#but coming back to wi they did paid smoke breaks

[abimee]

the range of answers im getting just goes to show that retail is a network of evil in a multitude of ways almost unfathomable

[lady-o-ren]

NEVER WILL I LOVE THEE

CHAPTER ONE // CHAPTER TWO // 

CHAPTER THREE 

(AO3 link HERE)

The King's council room is unexpectedly small and simply furnished, solely meant for conversation and truly nothing more. Yet the crackling fire and floor to ceiling windows brings a warmth to the room, casting a burnished sheen to the gold and silvery embossed armor of the two guardsmen flanking the chamber's door.

At the heart of the room, beneath a large tapestry that hangs on the wall, is where the King of Albion sits.  He's a short and stout fellow with closely cropped hair, gray as the thin smoke that spouts from the fireplace. His face is lined from the years of having to bear the weight of his title alone, with eyes the dusky color of a sable's pelt that peek from beneath his furrowed brow, searching the younger King's own for deceit just as his niece had done.

“Whyever would you come all this way just to break an engagement?” The elder man asks Jamie.

“For one, Your Grace, I think the princess would've thrown any letter from me to the fire before ever reading it, considering it an insult. And two, I didna break the engagement. I simply gave her a choice where there had been none before,” Jamie replies, his voice spiking ever so slightly with hostility that ripples down to his fingertips, tapping against the polished arm of his chair. 

For he too knows what it's like to be betrayed by one's own kin.

But not all of them. . .

He glances over at his captain of the guard standing off by the high windows that overlook the water, reflecting the last glimmering brilliance of the setting sun. He catches the older man's disapproving eye narrowed at his hand. Jamie clenches it to a fist, remembering the feel of a belt against his knuckles that strapped him just hard enough to leave a red sting.\

“I'll break them bones too if I a’ve tae, laddie. All that fidgetin’ let's the other man ken all yer thinkin’. The same as screamin’. And what good will that do ye?” 

And though he hasn't been punished like that since he was a lad, Jamie wouldn't put it past his guardsman to whack him with his leather scabbard right now. No matter that he's inherited a throne and can see far above that dark head of his. He'd always see him as the child he was.

Alone. 

Without a mother and father. 

Ripped from his sister's arms.

But Jamie knows he does so out of love sacred as the vow he'd sworn on his head as a wee babe. For the captain of his guard was also his godfather.

“Till my last breath, when my heart no longer beats, I swear tae God Almighty and yer mother above, tae keep ye from harm. Always, a bhalaich mo ghràidh.”

And Murtagh Fitzgibbons Fraser was a man of his word.

“But there is another matter I'm most concerned with,” Jamie continues, flicking his gaze back to King Quentin.

“Go on,” he says warily.

“Part of the agreement between you and my uncle was that your kingdom would be joined with ours in peace. It's something I'm still verra much interested in upholding and think it would be to both our benefit. "

“Our benefit.” The elder man snorts humorlessly and leans forward against the table, inlaid with florals and fish hiding between reeds.

“Your uncle said the same when he threatened to invade my land and savage my people unless I gave him my niece's hand. And I did so, not having much choice myself,” he says roughly, giving Jamie a cutting look. “It was either my people's lives or the last piece of my heart and I've paid dearly for it.”

Jamie holds his glare, unflinching. Firelight flickering across his features and thick waves of unbound hair.

“I'm not my uncle. I'm not here for yer land and I've proven I'm not here to force marriage on yer niece, even though I've been advised a union between us would've helped me a great deal better than pleading wi’ ye to take me at my word." Jamie gives a quick glance to his godfather and cocks a half grin at his barbarous scowl. He'd been very vocal when told of the broken engagement and would likely be foul tempered for their entire stay. “ I'm here to amend the reputation of my kingdom that's been tarnished by her fallen King and clear my sullied name.”

A gray feathered brow is raised in challenge.

“Your name, Red King, is spoken in the same breath as the devils. It's said you take great delight in torturing your enemies, even more so when it's the blood of innocents.”

“All lies,” Jamie says resolutely, eyes gleaming bright and true, that doesn't go unnoticed. “I've never tortured my enemies nor have I murdered an innocent. The only blood that stains my hands and soul has been spilt on the battlefield. Nothing more. And done so not out of some misguided loyalty to a King but for the sake of my sister, taken by Dúghall when she was a child barely older than I.”

The King of Albion regards him with a curious gaze that deepens the wrinkles around his eyes.

“I've heard something of that sort too. That Dúghall held your sister captive for years and it was she who poisoned him in the end. ”

“That's gossip fit for chambermaids who've no doubt fancied doing the same to many a man and worse,” Jamie retorts through a tight jaw, and is surprised when the elder man huffs a laugh from deep within his belly.

“And no one would blame them, nor your sister if true. But I do wonder,” he says, serious once more. “If one tyrant was disposed of to make way for an even crueler one.”

“If ye believe me to be as vile as others say, and I dinna think ye do, then let me prove my worth to ye as an ally, one ye sorely need, Your Grace. For I know trouble brews with your borders to the east, with the Wolverton King.”

A fraught quiet fills the air before King Quentin heaves a weighty sigh and rubs the space between his eyes straining without his spectacles.

“I think a drink is needed before we continue. What say you, King of Scotia?”

His tone is almost cordial but only faintly so, just enough for Jamie to crook a grin.

“I'd like it fine. Any whiskey perchance?”

//

They continue to talk for an hour more until Jamie and Murtagh are dismissed by King Quentin, needing to ponder their possible alliance and rest his tipsy mind and even more so tired eyes. 

Out in the grand windowed hallway the torches have been lit along the walls that arch up into a high domed ceiling, it's intricate carvings lost in the flickering shadows. A young faced guardsman, introduced simply as Sir Jeremy, has been waiting to escort them to their private chambers for the night and ends up becoming witness to a verbal brawl.

“So what d’ye think, Ghoistidh?” Jamie asks in the gàidhlig as they walk. “Will the King join wi’ us or has our journey been for naught?”

Murtagh doesn't spare a glance nor a word, but his nostrils flare like a bee-stung bull in response.

Jamie sighs, glancing down  at the white marbled floor and runs a finger down his nose. “Ah, still mad at me then. Would it make ye feel better to bash my face in wi’ yer fists?”

That gets his godfather's attention and he halts his step.

“Nothing would please me more if it meant knocking some sense intae that reckless, empty heid of yers, ye wee shite,” he growls from his scruffy black whiskers, gnarled hands gesturing his thoughts.

“Ye ken ye could'a been thrown intae the dungeon fer approaching the princess wi’out her guard or chaperone beside her. And me being yer sword and shield, I would'a been heaved in right after ye, amongst the fekkin rats and piss, begging yer mam above fer forgiveness fer strangling the bloody life outta ye.”

Jamie, used to being berated by now, simply quirks an auburn brow, mouth twitching.

“Isn't it treasonous to both threaten and insult yer King?” 

Murtagh leans in, breath laced with the king's whiskey and the spiced jerky he keeps in his leather sporran.

“Hang me from the gallows then when we're back in Scotia, my King of fools,” he hawks.

But before anymore is said (before Murtagh is forced to do penance for the murder of his godson who's shoulders are shaking from stifling his laughter), the sound of a door opening has the two men turning back down the hallway where two guards have now appeared along with the princess.

“Seems we had a wee mouse listening in on us. What must she think of ye now?”

“I wonder,” says Jamie softly, switching back to the Albion tongue, and watches as the lass turns a corner, a heartbeat too far. “I think I'll ask her.” 

Murtaugh stares at him as if he's lost all sense. “Ye’re naught tae speak tae her.”

“Is that an order from my guardsman to his king?” Jamie asks, knowing his godfather would be powerless to challenge his title, especially in the presence of a foreigner in their native tongue.

And he's right. 

Murtaugh flicks his gaze to young Sir Jeremy, who's eyes dart nervously between the two men, and sighs. “Pardon me, my King, but it is getting late and I'd rather be sleeping in a bed t’night, no’ shackled tae a dungeon wall beside ye.”

Jamie grasps his shoulder, the whipcord muscles beneath his palm taut as a bowstring. Always primed for a fight. “I'll be only a moment, Ghoistidh.” Then says no more, his feet already propelling him forward, as Murtagh can only look on, muttering incoherently -

"Tha e na iongnadh nach deach mi liath."

//

The princess is still within sight when Jamie calls out to her in the quiet hallway that has her pausing to look over her shoulder, gilded in the moonlight. Still dressed for a tumble through the thistle and grass, she raises a hand for her guards to move aside as he approaches her with a hurried step, loud and eager as his heartbeat.

It had been racing since he first caught glimpse of her running between the green bracken and trees, curls whirling about her like a gale over a stormy sea. Jamie had thought her a nimble, wild thing of enchantment. The kind of tameless creature that lived only in tales of times long gone his mother and father had told him about when he was a child. And for a breath of a moment, he had wondered if this maiden had unwittingly stumbled from her own realm of faerie to his.

But then she had tripped and fallen, graceless as a newborn fawn. 

Had spat out the most wicked obscenities that would've made even his godfather blush. 

Yet when he held her hand in his, small and wounded like an injured dove, Jamie felt something startling, warming him like a golden ember from the breath of a firedrake down to the marrow of his bones.

And his heart . . .

"What is it King of Scotia that couldn't wait for the morrow?" 

Claire asks, voice no longer bristling with the bite of a crocodile but still thickly laced with trepidation, as her guardsmen wait behind her with their halberds raised.

It's enough to make Jamie's gut plummet to his boots.

“I saw ye leave the king's chambers and came to ask if yer opinion of me has changed but I see that even from what ye heard and what we spoke about beneath the trees that ye still doubt the man I am, that I ask ye to trust.”

Her eyes fall down to her hands clasped together, the right still bound with his handkerchief, and gingerly she brushes her delicate fingertips over the fabric. 

"You have given me my freedom, King of Scotia, and for that you have more heart than my former betrothed. But I still have known you far less than a day and now you're willing to pledge your loyalty to my people and king just like that, without a price."

Jamie shakes his head, eyes intent on hers. “I don't make my decisions on a whim, Your Highness. All I want is a chance to hold me heid up high and bring honor to my family name that right now only brings fear to all who hear it, as ye've proven t’day when first we spoke. And I think I can do that by shielding Albion from an enemy like yers . . . And mine."

"Yours?" Claire's eyes search his, a fearful shadow tainting their amber-gold luminescence. "You said no such thing to my uncle, that you know The Wolverton King."

Jamie draws in a hard breath, looking down at his right hand flexed between them, the skin scarred and burning with the crushing echoes from his past. 

 You beauty, let me hear you scream . . .

He clenches his palm shut, before saying roughly. "I've never met the King, but I've had the cruel misfortune of falling prey to his brother years ago. A man I pray ye never meet and would lay my life to keep that so. This ye must believe of me, Your Highness."

His voice whispers off at the end, feeling his heart gallop just as it did in the midst of battle, waiting for her to speak. And she does. A tentative question, hand outstretched to his.

"May I?" 

Claire asks, though Jamie can't fathom why. Not after she recoiled from him earlier. But he nods, heart fluttering, as he opens his palm for her to take. For who could ever deny a princess?

He watches as her fingertips feather across his battered hand, gently tracing the jagged scars gone white as the years of violence dragged on. She grimaces at the once broken bones protruding awkwardly beneath, as if she could truly see how each crooked finger had met the brutal blow of the malicious prince.

And maybe she did.

"You were just a boy when you met him, weren't you?" She lifts her gaze, dark with shock.

"Aye," rasps Jamie, glancing down at his hand clasped between her own. "I was barely fifteen when I was ambushed by a gang of soldiers along the Wolverton borderlands. They tied me up and brought me to their Lord Commander, their prince, for interrogation and I was fool enough to think he'd simply slit my throat. Instead he crushed my hand wi' his boot and carved my back to the bloody bone like he was gutting a fish . . ." 

And for all his days, Jamie would remember the pink flick of the wicked devil's tongue tasting his blood, smeared like rouge across his harsh thin mouth, parted in a lover's blissful sigh.

Jamie grits his jaw, swallowing the bitter bile rising up the straining cords of his throat, and continues.

". . . He would've done far worse to me too if not for my godfather risking his neck to save mine."

Claire tightens her grasp, instilling a steadying warmth into his palm and fingers he badly needed. "Not your uncle? Surely he must've tried to rescue you

He snorts ruefully at the princesses' appalled expression. 

"He's the one that sent me to scout the border, Your Highness. Wi' no sons of his own, he thought my very existence was a threat to his and wanted me dead. Tis why he forced me to soldier for him when I was a child. The bastard couldn'a kill me himself and waited for someone else to." He then shrugs, grinning wryly. "Didn'a work like he planned though. Nor was it the first or last time he ever tried."

There was a thick curved scar along the back of his skull that could attest to that too.

"So do ye see why I'd give my right hand and more to defend ye from men like my uncle and the prince they call Black Jack? Why being compared to them, to ken ye see me in such a way, is a blight on my soul."

He sees her chest heave with unspoken breath as she circles her thumb around a knot of tissue, so very softly, as if his skin would bruise from such attentiveness.

Was it just hours before she threatened to tear him apart? 

"King of Scotia . . ." 

He shakes his head, voice low and heady from her ministrations.

"Jamie, Your Highness. Tis my boyhood name and ye're welcome to call me so, as the last of my kin does, please."

For the first time, Jamie sees a smile bloom on her wine kissed mouth that only adds to her loveliness that glows in the mystic light of the moon and stars, the vibrant flames of the torchlights.

"I suppose if you're to stand between me and all things grisly, a single name would be easier to call upon."

 "Do ye mean that? Truly?" Jamie asks, unaware he's tugged her hand up to his chest, sparking a sudden shyness in the princess.

"There's still much to talk about between us, and with my uncle too," she hastily adds.

"Of course," he grins.

"So until the morrow then . . . Jamie." 

"Until the morrow, Your Highness," he echoes back, reluctantly letting her hand fall from his.

Jamie then achingly watches her walk away, a heartbeat too far again, and slumps his shoulder against the wall. Runs a hand through his curls, down the back of his neck.

"You are a fool." 

Jamie doesn't bother to turn around, merely sighs in answer to his godfather.

"Ye've fallen for a princess. Could've had that princess. But ye've gone and thrown it all away." Murtagh shakes his head, coming up beside him. “Ye're the same heartsick fool yer father was.”

Jamie huffs a laugh and glances to his side. "Do I have nothing of my mother?" 

Arms across his chest, the older man looks thoughtfully at the once wee lad, his grizzled features softening as he does so.

“Tae much heart. Tae much spirit. Tae many good things that will make ye tae good of a king." He then smacks the back of the young King's head, who bunches over and lets out a yelp. "And  a pain in the arse tae serve and protect. Now if yer done fawning over the lass I'd like tae get tae bed.”

But as they walk, and as Jamie rubs the bump on his head . . .

“Ye dinna think she noticed the fawning, d’ye?”

"Ye wee. . . " Murtagh reaches for the hilt of his sword just as Jamie cracks into raucous laughter, running down the hallway for dear life.

A/N:

So the first two parts have been ready since the summer. The third part has been a beast to write.

 I couldn't put Claire in the beginning because she just took over the conversation and distracted Jamie way too much and I needed that place to flesh out Murtagh a bit. I also can't write more than two people in a scene so I had to push her down. But then I had a hard time writing her there. She's listened to Jamie and Lambs conversation and has definitely mellowed out off page but is still cautious towards Jamie. But I didn't know how the fuck to write that tone into her speech. I tried having Jamie joke around with her to flesh her out but after three rewrites it just didn't work. Also it's all written in Jamie's pov cause I felt overwhelmed by all the juggling I had to do and by being so deep into Jamie's thoughts and backstory. I tried mixing in Claire's pov but it was just too much and I ended up with a very stilted Claire at the end which sucks.

Anyways this is the best I could muster and I'm not happy at all about it. Mostly because I did rush through what was left to be written. My grandma is not doing well (I wrote about that in another chapter of another series) and she won't be getting better. I feel like I'm being ripped apart and a thousand other emotions that are driving me mad. But I'm trying to write to keep some semblance of sanity (it's not working). I just don't know how long I can keep doing that.

Thank you to all you readers who gave me some kind words and prayers ♥️🙏♥️

Random Info:

*So Uncle Lamb is very different in this fic compared to how he is in my head (he's like Jane's dad from the animated Tarzan which is very different from how I think of him in canon). And since I don't think he'll pop up again, his back story is that he married. His wife died in childbirth, along with the child, never remarried and is very protective of Claire.

*Murtagh is Jamie's bodyguard. And looking up some official titles the only one I liked was Captain of the Guard. He's also been at Jamie's side since Dougal forced him to be a soldier.

*Claire definitely has thoughts on the Wolvertons that I couldn't flesh out here but it's why she's warmed to Jamie a great deal more than last chapter.

*It's been so long since I've written parts of this fic. If there's anything that sounds like it's from the books I got it from there.

[misfitjohnnys]

unintentional; intro

You’ve worked hard for everything you’ve gotten and Mark Lee is a soft twist in your busy life, but you know hiding part of yourself eventually always bites anyone in the ass.

Word count: 4k

Reader x Mark Lee

(M)

masterlist // warnings

It took quite a bit of convincing yourself to wake up and leave for the airport, overwhelmed by your senses and disbelief that you were actually leaving town in what you, at the time, thought was a critical moment for business.

You had responsibilities; worries about work, making sure the housecleaner was on top of her game while you were gone, other little nags in your schedule you wanted to avoid. You might’ve been a little bit of a perfectionist in comparison to when you were younger and it plagued you but paid off when you were sitting at the very top of the food chain at work, so to speak. Owning and managing a high maintenance restaurant didn’t come easy. It took nearly all of your time and the last location that opened left a little more to be desired for something you put your heart and soul into. And yet you were leaving for a concert. It felt idiotic.

It wasn’t easy to get up and leave just for pleasure. The worry set in, banging in your chest as you carefully carried a gigantic decorated suitcase down the stairs of your luxury apartment in Los Angeles.

Just have a good time

. You told yourself, itching to stay back inside and take care of business. You’d wasted a good amount of time that day worried about leaving that night, but you got all you needed done to prepare for your trip. You booked a late flight for that purpose, knowing it was hard to sleep enough the night before to be ready to go the next morning. You knew you’d work yourself to death the night before trying to scramble and prepare. Your brain was always scattered before flying. It was scattered in general, but your position made you tons more organized and since the health of the restaurant was your main priority, you had to make sure it was all incredibly perfect before you left.

You hadn’t had an off day in what felt like weeks, you couldn’t count anymore, but that was business. You’d made it successful by being fully involved and on location every day, even in your pyjamas when nobody could see you. Dedication was critical if you’d continue to stay successful. Your dream started at 16 with early graduation, finishing a business management degree early with extra financing classes, following with culinary school. You were top dollar success before 25 and you were proud. You got lucky with investors due to your intense and productive personality, so motivation was the key and, boy, did you have the spunk and drive for success. It was almost a toxic relationship between you and work.

Maybe you did need a break, but it was so hard to accept that. You had been so busy the last few years making a name for yourself and you were a mild celebrity, a big success so young and people had your name in their mouths, especially in surrounding areas. It didn’t come easy. You even worked the morning of your parents’ divorce court, met them at the courthouse, then went straight back to work after a costume change.

The dedication got between you and lots of your relationships. Moving to the city states away meant your friends rarely visited. You never traveled to them as much as you desperately wanted to; time was never available and you worried too much, just to put it lightly. There you were, flying off to see your friends, but it was the SuperM concert that pushed you to the edge to make the decision to go. Seeing the concert was an added bonus, but the main goal was to see your friends and have a good time with them. You were going home for the first time in years and it felt weird when you could just stay in California and see the concert closer to you in a few months, but you had to stop making your decisions less about you and more about the people you cared about. Your business wasn’t the only important aspect in life, and you knew that, but it didn’t feel that way.

Your suitcase was heavy, packed way too full of so many unnecessary clothing items out of fear of having to fly back so soon to business or investment meetings. You had backup outfits on top of backup outfits. There were at least six changes of clothes, multiple pairs of shoes, and you felt kind of silly. You were supposed to be gone maybe three days and it felt like a lifetime you’d be gone. The newest location’s food order hadn’t been submitted for the week yet and that was gnawing at your throat to make a phone call, aching to force you to stay home and take care of it all, but you had to trust who you put in charge on site. You had a wonderful assistant, Irene, and she wasn’t at all hesitant about making you go on the trip. She urged you to buy tickets on a whim and she made sure you’d be flying out with precise measured steps down to the Uber to your car rental, the exact moment the keys would be in your hands, and a hotel suite overlooking a city you hadn’t seen in years.

You were booked and extremely busy all week leading to your departure without even a minute to breathe between rests. It was definitely your fault for taking on too much beforehand.

Red carpets, press conferences, board meetings. You even had an episode on The Ellen Show, reminding everyone about your new openings and new menu items and new branding when all you wanted to do was get some rest and have a drink. It was ironic because the group in the concert you were leaving to see had just been on the show. Ellen was the most fun out of all of your responsibilities, lightening the blow on all your other schedules for the week, but you were used to serious business matter, so it was a nice change in pace.

You briefly wondered if any of the members of SuperM knew about your episode, but you pushed the thought away even if it seemed fun. You ended up passed out on the couch more than once that week, half-dressed and with remaining stage makeup on after every event and you were tired. You were damn tired and getting a full night’s rest seemed more fun than the trip at that point, but you had to trust the people around you. It was hard to do that when you’d gotten where you were because of being so involved with your business.

You didn’t even know if you wanted to go, fearing that if you left for only one moment, all you worked for would come crashing down and you’d lose it all. Realistically you knew it wouldn’t happen and your intense accidental micromanaging sometimes bit you in the ass, but thankfully your workers understood. You picked a good crew, thankfully. Interviews were hell but advertisement was worth it in the end. It was all going to be fine, but it didn’t help the pit in your stomach while you walked.

You lived such a busy life that it was hard to even remember what it was like before your responsibilities. It felt unreal that you’d be in a different city unnecessarily when you could easily stay and do what you had to do, but vacationing and seeing your friends was the deal you worked up with Irene. She was forcing you into it, and you had to remind yourself yet again that you knew it was probably for the best even if it didn’t feel that way in the moment.

It took a lot out of you to not ignore your suggested GPS route and just drive to the restaurant to work all day instead, making up bigger and better reasons to avoid leaving, but against your better judgment you continued on your way, forcing yourself to follow the itinerary that Irene made for you, rolling your eyes as you glanced over her suggestions for the timing of what should be done and ideas for your entertainment.

Have fun!!!

was written about four different times as a reminder.

You both knew you’d ignore it, but you had to be forced to enjoy yourself or you’d just be miserable and not busy on a trip, sitting on the edge of the bed in a hotel just focused on your online number system to check sales, which is exactly what you did for your cousin’s bachelorette party. She was still kind of mad at you for that. Maybe you should call her while you’re in town. Maybe you should call and talk to anyone at home, maybe make some plans? You weren’t sure. You needed distraction and you weren’t sure your friends would cut it on that, but you hoped they would, and you’d have the time of your life.

Your phone felt heavy in your pocket, picking it up once to see only one text from Irene.

Get on the road! You’re going to miss your flight! Tell the boys hi for me!

You rolled your eyes. Your sigh echoed in the parking garage, second guessing the flight and debated on using the excuse of missing the plane. Losing that money didn’t matter, your restaurant and reputation did, but you pushed the thoughts away. You groaned, tossing your suitcase in the back and slid into the driver’s seat of your red Mustang.

The restaurant was going to be fine.

The faded smell of cigarette wafted around the car each time you got in, a reminder of the worst habit continually nagging at your insides but being well-off came with a price. That’s what you’d tell yourself to push away some of the guilt for smoking. It wasn’t the worst habit you could have; you’d often resolve. Your vehicle started up and the dreaded sound of it warming up almost made you sick to your stomach. The Mustang’s hum usually comforted you, but then it was absolutely no help. You almost felt like crying. Almost. Your head was spinning back and forth between the two options and it was hard to keep on track with the correct one.

The drive to LAX felt like an eternity, music blasting through the speakers as a failed distraction while you smoked down the last cigarette before your plane ride. Your head felt heavy, maybe you did deserve some time off.

The concert was in two days. If you were lucky and everything went according to plan, (it always did) then you’d be settled in town by morning in order to meet up with your friends from home and get a drink with the people you hadn’t seen in years. The concert was composed of groups you felt like you’d been into forever, spending time and time online filling your brain with them as a distraction, all you knew was work and your favorite music. You got made fun of for years for liking it so much, but you pushed it off and continued your love in silence. It was your biggest guilty pleasure, but hopefully would be the force to take some much needed relaxing and self-focus that not even your massage therapist could give you on your lunch breaks.

When you heard the news that the super-group had come together, it seemed like the perfect getaway to see them all, rattling your nerves the second you pressed PAY NOW on the ticket website. You were full of mild regret for weeks following, heartbeat fast in your chest when the thought of leaving came up.

You couldn't believe that at your age, you'd be going to see them all. You'd had the time and money before, but just never felt like it was necessary to take a trip just for you. You didn’t know what had come over you, but you assumed your acting on impulse was paying for itself now as you pulled the bags out of the car, heart racing through the airport parking garage so loudly in your ears you thought the flight attendants could probably hear it.

You groaned, dragging your bag up the escalator of the airport, waiting on Irene to let you know she had your car picked up, but she always had everything covered so it wasn’t really a concern as much as you were playing it out in your head.

Walking through the building felt like you were on autopilot, bringing your items through bag check and making sure you were comfortable enough to get on the plane. Thankfully your gate was rather empty because you weren’t sure if you could suffer through any extra anxieties before the flight, you were already so ready to give up and cancel the whole trip, but something didn’t feel right about doing that.

