward silence, Davie talked "What do we do now?"

"We? You are going to stay out of trouble and far away from me! Bye." I left Davie with an indignated expression and went back to the party with James. Stupid Davie and his stupid troubles.

Coming into the room, I could see there were more people on the dance floor than sitting down. Sass was still with Andy, watching how he took out his lip piercing with his tongue only. Carlos and Logan were on the dance floor with almost everybody else. The guys from My Chem were sitting with their wives, and Jared, Shannon, and Tomo were playing with the chocolate fountain, those lovely men. It seemed to me that everyone was having a blast, though I couldn't see Lila anywhere and neither Kendall. They probably were together.

I smiled at the thought of me and my two best friends being with our dream boys. Sass with Andy, Lila with Kendall and I was here standing by James' side, his hand touching the back of my arm lightly. Could it be possible that we may have gained them as friends? Even if James had arrived late and Davie had interrupted our "talking", the night was still young, and I was going to make sure it was that way. All of a sudden, I felt more confident. I was finally starting to feel like the beautiful vocalist of the band that everyone wanted to meet.

"What do you wanna do?" James asked me, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Let's go and say hi to My Chemical Romance and AFI first, and then I'll tell you" I answered him with a wink. Yeah, I can feel the fire in me rising!

So we walked over to their sits, talking about our favorite music on the way. I realized James and I didn't share the same music tastes, but at least he really liked my band, and I was happy with that. We said hi to AFI and Davey Havok kissed my hand! After saying goodbye we went over My Chemical Romance. They were sitting with 30 Seconds to Mars (they knew each other from the scene) talking about something. I introduced myself only to be told that they too already knew who I was! It was all going swell until Shannon opened his mouth.

"Is that your boyfriend?" he questioned with a naughty smile, already knowing what the answer was.

"No, no! James is my- he is- James sings in a band called Big Time Rush!" my face was red like a tomato as I tried to explain. I glanced at James to see he was also shifting awkwardly in his feet.

"Yeah, I'm just a friend, right?" James looked at me with a reassuring expression. It calmed my shame a little.

"That's too bad you guys" Lyn-Z (Gerard Way's wife) said, "you would look really cute together"

"Yeah James, this girl here is golden" added Jared as he patted my arm and winked. I felt like I was back with my parents for some reason. Someone shoot me.

"Uh-yeah, I know that" and he smirked at me "but I've just met her this night Mr. Leto" James responded with a shy smile. Was he blushing? (also “Mr. Leto”- what a gentleman!)

"Oh, I'm sorry then, go and have fun" Jared grinned at James. I looked at him with a troubled expression. He eyed me and pulled me up to him.

"You'll thank me. He's pretty obvious, anyway" he whispered in my ear, with James still looking.

What did he meant with obvious? He was being obvious! Whispering in my ear in front of James! I wasn't mad at Jared (how could I ever be?), but I don't see how his comments could've helped.

With that said I excused myself and left before my idols could tell James that I wanted to date him. So much for feeling confident.

"Well...That was-"

"I know, I know... Forgive them. Rockstars aren't known for their great tact" I joked.

"Yeah I noticed" he sucked in a breath and huffed a laugh. Thank goodness he is laughing about it.

"So, um, you wanna go dance?" I heard James ask me.

At first I couldn't believe I was hearing him say that, but then I remembered who I was. Of course he would ask me. I have to keep reminding myself that maybe I am worthy of him.

We made our way to the dance floor, and started dancing to the melody of Neeyo's "Give Me Everything". I found Lila was dancing with Kendall, but they were more concentrated in joking about something than the actual dancing. Sass was trying to convince Andy to dance, playfully pulling him near the stage; they looked so cute together. Best of all, Davie was nowhere to be seen. I just hope he is not in trouble or something (and if he is I'm not going to help him).

We danced several songs, James and I gaining more confidence as each passed. By the fifth song he grabbed my hips and I placed my arms over his shoulders. I was melting, feeling the muscles of his neck; he was too sexy, and up this close, he smelled so good. We stayed like that for almost two hours, trying to keep a conversation surrounded by the loud music, giggling and smiling at each other. When we made eye contact his eyes sparkled with the lights, it was so magical I wanted this moment to last forever. Finally, I felt I couldn't stand dancing with my shoes anymore, so I informed James about it, and we sat down on the bar to grab a drink and chat.

We talked about everything: our careers, our bands (I finally got to tell him how great I though Big Time Rush was), our lives before we became famous (when I told him I had started to study Architecture in college he told me that would've been his career choice too; what a coincidence!), our hometowns, our family, pets, friends, and even school! Time passed fast by his side because it was spent so well. That's why when Logan and Carlos walked over to our table and told him it was 3:30 in the morning and that everyone was leaving, we were surprised. The place was almost empty save for a few bands (with drunken band members) and Big Time Rush.

"Let's go man, I just remembered gotta be somewhere at 9" sighed Carlos. He sounded tired.

"Okay then, go get Kendall, I'll meet you guys at the car" James waved him to where Kendall was, looking at something in his phone with Lila. James got up his seat and I did too. He grabbed my hands with his fingers delicately and squeezed them a little. "This was... fun" his smile grew as he said each word. "It was. I'm very happy I could meet you James, you're cool" and I swung our hands between us.

"I can say the same thing about you" and then he let go off my hands to take his phone out of his back pocket "We should keep in touch, you know, since you're going on tour for a long time... Is that okay with you?" he said this looking nervous.

Okay?! It was more than okay! "Yeah, I would like that too. Here, I'll give you my number" my fingers trembled as I saved my number, even after I had spent all of the evening with him.

"Sweet" James said as I gave him his phone back, "I'll call you- wait, are you going to be out of the US?"

"Oh yes, yes we are, but only a bit"

"Cool"

"Yeah" I smiled.

"Yeah... I suppose I have to leave now" and he leaned down to my level to peck my cheek, taking a second longer than normal. "Good luck and see you... some other day" and with a heart melting smile, he walked away, leaving my cheek burning where his lips had touched it.

Gosh, he is so perfect, and I had spent the night with that perfection! Not only that, but he asked for my number, and we had danced, and talked, and laughed, and-

"Hey, pretty!" Shannon Leto interrupted my thoughts, throwing and arm around my shoulder. I found myself surrounded by the three members of 30 Seconds to Mars.

"Your boyfriend left?" asked Tomo mockingly as Jared chuckled in my ear.

"Aw, you guys are unbelievable. I can't believe you're grown adults and still act like dorks" I pouted at the trio.

"We’re sorry" Tomo said with a more serious tone. "We couldn't help it when we saw you; ahh, young love... so beautiful" he put his hand together on his cheek like a princess. It was pretty funny.

"Yeah, you kids don't seem to realize how both of you want each other"

"Both?" I asked Shannon, but Jared answered.

"Common, he looked like he wanted to eat you and you... I'm surprised you didn't drool on his shoes or something" he laughed lightly.

"Shut up" I told them all. "Are you guys leaving?"

"Yes, we came to say goodbye" answered Shannon, and they all hugged me one by one before leaving.

This night had been great, and I'm still not tired of repeating it in my head; I'll probably keep on repeating it for a long time. I met my favorite band and many others that I love, including Big Time Rush, and I had clicked very well with James Maslow, whom had been my celebrity crush since my Senior Year. Thinking about that, it seemed too far away, when it had just been 2 years ago. If this is just the beginning, I can't imagine what the future has prepared for me and my band.

First album tour, here I come!