You reached into your backpack, taking out your prescription to take half of a Xanax for the plane ride. You sighed, walking over to the vending machine to get water, attempting to relax before your flight boarded in 40 minutes. It was just past 1am. You wasted your time scrolling through Tumblr and refocusing your energy. You hadn’t been on your blog in a few days and you'd been a little too distracted in the last couple years to keep too properly active, but you managed with updates and Tumblr seemed like the easiest platform to waste your time at that moment. Some good enjoyment and spice in the update world to ease the weight of your worries just a tad.

Your heart was racing as you stared your ticket down once the wait was over, gripping it enough to have noticeable sweat prints on it as you moved your way to the boarding station with heavy breaths and in disbelief that you were actually doing it. It felt like you were being forced to move and go on with your plans even though you knew that wasn’t the case. Your friends would be waiting for you in the city once you touched down. There was nothing to be worried about.

When the plane was fully boarded, you made sure to take the other half of the Xanax to get a decent amount of sleep considering you tossed and turned all night worried about your trip.

You woke up wondering what the fuck you were doing, a nightmare pulling you from your slumber, annoyed and staring out of the plane windows at the city and clouds below you, calming you down more than all else in the world in that moment.

You pulled the plane blanket to your chest and focused on your breathing, aching to land soon and relax enough to actually have a good time.

You had finally realized you'd fallen asleep without distraction when the politest flight attendant you’d spoken to in your entire life lightly woke you up. Your smile radiated and it was probably the most you had relaxed in months, sighing into a yawn and gently folding the blanket next to you before grabbing your items to head back out of the plane and into the destination airport.

The luggage grab was packed, as you expected, but your anxiety was shockingly low, breathing steady and it was even more relieving to easily pick up your bags. This wouldn’t be so bad, you thought. Your peace was quickly interrupted by a piercing yell from about 50 feet away, a familiar voice ringing in your ears to only make you smile wider.

"I can't believe you actually made it!" Your high school friend, Seulgi, yelled over to you.

Your other friend who was responsible for the yell, Yeri, followed quickly behind Seulgi and easily embraced you in the tightest hug you'd gotten in years. Your relieved sigh was heavy, happiness finally settling in. For once in the last couple months, you weren't thinking about work. That was a miracle in itself. “We thought you’d cancel last second and send us some care package in the mail apologizing.” Yeri teased with another tight squeeze.

“I can’t believe you’re home.” Seulgi told you, sighing softly and patting you on the shoulder, joining the hug and pulling the two of you to her chest.

"I told you guys you didn’t have to meet me here!” You playfully scolded your friends. “So where are we going?" You laughed, joking around and pulling up Uber to check where your ride was to pick up your rental car. You determined early on in planning that it was best if you drove around, easier access and much less stress on your part.

-

"I just need an SUV big enough for 3 people and quite a few bags." You spoke to the rental assistant, feeling a little embarrassed when she asked if you preferred luxury or premium. "Luxury is fine." The keyring was handed to you, biting your lip as you looked down at the Mercedes symbol on the fob. Your friends hadn't been a part of your life since you made your name, so it was only a little awkward when Seulgi and Yeri screamed as soon as they saw the vehicle you'd be driving for the next few days.

"Dude, I could live in this car." Seulgi laughed, shaking her head and tossing her bags into the trunk, grabbing her purse and sliding easily into the backseat.

"It had really good coverage." You resolved, putting your own suitcase and extra bags next to hers before taking up the drivers’ seat as if you belonged in it.

"It seems like it’s got really good everything." Yeri added with a grin, shaking her head and jumping into the passenger seat with her simple small suitcase, opting to change shoes in the front seat so she wanted her bag with her. She was always like that, fixing her makeup as soon as her shoes were changed. You smiled to yourself, shaking your head. Your best friends had gotten you through most of your life as you remembered; now it was your turn to treat them.

It was good to be back, that was a tough pill to swallow as you eased your way down the highway to your temporary home for the next couple days, you hoped it was comfortable.

The hotel suite was far fancier than you were expecting, silk linens hanging from the curtain rods to reveal an amazing view of the city from your beds alone, Egyptian cotton lining the beds along with multiple high-class comforters. To put it short, the suite looked like it was designed for Greek gods instead of a group of people in their twenties like all of you. It was accented with a kitchen, full bathroom, and a balcony. Irene had to have used your points from work trips to secure the highest-level suite.

Yeri couldn’t hide her excitement, jumping straight onto the bed nearest to the window. You easily sat your bags on the free bed while Seulgi crawled under the covers next to Yeri to assert herself as who would be sleeping where. You couldn’t help but to laugh, the two of them always so close to each other and you had to admit you missed it.

You gently pulled off your shoes, tossing your hair into a hair tie to get it out of your way and tried your best to get ready for the day with a shower and fresh face. You felt quite overwhelmed, but in the best possible way. You hadn’t stayed in your hometown in what felt like forever, opting ever so often to only visit for a holiday or important family matters, and you even went as far as to staying outside of the city usually, so you were only a little on edge, trying to remind yourself that you were used to these kinds of things and the discomfort would subside.

You checked your phone, only slightly shocked that you only had a text or two from Irene that were easily blown off. She always knew where your head was at versus where it should be, but the thought was nice even if it slightly annoyed you every time.

Have fun, remind me that you didn’t die on your flight!

I packed some extra warm clothes in case you forgot about the wind chill!

You mildly snorted, shaking your head and deciding to ignore responding to her for now. She probably knew you were already settling in, just wanting an update text even though she always had your location since managing you was her job. You went out to the balcony, lighting up a cigarette in the city for the first time and trying your best to relax a little more. The balcony of the hotel was nice, overlooking the city lights, buildings, and scenery you weren’t used to anymore and for some reason you felt calmed by the cold breeze passing over your legs through your pants, socks not quite warm enough to stop the chilly air. It felt like home, but it was different.

You weren’t a child anymore and you could appreciate the soft hum of the city, quiet sirens heard in the background with the wind whistling through the trees. It felt more comforting than you would’ve thought, filling your lungs with smoke and relaxing into the sounds of a city you never appreciated quite enough. You all went out to dinner and to walk around a bit to visit old memories, so the trip was so far so good.

Making your way back to the suite, you felt pretty good. You took another break outside, letting the cool chair embrace you when you heard the door open and a faint giggle from Yeri, stepping out on the balcony and turning her nose up at the smell of cigarette smoke. She always hated it and you swore you’d never smoke, but desperate times called for desperate measures at the cost of your success. It wasn’t your favorite thing, but the nicotine calmed you enough to keep sane. “What’s up, babe?”

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise to you when Yeri said she wanted to have a party, but it slightly worried you, biting on your lips to think of any reason to say no, but you couldn’t find one, sighing and knowing she probably knew your mental health better than you did and knew you’d have a better time than you ever thought. You scrambled to find whatever you needed in your bag to properly get dressed because you definitely weren’t sure what exactly to wear to a party or who you might see, materialism absolutely showing through as you tried to find the best possible outfit to represent you as a person but still remind anyone you knew that you were still the same person, just on the road to success.

You sighed, taking a sip of water and really wishing it were something a little stronger. Tequila maybe? You weren’t sure, but you had to properly be dressed if any party was going on in your presence. The challenge of throwing a party slapped you in the face, not at all even comfortable with the idea of putting it together and that’s what made you nervous. You were used to throwing dozens of successful business parties and you hadn’t small-partied in years in a non-professional environment, you weren’t sure you knew how to act at one anymore, or even how to get ready for one.

Getting dressed was a nightmare, going through all your clothes when you were so used to throwing on a professional outfit and half-assed makeup to go to work had gotten you into a routine and you weren’t sure what your style even was anymore.

You knew you looked fine, but the usual outfits you wore didn’t really depict who you were as a person, making you sigh and feeling even more nervous and absolutely out of your comfort zone and how long had it been since you’d been to a party? Probably not since the third location’s launch party and that was full of investors and critics so you couldn’t necessarily “party”. You sighed in the bathroom, tugging on a long sweater with some tights and black shorts. Your shoes were brand new, hardly even worn but they seemed to work with the sleek seemingly-no-effort outfit. You hardly even packed your own clothes, Irene assisted you and tossed extra items into your suitcase that you weren’t quite sure of, but she knew you better than anyone, so you were thankful for the help.

Your makeup left a little to be desired, frowning when it didn’t quite come out. You sighed, realizing that you should probably pull yourself fully together and maybe pluck your eyebrows, but that may have just been an excuse to leave the hotel for a breather and a new pack of cigarettes. Maybe the outing would help you calm down after what you called getting dressed “a catastrophe” to your friends. They seemed slightly worried, so you felt a little sick.

“I’m headed out, be back in twenty.” Seulgi and Yeri visibly pouted, looking absolutely perfect and ready for the party, their friends already on their way. There were probably going to be tons of people from university you hadn’t even heard of, so that was rattling your nerves even more. You had a bad habit of over-anticipating and working yourself into being terrified to associate. You put on a fancy hat and headed out the door.

The walk to the car felt like you ran there, steadying your breaths until the door opened, biting your lip as you started it up and sat in the drivers’ seat to tell yourself it was all going to be fine.

You opted to check your phone, nearly frustrated when you’d received multiple texts from employees telling you that it was all going well. It was unfortunate, but you’d like an excuse to worry about and being at work seemed easier than worrying about a party you weren’t sure you were emotionally prepared for.

As you backed out and made your way to a nearby Walgreens, something felt a little off in the pit of your stomach. You had a feeling that nagged at you and you couldn’t quite place it. You made your way into the parking lot, taking a deep breath before stepping inside. It had been a long time since you’d been in a store alone and not with Irene or someone else. You didn’t like doing things alone anymore and this trip had a lot of alone time on it, but you thought that maybe it was good. You’d have a learning experience to get back to being yourself.

You were used to being with people, constant human interaction since your first restaurant opened. It wasn’t like that when you were younger. You were shy and timid and forced to do things alone, so when you were ripped out of that in the restaurant business, you got used to it very quickly. It was like second nature to constantly be surrounded, so even walking into Walgreens felt foreign.

[iris-ymir]

...The morning after

Evangeline trotted through the hallway, and turned into the kitchen, pushing open the door to immediately be faced by Iris' lithe and slender back, covered only by a very transparent nightgown.  The woman wasn't wearing much else...skimpy lace lingerie...and was holding a cup of coffee which was slowly releasing steam into the air around her.  Evangeline stopped, frozen in place for the second time this morning, but this time for a very different reason. "I....uhh...s-sorry..." she stammered, flushing immediately.  "I d-didn't know...you were awake...I hope you didn't have too much trouble sleeping..."  She shuffled her feet, trying not to look at the slope of Iris' back, the curve of her hips, the nape of her neck... Eva promptly realized that she was doing exactly that-tracing the lines of Iris' body with her eyes, unable to look away.  Iris was so thin...she looked to be a willow branch, flexible in nature, ready to bend should it need to, but never break.  It was then that Eva saw...one of the things that she found truly attractive about Iris.  She was resilient.  She had been through so much...lost so much...been so thoroughly hurt by the world...but she had not broken.  She would not break.  Evangeline was in awe of it...the power she exuded. She shook her head, attempting to clear it, and tried to speak. “I...um...I-I was about to...make myself some breakfast. C-can I make you something?” She stared at the ground, still flushing, hoping Iris would respond. Iris turned around, hearing Eva’s voice from the doorway. “Oh, Cinnabun! Suprised to see yer still stickin’ around... ’Ow the ‘ell do ya dink someone can sleep in dis frickin’ ruckus, though? Tha annoyin’ clapper of dat roegadyn’s lips would wake up the heckin’ corpses...” Suddenly Iris heard the steps from the stairs. During the years in manor, she had learned to recognize Varg’s way of striding. The old au ra did his best to not draw attention to his bad leg, but if you knew what to listen to, you could hear a very slight limp on his footsteps. After one last swift draw, pale viera tossed what was left of the cigarette into the sink, fanning the air around her with a sleeve of her dressing gown to get rid of the smoke, and hopefully, the smell.

With a relieved sigh, Iris circled her way around the table, and leaned onto the other side of it, her eyes traveling up and down on Eva’s body. An impish smirk played on her lips, as her eyes finally nailed onto woman’s purple pools. “Breakfast, ya say? Seein’ somethin’ appetizing? Hm?” Viera let her dressing gown drop casually off her shoulder, while taking a sip, keeping her eyes on Eva, over the rim of her cup. “...I dun need anythin’, Cinnabun. Its too heckin’ early to get any food stuff down aniway... I’ll just... get done wid dis...”, she tipped her cup towards her companion. “...And den I’ll be off. Gonna see mi Silke... Mi fallen angel should be havin’ a day off, and Im gonna drag dat purdiful nose of ‘ers off tha damn books for a change! I need to get outta ‘ere... I cant stand dat damn roegadyn in mi fockin’ eyes...”

Evangeline listened passively to Iris, crossing her arms and cocking her head to the side as she saw the pale woman trail off, seeming to be listening for something.  Eva paid it no mind, however...her senses weren’t particularly sharp and the sound of the others carrying on was more than enough to drown out anything she might have picked up on.  Iris didn’t look scared, or worried, which was the important part.  Her eyes followed the viera as she moved down from the table, her jaw going slightly slack as Iris dropped her dressing gown.  She knew Iris was playing games...but Evangeline rather liked this one. “Ah..appetizing? Y-yes…” slipped from her mouth without her realizing it.  “I mean-!” She hurridly corrected herself.  “I had thought to look in the pantry…t-to see if there were eggs or anything.”  She chewed on her lip, her eyes still following Iris’ lithe form as she attempted to remove her foot from her mouth for the hundredth time. “I’m not the best cook...but I can get something together…” she mused, trailing off as Iris mentioned ‘Silke.’  Evangeline’s blood ran cold...Iris’ fallen angel? Who could this be…?  It sounded like she was at least a woman...not another gods-damned man...but did there always have to be competition?  After a few seconds of considering, feeling her chest tighten, she knew she had to ask. “Silke? Who’s that?” She intoned, as casually as she could muster. “Who? Mi Silke..?”, an impish smile lingered on Iris’ black-painted lips, as she rolled the shoulder strap around her finger. She had cut the two broken nails short, and painted them red, instead of her usual black. “Silke.. Silke is mi... friend. My muse... Mine... She just... does not quite realize it just yet, but she will be! The skin as pale as a porcelain doll.. ‘er hair long and dark, like the vast sea at midnight.. And dose torquoise eyes! Like a heckin’ lagoon ya could just drown into. Fockin’ dazzlin’ lass. Tha best heckin’ ass from ‘ere to Limsa Lominsa, I tell ya... A goddess among rats, Cinnabun..” Pale viera walked up to her partner, gazing up to those purple pools through her thick lashes. “Ya should come wid mi, sweetie... Hm?”, while talking softly, she ran her fingernails up on Eva’s toned arm, trailing her way up onto her shoulder. “Ya know... I might ‘ave an idea!”, she tiptoed placing a quick kiss on other’s lips, before taking a step back. The scent of the cigarette she just finished still lingered on her breath.. with something else. “Yer gonna take a shower, okai? Yer... in need o’ one. And while at dat, I’ll whip ya sum breakfast, okai? Believe mi or not... Im quuuite ‘andy in tha scullery! Den ya eat yer fill... And wi ‘ead out! Hm? Whuddu-ya sai?” Iris winks, turning around swiftly, and making her way to the stove, and soon the light of flames started to dance on her pale skin. She pulled out another cigarette with her lips, carefully lighting it on the stove, and picked up a large knife. “...So... How do ya wunt yer yello’ eyes, Cinnabun?” The tip of the cigarette jumped up and down merrily, as she spoke. Evangeline bit her lip.  This was exactly what she had feared…’friend’ most certainly seemed to mean ‘competition’ in this context.  Eva had yet to hear the deathly pale Iris complement anyone so flagrantly, nor had she ever expressed any interest in possessing someone.  This would be...a difficult situation.  Evangeline could feel that little monster writhing around in her stomach.  Covered in spines, pricking at her when she least expected it, crawling up her ribs and poking around inside her. Jea-lou-sy.  An emotion that Eva was very much familiar with.  It had cost her her previous relationship...or so she would assume.  Eventually Solenna may come looking for her...but with her new boy occupying her?  She doubted it.  Eva wasn’t worth the effort...not worth the attention.  She felt suddenly as if she were made of molasses, weary even as the little green beast scuttled through her innards.  Was this truly how she should spend her day?  Wouldn’t it be better to let Iris have her time with her ‘friend?’ To not interfere?  Evangeline had said she wouldn’t try and tie Iris down, or cage her...she had made that promise.  She should stand by it, and let the other woman go about her business.  She had almost resolved to gently excuse herself from the situation when...a shiver ran down her spine at Iris’ touch. Ya should come wid mi, sweetie...Hm? Gods...damn...it.  She couldn’t say no to this woman.  Iris’ lips touched hers, bringing heat rushing to her cheeks and her finger to her lips, cementing her fate.  She listened quietly as Iris rattled off her ideas, seemingly in a rather good mood this morning. She was on the verge of responding, telling Iris she preferred her eggs sunny side up, when Arsene drifted into the room, causing Eva to stammer and pause, scratching the back of her neck awkwardly.  Butler squinted eyes quickly observed the surroundings, spotting the two Vieras. Iris' current state of clothing, a knife on one hand, and a lit cigarette between her lips made the old Elezen tilt his head slightly, yet no trace of emotion to one way or another could be read from his face. Arsene strode hastily to one of the windows, slamming it open with one hand. He then proceed to take a pot of hot water, pouring the content into a cup with a string of teabag hanging over the rim. He let out a sigh, slowly turning to face the women once more, observing the situation. "Forgive me, miss Iris, miss Evangelin, for my intrusion," he said, now with a warm smile on his lips, "but you should be aware that you only need to ask, should you require any sort of.. Specialities to your ordinary breakfast, that I could provide you with." “Oh, Im mighty-fine, Gramps!”, Iris placed a pan on dancing flames, while rolling the knife around on her fingers, like a street performer. As the pan was hot, she added a piece of butter and broke three eggs onto it, using her free hand. For a person who looked like cooking plain water was all she could do, she handled the eggs well, managing to break them without getting a single piece of shell onto the pan. While shedding some ashes into the sink, she poked the bubbling eggs with the tip of her knife, wiggling her hips languorously. “...Ohhh fockin’ ‘ell!! Graa-aamps! I need a heckin spatula! I ‘ave.. a situation goin’ on ‘ere! Uhh.. shiteclippers!” Hissing a curse through her teeth, pale viera moved the pan off the flames, while dumping the cigarette onto the edge of the sink. “...Aand.. sum o’ dat ace bacon, if we still ‘ave it? And.. A bun! Yass.. A heckin’ bagel! Goat cheese! For fock’s sake... Evangelin’! Tha frickin’ chicken squirts! How do ya take dem, sweetie?! ‘Cause soon tha only option is damn crispy!” As Iris started to fumble, still trying to flip the eggs with a knife for some reason, Evangeline looked back to her, and barely managed to utter: “Scrambled...thank you, Iris.  I’ll…”  She paused, trying very hard to make the right decision, and proceeding to fail miserably.  “I would...love to join you...it would be nice to meet your friend.”  She gritted her teeth slightly, but didn’t make much of a show of it.  The creature in her stomach clawed away…and something occurred to her.  Perhaps it would calm down if she at least met this ‘Silke.’  Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t...right?  Might as well find out if she had a shot, at least.  At being something.  Feeling like she was something.  She smiled slightly at Iris. “Thank you for making me something, Iris.  I appreciate the effort...could I trouble either of you for directions to a bath or a shower?  I could use a bit of a refresher…” She ran her fingers through her hair, still somewhat slick with sweat.  Definitely not showing off her arms in the process.  Well, maybe a little bit. Arsene kept his eyes peeled at Iris' effort at the knifeplay for a short moment, then gliding next to her, to open the drawer right beside her. He picked up, and rolled the spatula in his fingers, then softly placed it very close to the steaming pan, using his little finger to knock the dumped cigarette bud into the sink with the same motion."Use the poker, young miss, calm the flames.." he said with a velvety tone in his voice. He took a long step leftwards, pulling a thick cloth from on top of a pile of rather large, fresh buns, still steaming slightly. "Feel free to eat as many as you wish, Master Blacksoul has already left.. Add some salt now, young miss." Arsene opened a small shelf-door, revealing a large variety of spices. He picked up a small jar, placing it close to where he had just placed the spatula. Arsene shifted his gaze to Evangelin, his lips turned into a smile. "Of course, miss Evangelin. I shall guide you personally to the bathing rooms, while I go get the meat, and some herbal butter for young miss Iris' bagel.." Arsene looked back to Iris, his eyes gleaming in the flames. Placing the knife onto table, Iris picked up the poker, turning her gaze to Eva. “Eyyyy! Cinnabun! Ya want mi to... calm yer flames?”, she waved the poker at the other, before sticking it into the furnace under the stove. “Talkin’ about dat... Do ya also ‘ave flame flowers growin’ in yer secret garden, or only on top of yer ‘ead? ...Scrambled it is! ...I think dats the only choise wi ‘ave at dis point aniway... Ohhh, for fock’s sake, the heckin’ salt! Thanke, Gramps!!” Viera returned the pan on the stove, adding some salt, before going through the open spice cabinet. After shuffling through the jars for a moment, opening one from here and there, she picks out some pepper mix and paprika compote. Humming a cheerful tone, she reached for the knife, cut a bagel in half, and applied some compote onto it, before toppling it with the scrambled eggs. “Ohhh yissss, dis will be perfect.. Dont ya float in dere for too long, Cinnabun.. Yer meal will get cold, ya know!” Iris glanced towards Eva for one last time with a playful wink, as she made her way to the coffee pot, filling it with fresh water. Evangeline thought to blush at ‘calm your flames’, but was briefly given pause by Iris’ mention of her ‘secret garden…’  It took her a moment to realize what the other woman meant, watching as she cavorted around the kitchen, a nymph, lithe and joyful, bouncing around as if she had cooked for all her life.  Then it occurred to her just exactly what Iris had asked her...and her face immediately turned as red as her hair.  It occurred to her that taking a seat on the spot may not be a bad idea, since she felt as if she were liable to faint at any moment. “I-...j-...don-...you…” She was barely able to form words at this point, she was so thoroughly embarrassed.  This seemed to be the norm around here...given how Arsene had barely reacted.  Eva, it seemed...would need to get used to this.  Twelve, though...it wasn’t even what was said, entirely.  It was the person that said it.  The looks Iris gave.  Her body language...the way she moved was just so...Evangeline couldn’t finish the sentence, even in her own mind.  It flustered her.  Threw her off balance.  Eva buried her face in her hands, trying to calm her rapidly beating heart, to find words...something she could say to save even a small amount of face. “T-twelve...Iris...m-must you ask such personal questions…” she stuttered from behind a wall of her own fingers, pulling herself under control at last.  She grasped at Arsene’s arm, pleading to him. “The bath...please...if you don’t mind.”  As she turned to leave the room, though, something occurred to her.  The words escaped her mouth without her realizing, vocalizing her thoughts before she could stop them. “You should know t-the answer anyways…” She clapped a hand over her mouth, unable to stop the sentence before it burst from between her teeth, a dam collapsing in the face of a raging river.  Blushing furiously, her hand still covering her mouth, she stepped from the room, the entirety of her willpower focused on stopping herself from thoughtlessly fleeing, hoping to all twelve gods that Arsene wouldn't share this with her new potential employer. “Red like tha flames of dat burnin’ church bench!! And twice as sinful...” Iris broke into a flagrant laugh, as the blushing viera was guided out of the kitchen. Her laugh would still echo on the hallway, as the old elezen walked the redhead towards the large bathrooms. As the water in the pot started to boil, Iris added in several spoonfulls of freshly grinded coffee, soon moving the pot off the flames. The delicious scent of fresh coffee filled the kitchen, fading away what was left of the pungent cigarette smoke. A slight, impish smile lingered on viera’s lips, as she poured herself a cup. Everything was going according to the plan. For now at least. Just a couple more pulls and the hook would pierce deep into Eva’s heart. Deep in the maze of webs Iris had so lovingly weaved. Did she actually feel bad for the girl though? Everyone who ever stepped into this cursed building got their life ruined.. their whole being rotting from inside out... This place slowly ate away your soul. Varg’s... her own... the only one seeminly unaffected of the curse was the old Elezen... but maybe the man was more of a servant to the curse, than an actual victim. Taking a sip, Iris disgarded the thought. How was it her problem in the first place? She had never brought Evangeline into this place. The woman had walked here with her own two feet. Blindfolded, like a lamb to the slaughter... It was not Iris’ problem, if the woman was to turn into yet another victim of the Blacksoul manor. Or was it?

A while later, Arsene returned into the kitchen. On one hand he was carrying a slim paper package, from the grease stains on the paper one could imagine the package contained the meat Iris was after, for her breakfast that is. On the other hand he held a fine clay jar, filled with goat cheese mixed with herbs. Without as much as saying a word, Arsene walked through thekitchen, and placed the requested ingredients onto the table next to Iris. The old Elezen took a deep breath through his nose, his eyes closed. The scent of smoke from the firewood, and the steam from the fried eggs had well enough covered the stench of cigarette in the kitchen. Arsene opened his eyes, andmoved his gaze to the open window, then reaching his hand to close it once again. Arsene looked at Iris' direction, a gentle, yet in a way melancholic smile on his lips. Arsene turned around, to softly lean against the table on which he had placed the cheese and meat,still holding his gaze nailed at the Viera. Giving a quick side-glance towards old elezen, Iris threw some meat onto the pan, which soon started to hiss like an elderly snake. The bacon did not take long to finish on the already hot pan. When it had gained some crisp, pale viera poured it on top of the pagel, to make company for scrambled eggs, finishing the whole thing with a huge spoonful of goat cheese. “The heck is takin’ so long..? We should get movin’, for fock’s sake..”, she muttered to herself, giving a glance towards the old clock, standing in the corner of a kitchen. She was sure the clock itself had been here long before Varg arrived to Ishgard... or so it looked like.With a sigh, Iris picked up the plate, rolling fork and knife into a napkin, and was about to head to the bathroom, as her eyes catched the look on Arsene’s face. “Uhhhh... Im... Ya know... Im heckin’ sorry for the mess... Aniway, Im just gonna.. make sure tha damn damsel in distress has not drowned ‘erself into tha tub or anythin’...” She made her way to the doorway, and before stepping into the corridor, she gave one last glance towards the elezen, a slight smile lingering in her black lips. “...Thanks, Granpa.” And with that, Iris disappeared from the doorway, heading towards the bathroom.

[elopez7228]

Scenic Route 26/47

Read on AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/18268208/chapters/43229774 

Start over : https://elopez7228.tumblr.com/post/620919089893933056/scenic-route-0147

***

Rey was ready.

She was dressed in jeans, high-heeled boots, and a flowing top that exposed most of her back. It was sexy  enough for a concert, comfortable enough to wear all night, and most importantly, perfect for her inevitable confrontation with Ben Solo. Her hair was swept up in a half-ponytail and she had picked out a pair of silver pendant earrings for the occasion.

Her makeup was minimal in that it consisted mostly of nude tones, but she had taken more care than usual in applying it—she looked much better than she did during her daily bouts of tourism. A small bag completed her ensemble, containing the essentials: her wallet, phone, and car keys.

The concert venue was on the outskirts of the city, nestled between a massive parking garage, a few fast food restaurants, the rear end of a warehouse, and a few motels. A mediocre scene at best. Bozeman was not a city known for its animated nightlife: it was frequented by the tourists going or coming from Yellowstone and its inhabitants lived almost exclusively off of this influx of temporary visitors. This wasn’t the kind of place where tourists stayed for more than a night, not that many tourists would attend a rock concert in the first place.

Yet the parking was already full of  vehicles, their plates registered in Wyoming, Montana and Idaho. Tonight was going to be packed—a congregation of neighbors, friends, and visitors from the surrounding towns and ranches.

The entrance was a free-for-all, alcohol flowed freely as empty bottles of beer and stray cigarettes littered already the cluttered ground.

Rey took BB8 out for one more walk before locking her in the car with the window rolled down, making sure she had plenty of water and dog treats. She didn’t want to attract any more attention to her already infamous eyesore from 1977, so she had parked a little further away, near a McDonald's, where she had also spotted a familiar pickup truck. It featured a “Kylo REN” bumper sticker, the logo not unlike one of the posters near the entrance of the concert hall.

She hesitated. Should it go through the main entrance? He had mentioned an all-access backstage once; could she possibly come in through the back?

When in doubt, text him.

I’m here. Should I buy a ticket or do you have the backstage pass  you offered?

No response.

Shit.

He was probably busy.

She made her way behind the building and finally recognized one of the musicians (Skylar?) who was leaning against a wall, cigarette in hand. She approached him with her best smile.

“Hi, I 'm Rey, you know, a friend of Ben...uh...Kylo Ren’s. he told me something about a backstage pass, can I come in?”

Upon closer inspection, she noticed his broad shoulders, immaculately shaved head, and intricately tattooed neck and forearms. He deigned not to respond immediately. He lowered the eyes and practically leered at Rey from top to bottom, pausing to take a long drag of his cigarette before blowing the smoke in her face.

“He didn't say anything to me. Nice try. Go through the front and pay the price.”

Rey winced. Something about this guy made her skin crawl, she could see in his eyes that this was all an act.

“Is Syed Ren is there? Can I talk to her?”

“What Syed is up to is none of your business.”

Okay...why was he acting like such a guard dog?

“Well,” she insisted, “in that case, maybe you can inform Kylo or Syed, wherever they are, that Rey is out here waiting for them?”

The musician took a step forward and bent slightly to reach Rey’s height, forcing her to reflexively take a step back. He was much taller than her. Classic intimidation technique; it discouraged escalation without attracting attention.

“Listen up, kid, I dunno who you think you are, but nobody’s gonna bother Kylo Ren. Wait your turn and pay your dues or get the hell out.”

Rey gritted her teeth. Her smile was acerbic. “Perfect. Let's do that, then.”

Idiot! She would’ve appreciated if Kylo and Syed had told her about Skylar’s garbage personality when she was still going back and forth about the whole maybe-I-should-follow-you-on-tour-and -drop-by-now-and-then idea. She was hoping she could be more forgiving to Kylo, but of course that proved to be useless. Now she only hoped he would break a leg tonight—literally. Fuck him and his rockstar life. Maybe he would draw the short straw one day and end up cleaning other people’s messes for a change. Maybe that would take him off of his grand fucking pedestal.

Eventually, with no other option (as evidenced by her very silent phone) Rey skirted back around the edge of the building to the entrance. She paid for a ticket—a paltry 19 dollars—and stepped inside.

The room was overheated, and already well full. Rey elbowed her way to the front as much as possible, getting as close as she could to the stage. Suddenly, she felt a hand press against her buttocks as she navigated through the crowd.

Hell, someone was going to pay very dearly for this.

She was spun around, swiftly grabbing a wrist while her fingers formed a vice-like grip around it. At the end of said wrist was a bearded man in a ridiculous hat, with an equally ridiculous expression on his face. He had expected, no doubt, to find her embarrassed and intimidated.

“Whose hand is this?” She yelled as loudly as she could, “because it just happened to grab my buttocks out of nowhere,”  she spat acidly.

The bearded man pulled his hand and tried to flee, but Rey held firmly. She looked him right in the eyes.

“Say, haven't you misplaced something?”

“Uh...hey...” mumbled the guy, visibly panicking now. Another girl jumped in to help her, grabbing the man’s shoulders to shove him off to the side.

“Get lost, there’s no room for pervs here!”

Soon, a group formed around them to collectively push the man out of the door. Rey’s heartbeat soared and suddenly she felt like her confidence was limitless. Yes, by the end of the concert, she would get ahold of Kylo and Syed—Skylar or no Skylar—to hell with waiting outside all night!

In a matter of minutes the lights went out. Amid the whistles and the cheers of the audience, Rey felt her heart skip a beat in recognizing the unmistakable silhouette of Ben Solo on the stage. He was all black again: black Doc Martens, black jeans, and a plain black crew neck t-shirt. Although his shirt was simple, it was very fitted, revealing the shape of his muscular  chest and broad shoulders. She remembered touching that chest, tracing the outline of those hard planes with one hand while using the other to dip below the waistband of those jeans.

Suddenly she felt unbearably hot.

But that was just because of how crowded it was. Right?

Somehow, there were only five people on stage. She looked for Syed in vain, her eyes widening with realization that the guitarist wasn’t there at all. What did that imply? Truth be told, she was a little disappointed; she’d had the every intention to deal with Syed too. It was strange how Rey felt like a target in what seemed to be a folie à deux between Syed and Kylo. There was no use in confronting one of them if the other got away.

She was surprised to find herself swaying to the rhythm of the music, whistling and clapping along with the audience. It must have been the music itself, a paradoxically beautiful cacophony that resonated with the rage she had buried inside and fit perfectly with the mood of the evening.

Kylo Ren felt it too. His voice was hoarser from the screaming, his breath more uneven, his stage presence even wilder than the last concert in Denver. Rey could see in the urgency of his body language a fury that seemed to spill out of him and into the microphone. It was almost a display of violence. Her own anger paled in comparison to his, the vast tidal wave of emotion that emanated from his being.

The atmosphere was electric, the crowd  unhinged. Rey knew the lyrics by heart, after a thousand kilometers worth of repetition, but she was still shocked to find herself belting the chorus at the top of her lungs with the rest. She admittedly knew nothing of the history of Kylo Ren, she didn’t know where she would find the story of his life (on the walls of some gallery?) or where they would end this unexpected journey. But at least she had found a new favorite band, and their familiar melodies had become her anthem—the anthem of her own journey. She would never forget this vintage car, or these desert roads which wound past rugged mountains, or the mesmerizing way Kylo’s hair fell to his shoulders. The dense, silken ebony  that framed his face in wild strands that stuck against his forehead when he was on stage.

The music stopped, the room became dark. Kylo Ren's voice rose in silence:

“This next song is about how we deal with the unexpected, inspired by someone who turned my life upside down. This is my song for her, "First Rain".

Rey felt herself blush to the roots of the hair. Was it a song for her?

Maybe it was for Syed? He hadn't specified anything, was it just her imagination? Did he know? Was she being watched?

Suddenly she found herself unable to move a muscle, frozen alone amidst a sea of nameless faces. Their eyes watched Kylo Ren intently, but him—he was looking directly at her. His gaze pierced through the crowd, unmistakable. He had written it for her. She immediately felt the urge to run, far, far away. But looking into his eyes, she found herself incapable of it.

His gaze held her captive. Dark and hypnotically odd, like his hair, like his clothes—like everything that was ever made in his image. His face was too long and his earlobes too detached, a round sliver of flesh peeking out from underneath of a curtain of black on each side of his face. She bet they were sensitive enough that if she pulled on them he would—

What on earth was happening to her? Was she really going to melt like a lovesick teenager for the first guy with a guitar who bothered to write a song for her? He didn’t even have a guitar.

But he sang words of love.

Better yet, he sang of other things: of a meeting that was more of a collision, of confrontation, of misunderstandings, of sharing secrets, of lies, so many lies...it was all there.

It was all written for her.

She wanted to put her own feelings into words, but her mouth was dry. Her lower half betrayed her desires as her heart hammered even harder. What was he trying to tell her, and, more importantly, what was she going to say in response?

When the music stopped the audience broke out in cheers, but Rey was struggling to breathe. He had sung the entire song while looking right into the eyes, so much so that the crowd around her had receded somewhat, providing them the semblance of privacy.

It was there that she found herself at the center of a circle of people, in the middle of Bozeman, Montana, and in some sense, at the center of the universe.

Then Kylo Ren broke the silence once more as the deafening roar of rock resumed, jolting the audience awake, and Rey was suddenly anonymous again, drowned by a sea of people once more.

She could barely hear the rest of the concert. She was furious with herself for falling into a trap as sickeningly cliche as a song in her name. It was unbearably romantic and...and irresistible.

She couldn't go on.

She left the room, feeling feverish, taking longer and longer strides until she made it to her car, where she collapsed onto the front seat with heaving breaths.

BB8 pawed at her and Rey let the dog bounce excitedly around the car.

She would wait here until the end of the concert, until Kylo and Syed were available. From where she was sitting she could see Kylo Ren’s truck, and she could just make out the entrance to the concert hall. They would be impossible to miss.

Rey was shaken, emotionally drained, even. That song had almost certainly lasted a few minutes, but it had seemed as though he had sung for hours.

Something had happened then, while his eyes held hers as his voice wrapped around her whole being. The room had suddenly felt deserted, like they were alone in the world. It had been so unexpectedly and deeply erotic that she had lost the notion of time.

She didn't know if she wanted to laugh or sob. Her skin felt tingly, crying out to be touched. She had never smoked in her life but she wanted a cigarette.

She grabbed the sweater she had left on the passenger seat, and buried her face in it before unleashing a scream that emptied out her entire lungs—a visceral cry  of anger, of frustration and of relief, simultaneously primal and liberating.

Finally she felt better, leaning her head back again before dozing off.

It was the movement around her that drew her out of drowsiness. The chaotic din of the audience leaving the venue, the roar of engines and bursts of random conversation.

How long had she slept? The concert was over, the people were leaving the premises. Soon she was surrounded only by the vehicles of the tech crew, and those of the Knights of Ren. She recognized the group, two women and two men, walking across the lot.

Rey got out of her car and leaned against the door, ankles crossed, as she scrutinized the darkness. Where was Kylo Ren? He better be out here.

A car approached. A dark grey SUV, which parked near the  pickup.

Rey’s heart began to pound in her chest when she recognized the silhouette in the driver’s seat—a leather-clad woman with a mohawk.

She shuddered. If Syed was there, Kylo would show up soon. Rey was going to call out to her when something stopped her in her tracks.

Syed was holding a knife.

Rey held both hands over her mouth to stifle the cry that threaten to escape her throat and give away her location as she slid down into a crouched position, praying she could just disappear. Syed slipped past the SUV and stopped in front of the black pickup. With one fluid motion, she slashed the rear-left tire, her fist clenching tightly around the hilt of the blade.

Then she directed her attention to the rear-right tire, until she had methodically slashed all of them. BB8 began baring her teeth and growling, but Rey coaxed her to be quiet.

This was highly unusual. Weren't Syed and Kylo supposed to be accomplices in some crazy scheme? Guided by intuition, Rey bent as far as she could in the direction of the Falcon’s boot, taking only a few moments to find what she needed.

Then she hushed BB8 again, who lay unhappily on the back seat, and silent as a shadow, she crossed the road in the direction of the concert hall.

[zerohour1974]

The Grumpy Git Returns 2

Why is the Tech world so fundamentally broken?

Hello readers I’m back after a major hiatus.  What on earth is going on in the world of technology.  It’s all going to hell.

You might think what the hell am I on about.  It seems things in the industry are completely broken and for all the complaints out there no one seems to do anything about it.

Here are just a few examples...

1) Apple releases Mac Pro with a basic price tag of £5000

What on earth, I would understand such a price point if this was an amazing all singing all dancing machine, but its not.  The basic system is an i5 system.  Seriously then everything else can be upgraded by Apple or exclusive dealers or it invalidates your warranty and the machine locks you out using the T2 security chip.

Now Apple have been on shaky ground regarding tech for a number of years which problems such as lowering sales of iPhones because by the time they release them they have already been superseded by the competition.

Apple used to be seen as the innovative company of the world, the kings of aesthetic and cool.  Now even the hipsters of the world are thinking Apple products are too expensive and not really giving much to the world.

It doesn’t help that every MacOS version is now more like iOS and they are locking you further and further into the Apple Garden.  What i mean by that is blocking anything that is not in the Apple Play Store, not supporting hardware (Nvidia graphics cards, Wi-Fi etc.) and now preventing upgrades.  Which is alienating their customers...

No one is going to buy the Mac Pro one because the price is ludicrous.  Two everyone is speculating Apple is going to change to using ARM processors so the whole system is probably about to change.   People got bitten with PPC, only for Apple to switch to Intel and abandon PPC.  So they will not get away with it twice.

Apple admit too being a $1 trillion company but how long will it last considering you are further and further alienating your own customers.    Now don’t get me wrong there will always be a hardcore group of loyal Apple consumers, but you have to wonder is it enough to keep Apple where it stands.

Personally given their listed losses it looks like the bubble is starting to burst.  But equally getting back to the point who seriously believed a £5000 desktop would be seen and thought wow that’s a good idea.  The mind boggles.

A lot of people are now building Hackintosh machines because one its cheaper to do so and two for less money you probably get more power than the Mac Pro.  Crazy.

2) Software companies putting out totally broken games as full releases at full price.

This one is pretty obvious I can site many examples her but of course probably the biggest known was of course Bethesda’s Fallout 76.  Now I’m not going to reiterate its story there has been plenty of coverage about it on YouTube.

Now before anyone starts yes I accept there is Early Access programs on Steam and the likes but they at least admit up front that the item you are purchasing is not the final game and may be subject to change.

However we are seeing more and more companies putting out games that require huge day one updates of several gigabytes.  DLC breaking game elements in major ways and live services either not working or not being able to cope with the loads.

Now I admit I am not a programmer and maybe someone who is in the game will be able to shed a better light, but it seems these major corporations such as EA, Ubisoft, Activision Blizzard and more are making millions off the backs of programmers who are expected to deliver higher and higher standard stuff in less and less time.

These guys are being forced into working extraneous “crunch” hours being put under immense stress and not really seeing much in the way of benefits.  They seem to take a lot of abuse if the programmer refuses.

2019 showed many cases of ex-employees reporting abuse.  Now I know some could be put down to sour grapes but there is a lot to be said about there is no smoke without fire.

It seems many programmers are complaining about their immense pressure to perform.  As I said I’m not a programmer so I can’t really say I know.  They seem to have no representation in their corner to help them such a union and because a lot of them are freelance many corporations see them as disposable.

This to me is ludicrous.  Without these programmers most of these corporations would not have a product to sell and equally wouldn’t exist.  So why treat them like dirt, you are cutting off your nose to spite your face.

Also for all things like Fallout 76 proved for all they released a half arsed game and took controversy.  Not once has someone said that this practice is unacceptable.

If you bought a Television and when you turned it on it showed BBC1 and BBC2 only and the rest was coming later in a software patch update.  You would complain vehemently and take back the television for your money back.

So why can software companies get away with releasing a half finished product.... Which moves us on to...

3) New Linux phones been released unfinished

Linux phones are the latest and “greatest” thing since sliced bread if you believed the hype.  Security conscious phones that don’t report everything about you, kill switches to disable base bands so you can’t be monitored at all times and of course its Linux based so the operating system is free.

All sounds good and hence why Purism Librem 5 and the Pine phone both have had a major interest shown in them.

Given all the concerns raised recently regarding Google and how it uses its data and problems such as the many data leaks of various sites.  Privacy regarding your data is being raised.

Ironically Microsoft who have admitted they are having Windows 10 report back data are not in these investigations.  But hey ho.

However its not the fact its Linux that’s a problem for me.  I like Linux but what i don’t get is this new concept of the phone is taking longer than we thought and people are worried.  SO what we will do is supply you your phone but most of the software doesn’t work but in the next few months we will implement various features to get it working.

They even give them titles such as the Pine Phone Braveheart Edition or the Librem 5 Spring.  Basically a broken p[hone which you have paid money for hoping that eventually it may work.

Once again these phones are hardly cutting edge so even if they do get it working.  Half of the tech is at least a generation back.

Now I understand creating a phone and its OS from scratch is hard work     and such processed take time.  However giving you a shell of a phone and leaving you to wait for the rest is a bit much.

This is similar to the TV but in this case because Linux is open source.  Your TV now only has two channels and they want you to write the next bit of the code to sort the programs out.  They say it’s a learning experience.

I’m waiting for someone to build a house and then if you want any windows, heating or electric you have to have to either build it yourself or wait for an upgrade.  Madness.

4) Live services...

When I started in computing my first machine was a ZX Spectrum 48K it wasn’t amazing but it was a computer.  You bought games, you could program it and it was yours to do with as you pleased.

Modern day systems both in the computing world and console world you are signed into agreements that no matter what the machine is.  The code involved is the property of X company and although you physically own the machine you can not amend it, alter it,  complain about it or they can withdraw your rights to said systems and lock you out.

What? I own a machine but if I do anything beyond your limitations you will sue me.  How did this become a thing.

It was bad enough with Intellectual Copyright bullshit but this is getting ludicrous.

They have since took it one step further in games now several of them will not allow you to play them unless permanently connected to their servers or pay an ongoing subscription fee.

Which equally they can close at a moments notice because they decide they don’t like it and you have no recompense.  How many games have we heard have been just abandoned by their publishers.

Especially in the MMORPG genre.  Games are no longer purchased like tapes with physical medium as now most are download codes in physical cases.  If you actually get a physical DVD you are lucky.

However it doesn’t mean squat if you buy the game and the servers no longer exist.  Several games have managed to allow people to have their own private servers but many of them don’t exist.

How is this allowed to exist.  How are the computer industry allowed to sell products which have no guarantee.  Also why is no one questioning this...

If Valve decide enough was enough, they were sick of being blamed for the controversial games been stuck on its site by asset flippers etc., and decided to close down the service.

Sure they would have to give people notice but beyond that they have no obligation to make sure you have access to the games you bought.  This to me seems a dodgy game.

And with more services such as the Epic Games Store, UPlay, Origin,  and Google Stadia this is only going to get worse.

We need some form of legislation to prevent this from happening.  We are losing more and more data everyday on the internet due to leaks, server closures and companies just going out of business.  Very little of this software and data is being archived so is lost.

This is a problem.  Now I understand people saying it’s my game. But equally you have been paid for said game and now they are saying we cant use it or access it.

Something is fundamentally wrong here.

I could go on with further points such as large corporations closing Software Studios making games and complaining they sold 7 million copies and didn’t sell 10 million copies. Major tech companies refusing to pay taxes but want tax breaks from major governments but that can be the topic for another day.

As I said the tech world is fundamentally broken and needs a shake up.  Why are we paying the price for their inability to sort out their problems.

Until next time ...

[crossbows-and-moonshine]

Poetic Tragedy (Chapter 10 ) Completed

(Chapter 1)

(Chapter 2)

(Chapter 3)

(Chapter 4)

(Chapter 5)

(Chapter 6)

(Chapter 7)

(Chapter 8)

(Chapter 9)

This is it guys, last one. Warnings for mentions of suicide and drug use.

-------------------------

The next day when she woke up, she was already itching for another hit and she hated herself for it. She got up and dressed, getting ready for work almost like a robot, empty and void of anything. She was just doing her hair when the knock at the door sounded as usual, but she didn't answer. She couldn't bring herself to. She couldn't face them, she felt so ashamed of herself. She was wearing a long sleeve top to hide the fresh mark on her arm, she didn't need them leaving her because of this. They knocked again but she still ignored it as she put her hair up in a messy ponytail. She heard the door open and she glanced over, finding the boys peering in looking somewhat confused why she hadn't opened the door or told them to come in like she usually did.

“Didn’t ye hear us?” Murphy asked with a slight frown, noticing how vacant she seemed and how she wouldn't look at them. He shared a look with his brother, the pair clearly concerned.

“Yeah, sorry. I’m just a little tired I guess.” She said softly, grabbing her bag. Connor walked over, pressing a hand to her forehead as he looked down at her concerned.

“Do ye think yer gettin’ sick? Maybe ye should stay off work?” He suggested looking worried, making her smile at him. These two boys were too good for this world, far too good for her.

“I’ll be fine. If I feel any worse I’ll come home, I promise.” She said trying to be reassuring, wanting them to stop worrying about her. He seemed satisfied and nodded as they all left the apartment.

“Ye've got our work number, if ye need one o’ us te come look after ye if ye get sick, just give us a ring yeah?” Murphy said softly on the way to the diner. She glanced to him and smiled, giving him a nod. She’d never understand just why these boys took her in or why they had helped her. Not that it was much use now.

They gave her the usual hugs and left her at work, she only made it a few hours before she told them she felt sick and had to go home. The withdrawals were already kicking in and she stormed over to Nathans place, she was angry and she was desperate. She pounded on his door for what felt like five whole minutes before he answered, only in his boxers and looking tired and disheveled. When he saw her, he grinned and she shoved him aside as she walked in.

“The fuck did you do this for Nathan?” She asked harshly as he shut the door, watching as he sauntered over to the couch as sat down, looking up at her like the cat that ate the canary.

“I told you before, you’re my favorite. I don’t like you being clean and not needing me.” He smirked, making her skin crawl. She wanted to hurt him, to scream at him or something, but the desperate burning need for the drug was singing strong in her veins and it was drowning out all rational thought. He just watched her squirm smugly, knowing exactly what she needed but waiting for her to ask.

“I need more.” She bit out after a few tense moments of silence. His grin widened as he sat forward a little, a gleeful gleam in his eye.

“Always for you sweetcheeks. If you don't have money, you know what to do.” He leered at her. She grabbed some money from her pocket, feeling glad she could actually pay him this time and she saw how his face fell when she threw it at him, knowing exactly what he wanted from her. He regained his composure though and stood up, rummaging through a duffel near the bed.

“I want enough for the week, I’m not coming here every day. There's more than enough to cover it there.” She said coldly, making him return to her with a little more of a sour face. She had paid him a lot more than what it was worth though so he complied. She stuffed it into her bag and left before he could say another word.

When she got back to her loft, she sat on the bed. She couldn't do this, not again. She couldn't keep using like this just to fight off the withdrawals, the high didn't even last now for her, in the end, she had been using just to be able to live as the withdrawals had become so unbearable, and now she was back to square one with this. She didn't have the fight left in her anymore to stay clean, not this time. But she had no desire to live a life hooked on this bullshit and become the empty shell of a girl she used to be, selling herself just to stave off the symptoms. She knew what she had to do, she was at the end of her rope now. She had tried, she had put up a good fight to give herself a better life and at one point she thought it might have been in the cards for her. A new life with the boys, but now she could see it wasn't meant to be. She was a bad person, this would always be her life. It was always haunting her no matter where she went or what she did, it would always come around full circle once again. She needed to break the cycle, she needed it to stop.

She didn't even realise she was crying until she sniffled and startled herself. She grabbed the little notepad she had by the side of the bed and started writing a letter, she knew the boys would be the ones to find her, she wanted to explain, to thank them for all they had done for her. To say sorry. When the note was written she set it on the pillow as she got the heroin out from her bag with shaky hands. She looked at it for a moment, her heart sinking. She wondered why she had been dealt this hand, why she had to go through all this and it had to end this way. She had been happy with the twins, and now that wasn't an option. She just hoped they would forget about her.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

The boys made their way home from work, they were trying to be quick so they could see Maddie. She had seemed so under the weather when they dropped her off at work and they wanted to check she was okay. She wasn't seeming like herself.

“Do ye think we should pick up some food or somethin’?” Murphy asked as he exhaled his smoke, glancing to his twin.

“Nah, let's just get back first and see how she’s doin’, she might not feel up te eatin’.” Connor replied, anxious to go back and see her. The boys had become pretty close to her in the time of knowing her, they cared for her a great deal, more than they would admit to each other or themselves. She was really making an effort and she was like a different person now. They felt good that they had helped her, and they both wondered to themselves just what might be in the future for the three of them once she was truly better.

They made their way inside and once on their floor, they knocked on her door. There was no answer and they knocked again, it reminded them of the morning.

“Ye think she’s asleep?” Connor asked curiously, not really wanting to wake her if she was resting. Murphy was far too impatient though and he walked right in, his twin sighing and following after him. At first glance, it looked like she had fallen asleep sideways on the bed. But then they saw the syringe, the note, and their hearts stilled in their chests.

“No! No, no, no!” Murphy yelled, running over to her and dropping to his knees. He took her face in his hands, she was already cold and a strangled sob left his lips. Connor was by his side then, checking her over frantically like he couldn't believe this was happening.

“Madeleine! Can ye fuckin’ hear me?!” He panicked, when he touched her arm, seeing the fresh marks, his heart shattered feeling how cold she was. He darted off to their apartment to call an ambulance, he knew deep down she was gone, but he didn't care, they needed to come and bring her the fuck back, this wasn't happening.

Murphy stayed there with her, sobbing pitifully as he scooped her lifeless body into his arms, cradling her like she might just come back to him if he did.

“Why Maddie? Why did ye do this?” He cried brokenly, not understanding how this could happen when she was doing so well. Connor came back, his heart only breaking more seeing Murphy holding her like that whilst he cried. He was trying to be the strong one, trying to keep a level head for his brother's sake despite the fact he was dying inside. He grabbed the note, swallowing thickly. He noticed Murphy’s tearful eyes turn to him and without words he knew he wanted him to read it out loud for them, to have some kind of understanding of why the fuck she had done this after everything.

Connors' voice wavered as he started reading the note, tears streaming down his face as he recounted what happened to her. She had written about her drug dealer lying, saying he wanted to get clean and how she wanted to help him, how he had drugged her water and then injected her with heroin when she was out of it and got her hooked again. Both the boys were sinking in grief and the rage that this asshole had done this to her, taken her away from them. She told them how she couldn't go through this again, she wasn't strong enough and how she couldn't put them through this once more, this time on a worse scale.

“I’m sorry, and I’m sorry that you’ll be the ones to find me since you're the only ones who have ever given me a real chance. You have no idea how happy I was with you two, I wish things were different, I love you both so much and I wish you all the best. You two are angels. Saints in a world among evil men. You took me in and shown me more kindness than anyone ever did, and I will always be grateful for that. You gave me a taste of what normal life was like, so thank you. Please take care of each other, maybe one day we will meet again.

Maddie

X”

The boys were silent, letting it all sink in as Murphy still held her limp body close to his own, wishing she would just open her eyes and it was all a bad dream. It didn't take too long before the ambulance and police showed up. The boys recognised Duffy, the detective from when Maddie had been drunk and the man even shed a tear at seeing her like this, he knew without even looking at the note she wouldn't have done this to herself for no good reason, she had worked so hard to stay clear of the drug for years. Connor handed over the letter begrudgingly, knowing it might help if the cops could catch the fucker who did this to her, but he didn't want them to take the note, the last thing they would have of her.

Murphy fought the paramedics who tried to take her, there was nothing they could do and he didn't want to let her go, he was sobbing and screaming at them to fuck off and Connor had to step in, helping them get the girl away from his hysterical brother. He held him until they had all left and they both cried, even though Connor was trying to be strong, he couldn't help it. Her death had left a gaping hole in both of their chests that would never be able to be filled. The future they once looked forward to with her, it was gone in an instant. They hadn't been there to stop it, to talk her down, to let her know it was okay and it wasn't her fault. To help her through it once again no matter how bad it would get. And now she was just gone. Nothing but a memory to them both.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Two years later

Nathan Carroll was an evil man. Once a petty drug user, he was now a big-time drug dealer, with even more evil under his belt. Pushing drugs onto those who were vulnerable and whenever people would try to get clean, he would inject them himself to get them hooked once more. He also had a thing for underage girls. But now the man that thought so highly of himself was on his knees, sobbing and begging for his life as he felt the barrels of two guns pressed against his head, the masked men hard and cold, not listening to any of his pleading. He should have known his time would come, that judgement would be awaiting him for all of his sins, he just hadn't expected it so soon.

The man behind him on his right jabbed the gun more in his head and the words he spoke with a thick Irish brogue shocked him.

“This is for Maddie ye sick fuck.” He spat at him, making his blood run cold. He had heard what happened to her, that she had taken her own life, he had been brought in and questioned over it since he was the one who apparently gave her the drugs. But they had nothing to pin it on him with, so he was able to walk free. It made him feel even more invincible. But he wasn't, that much was clear right at that moment when The Saints of South Boston had broke in and beat the shit out of him before getting him on his knees.

They started praying and Nathan switched off, he knew this was it for him, he knew there was no way out. For the first time in his wretched life he felt bad, he regretted every choice he had made that got him to this point, but it wasn't out of guilt for anything he had done or who he had done it to, it was simply because he had been caught and now faced with his own mortality. The prayer was finished and then everything went black as he was sent to his maker to atone for his sins.

Taglist; @risingphoenix761 @daryldixonandfrogs @arlaina28 @divadinag

[raisingsupergirl]

Apple or AT&T—Who's More Evil?

Let me start out by saying that I get it. I really do. Companies have to make money. Successful companies with great products deserve to make money. Apple and AT&T? They both make wonderful products and provide top-notch services. The problem is, for some dumb reason, they both like making as much money as possible. And the easiest way for them to do that is to keep us, the consumers, buying their new crap. Convincing us that we need it and that there's no other alternative. So when a company gets that big, when they can leverage their power against the little people, what stops us from finally getting fed up, throwing our phones in the toilet, and going back to smoke signals? Well, to answer that, I need to tell you what brought on my recent frustrations (as if any specific examples need to be given)…

Problem 1: The Man With the Data Plan

My wife and I went on a cruise a few weeks ago. And like most Americans with 1st-world problems, we had to decide whether we wanted to 1) go a week without cell phone or internet access while we cruised across international waters…yeah, right, 2) buy an international data plan from AT&T, or 3) purchase access to our ship's Wi-Fi access. In the end, it looked like the Wi-Fi package would be the cheapest, so that's what we went with. My wife was careful to turn off all wireless data to all apps and services on her phone (I just kept my phone turned off all week. I would have thrown it in the ocean and never looked back if she'd have let me) as directed on the various FAQs she found, and she logged onto the ship's Wi-Fi without complication. Smooth sailing… or at least we thought so until we received our AT&T bill. Yup, you guessed it—$100 worth of charges for iMessages and calls.

Problem 2: Disposable Phones

My wife and I bought new iPhone 7s two years ago. It was a great time in our lives. I remember the occasion fondly because it was the same day that our sweet Avery (two years old at the time) dressed up in her yellow "Beauty" princess dress and took in her first movie theater experience with Mommy and Daddy. Well, fast-forward two years, and we just paid off those phones. And lo and behold, my wife updated her phone earlier this week and within 30 minutes…it stopped working. Not completely, just the microphone, which, contrary to this smart phone generation's beliefs, is kind of important. And there was "nothing" that could be done to fix it. Which meant, just when we were free from the clutches of our AT&T contract and iPhone debt, we were sucked back in. Sure, the wife would get her fancy new phone, but at what cost?

So off we went to the AT&T store. We spoke with our customer representative (Ayla, which is easy for me to remember because it's the name of a cavewoman character in my favorite video game of all time, but I digress…), and she was great. She upgraded our antiquated data plan, made sure we understood the new plan, showed us where things could be improved to fit our needs, let us know who to contact about the $100 charge on our AT&T bill, and put up with our two insane daughters while my wife got her new phone set up. All in all, it was a great experience, but it was one that should never have happened in the first place. Why? Because Apple is intentionally breaking their older iPhones (if two years is considered "old") so their customers will buy the newest model. If you're not aware of this practice (YES, it's real, and it's confirmed by Apple's corporate reps), read on. If you know about it, feel free to skip the next three paragraphs.

First, imagine a perfect product. Let's use a fish aquarium heater as an example. Its job is simple—heat water to a specific temperature so your tropical fishies don't freeze to death. A company could easily create a heater that would last for decades, but why in the world would they do that? Even if they charged double the price of typical heaters, they would still lose money because in those two decades' time, its customers would by three or four of those "disposable" heaters that crack or short out from routine use. So it just doesn't make financial sense for them to make a durable product when they could make one that works just long enough to keep the consumer coming back for more.

Now, take that principle to the tech world, and we have to look at things a little differently. For those of you old enough, you remember those first Nokia brick cellphones well. Why? Because they were indestructible, their batteries lasted forever, and they had service EVERYWHERE. They were perfect phones. Except, the most exciting game on them was Snake, and within a few years, the Blackberry (and all of it's thumb-injuring successors) had overshadowed the poor, reliable Nokia despite its inferior construction. In this way, the tech world kept consumers buying new products every year because the amazing technology advanced so rapidly. I mean, you'd be insane to use those boring old bricks that could only make calls and use T9 to text when there were newer phones out there that could take pictures and check electronic mail!

Then something happened. The technology started to stagnate. It kept improving, but not nearly as fast. All phones had cameras, internet access, and most importantly, apps. At that point, if a phone didn't break, it could be used forever while the user just downloaded whatever new apps that came out. Sure, the new apps would take up more space and demand stronger processors and whatnot, but a frugal user could make due for years and years. And that kind of return just didn't work for the tech companies. If they were ever going to be able to swim in a vault filled with gold coins a la Scrooge McDuck, they needed to find a way to keep selling new products that consumers had no real reason to buy. And so, they invented the "update." Oh yes, you NEED this update! It'll keep your phone safe. It'll keep it running smoothly with all those new apps. It'll keep it… updated. But we should mention that those updates will eventually fry your phone's "old" processor, forcing you to fork out a grand every couple of years.

I'm not going to pretend to be tech savvy enough to outline every reason for this (and that's not what this blog's about, anyway), but we've all been victims of the sudden battery death, random crashing, and in my wife's case, microphone failure that happens immediately after one of these "updates." And as I said, this practice is documented and admitted. For the big companies, it's essential to keep them afloat. Heaven forbid that they keep giving us actual reasons to buy new products. No, they've already perfected the smartphone, so instead of creating something new, they've found ways to keep selling us the same thing. It's brilliant, in an evil mastermind sort of way.

Okay, back to the story. My wife got her new phone. She was safe for the next couple of years (though it's just a matter of time before MY phone dies of update sickness…), so now it was time to take the fight to AT&T's retentions department and see about that $100 charge on our bill.

Round 1: I called 6-1-1 and I spoke with the level 1 boss, though I didn't catch her name… She told it to me, but I didn't catch it. She was polite the entire time. She explained how there were, in fact, charges on my bill and how those charges were because we'd used data and call services in international waters. I explained (politely) that we hadn't authorized these usages because we turned off all cellular data, etc. and only used Wi-Fi while out of the country, and that I didn't plan to pay these extra charges. 30 minutes later and she let me know that she was going to "send this case up," and I should get an email within 24 hours. "No," I said, again politely, "I think I'll just talk to someone now." Brief (ten minute) pause, then [insert name here] said, "One moment please."

Round 2: Level 2 boss's name was John, and his accent fit his name. He, just like Level 1 Boss, took a good while searching through the charges and getting back to me, but he also remained completely polite the entire time. He explained that the Wi-Fi packages on most cruise ships only cover international water usage, and our AT&T charges had come while we were docked in port in Haiti. Why? Because my wife's phone started using the Haitian towers (instead of the cruise line's Wi-Fi) without our approval. It made perfect sense whether it was true or not, but John went on to tell me that, while he may not be able to get ALL of the charges removed, he would do what he could because we were, "…long-time valued customers." His words, not mine. Five minutes later, John took me off of hold and told me that he obtained approval to take $75 off of the bill, so we would only have to pay $25. Truth be told, I had no intention of paying ANY of that bill, but my interaction with John was so pleasant (I didn't have to ask him to reduce the bill. I didn't have to bring up the fact that we were valued customers, or that we could take our business across the street to Crickett Wireless. He knew all of these things, and he that knew I knew them. And he got the job done, or close to it) that he'd gained my respect. I wasn't going to fight John over the remaining $25, even if it did take over an hour to get that $75 knocked off. Game over. Roll credits.

So here's the thing—I'm a huge skeptic. With everyone I worked with throughout this debacle, I know that there's a possibility that they were all just working off of a script. That they did exactly as they'd been trained, performing damage control and getting every cent possible out of a tough customer like me. After everything, it's possible that AT&T and Apple still won. But at least they played the game. At least these REAL people listened to me and answered my questions, and in the end, the interactions were extremely pleasant. Yes, I get that I'm a number to the companies, but I was a person to their employees. And they treated me with respect. And I did the same with them.

My title poses the question of who's more evil between AT&T and Apple. Unfortunately, I don't have the answer to that question, but in THIS case, as much as it hurts me to say it, the bigger evildoer is definitely Apple. Why? Well, in AT&T's case, their charges were legitimate. My wife incurred roaming charges in Haiti because of the cruise line's failure to explain how their services worked. And even if John straight up lied to me about that, his company still only wound up stealing $25 (and one hour) from me. Apple on the other hand… they're openly breaking their own phones so their loyal customers have to buy new ones. And those new phones cost a whole lot more than $25. Yes, our experience in the AT&T store was pleasant while buying that new Apple iPhone (thanks to Ayla), but it should have never come to that.

In the end, we're victims of our circumstances. We're brainwashed by brilliant marketing. We're forced into competition with our neighbors. And there's only one thing I can say as I finish up typing this scathing report on my Apple MacBook Air—Joke's on you, Satan, er, Apple. Money's not real. No one really owns anything anymore. There's no privacy. No Freedom. The only things we have are our experiences, our interactions, and our attitudes. And as the days get longer and the grass gets greener, I can't help hoping Y2K is just running fashionably late (all you millennials should Google Y2K along with The Matrix and Surge soda. There's so much you've missed…). In the meantime, I'm going to go cut my grass with a lawnmower that's older than every piece of technology I own, and believe it or not, it's never had a single update. What a world.

[megaphonemonday]

the price paid

Here it is. The bed sharing fic I’ve been sitting on for way too long. What better reason to get it out in the world than @darling-in-my-fashion​‘s birthday, though? Happy birthday, Jen! Sorry it’s a little late! Here’s five times Ginny and Mike fell asleep together + one time they woke up together.

read on ao3

Phoenix, AZ

Ginny was starting to regret the cool shower she’d taken immediately upon returning to her hotel room. Not that she hadn’t needed it. 

After playing nearly eight innings in the Arizona heat—the retractable roof of Chase Field on the fritz because of course it was—she was rank. It didn’t help that the Diamondbacks still didn’t have a separate bathroom in the visitors’ clubhouse for her. Rather than hold up the whole team, she’d had to stew in her own sweat and funk on the bus ride back to the hotel. 

Even Blip had refused to sit next to her. 

Walking into her air conditioned room had been a blessing, though Ginny’d only appreciated it for a few seconds before stripping down and disappearing into the shower. 

Now, though, she was thinking the air conditioning was more of a curse. 

Shivering, she stood before the little panel mounted on the wall. It didn’t matter how many buttons she pushed, the rush of cool air from the vent wouldn’t stop or get any warmer. If anything, it had gotten colder. 

“It’s really not working,” Ginny informed the hotel’s operator, the handset of her room’s phone cradled between her shoulder and her ear. She’d hold it, but she’d pulled her arms into her sweater to try and conserve body heat. 

That also wasn’t working. 

Maybe if there were fewer holes in the knit, it’d be more effective. Ginny vowed to put her foot down on the whole “distressed” look from here on out.

The woman on the other end of the line tsked in sympathy. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Baker. We’ve called the repairman, but he won’t be able to come out until the morning.”

Ginny sighed. “And there are no other available rooms?” Another round of shivers wracked her body, in spite of the fact that she was wearing every clean piece of clothing left in her suitcase. Not that there had been much left. They were on the tail end of a nine day road trip and were supposed to head back to San Diego tomorrow. 

The tapping of a keyboard sounded faintly over the line as the operator checked for the third time. For the third time, the answer was the same. “Unfortunately, no. There are several conventions in town this weekend and we’re overbooked as is. I could check and see if there’s a space heater somewhere?” she tacked on hopefully. 

Ginny sighed for approximately the fifteenth time. “That’s all right. It’s just one night. Thanks for your help.”

Now that she wasn’t concentrating on the conversation, there was nothing else for Ginny to focus on other than how cold she was. Really fucking cold. Tucking her chilled fingers under her arms, she wracked her brain for a solution to this problem. Either through creative problem solving or sheer stubbornness, she was going to get through this.

She considered the nest of blankets she’d constructed on the bed. Unfortunately, blanket nests were more effective at trapping heat than generating it. And given the way she could barely feel her toes, Ginny didn’t have a lot of hope of doing that on her own.

The fluffy robe hanging off the back of the bathroom door was too damp to offer much warmth. Same went for all the towels. The only upside of that was that Ginny’s hair wasn’t dripping onto her shoulders, delivering extra shivers with every drop.

Maybe she could use the hairdryer to blow some feeling back into her fingers and toes...

No other solution presented itself, aside from layering on some of her dirty clothes, most of which were sweat soaked thanks to the lack of shower facilities available to her on the road. The thought made her shudder, and not from cold, which she supposed was a nice change of pace. 

Just as she reluctantly resolved to poke through her suitcase and search out the cleanest of her clothes for when she could feel her extremities again, there was a knock on her door. 

Pushing her arms back through the appropriate holes of her loose sweater—the tissue-thin fabric looked nice and could survive a week in her suitcase, but didn’t offer much warmth—Ginny crossed to the door, goosebumps breaking out every step of the way. 

If the shivers only multiplied at the sight through the peephole, at least Ginny wasn’t all that surprised. It was her standard reaction to the man standing in the hall. She didn’t even need to take a moment to calm herself before opening the door; shivers were just part of every day around Mike Lawson. 

“What?” she demanded, short and, dare she say it, icy as she addressed her captain. Nonetheless, she leaned into the warm air wafting in from the hall and told herself it wasn’t Mike’s radiant heat.

His brows jumped, used to a warmer reception, especially on evenings after she pitched and neglected to hit the town with the rest of the team. Those were the nights that Mike always found himself bouncing around his hotel room too. Until he came looking for Ginny, to do a post mortem on the game or watch trashy TV or just talk until their eyelids started to droop and they parted ways.

Apparently that time of the evening had come.

Mike was distracted from her prickliness pretty quickly. Probably aided by the blast of arctic air that blew past Ginny to hit him. 

“Jesus, Baker.” He shuddered, arms crossing over his chest in a way that he had to realize made him look supremely appealing. His flannel rolled up over his forearms, biceps deliciously filling out his sleeves, Mike Lawson looked like warmth personified. And Ginny could definitely use some warmth right about now. “Are you hiding a polar bear in there? You know you ca’t make it snow inside, right?”

“I know that,” she bit out, trying to keep her teeth from chattering.

“Then what’s with the Arctic climate? You’re gonna freeze to death.” he demanded, leaning casually up against the doorframe. When she frowned sourly—in spite of what a tempting prospect he made; couldn’t have him knowing that—he rolled his eyes. “Turn the fucking heat up.”

“Huh,” she huffed, tapping a finger against her chin as if in deep thought. The acid in her tone, though, probably didn’t do much to sell the bit. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

Mike’s brow furrowed even deeper and he pushed himself upright. After a moment of scrutiny, which Ginny did her best to bear without fidgeting, he brushed past her and strode into the room, going straight to the thermostat.

He jabbed at every button, cursing when some combination made even more cold air gush out of the vents. 

“Even I didn’t manage to do that,” Ginny observed blandly from her post just a few feet away. “And I think I hit every button on that thing.”

“Shut up,” he groused, though he did stop pressing buttons at random. Instead, he turned to the phone, abandoned on the foot of Ginny’s bed, and moved to pick it up. “Well, call down to the front desk, see if they can get you in another room—”

Ginny was already shaking her head. “There aren’t any available. And no one can get up here to fix it.” When Mike turned back to her, a little incredulous, she grinned. “I already checked. Catch up, old man.”

He rolled his eyes and cast his gaze around the room, clearly looking for another fix the way she had.

She wasn’t sure what she expected him to say next, but it certainly wasn’t, “How fast can you get packed up?”

“Um.” Ginny rocked back on her heels, eyes gone wide. As far as she knew, there were just a few scattered toiletries in the bathroom to gather, her phone charger on the night stand and her shoes in the closet. What she didn’t know, though, was if he was really asking what he was asking. 

Or, more accurately, she couldn’t quite believe he was asking what he was asking.

“C’mon. If I leave you here, and some clubbie has to come find you in the morning because you’ve frozen solid overnight and held us all up, I’m never gonna hear the end of it.”

She huffed out a laugh. “So chivalrous.”

“That’s me. Now come on and get your bag packed before my balls freeze off.”

“Oh my God,” Ginny sputtered, ducking into the bathroom before he could see the flush that took over her cheeks at the mere suggestion of Mike’s balls and everything that came with them.

Unfortunately, in the confines of Mike’s hotel room and especially after he emerged from the bathroom in his own pajamas—loose basketball shorts and one of his cut up muscle shirts; why did she think it wasn’t often he actually wore pajamas?—it became harder not to think about.

It became almost impossible once he joined her under the covers, and they were separated by only a bare foot of space on the cushy mattress. 

They hadn’t discussed this part. Hadn’t, in the hours they’d spent killing time since Ginny arrived in Mike’s room and burrowed straight under the blankets, spoken about the fact that they were about to fall asleep together. In the same bed. On purpose. 

She hadn’t thought they’d need to. How many times had they fallen asleep near one another? On planes and buses and even over the phone back in her first season; it was pretty run of the mill by now.

This didn’t feel run of the mill. This, closed into a private room, sharing one bed, was entirely different from drifting to sleep surrounded by the quiet chatter of their team and the machine hum of a jet’s engine.

Her heart felt like a hummingbird, ready to burst out of her chest. Or at least draw her closer to Mike and everything she wanted from him. Which was so, so much, even though she wasn’t supposed to.

So, to take her mind off all the things she wanted wrapped up in 220 pounds of major league catcher, Ginny concentrated on her game of Words With Friends. Mike reached over and turned off the light on his bedside table. 

She concentrated on the jumble of letters. He settled back against the pillows. 

She concentrated on trying to find a word that would put her ahead of Evelyn for good. Mike tossed and turned, searching for a comfortable position.

She concentrated on her phone so long, the screen went dark. Ginny had to scramble to unlock it again, for something to occupy her racing thoughts.

Mike’s huff cut through the too-close dark. “Baker, I swear to God—”

“Sorry,” she said, sheepishly relocking her phone. The room descended into full darkness. Or something much closer to it. Faint shafts of light seeped in through the gaps of the curtains and the alarm clock continued to glow dimly on the nightstand.

“Some of us need our beauty sleep.”

“Is that why you take so many naps?” she teased automatically, turning to her side and coming face to face with Mike’s fond annoyance. If she didn’t act like this was weird, maybe it wouldn’t be.

No, it was still weird. But good weird. The kind of weird where she could still make fun of him and coax out that fond grimace, which was such a fucking relief. 

He scoffed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t.”

Mike didn’t bother to argue with her, letting the room grow quiet. Soon, his breathing evened out, and Ginny felt hers slow to match without even trying. Her eyes fluttered shut, but not before she took a good long look at Mike’s peaceful face, the stress lines that were so prominent in high stakes games smoothed to faint creases and the laugh lines that took over any time else. He was so close, his parted lips puffing out gentle puffs of air. It would be so, so easy—

Cheeks burning, Ginny rolled over, forced her mind to go blank, and prayed sleep would take her soon.

Milwaukee, WI

Mike had burst into the hallway, heading for safety before he fully understood what was happening. Actually, he wasn’t sure he’d ever fully understand what was happening. It was almost three in the morning, okay? His brain wasn’t exactly firing on all cylinders.

He skidded to a halt in front of the room whose number he told himself he hadn’t memorized the second he heard it assigned. Not in the event that something like... whatever the hell had gone down in his room happened. Just because he always liked knowing where the room’s occupant was. 

What? That wasn’t weird. 

Not weirder than staying in an actual haunted hotel, at least.

Which he still wasn’t prepared to admit was actually true.

Barely taking a moment to catch his breath or rue the fact that his credibility on this front—the actual years he had spent making fun of rookies and teammates too scared to stay at the Pfister—was going to take a real hit, Mike pounded on the door, in time to the rhythm of his racing heart.

When that door finally opened, his pulse began to calm. 

It was probably better if Mike didn’t scrutinize his reaction to Ginny Baker too closely. Didn’t keep him from doing it, but it would’ve been better for him.

In spite of the fact that it was well past her bedtime—it’d been well past her bedtime when the team rolled into the hotel an hour ago—she didn’t look as if she’d been asleep. To be fair, Mike hadn’t really given her much of a chance to settle in and get to sleep. 

Well, more accurately, whatever’d scared the living hell out of him hadn’t given her a chance. 

Ginny’s gaze trailed up and down his form, taking in his unbuttoned cuffs and bare feet, catching his undone belt buckle and sticking there for a beat too long. When her eyes met his again, a dark flush rode high on her cheekbones, but her chin lifted, daring him to comment. 

He didn’t. 

(It wasn’t like he had any room to judge her for ogling—God, he hope it was ogling. He was no better than her; attention lingering on the bare sliver of flesh across her hips, between the waistband of her pajama pants and the hem of her too-short tank top. Didn’t matter how often he’d seen her cozy and comfortable in her sleepwear, Mike never got enough of it.)

“Let me in,” he demanded instead, beyond ready to get out of the fucking hallway where it felt like anyone—or anything—could be watching.

“Uh, no?” she replied, blocking his way and squinting at him like he’d lost his mind. 

Maybe he had. 

“Jesus, Baker! I’m not going back to my room, so let me in.”

“Why aren’t you going back to your room?” she demanded, still not budging an inch. A trace of worry did kiss her brow, though that didn’t mean she was just going to fold because he told her to. Ginny wouldn’t be Ginny if she did.

He heaved a deep breath. “Look, I’m not saying they’re real, but if gh—”

“Ghosts?” she interrupted, looking far too delighted for the scare he’d just suffered.

He sighed. Heavily. Which was apparently answer enough for Ginny. 

“What happened to Mr. ‘The fucking hotel’s not haunted; now shut up and get in there and get to sleep?’” she teased, leaning against the doorjamb and otherwise looking far too smug for her own good. “I thought you didn’t believe in ghosts.”

Mike glared balefully, crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t,” he bit out, “but I don’t think whatever turned my shower on a minute ago cares.”

She blinked, clearly surprised that he’d come so close to admitting what he’d always—most recently less than an hour ago as the team pulled up to the hotel, fresh off their redeye flight from San Francisco—argued was impossible. But then she was rolling with it, her head tipping to the side as she studied him, an infuriating smirk pasted on her mouth. 

“Did you at least turn it off?”

“I didn’t even stop to grab my phone,” he admitted. 

Ginny laughed, but stepped back to allow him in. “Should I feel honored you came to me to save you from the big bad ghosts?”

He rolled his eyes, but the absolute delight on her face was hard to find truly irritating. "Everyone’s doubled up but you, me, and Al. And he snores."

"And I don’t?"

“Nope,” he replied, easily stepping inside as Ginny moved out of his way. As he passed, Mike did smirk a little and say, "You do talk in your sleep, though." It was safer than dwelling on the fact that he actually knew the answer to her question. Or the waft of her perfume that snared him as he went by.

"I do not!” she protested, closing the door behind him.

The click of the latch didn’t echo in the room, but it did through Mike’s brain. 

Which was ridiculous. It wasn’t like this was the first time he and Ginny had been in a room all by themselves; they did that basically every day once they bored everyone to tears with their exhaustive game prep. It wasn’t even the first time they’d been in a hotel room on their own. They hung out with one another pretty regularly on the road; this wasn’t unusual.

It felt unusual. 

And not just because Mike had been scared out of his room by faulty plumbing. 

“So, are you gonna tell me what happened?” 

Mike watched in amusement as Ginny flopped onto the foot of the bed, in spite of the way the blankets on her usual side—and the fact that he knew Ginny even had a usual side was not a problem, not at all—were pulled back and rumpled. Clearly, she had been in bed when he came pounding on her door. She seemed to melt in to the bed as it was, peering up at him curiously in a way that made him want to join her.

Instead, Mike crossed to the desk tucked into the corner of her room, settling into the chair like it was exactly where he wanted to be. She had to crane her head back to actually look at him. It opened up the long line of her throat, only to be swallowed up by the scoop neck of her tank.

“Well,” he began, trying to decide exactly how much he wanted to tell her. Of course, with the way she was looking at him, eyes bright and ready for a story, it wasn’t like he could brush the question aside. “I got into my room and started unpacking. The lights flickered a little bit, but I figured it was just the wiring—”

“Amateur mistake,” she interjected expertly.

Mike rolled his eyes but continued, “So I went into the bathroom to get ready for bed. I brushed my teeth and was just washing my face when I noticed the steam on the mirror.”

Ginny rolled onto her stomach, eyes wide. “Oh, no.”

“Yep. I hadn’t noticed over the running tap, but the shower had turned on, cranked all the way to scalding.” 

“There wasn’t anything written in the fog, was there?” She bounced onto her knees, leaning in like she was in danger of missing any of the gory details. Ginny’d scooted all the way to the near corner of the bed, eating up all the careful distance he’d put between them. She was so close Mike would hardly have to lean forward to scoop her up and settle her in his lap. 

He had a feeling she’d fit pretty well there, but tonight wasn’t the night to find out. 

“Funny enough,” he drawled, shoving away all thoughts of Ginny’s weight draped over his thighs, her curls caught up in his fist, “I did not stick around to find out.”

“Chicken,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “The ghost totally knew you were trash talking it on the bus.”

“Ghosts aren’t real, Baker.” 

“Oh, so what chased you outta your room, then?” One well-groomed brow arched in challenge.

Mike just shook his head, struggling to rein in the smile that wanted to take root. Eventually, he gave up, leaning back in the chair, feet planted firmly on the ground, to let her laugh at him.

Which she took full advantage of. He even joined in, the sound of their twined enjoyment—just a little strung out and raucous from sleep deprivation and nerves—like actual fucking music to his ears. 

When it began to fade away, it didn’t feel like a punch to the gut. But only because Ginny’s eyes remained on him, giddy and, even better, heated.

Up until she blinked, her cheeks going dark. God, he loved that look; cheeks flushed a rusty pink, lush lips parted, eyes wide like her interest took her by surprise every time. It certainly still surprised Mike; Ginny had her pick of anyone, why would she want him? 

She blinked again and looked down, signaling an end to the evening’s allotted flirting.

“Can you get dressed?” she muttered, eyes downcast. 

He raised a single brow, enjoying her discomfort as much she’d enjoyed his fear in the hall. Ginny might be done flirting for the night; didn’t mean Mike had to agree. “Get dressed? I am dressed, Baker.”

She lifted her head and glared, flapping a hand vaguely at his waist. He looked down and sure enough, there was his belt, still drooping from the loops, more suggestive than he’d ever actually intend. 

Well as long as they weren’t talking about that night last August, at least.

He straightened up, unsure if he should re-buckle it or take it off altogether. He knew it should be an easy decision, but he was so tired. And it wasn’t like he was going to sleep in his belt and jeans. 

Just like he wasn’t going back to sleep in that goddamn room. He’d sleep in the hall before he went back there. He certainly hoped he wouldn’t have to, that Ginny wouldn’t make him.

Mike wasn’t above begging. 

Luckily, Ginny seemed to arrive at the same conclusion before he worked himself up to it. 

With a decisive nod, she unfolded herself and held out her hand to Mike. He raised an eyebrow, skeptical. 

“Let’s go, old man,” she said, just a bit impatient.

“Go? Where?”

“To your room,” she said, like it should have been obvious. Which, to be clear, it was not. The only obvious thing about this was that they shouldn’t go anywhere near his room. Ginny pursed her lips and wiggled her fingers at him, trying to tempt him into taking hold of them. Like he wasn’t always tempted. “C’mon. You’re gonna need your phone. And something to sleep in. I promise I’ll protect you from the big, bad ghost.”

Which was exactly why Mike found himself dashing through the halls of one of Milwaukee’s oldest hotels for the second time of the night. Early morning. Whatever. 

This time, at least, he was right on Ginny Baker’s heels.

He nearly crashed into Ginny as she shakingly fed her keycard into the reader. Mike shifted uneasily at her back, checking over his shoulder, though some sane part of his mind told him he probably wouldn’t see a ghost coming. Because they didn’t exist. 

Probably.

Thank God the reader chose that moment to blink green, the door falling open before their combined urgency, and he and Ginny spilled into her room. 

If he latched the deadbolt and flipped the bar guard before hustling after his pitcher, that was his business.

Collapsing onto the bed beside her, he panted, “That was—”

“Amazing!”

“Terrifying.”

“Nuh uh!” she gasped, shooting upright to stare at down at him in open disbelief. “You were not scared!”

Mike just groaned. How couldn’t he have been scared by the light show they’d just been subjected to? Every single one of the lights had started flickering the instant the door swung shut behind him and Ginny. He was lucky he’d managed to snag a pair of sweats and his phones before he and Ginny had bolted back out the door. Hell, he was lucky they hadn’t been locked in that nightmare.  “You’re one of those maniacs who likes watching horror movies, aren’t you?”

“Liking scary movies does not make me a maniac,” she argued, scooting herself up so she could crawl under the covers. Which was Mike’s cue to get ready for bed himself. 

When he came back out of the bathroom, face re-washed and the scent of Ginny’s lotion fresh in his nose, she was curled up on her side of the bed, totally at ease. 

That illusion was shattered, though, when he climbed in, making sure to hug his side of the mattress. He was under no illusions that he’d stay there through the night, but he could pretend while he was awake. Ginny didn’t get the memo, though. Within just a few moments, she rolled closer to him, her hand stretching across the remaining space to seek out his. Her fingers shook, just a little. 

“Not so tough now, huh, rookie?” he teased. If only to keep himself from doing something far worse.

“Shut up and go to sleep,” she grumbled, even as her forehead tipped forward to brush against his shoulder.

Mike had clearly demonstrated his readiness to allow Ginny to talk him into whatever she wanted, so it was no surprise that he listened to her yet again. Anyway, there were far worse things to do than fall asleep with Ginny Baker’s fingers tucked into his palm, her breath warming his arm.

San Elijo, CA

A giggle erupted from Ginny’s mouth as she swung around the bannister, nearly losing her grip and tumbling to the ground as she went.

Okay. Maybe, possibly, Ginny might have had one too many drinks this evening. One or four. It was hard to tell. Evelyn made sure to refill her glass every time it was less than half full. Or just in danger of getting there.

Whatever. Who cared? It was New Year’s Eve, drinking too much was basically part of the holiday’s appeal. 

And Ginny didn’t have anywhere left go. Well, nowhere that was more than thirty feet away. Such was the perk of arriving early to an Evelyn Sanders Party™ to help set up; first dibs on the Sanders’ beautiful new guest bedroom. Because it wasn’t enough for Evelyn to host New Year’s; she also had to officially welcome everyone to her new home.

It also meant that Ginny was good and ready to appreciate the hell out of the new memory foam mattress Evelyn had been raving about. Three hours of prep on top of the six hours of party small talk would do that to a girl.

With the living room free of party clutter and leftovers neatly wrapped in the refrigerator, Ginny was finally at liberty to trudge up the beautiful hardwood staircase, her strappy sandals dangling off her fingertips. Her skirt swished around her knees, making her giggle even more; it was certainly pretty, and she liked the way it spun out every time she twisted her hips, but God, did she want to crawl into her pajamas and then right into bed, only to awake for Blip’s famous Sunday (Monday, but who cared, it was a new year) morning pancakes and a Bloody Mary with Evelyn. 

Hair of the dog, right? 

She shuffled down the hall, taking in Evelyn’s exquisite taste—the long runner on the hardwood, the full walls of family photos—as she passed the twins’ rooms and made it to her salvation. 

With a grateful sigh she fell against the door, elbow hitting the latch so she could swing right through. 

There was no more swinging. When Ginny hit the door, it didn’t budge. Neither did the handle. Not even when she jiggled it angrily.

She stumbled back, more from annoyance and surprise than any lingering champagne in her bloodstream. Incredulous, she stared at the locked door, wondering if someone was seriously getting it on in her beautiful, clean bed. (Evelyn and Blip’s beautiful, clean bed, yes. But it was Ginny’s for the night.) What other reason would someone have to lock themselves in a bedroom at a party? 

Jesus. This wasn’t some high school house party, everyone desperate for the chance to get into someone’s pants and a taste of privacy. Even if it came in the form of your classmate’s parents’ bedroom.

Ginny rapped on the door, quick and impatient. She wanted to go to bed. Fuck whoever thought a housewarming was a time to... well. Fuck. 

Thankfully, she didn’t have to wait long for an answer. 

Thankfully, her first assumption was proven very, very wrong.

Less thankfully, the person who’d locked himself into her room—she’d dibsed it, goddammit!—was none other than Mike Lawson. Dressed for bed.

Or, undressed. 

Her assumption from months ago, that Mike didn’t often find himself wearing pajamas, was proved very, very correct. Standing in the doorframe in just his boxers, Mike Lawson was a fucking vision. One Ginny would’ve blamed on all the champagne if she couldn’t feel his breath stirring her hair. 

She couldn’t say who was more surprised.

“What’re you doing here?” she demanded before he got the chance to open his mouth. She thought he’d left. Not that she’d been tracking him through the party or anything. She hadn’t needed to. They’d spent a lot of it together, shooting the shit out by the fire pit.

“I’m sleeping here,” he replied, frowning.

“No, you’re not. I am.”

She bounced off his bare arm, braced against the doorjamb. He looked down at her, semi-amused. Which was just fucking unfair. He didn’t get to ignore the fact that he was practically naked. Ginny certainly couldn’t. “Beg to differ there, Baker.”

“My bag’s already in there,” she tried, though Mike didn’t seem moved by reason. “Ev told me I had dibs on the guest room.”

“Well, she obviously didn’t tell her husband because he told me I could crash here, and I intend to.”

“Mike, c’mon,” she whined, trying to push past him into the guest room and her promised memory foam. 

“No,” he chuckled, refusing to budge and probably enjoying the feel of her pressing close against him as she tried to get by. Ginny did. Oh, she definitely did. “Go share with one of the twins.”

“They kick.”

“So do you!” 

“It’s not like you complained before!”

He blinked, taken aback just enough that Ginny managed to slip around his bulk. Triumphantly she dove for the bed, wriggling up to the pillows. It was only once she got there, and got a glimpse of Mike’s attention trailing up her bare legs, that she realized how it had made her skirt ride up her thighs. 

There was just enough booze filtering through her system to make her leave her hem exactly where it was. 

She watched Mike swallow and tuck away whatever impulse had crossed his mind for another time. He must have quite the stockpile by now; though she doubted his was anywhere near as impressive as hers. He’d certainly gotten enough practice in the past year. 

Ginny appreciated that, appreciated that his willpower was as strong as hers. Just. Sometimes she wished his control were a little less ironclad. It’d give her a good reason to let hers go too. 

“You know there’s a perfectly good couch downstairs, right?” he asked, voice steady even if his eyes were darker than usual. 

“If it’s so perfect, then you go sleep on it.”

He scowled but dropped the subject. Taking that as a victory, Ginny bounded—or as close to bounding as her slight inebriation would allow—out of the bed and over to the walk in closet where she’d stashed her overnight bag. 

Of course, once she’d shut herself in to shimmy out of her filmy skirt and the fitted crop top that Evelyn had basically ordered her to wear tonight—“It might be December, but that’s no reason not to look good, G.”—Mike had to start talking again. Ginny focused on his words rather than the fact that her friend must have known Mike was planning on staying the night too.

(That and the fact that only a door separated a mostly naked Mike from a mostly naked Ginny. Which happened basically every day in the clubhouse, but in the clubhouse Ginny didn’t have a bottomless glass of champagne sloshing through her veins.)

“Go tell mom and dad you had a nightmare,” he called through the door. “They’ll probably let you cuddle if you ask nicely.”

Her nose wrinkled, tongue peeking out as she gagged silently. She pulled on her oversized t shirt and shorts quickly and flung open the door to make sure he cold appreciate her reaction. He rolled his eyes, but he was grinning, propped against the headboard and looking completely cozy. Even if he had pulled on a t-shirt. “Don’t be gross!”

“You’re basically the third Sanders kid. They could claim you as a dependent if they wanted.”

“That’s not how taxes work,” she pouted, crossing to the bed and diving under the covers before she could decide she liked the way he was looking at her too much to do it at all..

“Ah, right. Tell me all about what a tax expert you are, rookie. How many years have you been paying them, again?”

“Like you’ve done your own taxes in the past decade.”

“I’ve got a guy for that,” he replied airily before looking down at her and frowning. “Are you trying to build a pillow barricade?”

Ginny paused in her construction efforts. That was exactly what she was doing. But Mike sounded so fucking amused by her, like he wasn’t worried about sharing a bed with her. About what he might do in his sleep, when his defenses were lowered.

Like it didn’t matter that the last time they did this, they woke up twined around one another, breath mingling. Sure, she’d put her hand in his before they’d fallen asleep, but that didn’t mean she’d expected to wake up to... that. 

Not that she hated it. Not even close. If she’d hated it, this wouldn’t be a problem.

“No,” she replied, hating the upward lilt of the word.

He huffed. “So you’re telling me you need all of these to sleep? Jesus, how many are there?”

“Just four,” she returned. Gotta love Ev and her throw pillows. “Unless you’ve got another.”

“Nuh uh, Baker!” he laughed, fending off her grasping hands. The fact that both of her wrists, even just for a moment, fit in the circle of his grip shouldn’t have made her heart pound, but this was where Ginny was at this point. She’d learned to stop questioning every reaction Mike Lawson elicited from her; it just saved time. “Leave this one alone, it’s mine!”

“It’s my room.”

“I beg to differ.”

“My stuff was in here first.”

“Well, my ass was in here first. You snooze you lose.”

“You’re a child.”

He laughed, sudden and loud. Despite herself, Ginny found herself grinning too. “Don’t think anyone’d believe that. Not compared to you.”

“Oh, fuck off,” she bit out, good mood evaporating. Clutching a pillow to her chest, Ginny turned, putting her back to her wall of cushions and, more importantly, Mike. 

He groaned, slouching down and turning off the bedside lamp. Only once they were in the dark—which was really becoming a theme in their relationship, maybe because it was easier to admit to some things in the dark—did he ask, “What’d I do?”

“Nothing.”

“Aw, c’mon. I know I put my foot in it, just tell me how so I know what I’m gonna apologize for.”

Ginny stewed for a moment, feeling the slight dip of the mattress as Mike shifted, too close and too far away all at once.

“‘M not a little kid,” she finally said, hating the fact that she could hear the pout on her lips. “I’m younger than— I’m young, yeah. But that doesn’t make me some helpless, little—”

“Ginny,” he breathed, making her breath catch. She loved the way her name sounded out of his mouth, almost as much as she loved— Oh, boy. Lying in a bed with Mike Lawson was not the time to let that realization loose. “I know. I know you’re not helpless. I definitely know you’re a grown up.”

It was the rough edge to his voice that made the knot of worry begin to loosen in Ginny’s chest. She was always aware of how much older Mike was than her, how much more experienced he was. It was hard not to when she could remember his poster hanging above her bed, his rookie card tucked into her school planner. It was all too easy to feel like an annoying tagalong, yet another rookie he had to hand hold through the majors. 

“I’m sorry if I ever made you feel anything different.”

Ginny sighed and rolled back over. Batting the wall of pillows away until she had a clear view of his face in the dim light of the room, she replied, “You didn’t.” Hesitantly, she reached out and traced over the lines of his face, seeing them in her memory as much as the scant glow from the windows.

The shadows filling in the furrows of his brow lightened with nowhere to pool. He leaned into her palm, just for a second, but long enough for Ginny to wish for the thousandth time tonight that midnight had found her and Mike somewhere dark and private rather than the middle of the Sanders’ living room, surrounded by team and strangers alike. All she’d gotten was a dry brush of his lips against her cheek, the rasp of his beard lingering just a split second longer than his mouth. 

And, to be fair, she did have this. 

Mike’s hand bridged the distance and settled on her elbow, warm and heavy and perfect in all the dark privacy she could ever ask for. Even if neither of them were prepared to cross any other bridges tonight, she’d get to wake up in the morning, the first of 2018, right next to him. Maybe even in his arms.

As Ginny’s eyes drifted closed, she figured that this wasn’t such a bad way to kick off the new year.

Seattle, WA

If, three years ago—the last time he’d played in Seattle, coincidentally—someone had told Mike that he’d willingly miss a night out after a huge win, he would’ve assumed that he had a sure thing with the hotel concierge. Or both of the hotel concierges.

Or that Rachel had come back.

Not so. And he didn’t even mind the change.

Maybe because three years ago, he had yet to meet Ginny Baker. 

Now that he had, he couldn’t say he loved the fact that he found himself sitting on the floor of a hotel room, one couch cushion graciously ceded in deference to his elderly man’s back, watching rom coms from the 90s.

He did love the company, though.

“Were you even alive when this movie came out?” he asked, pretty sure of the answer and telling himself not to wince when he heard it anyway.

From her blanket cocoon, Ginny sniffed. Then coughed for a solid twenty seconds, a hacking, grating sound that made his own throat hurt. Finally, she rasped, “I don’t know.”

Mike was already moving before she got the words out, filling up yet another glass of water and tearing open another bag of cough drops. She took the water, though her nose wrinkled at the lozenges. 

Hey, it wasn’t his fault she’d already blown through all the cherry ones. Although, he’d already made a mental note to ask a clubbie to run out for more tomorrow.

“Take the cough drop, Baker,” he urged, in spite of the way she whined in the back of her throat. “You’re gonna cough out a lung otherwise.”

Grudgingly, she followed his instructions. If it was going to make her this compliant, Mike would have to find a way to keep her sick all the time. 

Not really. He had a feeling he’d miss her back talk. He already did, if he was being honest. 

Ginny’d been fighting off this cold for what felt like weeks, but no amount of Emergen-C was going to keep it at bay forever. No matter what she told Al or the trainers or even Mike himself. 

It wasn’t until they landed at Sea-Tac airport, though, that her immune system finally folded. 

Thank God she wasn’t slated to pitch until their next series; Mike would’ve pitied the poor schmuck who had to break it to her she was going on the DL, even just for ten days, until she recovered.

If he didn’t feel so bad for her, Mike would be more than a little fascinated. He’d never seen Ginny sick like this; there was so much to learn about Ginny Baker the invalid. 

She liked cherry cough drops and said regular tissues irritated her nose. She wasn’t a bad patient per se, but only because she didn’t quite believe she was a patient at all. If anyone would let her, she’d still try to get her daily runs in, even if she wheezed and coughed through the entire thing. She was basically constitutionally opposed to naps—which Mike could not wrap his head around—no matter how many times her eyelids drooped through reruns of The View. Grilled cheese with tomato soup was her go-to comfort food, though her normally voracious appetite fell off almost completely. 

She was extremely... tactile. 

Mike wasn’t even sure she realized she was doing it. So many of her other defenses were down—words spilling without a second thought from her mouth, face twisting into ridiculous expressions because there were no cameras to capture them—it only made sense others were affected as well. 

The pertinent part of which was not the fact that Ginny probably wanted this kind of physical affection all the time but never asked for it. All that mattered was that she wanted it now. 

The one game she’d managed to sit through in the dugout, too tired to hold herself upright, she’d drooped against whoever was closest. Which, yes, generally happened to be Mike, especially after he saw the way Livan encouraged her to drape herself all over his smirking ass. Anyway, Livan had a game to catch; Mike didn’t. It only made sense that he take over Ginny duty.

A duty that, once he had it, he had no intention of giving up.

Which was why he reseated himself on the ground, leaning against the couch Ginny sprawled on, and tried not to groan as her fingers began spearing through his hair again. 

Tactile, remember?

This wasn’t the first time she’d done this—even when she was healthy she’d been known to play with his hair, if only to tug despairingly at his beard—and maybe one day Mike would stop feeling a funny little jump in his stomach every time her nails scratched against his scalp. That day had yet to come. 

If this was what Ginny needed to feel better, though, who was he to argue?

Yeah, he definitely wasn’t going to argue.

Unless she stopped. He’d definitely work up an argument against that. 

Mike turned back to Ginny the second her fingers disappeared from his hair. 

“You okay?” he checked, looking her over, but seeing nothing amiss. Nothing new, at least. She was still a bit glassy-eyed, cheeks verging on hollow in spite of the fever flush. At least she was lucid. She’d gotten pretty loopy after her first hit of codeine cough syrup.

“’M fine. Just,” she tugged on his shoulder, “c’mere.”

“Where?” Mike eyed her sleepy sprawl and the scant cushion space left.

Ginny huffed and rolled to her side, pressing flat against the back of the couch. She patted the space in front of her, eyes already drifting shut again.

Mike was torn. It was one thing to fall asleep with Ginny all the way across a King size mattress, but to do it pressed together on a too-short hotel room couch, seemed a step too far. 

Which, to be clear, didn’t mean he wasn’t gonna do it. 

Heaving himself up, Mike slid, not nearly tentative enough for his sense of self-preservation, onto the couch cushions. He stretched out beside Ginny and, half-asleep, she automatically burrowed into him. 

He had to let out a heavy exhale when her nose nuzzled unerringly against his neck, arm banding around his stomach. Ginny sighed too and only had to wheeze a little bit around the crud in her throat. When Mike chanced a look down at her, her eyes were barely open, though they were trained faithfully on the screen as Bill Pullman discovered Meg Ryan hiding in a closet. 

Mike wasn’t sure how long it took, but before much more of the movie passed, Ginny’s knee crept over his. If that had been the end of it, he probably could have taken it. Of course, it wasn’t. She wriggled and huffed and sat up to maneuver him into position, only flopping back to his side like there was nothing strange at all about snuggling against him once his arm was tucked around her back to cradle her close. 

Maybe in her fever-addled mind, nothing was. 

To Mike though, it was a struggle not to go completely tense, taut as a high wire, at the feeling of Ginny Baker’s form pressed so closely to his. 

They’d been close before, in huddles and victory hugs, but nothing this intimate. At least not while they were both awake. Sure, maybe he’d woken up a solid half hour before her this past New Year’s to find her attempt at a pillow fort completely decimated by their nighttime migrations. Ginny soft and still asleep was something he couldn’t bear to end before he had to; he was only human, okay? 

Still, he managed to keep his cool in the present. 

If anything, he went completely boneless the second Ginny sighed, soft and sweet against the collar of his flannel. Her arm tightened around him as she settled against his side. 

“Thanks,” she murmured, “for taking care of me.” 

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s not. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

She hummed at that, broken up by a jaw-cracking yawn. 

“Go to sleep, Gin,” he murmured, only using her nickname because he was pretty sure she wouldn’t remember it and do her best to distance herself when morning rolled around. 

“Can’t,” she whispered back.

“Why not?”

“‘M watching the movie,” she said, even though her face was almost completely buried in his chest.

Feeling warmth wash through him, and not just from Ginny’s shared body heat, he told her, “I’ll tell you how it ends.”

“Promise?”

“Yeah,” Mike breathed. “I promise.”

She didn’t put up any more arguments. She tucked her cheek against his chest, wrapped her fingers into his shirt, like she wanted to make sure he wouldn’t float away in her sleep, and closed her eyes. 

Within a few minutes, her breathing had evened out. Even with the slight wheeze, she looked peaceful. 

Mike still waited another few minutes before leaning down to press a kiss to her sweat-damp hair. Her eyelashes didn’t even flutter. He searched, one handed, for the remote and eventually managed to turn off the TV well before Tom Hanks raced to the Empire State Building searching for his son. He’d seen it all before, he could still tell Ginny the story when she woke up. 

In the dark, Ginny’s chest rising and falling against his, Mike told himself it was in both his best interest to get up. It’d probably be better if Ginny got some sleep in a real bed, but she could and would sleep anywhere sufficiently horizontal. Mike, on the other hand, had grown well past the age that a few stolen hours on a hotel sofa were sufficient for his mind or body. If he didn’t want to give up another start to Livan, he better get his ass to an actual mattress.

He told himself this, but he didn’t listen. 

Instead, Mike closed his eyes and resigned himself to waking up with an aching back. 

If it meant waking up with Ginny, it was a price he was more than willing to pay.

New York, NY

This couldn’t be happening. Seriously. This could not be happening. 

First, and feeling like her heart was about to beat out of her chest and her breath was coming too fast and not fast enough at all, Ginny patted herself down again, like her room key might magically appear. 

No such luck. 

Next, she spun in place again, turning back to face her door which remained as stubbornly shut and locked as it had been since she first came to herself at the sound of that same door latching shut, leaving her key, her phone, and most of her clothes behind it. 

Last, she peered down the hall towards the stupid courtesy phone. Wasn’t the point of those to have someone pick up no matter what time it was? Apparently this hotel had not gotten that memo.

Tears began to prickle at the back of her eyes, but Ginny didn’t have time for that. She didn’t have time for crying or panic or fear. Not when she needed to figure out a way back into her room before anyone could find her like this. 

Mostly undressed and stranded in a hotel hallway.

Not, she thought a little sourly, that a sports bra and shorts were inappropriate as sleepwear. There was nothing wrong with wearing what she was comfortable in to sleep. It wasn’t like she asked to be stuck out here. 

Jesus. It would be just her luck if someone caught sight of her and decided this was the perfect opportunity to turn paparazzo. 

Naturally, then, the sound of footsteps, hushed on the thick carpeting, began to approach. It made Ginny want to throw up. Just a little. 

Hunching her shoulders towards her ears, she studied the card reader of her door, praying a miracle would let her in before some stranger recognized her. Or that natural embarrassment would carry them forward without addressing her.

It was hard to tell whether or not her prayers were answered.

“Rook?”

Ginny turned, arms crossed defensively over her stomach even at the familiar tone of her captain. 

He looked a little bleary, like he’d been asleep for a bit, but was woken halfway through a REM cycle. Disheveled and more than a little grumpy, he squinted at her, like he wasn’t sure if he was imagining things or not. 

Before Mike got a chance to question her, Ginny rushed to ask, “What’re you doing up?”

He shook the empty bucket in his hand, which she’d somehow completely overlooked in her defensive awkwardness. “Needed more ice for my knees. Why’re you out here?”

“Um. I got locked out.”

“Oh.” The silence stretched out for a long beat, making Ginny want to melt into the floor. “Well, come on, then.”

Whether it was the fact that he didn’t press her further or Ginny just needed the comfort that even a sleepy, slightly addled Mike Lawson could provide, she didn’t know, but Ginny followed him back to his room. 

He was about to close the door, follow her in when she checked, “Don’t you need more ice?”

He seemed confused for a second before shaking himself. “Yeah. I’ll, uh, be back in a sec.”

True to his word, he was back in flash. Before Ginny’d even had time to do much more than drift further inside his room, arms still crossed over her stomach. 

“Are you cold? You look cold.”

Ginny wasn’t—though her shoulders were shaking, no doubt a side effect of all that adrenaline coursing through her veins—but she didn’t argue. It was probably better for everyone involved if she weren’t half naked in Mike’s presence for much longer. 

There was no telling what either of them would do. 

Without much fuss, Mike rummaged in his suitcase and produced one of his endless flannels, the one he’d worn yesterday that brought out the green flecks in his eyes.

“You want sweats?” he offered. “I’ve got—”

“This is fine,” Ginny replied, balling the too-long sleeves in her hands and suppressing the urge to tuck her nose into the collar and inhale his lingering cologne. The whiffs she already got were doing wonders.

“Okay.”

Ginny shifted. Why was this so strange? It was hardly the first time they’d shown up in each other’s room in the middle of the night, which was a little ridiculous now that she thought about it. “D’you need— Your knees?”

“Right.” Mike sank to the bed and divvied up his haul between two separate bags. Even half-asleep, he was quick and efficient, wrapping the plastic bags in their own towels and settling them on his battered joints. Extra battered today; he’d taken two hits at the plate this afternoon. Only then did he flick his gaze back to Ginny, more alert now. “So, what happened?”

“Sometimes,” she trailed off, feeling embarrassment crawl up her throat. Mike waited her out, eyes assessing and cool, but not judgmental. If she didn’t want to answer, he wouldn’t push her. He’d just bundle her into bed and make sure she got the most of the remaining hours of her sleep. It was that willingness to roll with what she’d give him, no questions asked, that made her say, “Sometimes I sleepwalk. When I’m stressed or whatever. It’s not a big deal. It hasn’t happened in a while, but yeah. That’s what happened.”

Mike took this in, considering. He didn’t press her on the fact that he’d found her on the verge of a panic attack, which was basically the opposite of “not a big deal.” He didn’t push for details or funny stories the way almost anyone else might. He just turned her words over in his head, thinking them over. “Okay. Do you want to go back to your room? Or is it better to stay with someone?”

Ginny honestly didn’t know. Which didn’t stop her from asking, “Do you mind if I stay?”

He didn’t even bother to think this over. “Nope.” He dumped his makeshift icepacks back in the bucket and stiffly pushed himself to his feet with a little groan. “But if you’re looking for my sparkling it, you’re out of luck. I’m going back to bed. Today took it out of me.”

The fact that he even admitted to that, made Ginny’s heart swell. Mike was so insistent on bearing all his pain all on his own, getting him to share even a sliver of how tired and beat down nearly two decades in the major had made him, felt like everything.

She made no argument there, crossing to the unrumpled side of the bed and climbing in. 

As exhausted as they both were, neither of them could seem to find sleep. They each shifted, searching for a comfortable position, and entirely too aware of the person lying beside them. 

Not that she didn’t notice him out of bed too.

Ginny wasn’t sure what it was about the last few weeks, but she couldn’t turn off her Lawson-Sense. Maybe it was the fact that they both knew he was hanging it all up once the season was over. Maybe it was just that three years spent denying and ignoring their feelings had worn down her defenses. Whatever it was, there was something inside her that was constantly conscious of where Mike was in relation to her. 

Usually, it was not nearly close enough. Right now she couldn’t say that, could she?

“Did you know you sleep diagonally across the bed?” he asked, abrupt, into the darkness.

“What?” she laughed. “No, I don’t.”

“Uh, yeah. You do. I think I’ve slept with you often enough to say that you do.”

Ginny inhaled, sharp and surprised. They’d never actually talked about the fact that they did this, kept doing this. Each time it happened, it was like they were pretending it was the first. 

Even if all the times that came before wouldn’t stop running through her head. Even if it was easier now to fall asleep by pretending that Mike was in bed next to her, his steady presence soothing her more effectively than any breathing exercise in the book.

“You haven’t complained before,” she said, a little shaky. 

“Not a complaint,” he returned, “just an observation.”

“Funny time to bring it up,” she muttered.

It was Mike’s turn to laugh. “Not really,” he chuckled, which, she supposed was fair enough. 

“Well, I bet you didn’t know that you always push your feet against mine.”

“That’s all you, Baker.”

“Is not!”

“It is,” he insisted. “You’ve got the coldest toes I’ve ever felt and you always use me as your personal warming brick.”

“Because you’re like a personal space heater. I’ve never slept with someone so hot.”

In the literal sense, it was true. In the metaphoric sense, Ginny could only imagine that it would be. 

Still, she swallowed as the implication of her words settled over them, one more blanket on the bed. A flush swept over her cheeks and down her chest, making her feel a little lightheaded, dizzy at all the possibilities spinning out before them. 

It wasn’t until Mike snorted, though, that Ginny let herself admit it was actually pretty funny. Embarrassing, but funny.

“You still haven’t,” he muttered.

Under the cover of darkness and the thick duvet, Ginny could feel him shift. 

She was still surprised, though, when his pinky brushed up against hers. It felt like she was always the one reaching out first; which was exactly what she’d asked of him. Her breath was in her throat already, but Mike didn’t stop there. His hand covered hers for a breath before twisting and insinuating itself between the mattress and her palm, threading his fingers through hers. With a light tug, he pulled her closer. Ginny went, more than willing.

Settled close, she tipped her face up to him. In the dim glow from the alarm clock, Ginny could make out the shine of his eyes and wet lips. He must’ve just licked them. She wanted desperately to know what they tasted like. By the end of the season, officially Mike’s last, she told herself she would.

“This okay?” he asked, squeezing her fingers like there was something else he might mean. 

“Yeah,” she breathed, squeezing back a silent reply. “For now.”

“For now,” he echoed.

Snuggling into her pillow—and if it brought her shoulder right up to Mike’s, her feet tucked under his ankle, that was pure coincidence—Ginny sighed in contentment, eyes drifting shut.

La Jolla, CA

There were things, Mike reflected, that you could really only learn about a person by sleeping in the same bed as them. And not just what side of the mattress they preferred or whether or not they snored or talked in their sleep. Little things: like the sounds they made as they stretched out between the sheets for the first time, or how many times they needed to roll over before truly falling asleep. Silly things: like how much they drooled onto their pillow or what embarrassing pajama sets they owned. Ordinary things: like how many blankets they liked or whether they needed to read before falling asleep. 

And while Mike knew the answer to every single one of those questions when it came to Ginny Baker, all of that trivia was nothing compared to the knowledge of what it was like to wake up with her wrapped in his arms and not need to pull away. 

This morning, he didn’t have to pull his arms away from her waist, worrying that his every move would walk her up and send them spiraling into a storm of awkwardness that could ruin them. He didn’t have to take one last inhale of the shampoo in her hair and wrench himself away. 

For the first time, he and Ginny had gone to bed with one another not because of some outside influence, but just because they wanted to. Because they wanted to drift together in the night and wake up twined together. Because they’d waited long enough.

Ginny’s breath puffed steadily against his neck, her arms banded around his middle, and a leg hitched across his thighs. It was like, even asleep, she couldn’t bear to be too far from him. 

Mike could definitely sympathize.

“Gin,” he murmured, too soft to wake her because he wanted more chance to study her like this. Face slack with sleep, peaceful in a way she wasn’t even when she’d worked herself into a groove at the rubber. Her high brow unwrinkled, a smooth expanse of brown skin over dark eyebrows and the inky curve of eyelashes. Her straight, proud nose, set over plush mouth, just begging for a kiss.

Who was he to argue? 

He brushed a feather-light kiss over first the tip of her nose, the apples of her cheeks, and finally the sweet petals of her lips.

“Sweetheart,” Mike whispered, right into her skin. A thrill shot through him. How many times had he wanted to call her that, and now he could? He couldn’t be her teammate forever, but this? This, he could do as long as he lived.

Ginny stirred, brown eyes blinking open even if the pull of sleep still glazed them over. She smiled as she registered his proximity, stretching against him with a languid sigh.

“‘M I?” she slurred, tucking her face into his neck either to escape the early morning sun or to breathe him in.

“Are you what?” he managed as her lips began to explore the border between his beard and bare skin.

“Your sweetheart.”

All the breath in Mike’s body escaped him at that question, far too astute for someone who’d only just woken up. He swallowed, felt the way it pushed his throat against Ginny’s mouth and her tongue darted out for a taste.

“If you want.”

She hummed her assent. She did want. “But what about you? What do you want?”

Mike wasn’t sure he wanted to have this conversation if he couldn’t look Ginny in the eyes. Even so, he was reluctant to part her from her task and the way every brush of her lips against his skin sent want shuddering straight to his belly.

Nonetheless, he shifted away from her, catching her chin in one hand when Ginny made to close the gap. He’d gotten enough of that—and so much more—last night to at least slake his thirst. He could hold off for now, though Mike doubted he’d be able to last long. There was no such thing as enough kisses from Ginny Baker. 

Fingers curled under her jaw, he lifted her chin until her eyes met his.

Lit up by the mellow gold of the morning sun, Ginny’s eyes were flecked with amber and honey, a glittering complement to the usual dark chestnut. It was the hope, though, that Mike saw shimmering there that made his voice steady as he admitted to his own.

“I want you to be more than that. I want you to be everything, Gin. My sweetheart and best friend and confidante. It already feels like you are."

It took her a few moments to gather herself enough to speak. Her eyes continued to shine, bright and joyful and so, so beautiful. “It feels like you’re mine too.”

“I am,” he promised, “In every way that counts, I’m yours.”

This time, when Ginny leaned up to kiss him, he didn’t stop her. He didn’t stop her as her lips parted beneath his and her tongue stroked into his mouth. He didn’t stop her when she wrapped her legs around his hips and rolled them over. He didn’t stop her even when she pulled away and sat up, the golden glow of the sun bestowing her with an actual halo. 

Whatever Ginny wanted, Mike had no intention of stopping her. 

Why would he? He wanted everything she had to offer. 

And finally, after years of waiting, it was his to have.

[soundof-rain]

Journey with spirituality pt.2

Failing with “magical” trinkets and oils led me to do the spiritual work the good old fashioned way, shadow work. Shadow work can be anything for anyone but in a general sense it’s confronting the parts of yourself that you’ve neglected or otherwise ignored & heal it, forgive it, show it love as you would your favorite part of yourself. Shadow work can be a bit tricky to get into especially if you’re anything like me, someone who plainly ignored things about myself I didn’t like or didn’t want to deal with, it can be hard to even recognize these parts and pieces of yourself because you don’t even acknowledge them to begin with; almost like you forgot about them completely but you never really do. And so i began using meditation as a insight tool to help me recognize what it is that I needed to heal within myself besides the so very obvious depression, anxiety & drug abuse. For me it was easier to take time and really delve into these parts of myself because i’ve always spent copious amounts of time by myself in my room, my mother created this super annoying say around the house that I’m “hibernating” because of when I used to sleep 25/8 in my really bad days of depression or otherwise just hiding from the rest of the family because I couldn’t be bothered, and it stuck like glue giving me even more reason to stay cooped up in my room to avoid the “ Oh she’s not hibernating anymore, Oh we finally see you today huh?” remarks. It became normal to not see or hear from me for days, sometimes weeks at a time since I was pretty quiet anyways so it never raised any alarm that I was m.i.a majority of the time. As I said before I believe that spending so much time alone played a huge part in my spiritual journey because it was never really difficult to sit with myself and dive deep, I did it on the regular, the hardest part was looking at it from a different perspective and understanding, like REALLY understanding. I knew that this process wouldn’t happen overnight so I was prepared to go through the highs and lows of this transition no matter how long it might take because in the end I would be further than where I began and better than what I was when I began, this provided me with all the solace I needed. The first place I decided to start with my healing was with my mommy issues, my initial thought was that if I get my BIGGEST issue out of the way first everything else may not be as hard, a truth as well as a lie I would come to find out. I severely underestimated exactly how bad my trauma was surrounding my mother or authority figures in general, because again I completely ignored this part of my life as if it didn’t matter, so it definitely was a process to really shift my mindset and understand from a point of view outside of my wounded one, forgiving was almost impossible at first. My story with mothers is a sad one to say the least but not impossible to believe, I was born and immediately given up for adoption so for the longest time I had no information about my birth mother, no face, name , nothing until one day while my foster mother was out I snuck to look through our picture buckets (she hated us looking through the buckets for what I found out was fear of us discovering things she wanted to keep hidden from us) and I found a single photo hidden deep within the back of an old album of my birth mother and I. There was only one but it was all I needed to get me by at the time since I could finally put a face to a figure but what I didn’t expect was that I already knew exactly what my mother looked like; me. It was a shocking to see that I’ve been looking at my mother everyday when I look in the mirror, I was her spitting image as if I was made of her and no one else, same exact everything and even though that made me sooo happy it also made me completely sad at the same time because then the inevitable question stapled itself to the forefront of my mind; why didn’t she want me ? This question both drove and disabled me because it forced me to realize that I was in fact neglected twice in my life by two different “mothers” one I never got a chance to meet , the other just completely disregarding my presence unless it benefited her in some way. My relationship with my foster mother was fine until I was about ten years old, around the time I found out I was adopted, I always knew but hearing from my friend just made it even more real for me. It’s almost as if my foster mom had some type of super knowing because life turned to shit immediately after, of course there were still plenty good days had but I can’t remember if they even involved her to be honest, she was the type of mom that just didn’t care. Over the years I transitioned from the super intelligent star child to the mediocre rebel to the all around druggy disgrace in my mothers eyes and she never once took responsibility as to why that might be, as soon as the honor roll certificates stopped rolling out , which was pretty early on, I wasn’t of importance. The roll my foster mother played in my life is pretty questionable but so obvious at the same time, she was there physically but that’s all, emotionally & mentally she wasn’t anywhere to be found, this led to years of emotional, verbal and mental abuse and all around neglect which in turn made me raise myself even in a house full of people because no one seemed competent enough to handle the task. Early on I decided that putting my energy into hating my mother wasn’t doing me any good so I just ignored her for a good part of my life, only speaking to her when I felt like it, or needed something important, some would say that’s manipulative but you haven’t been in my shoes to understand even a half of why it had to be this way for me. Now that I decided to face my mommy demons I also had to accept my part in everything that happened which meant realizing that I too was in the wrong for my rebelling and cold behavior towards my mother even though she definitely deserved it, it still wasn’t right, moving forward with this mindset I decided to do a sort of ritual where I stated both of our wrong doings out into the open of my empty bedroom and acknowledged that she did the best of her ability with raising me  as well as forgave her for everything she’s ever done to me ( or didn’t do for me) , the release I felt in my heart that moment was such a beautiful feeling but it would be very hard to keep it there. From that point on I decided I would do better by my mother in hopes of patching our relationship for the sake of my own personal growth, I would make myself present around her more, offer my assistance more and just be present wherever she was concerned yknow do the little things that made her happy but the nice time was short lived as always since nothing could ever make her truly happy; nothing except control and money. Even though I was doing right by my mother and not complaining about her sometimes annoying needs she doubled back into her ego once more and began talking down on me like she had done so many times before in my life but this time it was relentless, literally (i have people who can vouch) every morning for months I was the topic of her discussion, every morning she made a mission to point out how lazy and problematic I was for her and how I needed to get out of her house even when I did absolutely nothing to her, this definitely took a shot to my ego because I thought we were moving past this phase for good ; of course not , not with freda. Though I was very confused and hurt I didn’t feel the need to go back into my rebellious ways I was too old for that and much more enlightened so I did what I knew best in those times, I simply cried and prayed that things would get better for me, I did began ignoring her again though because her abuse was just too much for my recovering mental to tolerate so I just focused on myself and my growth so I could get the fuck out of dodge. For a time I slipped back into drug abuse I smoked weed every single day multiple times a day like it was nothing because at the time it was and it helped me ignore her better but after a while it wasn’t fun just something to get the time to go by faster, I realized that being high severely hindered my growth spiritually so I decided to take a break for a while to help myself , I began putting my time into things I used to love doing as a child but got disconnected from due to depression and ended up deciding to write a book about depression and my experience with it. Working on this book helped me a lot as far as being useful with my time as well as giving me a healthy means to express my feelings and escape the pain I felt on a daily , I felt productive and confident knowing I was doing something that would one day help a lot of people but that was short lived as well sadly, I began getting preoccupied with other things and smoking once again. Fast forward a couple months to summer time now my mother is still belittling me every chance she gets and i’m still working on myself spiritually ignoring her presence, around this time however she began being a huge asshole about money just because she THOUGHT she knew I was getting some, she wanted me to pay rent now claiming that it had went up because of me so either had to pay or get out lmao. I’m not going to go into the details of everything that happened but here’s the long story short: My mother finally let my brother that was a year older than I come back in the house & she began using him as her slave which meant she didn’t need me around anymore once again ( this is when the lovely morning messages started ) the only way I could stay in her presence was to pay her no if and’s or buts about it, I wasn’t doing that though because I literally didn’t do shit inside the house but shower and sleep she was even bold enough to tell me that once I paid rent I could eat inside the house again LMFAO she had to be crazy, this didn’t sit right with her especially because she wanted me to be miserable and I wasn’t I was going out and living my life having fun as I should’ve been doing the entire time ! We stopped speaking AGAIN nothing new, now she’s directing her anger onto my brother because she knows it’s not bothering me and he’s taking it hard because growing up he was the target for her most disgusting abuse& neglect (physical too) but he never got the chance to heal from it even a little bit, so now i’m basically taking on his trauma and being his support system because I know just how fragile he and his mind really was, she upped her tactics and began removing every source of comfort we could’ve enjoyed in our supposed to be home ; we couldn’t enjoy our own porch, my room, nor the tent in the BACKYARD, she made it her mission to get us away from her one way or another but she still relied on us for help? Manipulation and abuse at it’s finest. One day following a reading I decided I wasn’t going to be intimidated or silenced by her anymore so I went downstairs and got a cup of water after avoiding her presence for so long and she asked me was I going to pay rent, i asked her how was I going to pay rent with no money, I also asked her why would I pay rent if I did nothing in the house that required me to pay rent I used minimal water compared to my olderer brother who takes 2 hour showers multiple times a day, minimal electricity compared to my young nephew who uses 2 computers, his light and almost every game he has everyday all day I barely even turn on the light in my room! This turned into a huge argument because 1. I was finally standing up for myself all the way and 2. she couldn’t handle the fact that I wasn’t going to conform to her completely stupid requests; the youngest sibling of the house having to pay rent for doing nothing meanwhile the older ones get to disrespect, fuck around, eat all the food, and pay nothing ? WAS NOT FUCKING HAPPENING ! She also hated that some of my older siblings were on my side about how stupid she sounded for why she wanted me to pay rent , “because I had a room” i’m the youngest sibling & your responsibility why shouldn’t I have a room? Excuse me according to her the minute I turned 18 i’m nothing to her and she very clearly proved that point. Back to the argument though , in the middle of it something happened , I had to turn and throw up mid argument come to find out later that that was me purging the final pieces of captivity and being scared of ms. freda and boy was it a freeing feeling, I cut the argument short after having a huge burst of anger and yelling in her face I realized that my nephew was witnessing all of this and I wanted to spare him the childhood I had so I left my final thoughts to which she gave me the end of the month to get my shit and move out I gladly agreed and went upstairs only to call my bestfriend and have a full on anxiety attack . I had never had one before at least not as intense as it had been that day I couldn’t talk I couldn’t breathe, I just sat crying, gasping  for air and throwing up whatever little was left in my body, I ended up hanging up on her at one point to spare her hearing my messy outburst and to gather myself,  even though that moment felt like forever it was short lived thank god. ~

Final part will be up soon <3

[octaviainthewasteland]

Allow me to flood you with requests :D 1 Plance, 25 Sheith, 27 gen k/l, 33 hunay, 34 gen Allura, 42 plance, 49 gen hunk

42: “I’m pregnant”

I honestly had a “funny” idea with Lance saying that phrase, but then you said I can go for angst and I remembered that I’m an asshole. Hope you enjoy it!

AO3

Pidge has been spreading peanut butter for whole three minutes already. She smoothed the surface with the wide side of the knife, then aimed to cut in in half, but unsatisfied, started over, erasing the line of the potential cut with the blade.

Her oversized sweatshirt hung loosely on her scrawny shoulders, her hair in a messy bun just above her nape, and most of the strands had already fallen out of it. Behind her ear there was a roll of brown paper, a smoldering cigarette butt; her parents weren’t at home, but she did not dare to smoke out in the open in the kitchen. She blew her nose and finally laid the triangles of toast on the plate and left the kitchen. Lance hesitated for a moment but followed her. He wasn’t planning on pressuring her to open up, but he had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Pidge was acting funny.

She left the plate on the table and flopped down on the bed, shifting to the wall and pulling her feet up. Lance cautiously dropped down next to her and tried to stroke her bony knee to calm her down – but the same moment he had to jolt his hand away, as its angles scratched him.

“Hey, Pidgey-Pie, you’ve asked me to come. You wanted to tell me something.” He fished a matchbox out of her sweatshirt’s bottomless pocket and pulled the joint from behind her ear.

The match caught fire only the second time, and Pidge leaned over, capturing the end of it.

“Pidgeon…”“I’m pregnant”.

For the first time, the faint green color of the walls failed to calm his nerves. Lance liked it here. Her room always provided the impression that the owner is about to move out. The disarray of clothes on the floor, right next to tacky piles of books. A large sports bag, candy bars’ wrappers and empty energy drink cans on the table. A massive CD-player and a case, fat from a dozen CDs, in the UFO shape. Large green headphones with perpetually tangled wires. Pidge was ready to get on a move at any second, to go to the other end of the town – or the other end of the world.

Her hands were shivering slightly, so she let him hold the joint, while she smoked, fidgeting with her high sock and the shoelaces on her combat boot, decorated with markers’ drawings.

“Not sure if it’s recommended for pregnant.” It was said more to tease her than out of an actual worry, because Pidge always did what she wanted, and by trying to forbid her anything, you were only making it harder for yourself.“What’s the difference?” she grimaced. “I’ll get rid of it soon anyway”.

“It”. Lance winced and withdrew his hand to take a puff himself. He turned his gaze from her knees to his own, poking out of the holes in his jeans. He traced the pink threads of old scars on the tawny skin. Here he had been learning how to ride a bicycle; there he had knocked against his own foot after a major growth spurt. Another one after he had gotten so high he completely lost the sense of orientation and grandiosely collapsed from the roof of a half-ruined abandoned church, where they were smoking dope and kissed for the first time. His fall was exactly what led to the kiss, actually. He thought he had broken his leg and refused to get up, so Pidge had to come down to him, and she did so with the agility of a monkey, which made him even grumpier. To stop him lamenting, she did not come up with anything better than kissing him, and so they lay in the damp grass, and their denim jackets got soaked wet and the grass stains proved to be permanent. Afterwards, it turned out to be a mere strain.

“Have you decided on abortion already?” he asked, suddenly not knowing how to set down his long lean arms and legs.

Pidge rested her palms on her tummy as if she could already feel the swelling. The lion was baring her green teeth out of the gaunt wrist – the lion was eyeing Lance. Pidge avoided his eyes.

“As if there’s some other choice,” she exhaled, exasperated, wiping her nose with her sleeve. “What child? For what? Parents will kill me. Matt will kill you. And then they’ll revive us just to drag into marrying bullshit. I want to go to college. I’m not going to stay in this damp, have a shotgun wedding, become one of these hags”.

“I’ll go with you,” his hand found hers, squeezed it, just to stop her shaking, forcing her to turn to him, to look at him, to see him. “If you want. Let’s go together, and I’ll hold your hand, pretty romantic, don’t you say? Me, you, us, white tile floor and our mutual cells, dead and smeared on your pantyliner.  We can watch “Mars Attacks”, and I’ll borrow some stacy from guys”.“Fuck, parents ‘ll find out. Matt ‘ll find out. Everyone ‘ll know. Today I’ve been to 7-eleven, for some gum, and that bitch cashier looked at me as if she knew. She must’ve seen that I took the pregnancy test. That means practically everyone knows by now. I paid for it in self-service. In cash. How do they know everything?”

When Lance tugged her towards him, she buried her face in his chest, inhaling his scent, breathing convulsively. The cold metal of her septum hurt as it was digging into his skin, but he did not dare to change their position so as not to spook her.

“Why don’t we go to another place? Some random city,” he whispered, “where no one knows us. I’ll take you. Everything ‘ll be fine, Kitty-Kat.”

Neither touched the peanut-butter toasts.

*

The road back went quietly. Stuck in the Sound played on a low volume, Pidge curled on her seat and turned to the window, Lance chewed his lower lip and gently tapped the wheel in tune with the song.

Being seduced by the friendly flickering neon sign, they stopped at a shoebox of a diner. There they found a whole cemetery of butterflies, fireflies, regular flies, all fried by the said welcome sign, and Lance could hardly restrain himself from scooping through this black dead sea. The inwards of his nose were itchy, he had sweat stains under his armpits, and he had to keep looking at the floor not to stumble.

They almost had a race to a tiny dirty crapper. Once inside, Lance picked her up and pressed her to the round dim mirror, pushing her skinny ass on the spat-over sink. Pidge hissed and bit him in retaliation for self-indulgence, invading his mouth the moment he opened it in a pained groan, grabbing the stud in his tongue with her teeth. Running his hands under her baggy sweater, he groped the buckle of her worn, washed out bra. She flinched, jabbing him with her erect nipple, wrapped her legs around his waist, and the soils of her heavy boots hit his tailbone hard. In a fit of boldness, Lance twisted the hem of her skirt, pulled the elastic band of her pantyhose and released it, letting it slap her side with a loud pop. With the other hand, he covered her throat, tightening his grip around it, and she panted, letting a gasp vibrate in her kiss, as she spun and tore his choker off, giving a long red-hot lick over his Adam’s apple.

Her fingers, calloused from computer keys, grazed his thigh, with her thumb pressed on the fly, and her palm downed on the belt buckle, warmed, being trapped between their bodies. Suddenly the hand stopped. Lance rolled impatiently, snarling into her hair. But Pidge did not stir.

“No.”“No what?” twisted and hot, he withdrew, breathing heavily.

She simply shook her head, hugging herself, covering her breasts.

Lance could not understand what he had done wrong, but without further words, he picked up discarded clothes, and gingerly lifted her arms to put her bra back on. After covering her with her vast sweater, he helped her to the ground, adjusting her hitched up skirt and pantyhose.

“Hey, it’s okay.” He sat down on the closed toilet and took her into a hug, rocking her slightly. “Everything’s okay now. I understand. We went ahead of ourselves after all this shit. Now-now.”

He took a small plastic bag out and somehow with one hand he managed to roll a joint. Firstly, two puffs for her, to calm her down a little, then one puff for him, because he really needed some after the last night. He could not drink alcohol to treat his hangover, as he was driving today.

“Better, right? It’s all good, Pidgins. If you wanna, we can wait until you leave for college. I’m some hot cakes, all right, but for the sake of the most attractive big head of science of the Holt family, I’ll wait even until the end of college, if necessary. I mean Matt deserves that, don’t you agree?”

Usually, she would shove his ribs with her elbow, laughing open and loud, but now she did not even smile. Hastily Lance made another puff.

“No need to wait,” she said finally.

“Shit happens,” Lance remarked surprisingly calm, surprisingly even for himself. “It’s not like we’re total doofus. We did protections. Always. Well, maybe we forgot it that one unlucky time, but now we’ll definitely be on high alert. And as I said, if you care so much, we can wait. Because I don’t care. My cock might turn blue and break, but you know, it’s not my only asset.” He winked clicking his tongue. “Don’t be silly. When you want it, you have it.”

“I had something foreign in my body.” Her voice sounded hoarse as if her throat was rubbed with sandpaper. “I can’t. I won’t. Not now, not later. Just to imagine…”

They both longed of escaping from this sleepy town, from this languid melancholy of meaningless existence – but as it turns out, in different ways. With different goals.”

Lance gave her a shake, seeking some confirmation in her glance, something, something – anything.

“I want to be with you,” at the back of his mind he realized he was choking her in his embrace, “please, Katie, I love you so much, I beg you”.

Pidge was sucking on her milkshake, picking a hole in the seat cover of faux leather with her chewed chipped nail. Lance was trying to stuff himself with a dry onion pie, stretching all out on the sofa.

The elderly waitress poured some more coffee for him, staring at the line in his eyebrow with dull disapproval. As she moved back to the counter, a blue-furred lion roared at her from his shoulder blade, with her tail wrapped around his forearm.

I don’t want to be alone in this lousy town, no way, I don’t want to be alone, I don’t want to, I don’t want to, I don’t want to…

Pidge remained silent.

[thefantasysuite]

Arie’s Bachelor Preview

Finally. Maybe it just seems longer because I didn’t post much during ette or paradise, but it’s about time we got some new info on the OG of dating shows. The cast has finally been released. I’m going to assume that like me, your heart skipped a beat when you got that google alert stating as much. I glanced at a few pictures, but have held off reading anything about any of the ladies to make sure I captured first impression. You wouldn’t stand out there greeting each as she comes out of the limo and then get black out drunk and not remember what you first thought the next morning. Unless of course you are a contestant on this show and have already stalked the bachelor for months on end. In that case, pass the alcohol.

If you’ve followed this blog at all you know I like to stay away from off season drama. You had your 15 mins of fame. As Mr. Wonderful eloquently puts it:

But since it’s the season of giving I’ll give you a quick update on last year’s bachelor, Nick. Him and Vanessa broke up. The end. But seriously, this is what they looked like right after they were able to make their ‘arrangement’ public:

Yeah. Good job convincing everyone that was going to last.

Alright Moving right along. The bachelor this year is Arie Luyendyk:

I don’t remember feeling strongly about Arie one way or another when he was on. I do remember feeling strongly about the bachelorette that he was chasing after however:

Back to Arie. He comes from a family that likes to race cars. The F1 circuit to be precise. For all intents and purposes I’m going to group that in with NASCAR because the jokes are easier. Matt and Trey got 22 minutes out of making fun of NASCAR:

I can do a season of the bachelor.

Arie’s bachelor announcement doesn’t come without some controversy. He may have broken up with girlfriend right before he became the bachelor:

http://www.etonline.com/exclusive-arie-luyendyk-jrs-ex-girlfriend-says-she-was-blindsided-bachelor-casting-their-breakup

It also appears Arie has a type when you look at his ex compared to the former bachelorette:

Enough about Arie. Let’s see the skanks that will be racing after his heart (get used to a bunch corny puns relating to his former profession)

Ali

Ali is a personal stylist. Got a quick tip for Ali. Next time ABC offers to have their professional stylist help you out before your headshot, don’t say “I got this”. The most embarrassing thing she listens to is Nickelback. While unrelated, please check out this clip of another Chad Kroeger fighting his local government to keep house parties a god given right:

The Beastie Boys would be proud

Amber

3 people dead or alive you’d like to have lunch with. You can tell a lot about a person in how they answer. Starting your list off with Kim Kardashian says more than enough. What can you possibly ask her in which the honest answer isn’t “sex tape”? How did you get so famous? Sex tape. How did you break into the industry? Sex tape. What drove your step dad to become a woman? Sex tape

Annaliese

I feel like Annaliese misunderstood the question 5 things you can’t live without. She listed 3 different types of food and 2 emotions. I think the producers are looking for you to say something like wi-fi and your favorite hoody. She also listed Miley Cyrus and Chrissy Tiegan as people she would want to be. Guessing there isn’t much going on upstairs with this one

Ashley

Ashley looks super boring. Doubt she makes it past night 1. She hates doing laundry because it takes her a week to go from washing her clothes, to folding, to putting them away. Pft. I leave that shit in the dryer and go grab a pair of socks and underwear as needed. Amateur

Becca K

Becca has quite the jawline on her. Hopefully she has a smokin hot body. Becca is a publicist. You know who was also a publicist? Fucking Shauna:

Something tell me Becca is publicizing people more like Johnny Drama and less like Vincent Chase

Bekah M

Bekah is very intriguing. This might be a first, but her age isn’t listed in her bio. And I really want to know what it is. Her profession is nanny so I would assume she’s pretty young. But past contestant Corrine also had a nanny and she was pretty old. I know it’s because of the hair, but I’m getting a Morena Baccarin vibe:

I’ve got my eye on this one

Bibiana

I’m guessing Bibiana has quite a bit of personality. This has to be the girl other girls hate, right? She’s an executive assistant and former NFL cheerleader. I vote Bibi as most likely to tell everyone that she isn’t there to make friends and to start calling Arie her man

Bri

Bri is a sports reporter. I needed to look it up to be sure:

Now I’m not saying someone that’s already been on TV can’t fall in love with someone else on TV. But if she gets to the final 3 this season, fans like her, and a sideline job happens to open up with ABC she may have her eyes on a prize other than Arie

Brittane J

At the risk of making an off(on)-color joke, I’m going to guess that is a new way to spell Brittany. And is she winking? Lunch with 3 people dead or alive she went with Whitney Houston, Bernie Sanders, Beyonce. When the bill came Bernie made sure that Whitney Houston’s estate paid for her meal before the new tax bill gets rid of the death tax. (Hey. She got political, not me)

Brittany T

Seeing her listed as Brittany T confirms that the previous girl does pronounce it as Brittany. This Brittany would like to have lunch with Chris Evans, Hillary Clinton (shudder), and Beyonce. When Chris Evans goes on a coke binge he better hope he stays away from the bathtub to relax afterwards (See Whitney Houston above). Also, do you think Hillary ordered a side of beef at lunch? I remember when she got chucked into a van like a side of beef at a 9/11 memorial ceremony:

#neverforget

Caroline

I’m out on Caroline. She doesn’t have a dog yet, but can’t wait to find someone to “co-parent” a dog with. You would be a dog owner, not a parent. I bet she also can’t wait to “play house” with Arie. She’s going to be that girl that Arie tries to have a serious conversation with and can’t stop giggling while talking about how much fun they have together

Chelsea

Chelsea is boring and generic. Sticks out in no way. Not pretty. Not ugly. Thinks France is the most romantic city. Listed grade school sports as something she did competitively (read: unathletic). Likes warm weather, but not too warm. I don’t see anything here. I suspect an early pass (racing jokes) from Arie

Jacqueline

I’m trying to figure out who Jackie looks like. Right now I’m stuck on a poor (very poor) man’s Winnie Cooper:

I don’t think that’s the right answer, so I am open to suggestions. I also kind of wanted to look up Danica McKellar so I’m not mad. This will never work out though. She keeps talking about her career and how important it is to her. Career first women don’t win. They usually become the bachelorette. Not that I’m suggesting that will happen. Just that she has no chance

Jenna

Jenna is a social media manager from Indiana. Speaking of, I need to fire mine. When she eventually reads this post I expect https://twitter.com/thebachtweets to be updated with the new season flair. Jenna’s favorite show is Friends. I’m going to diagnose her as Monica. Looks like she is bubbly, can provide some comic relief when necessary, and probably has a nerdy brother named Ross that keeps finding ways to screw up everything with his much hotter girlfriend. How you doin’??

Jenny

Jenny’s most afraid of picking the wrong person to marry. I guess you can’t make that mistake if the bachelor picks you. She probably has nightmares about being the bachelorette. Many of her answers indicate that she’s outdoorsy and loves adventure. She looks just the opposite. Maybe her idea of camping is hanging out in a motor home watching netflix while a fire burns outside

Jessica

Jessica’s occupation is television host and I immediately couldn’t wait to look up which show. Then I saw she was from Canada, which isn’t real tv. Is Degrasi still on? But then I looked her up and it’s worse than Canadian tv host. She has a youtube channel called Jessica Carroll TV.......(So what if I watched the video ‘Get Pool Party Ready). So we have smoking hot girl living in LA that’s used to the camera. Guess who might get called out first for not being there for the right reasons

Kendall

I feel like Kendall has a drink in one or both hands of this picture. This chick is weird. If she could be any animal she went with bat. Most romantic gift was an alligator hand holding an iron heart in a jar because she collects taxidermy. As long as it wasn’t an alligator holding a human hand. Carl Weathers would have been pissed:

Krystal

Krystal is one of those fitness nuts. I feel like that’s a profession/hobby that never does well on this show either. She says she is most afraid of unused potential. Lol. She must moonlight as a life coach. Trying to remember back to when Arie was on the bachelorette he didn’t strike me as a real go getter. I feel like Krystal is going to push him to be better and Arie will end up channeling his brother in name and hit her with:

Lauren B

I think Lauren B goes far. Pretty girl. No weird answers. What is my first rule about going on this show? Don’t be weird. She has a second degree black belt in Tae Kwon Do. By the way, whatever happened to Billy Blanks?

Lauren G

Lauren has the real descriptive occupation of executive recruiter. Her favorite tv show is ‘This is Us’. I’ve never seen an episode, but based on the people that watch it and from what I’ve heard it sounds like one long ass chick flick. It’s like tv networks needed to try and scoop up the ‘Parenthood’ audience that loves mushy feel good/make you cry stories and we ended up here. Those shows are the worst (And no, the bachelor is not the scripted reality version of those shows).

Lauren J

Lauren is honest. Asked if she’s neat or messy, she concedes to being messy. Doesn’t like playing games with guys, just tells them how she feels. Eats full meals in bed. Can’t live without mascara. She’s also 33 so no time to beat around the bush. I think she’ll end up getting super jelly when she sees Arie making out with other girls. I’m gonna say she ends up in the top 5. Arie wants a young girl to parade around for a little while. Lauren is probably trying to have kids tomorrow

Lauren S

The run on Lauren’s continues. We’ve got another social media manager on our hands. It’s funny thinking back to the first season of the bachelor and knowing how that job wouldn’t have even existed. When asked if she could be anyone in the world she went with ‘anyone in Taylor Swift’s girl squad’. You wouldn’t want to be....I don’t know....Taylor Swift instead? Not very lofty girls for this one. She’s an early out

Maquel

Maquel? Whatever. Guess we are just making names up at this point. Her favorite holiday is Halloween. She loves dressing up and creepy/scary stuff. I’m guessing she is more Cady and less Regina:

Marikh

Maybe the weirdest answer to a question that I’ve seen:

What? So you don’t want to accidentally confirm an incorrect assumption? Keep in mind that she was asked this question, had time to think it over, decided to go with that. I think Marikh might break down if asked where she wants to go to eat. “I love Olive Garden but I hate their breadsticks and salad and pasta so let’s go there”

Nysha

Nysha looks like she’s embarrassed to take this photo and have an official Bachelor headshot that will live forever. I don’t see Nysha doing real well this season. Her answer on favorite tv show and fictional character comes off as a bit “I don’t need no man”. Try not to make a scene when you don’t get a rose

Olivia

Olivia is 23. She looks even younger than that. Favorite book is 50 shades of grey. Not sure she was old enough to read that when it first came out. Do you think she secretly hopes Arie has a sex dungeon? Probably would have been a good intern for Matt Lauer. 

Seinne

I’m going to guess that Seinne is this year’s Rachel (you know what I’m getting at). Favorite tv show is Game of Thrones. I don’t care for the show. Watched the first season and couldn’t believe I wasted that much time. Don’t get the appeal at all. If I hear Dilly Dilly one more time I’m going to fucking lose it

Tia

Tia could win this year, be the girl that everyone hates, or be the next bachelorette. I’ll know by the end of the first episode, but right now I have no clue. I’m looking for key things in her answers and she says ‘sassy’ as well as having gone to a swingers resort. I’m going to go with the one everyone loves to hate. But I reserve the right to change my mind

Valerie

Valerie is a server in Nashville (failed country music artist). She’s 25 and has over 50 Halloween costumes. Maybe she celebrates it multiple times a year. I just hope she doesn’t have that thick twang when she talks. That’s so annoying

There they are. The desperate fame whores looking to make their mark January 1st. I do wonder about airing the premiere on the 1st. I know there isn’t a ton of crossover between individuals when it comes to the bachelor and college football, but I can imagine a fight or two between couples when it’s the football semi-finals vs bach premiere. The game airs on ESPN which is of course owned by ABC’s parent company of Disney. I would suggest holding off a week but the national championship game is played that next Monday. 

See ya after the premiere

- Nick

[dornishsphinx]

twenty-two meetings that never happened (1/22)

1. THE FOOL

“Oh come on, cut me some slack here, I’ve not had a drink in weeks.”

The voice carried across the train carriage, loud enough to worm its way through her headphones, though thankfully not enough to drown out the music. She briefly heard some rumbling that could have been a reply before the voice came back, full force: “Don’t be such a drag. I mean, we’re finally free - don’t you just wanna go have fun now?”

More faint muttering followed, but she chose to ignore it, focusing on the music’s beat with her eyes closed. The rhythm was out of sync with the rattling of the train, but it was a better soundtrack than the voices. She liked being sociable and all, but she didn’t want two strange adult men thinking she was interested in their conversation.

“God, you’re so straight-laced.” There it came again, still too loud, “And after I was gonna play wingman for you and everything-”

She rummaged in her pocket to find the volume control, turning up the headphones loud enough for a faint buzzing to begin in the background. Irritating, but preferable to the whining litany. She’d have preferred booting up that new game she’d downloaded on a whim, Eternal Punishment Mobile, but it required constant internet access and the train wi-fi was spotty.

She leant back in the seat, eyes closed. Her mind drifted into blankness. There was still a ways to go yet before she reached her destination: she wouldn’t miss her stop. The song played out; there was a brief interlude between it and the next.

“Women who go there are smoking hot, if you don’t believe me, let me take…”

The next song blasted into her ears, then faded.

“Jeez, do you have to be such an ass about it, god…”

The next song picked up, smooth vocals coming in to cover the sparse drumbeat - and then, in a split-second, it cut off.

She opened her eyes to looming coffins, all leaning against the carriage walls and windows, haphazard as discarded cardboard boxes. They blocked out the green-tinged moonlight and gouged great stripes of black onto the floor with their long shadows.

Midnight already? She’d been so sure- but then again, there had been that delay, hadn’t there? Careless. She should have paid more attention to the time.

She pulled off her headphones - it was never a good idea to have muffled hearing during the green hour, in case one of those shadow-creatures who popped up during it ambled too close to her blind spot - and did a cursory examination of her surroundings. There didn’t appear to be any lurking about, though it was too dark to be a hundred percent sure. Why did she have to be trapped in a train? If one of the dark creatures materialised from the gloom, she’d be so screwed.

Cursing her inattention, it took a second for her brain to catch up when she spotted him, staggering out from behind one of the coffins, his legs visibly shaking, hand going for his belt, and head swivelling around wildly. He was a cop, judging from his uniform, one of the pair that she’d been ignoring. And he wasn’t a coffin.

She’d never seen someone else conscious in the green hour. She didn’t know what to make of it, really, torn somewhere between gladness that for once she wouldn’t be alone and wariness of someone who had managed to sneak his way into the green hour when nobody else ever had.

His eyes snapped onto her. She stood up, straighter, and forced herself to project confidence.

“Are you alright, officer?” she asked, voice barely wavering.

He stared at her for a few moments before he could bring himself to answer.

“What…” He trailed off, looking back at his buddy’s coffin. “What the hell is going on, here?”

“Wait, does that mean - have you never been in the green hour before?” Her mind was racing. Could people just experience it one day, then, without ever having done so before? Did that mean she wasn’t such an anomaly, after all?

“The green hour?” He was looking back at her, askance. “What’s that?”

Oh, yeah. “That’s just what I call it. I mean, if nobody else really knows it exists, it’s not like there’s a proper name I can use - I just call it the green hour because, well. You know. Everything’s all green.”

Green, green, green: the word had started to sound strange in her mouth from overuse, like it was losing meaning.

The cop lurched over to the closest window, craning his neck upwards. “God,” he said, softly, a profane prayer. He collapsed onto the seats beside it. “What. What the hell is even happening right now? We were just supposed to be getting a drink after the shift.”

“It’s okay,” she said. She wasn’t doing so well herself, locked in here as they were, but she had to stop him from melting down. If he had a panic attack or something, she had no idea how to help him - and it wasn’t like there’d be anybody else around able to do anything.

“Okay?” It came out as a growl. She took a step back - maybe she’d been worried about his high-running emotions for the wrong reasons. “What about this is okay to you? My partner’s a coffin! And the sky is fucking green!”

“It stops after an hour,” she said, trying to inject calmness into her voice and failing badly. She was hoping he could be reasoned with, but if he couldn’t, this could get even worse, and fast. “Then everything goes back to normal and continues on like nothing ever happened.”

He didn’t seem to notice her stuttering, thankfully. “So, this isn’t permanent. Well at least that’s-” Then he stopped and narrowed his eyes at her. “Wait. How do you know so much about this, anyway?”

“I’ve never not experienced it, so.”

He stared at her, then back out at the moon. “Jeez.”

He seemed calmer now, though. She let herself relax a little, though forced herself not to let down her guard completely. She’d heard the stories; the modern-day fables which warned girls about what could happen if you found yourself alone at night with a stranger on a train. She kept up a catalogue of his every move.

The cop was holding his head in one hand, breathing evening out. His entire face looked sickly and drawn in the unnatural lighting. As he turned his eyes back on her, she saw that they even had a green glitter to them, like the moonlight was being sucked inside to be devoured. She met his gaze. It was odd: they should be working together on this, but there was something about the man she couldn’t help but-

That train of thought stuttered to a horrified halt as she heard it: that slithering sound she’d grown to fear. The small of her back grew cold; instinct shouted at her to run even as her mind shouted back that there was nowhere to go. She’d taken off her headphones and still it had managed to get in her blind spot. Goddamnit.

The cop noticed her expression change. “What is it now?” he asked, frustration seeping through his tone. “What else could possibly-”

She saw the second he clocked it, his expression shifting from angry suspicion to cold, unmistakeable fear.

“So, you’ve been at this for a while, you said,” he said, jaw clenched and voice higher than it had been before as he slowly reached downwards, never once moving his eyes. “Mind telling me what that thing is?”

“They’re creatures from the shadows,” she said, still frozen in place. “You can’t let them get near you.”

Jerking his head as a signal to get out the way, the cop drew out a gun from a hidden holster - obviously he wanted a clean shot at the thing. She complied - better to have one clear objective, rather than listen her own mind as it screamed a dozen different things at her. She scarpered down the aisle, getting out of the way of his gun as he trained it on the shambling shadow-creature. It felt uncomfortably like hiding from a tidal wave behind a sand-castle. It would be fine, she reasoned with herself: he was a police officer and had a weapon. It couldn’t fill the sinkhole of terror in her stomach, though.

He fired, twice in quick succession. She slipped the headphones back on quickly, even as her ears were already ringing in pain, barely catching the horrible groaning sound that emanated from deep within the black mass at the end of the carriage. Amid the darkness, a pair of glowing red eyes locked onto them.

It started to move, slowing down a little, but never stopping.

“God,” the cop said angrily to himself as he fired again, “How the hell am I gonna explain this to Harada? Oh, sorry sir, why did I use my gun? Oh, I had to, sir, believe me, there was a goddamn shadow monster which wouldn’t fucking stay down and my partner can’t vouch for me because he was a fucking coffin at the time, sir-”

His rant was cut off by the fourth bang of the gun. The shadow-creature shrieked, withering away and collapsing back into the darkness. The cop glared at the space where it had been for a long while, before finally lowering his gun and stashing it back in its holster.

He turned around to her. She slipped her headphones off again, still wincing a little.

“How many of those things normally crop up?” he asked her.

“It depends,” she said. “They usually materialise in areas with a lot of coffins.”

They surveyed the carriage, and all the coffins crammed in next to each other.

“Screw this,” he said, taking a few long strides over to the train door and emergency exit button. He slammed down on it. Nothing happened. He jabbed it a few more times. Still nothing.

“Um,” she said, “Electric stuff doesn’t really work during the green hour.” She waved her phone, with its blank screen.

“Oh, well, isn’t that just perfect,” he spat, before bending down and grabbing his baton. “I guess that leaves the windows.” He cracked at the closest one a few dozen times, but the reinforced glass rudely refused to break. He dropped the baton on the ground with a sound of disgust.

“What time do you think it is?” he asked her, breathing turned hard. She had no idea - if travelling screwed with her sense of time, the green hour destroyed it completely. He sighed, and swore, before freezing. “Oh, not again,” he said, harshly, grabbing his gun again. “Why won’t they just-”

She snatched her headphones and jammed on before he could fire again, and checked out the area. There were a number of them now, though she couldn’t count them in the murk. The cop shot at them. She cowered - and yet she felt more angry at herself than properly terrified. She should be doing something, helping him fend them off somehow, but she had nothing that would work as a weapon on her, so how could she possibly-

The baton. It lay abandoned on the floor. Slowly, cautiously, she crept over to it, keeping an eye on the creatures as she went. She wasn’t all the way over to it when the firing stopped - she looked up at the cop, questioningly, as the shadow-creatures came closer.

“Shit, shit, shit. Shit.”

“Don’t you have any more ammo?”

“There isn’t any more! I’m not even supposed to use the gun in the first place!”

There was no choice - abandoning stealth, she lunged for the baton, managing to snatch it just as the shadow-creatures rushed forward towards them. Her mind began to whiten, but she fought it, hard. She twisted her fingers around it, before turning.

No. No, no, no. They were swarming him.

She thought she heard herself shriek as she smashed down, hard, on the ones closest to her. But it was too late. There were too many. In the background, she could hear him babbling: “Oh, god,” he was saying, “That’s right, I wasted all that time. I was never gonna get anywhere, why did I try-”

And he was gone; all disappeared in a swathe of black. Red eyes swivelled around to fix themselves on her. One, or maybe all of them, gurgled. Goddamn. This was bad. This was very bad. She threw the baton at them in desperation, pulling herself back to the very edge of the seats, flattening herself against the window, for all the good it could possibly do her-

Then, around her, the blue of true moonlight poured into the carriage, dissolving away all the green and the black. She blinked and the coffins were people once more, one of them bellowing “Tohru!” and launching himself across the aisle to a too-quiet heap on the floor.

She came over too, playing the good citizen trying to help. She examined him, horror tasting like bile in her mouth. He was breathing, but his eyes - they were just blank. She stared, hands uselessly hovering over him.

“Miss,” said someone, “Miss, please, could you move aside.”

She moved back automatically, and sat down heavily in her seat, the same song was playing through her headphones, as though nothing had happened.

[ectheatrelife-blog]

KCATCF

bySaskia Brisa Bailey-deBruijn

Tuesday, January 10th, DAY 1

11 people piled into the shiny new Earlham van – which I had gotten certified to drive the previous day – anxious with anticipation.  Or maybe I was just nervous about driving in an unfamiliar city.  In any case, after a relatively pain-free hour and a half – some slept, some listened to music, some happened to catch my eye every single time I looked in the rearview mirror – we arrived at the Sheraton in downtown Indianapolis.  A fancy hotel, a fantastic location, and a quite frantic staff. Can you imagine being one of three hotels trying to accommodate 1300 college students (theatre students at that) as well as their professors, their personalities, and their belongings?  

The van plus two car’s worth of people pulled up to the lobby, ready to rumble.  While most of our troop could go immediately into the rooms, room 1907, the room Sarah and I were destined for, just happened to not be ready for new inhabitants yet and the room for Kharis was forgotten all together. Parking the too-tall-for-the-garage van thus became the priority; finding a nearby parking lot and understanding how to pay for it became the challenge.  Satisfied with the outcome, we trekked onward, this time in search of food. We settled for the Circle Centre Mall food court, where I enjoyed some surprisingly good sushi and fried rice.  I was taking a risk with the sushi, I know. Especially the day before my big audition…but I ran with it.  

We’d noticed the wind on the drive down (tall vans become literal sails in blustery weather), but it was really rainy and really windy and my feet were getting really cold.  Back at the hotel, our room STILL wasn’t ready.  Sarah and I killed some more time with a trip to CVS.  I was on the prowl for off-brand Dayquil and cough drops, having been infected with a phlegm-heavy head cold right at the end of winter break.  Sarah got bottled water and an umbrella.  While we waited (and waited, and waited) for the call from the front desk, Caitlin and Sage, our gracious intermediary hosts, opened their hotel room door to the poor lost ducklings. 

At around 8 pm, we FINALLY settled into our nook on the 19th floor.  Admittedly, despite the struggle to get that far, we had it pretty good (or so I thought – this is foreshadowing…ominous, ominous foreshadowing…): the view from our window looked out across Monument Circle, the beds were more comfortable than I could imagine, the lighting in the bathrooms made for perfect selfies, and the free Wi-Fi kind of worked.  

The Earlhamites gathered in the hall to briefly debrief and receive our festival passes.  Many of us realized that we wanted ice cream.  I realized I needed to know the license plate number in order to do online parking payments.  A perfect excuse to get out of the hotel, feed our stomachs AND feed the meter.  What could go wrong?  (Again, this is called foreshadowing.)  

At 10:16 pm we arrived at steak and shake, ordered our fries and shakes and played with our straws while we waited.  As 11 o’clock creeper closer and closer, Kharis and I paid for our portion and headed to the parking lot.  I was now beginning to almost recognize streets names – wow!  

Armed with the license plate, we headed back to the hotel to input the info onto the website and get a good long restful night of sleep before Irene Ryan auditions (among other things) the next day.  I soon realized that a “zone number” was needed, so back we went again.  Turns out, that wasn’t quite good enough yet. This became a frantic back and forth bonanza.  I felt like a less glamourous Cinderella – our parking expired at midnight – and yet somehow every trip we made to that parking lot ended in more mayhem.  How many trips did it turn out to be, Kharis? 4?  5?  At one point, we were running around the parking lot on the phone with Sarah who was sitting in the hotel with my laptop trying to guide us through what the website needed from us.  It was messy. It didn’t work.  Kharis and I joked that we now knew every route to that dang parking lot and back again.  

A bit after midnight, after texting Mia out of desperation and despair, I was told to forget about it and just go to bed.  I did not forget about it, but I managed to fall asleep eventually.

Wednesday, January 11th, DAY 2

At 8 am, I continued to fulfil my duty as van driver, and happily discovered we did not get towed or receive a ticket.  We transported the puppet and giant head from Facing Our Truth to the UIndy campus in order for Sage to set up her Allied Design project station.  Sage and Walter both entered their projects into the Allied competition.  

The three Irene Ryan nominees from Earlham – myself, Elijah, and Fawzia – had their time to shine Wednesday too.  Each of us had been nominated for our work in an Earlham production and had been preparing in the Fall semester for this day.  The Omni Hotel in downtown was hosting the event, with hour-long slots to perform a prepared monologue and scene with a partner and then a lot of waiting around to hear feedback.  Pro-tip: The shuttle goes all the way to UIndy first and then comes back to downtown, wasting 40 minutes of your time and resulting in the inability to watch any auditions before yours (which is the piece of advice everyone gave me). Just walk the 10-minute walk.  Do it.

Theo and I arrived at the Omni a bit after noon, and we were set to go second in the 2 pm session. Zia and Cameron were still sitting around waiting to get feedback, so we sat with them for a bit.  We got to practice for 5 minutes in a room with big windows.  There was water and candy.  We could peek into the space where the audition would be.  

And guess what?  I was a lot more nervous than I was expecting. SO many nerves.  I kept telling Theo “These people are so much more social and friendly than I am.  I don’t have the desire to interact with anyone except Earlham people.”  

As the clock dragged its hands through the mud of time, I found a smattering of songs that helped me feel better.  If you’re ever freaked out by an audition or anything that might make you nervous, and ALSO happen to share my exact same taste in music, consider listening to the following:

Any Road by George Harrison Smoke & Retribution by Flume A Little Party Never Killed Nobody by Fergie Golden Hind by Dr. Dog Come Together by The Beatles

All of a sudden, we were lining up and having our picture taken and being told where to go and when and it was too real and what if I forgot all my lines? and does my hair look okay? and do I have to pee or am I just nervous?  

Then, it was over.  Just like that.  I didn’t go over the two-minute time limit, I didn’t forget anything, and they even LAUGHED at the funny parts.  The minute it was done, I was bubbly and outgoing and happy to interact with those around me.  It was incredible.  Turns out I’m not antisocial, just really prone to self-secluding habits when nervous.

We received some reassuring and exciting feedback from the respondents, and left smiling.  With some down-time before our daily group check-in scheduled for 5, I headed back to the hotel to change and then catch a shuttle. Remember that foreshadowing? Yeah, that wasn’t just about the parking from the first night.  The drama has only just begun!

Shuttles (reportedly) ran from 8 in the morning until 5 pm every day of the festival.  At 4:27 I headed down to the lobby with seemingly perfect timing – a bus had just pulled up.  Apparently, he told aspiring bus boarders to take the next one.  So, I waited along with other festival-members. The next one comes and tells us his shift is over after this run, to get the next one.  The next one says the same, and by now it’s at least 4:50.  I text Mia, apologetic and unsure of my options.  I’m advised to take a taxi or an Uber.  Fine, cool, I’ve totally done this before and know what I’m doing.  That’s all lies.  I ask the front desk hotel staff how to call a taxi and they say there are always two sitting out front.  Perfect. Convenient.  (Maybe.)  I figured much of my discomfort was coming from having only eaten an orange all day. I get in with what I hope is enough cash to get me 6 miles out of the city during rush hour.  We’ve made it less than two blocks and we’re at $6 and it’s way past 5 pm.  I don’t know exactly where I’m going and I assume the driver and I are both thinking “I hope we end up in the right place”.  Eventually, I start to recognize where we are and I feel good.  I desperately google “Should I tip my taxi driver?” as we pull into the parking lot, pull out the $20, stuffing the loose $1 bills into my pocket and gathering my things.  I text Mia that I’m here and that I have a written receipt and where are you?  They wave and I am welcomed with an enthusiastic chorus of “You made it!” and “Kiaaa!” and “Let’s go get dinner!”.  I head to the van with Kharis – definitely my new best friend – glad to have survived my first solo taxi ride and excited to fill my belly with food.  The excitement soon disappeared as I struggled to locate my wallet.  I just had it, I just paid the taxi driver.  I just must have left it in that dumb cab.  We pick up the rest of the group and I voice my concern to Mia.  People begin to shuffle through the van and my belongings as others try to discern where we are getting food and consequently, where I am driving.  Mia desperately searches for a website and a phone number for the taxi company and I desperately search for a parking lot close to Subway but also not too far from the noodle place.  Mia finds a disconnected phone number and I find an empty lot situated pretty perfectly. Small victories, right?  I realize I’m crying a decent amount when Sage WS comforts me in silence.  The noodles are yummy, at least.  And the portion was so big I couldn’t even finish it.  Back at UIndy’s campus, we file into the auditorium to hear the keynote speaker say inspiring or important things, as those folks tend to do. Before I find my seat, I call home to sobbingly inform my parents that my debit card needs cancelling.  They remind me that it’s not my fault and to enjoy the rest of my time here.  Parents are so smart.

The keynote speaker was sick and couldn’t be at the festival, but we heard a British Broadway actor speak of his struggles and successes instead.  Mia, Kharis, Bria and I snuck downstairs to prepare for the costume parade partway through.  We got on our black pants and black hoodies and practiced maneuvering the puppet all while witnessing and admiring the elaborate and gorgeous costumes from productions including Singing in the Rain and Parade.  

The “party” back at the hotel was a place for some pretty funky and mindless dancing with good company while we awaited the announcements about Irene Ryan semi-finalists.  While no Earlhamites got through the preliminary round, I still felt proud about my audition and the work that went into it, and am happy that a group of us were able to experience the process together.  With that, it was bedtime for me.  Others were less ready for sleep, so either stayed and danced more or found somewhere in the city to enjoy the night.  

These ramblings have all been to say that my first two days at the KCACTF region three events were just that: eventful.  And emotional.  And stressful.  But I was determined to not let my desire to curl up and die and/or return to Earlham ruin the potential for networking and the fantastic opportunities I’d already paid the registration fee for.  

Thursday, January 12th, DAY 3

The following day, food trucks awaited us at the main center where workshops were held, providing a group of us with varying treasures:  a burger for Mia, green curry (that was too spicy) for Kharis, Pad Thai for me, and some Bistro food for Walter and Katlin.  Sage HW and Bria and I headed across the street to attend the Acting for the Camera workshop with James Leagre.  Bria had to leave early for her MTI intensive dance rehearsal (because Bria is bad ass), but Sage and I got to explore some techniques for being successful on camera.  I also got to hold the boom mic for some other participants running through scenes.

Friday, January 13th, DAY 4

On Friday, my new best friend and circumstantial bedmate, Kharis and I departed early in the morning the attend the “Create the Change” workshop with a woman from the Broadway Cares association.  I then went to a Thermoplastics/mask making workshop, and met up again with my BFF for a “Behind the Bard-Wire” (Shakespeare in Prisons) discussion with a pretty cool fella named Curt Tofteland.  We then decided to call it a day, and enjoyed an early dinner at the Rock Bottom tavern.  Dinner hack: eat at 4 in the afternoon to avoid disgustingly long lines and/or waits while eating delicious food.  

The festival production for the evening was Breath of Stars, an adaptation of Shakespeare’s Tempest, which a good chunk of us decided to see during our 5 pm debrief.  

The shuttles worked in our favor this time around, bringing us to the gigantic theater at Butler University.  What a strange play.  Very beautifully staged and crafted, but hard to follow and a little exhausting.  

To recuperate from the mind-boggling performance, a quintet of us explored the treasures to be found in the Chocolate Café right on monument circle.  Marvelous hot chocolate, rich caramels, and delectable toffee satiated our needs and brought some peace to our evening.

Saturday, January 14th, DAY 5

Saturday morning started early for Sage HW and Bria.  A bit after 9, Sage had her presentation.  At 10 was Bria’s showcase for the dance performance she’d been

rehearsing for.  She had quite the pep squad cheering her on (as well as the other singers and dancers) in the first and second rows of the auditorium.

A collective meal in the UIndy dining hall filled our bellies nicely.  Bria and I cheered on Sage WS and Sarah at the Tech Olympics while others went to see the Devised Theatre project and 10-minute play showcase.

Packing the van, arranging rides back to campus, and filling gas tanks was the bulk of the afternoon. The crew that could be joining me in the van back to Earlham after seeing a play decided to go to Butler’s campus to find dinner.  Pita Pit fulfilled our needs and gave us a chance to meet Sarah’s sister who is a freshman at Butler (also heavily involved in the arts!).  Mr. Burns (yes, very much named after the Simpson’s character) went up at 7:30, proving once again that theatre is a great way to tell a story, and witnessing theatre is a great way to see some pretty wacky stories. Deciding not to stay for the awards ceremony, the van scooted on down the highway for a return to Earlham promptly at midnight.  Less-glamourous Cinderella, yet again.  Exhausted, but excited to see friends again, we all headed our separate ways, trying not to think about the work we had missed and would have to make up the next day.

My unfortunate stressors may have blinded me from enjoying the first portion of the festival, but the more-than-dozen of us there explored and learned, collectively, a whole lot. Multiple Shakespeare and stage combat workshops were attended, while others went to a panel to learn about actor’s unions and getting hired for summer theatre.  Many of us saw the productions “26 pebbles” and “Rabbit Hole” and acted as encouraging audience members for Elijah and Bria’s contribution to the “Evening of Scenes”.  

The most important thing I learned is that losing your wallet is not the end of the world, even if it has your house key and driver’s license in it.  Also, Kharis Murphy is best friend material.

Thanks for reading this whole mess.  ‘Till next time, Kia Bailey-de Bruijn, ‘19

[andylocksmithtipsntricks]

Frontpoint Home Security Review

Overall Rating

4.8/5

Quick, easy installation

Variety of security plans

Start with $0 down

View Packages

Compare Frontpoint

Last Updated: A day ago

HOLIDAY DEAL: Save 20% on home security + a free doorbell camera! Visit Visit Frontpoint to check out your options.

The Bottom Line: Best Customer Service Experience

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📞 855-374-4999

Frontpoint takes a customizable approach to home security for renters and homeowners of all experience levels. Your security equipment comes directly to your door preprogrammed and ready to go. All you need to do is connect the hub and sensors to your Wi-Fi. As for physical installation, the door/window sensors, motion detectors, and keypad simply stick onto the wall.

Frontpoint offers flexible payment options compatible with most budgets. You can start with $0 down on equipment and pay month-to-month for the service. Or you can pay for all the equipment at once and get the service contract-free. 

Either way, the security company offers a 30-day money-back guarantee and a three-year warranty on the equipment.

“I’m always skeptical about money-back guarantees, but Frontpoint did give me my money back. Sure, they asked me a few questions about why I wanted to return it, but it wasn’t bad. They even paid for the shipping.” —Wayne T., SafeWise product tester

Pros

Easily installed equipment

30-day money-back guarantee

High ratings from customers

Cons

Average smart home abilities

Video monitoring only available with most expensive plan

The Frontpoint system we got our hands on.

Frontpoint Pricing, Plans, and Contracts

Package Link Monthly Fee Crash/Smash Protection Mobile App Alerts Video Streaming Automated Door Lock Doorbell Camera Standout Feature

Interactive Plan Ultimate Plan View Plan View Plan $44.99 $49.99 Yes Yes Yes Yes No Yes No Yes No Yes Mobile app control Live video streaming

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Data effective 11/18/2019. Offers and availability subject to change.

Special Holiday Deal for SafeWise Visitors

20% of home security plus a free video doorbell camera! Visit Visit Frontpoint to check out your options.

*Offer requires signing Frontpoint Terms and Conditions; taxes and fees may apply; valid for new customers only; cannot be combined with any other offer; offer void where prohibited and valid as long as supplies last; includes free standard shipping; camera valued at up to $167.50 and excludes the Premium Indoor Camera; must be added to cart at checkout; one free camera per customer; requires Ultimate Monitoring Plan at $49.99/month; offer valid through 12/01/19 at 11:59AM EST. Risk Free Trial requires a subscriber to activate or initiate a hardware return within 30 days from receipt (“Trial Period”). Complete details available at Frontpoint.com.

Frontpoint has five prepackaged equipment plans and two options monthly monitoring. Generally, the more equipment you purchase, the more robust your monitoring plan should be. So if you opt for the top equipment plan, the Safe Home Preferred package, it’s best to pair it with the Ultimate Plan for monitoring.

The good news is you don’t have to pay anything upfront to get Frontpoint in your home. With $0 down, you can enroll in a consumer financing plan that allows you to pay for your Frontpoint equipment month-to-month. If you decide to take the plunge and pay for all your equipment in one go, you can enjoy the service contract-free.

Frontpoint Tech and Equipment

Frontpoint has all the security favorites needed for a solid home defense system. Even the basic prepackaged plan comes with a smart hub and keypad, door/window sensors, and your choice of a motion or glass break sensor. Other available products include smoke detectors, flood sensors, garage door sensors, and more.

Two pieces of equipment stand out among Frontpoint’s product lineup: the tough-as-nails keypad and smart hub. They’re smash-proof but not indestructible. If an intruder damages one of them, the system automatically notifies the professional monitoring center. The hub also has a 24-hour emergency backup and encrypts information coming in and out of your home, so you’re safer from online intruders too.

Frontpoint has four cameras to choose from: the indoor camera, premium indoor camera, outdoor camera, and doorbell camera. All four of them provide a crisp, clear image and connect to your Frontpoint app. The best part is that Frontpoint’s cameras are as easy to set up as its other products.

Frontpoint Equipment

Indoor Camera

Door and Window Sensor

Hub

Keypad

Glass Break Sensor

Motion Detector

Frontpoint Smart Home

While Frontpoint’s smart home capabilities aren’t groundbreaking, the system does play well with others like Amazon Alexa. This system integrates with home automation devices better than most DIY brands like SimpliSafe, but the equipment isn’t completely proprietary. You can purchase smart light bulbs, wireless light controllers, door locks, and a doorbell camera. It’s also compatible with a small list of Z-Wave devices like light modules, thermostats, and sirens. Overall, we aren’t blown away, but Frontpoint is a good starter system to smart home newcomers.

Frontpoint Smart Home Equipment

Smart Home FeatureFrontpoint EquipmentFrontpoint PriceGarage door controlSmart garage door controller$74.99Lighting controlDimmable LED lightbulb$9.99Smart lock controlFrontpoint smart door lock by Yale$149.99

But keep in mind, smart home equipment is only half the equation. You can control your entire Frontpoint system from the app on your smart device. The devices in this system connect smoothly, so you can train Frontpoint to disarm when the kids get off the bus, keep living room lights on when you’re out of town, or even let in the plumber when they ring your video doorbell.

All of this can minimize false alarms and help you welcome the people you want inside and keep out the rest.

Frontpoint Installation

Frontpoint’s equipment is tough, reliable, and best of all, a breeze to install. It consistently gets high marks as the best DIY home security system. Other high-end systems like Vivint and ADT require a home visit from an installation professional and charge for hours of installation before you can get started with your system.

All you need to do with Frontpoint is order the system you want. Once it lands on your doorstep, simply open the box and set it up. The packaging comes with login information for your personalized account, default keycodes to get you started, and detailed instructions about how to use the app and connect your devices.

“I set it [the system] up using a tablet and the step-by-step instructions were easy to follow.” —Wayne T., SafeWise product tester

The Frontpoint app is your main guide to installation. Simply follow the instructions on your phone to set up the smart hub and keypad. Most of the hardware (door/window sensors, motion detectors, etc.) has a simple peel-and-stick backing that sticks directly to the wall.

There’s no drilling or wiring involved, simply press the device onto a flat, dry surface. Even the most complex devices require only a screwdriver. For the most part, if you can change a lightbulb or peel a sticker, you can install a Frontpoint system in your home. This makes it a great option for renters too.

Frontpoint Customer Service

Frontpoint’s customer service is famously friendly and helpful. The support teams consistently get ratings of four stars or higher from thousands of customers.1 Many of the reviews we read praised Frontpoint for the easy setup and friendly service. Plus, Frontpoint’s customers stick with the company for an average of seven to eight years.

We’ve been impressed by Frontpoint’s proactive response to customer feedback. Over the past year, the company has made some changes to both its equipment and its buying process in order to better match customer expectations.

New smart home hub: Frontpoint sat down with Alarm.com to create a unique control panel that’s exclusive to Frontpoint. The panel features advanced encryption to thwart hackers and a cellular connection with built-in Wi-Fi backup.

Military store outlets: To augment its online store, Frontpoint opened outlets on military bases across the country. Military families get a discount on Frontpoint products and services, and they can walk out of the store with their Frontpoint system in hand.

When you need assistance, Frontpoint’s phone lines are open until 11 p.m. on weekdays and until 7 p.m. (EST) on weekends. For quick questions, the support center on the website has user guides, FAQs, and helpful videos to assist. The Frontpoint app also has a help center and can answer most of your questions.

“Both times I talked with customer service, I was impressed. They were casual and friendly and didn’t push me into anything. Also, when I asked for a discount they gave me one.” —Wayne T., SafeWise product tester

How Frontpoint Home Security Stacks Up

Brand Lowest Price Installation Features Phone Website

Best Overall

Smart Home Pick

Best Monitoring

Best Budget Option

Best No Contract

$44.99 $29.99 $27.99 $19.99 $14.99 DIY Professional Professional DIY/Professional DIY Risk-free trial DIY installation Great customer service High-end smart home tech Customizable plans Month-to-month contracts Fast response times Outstanding guarantees 140+ years of experience Lifetime warranty Locked-in rates Many package options Cheap monthly monitoring Money-back guarantee No fancy extras 855-374-4999 855-374-4999 855-374-4999 855-374-4999 N/A View Packages View Packages View Packages View Packages View Packages

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Data effective 09/03/2019. Offers and availability subject to change.

FAQs

How does Frontpoint’s money-back guarantee work? 

Frontpoint offers a 30-day money-back guarantee. The 30-day period starts from the day you receive your Frontpoint home security system. If, during the first 30 days, you decide that the Frontpoint system isn’t for you, you can return it for a full refund—and Frontpoint will pick up the shipping costs too.

Does Frontpoint have an equipment warranty?

Yes. As long as you are under contract for professional monitoring, all of your Frontpoint equipment is covered. If a motion sensor or one of your door sensors stops working, contact Frontpoint’s customer care team and they’ll send you out a new one free of charge.

Can a Frontpoint home security system work for renters?

Because all of Frontpoint’s equipment is wireless, it’s a good match for renters. There are no holes to drill or wires to connect, which makes it easy to take your Frontpoint system with you if you move. Just be sure to check with your landlord about any rules or restrictions for security systems, especially if you plan to use security cameras in areas where other residents could be caught on video.

Things to Consider

Budget is a priority for most people looking for a security system, but there’s more to the equation than cost. Frontpoint has a range of plans and prices that cater to families with budgets and a little extra to spend.

Frontpoint doesn’t require a contract or credit check to qualify for the system, making it good for renters and homeowners. If you find yourself moving to a new address, Frontpoint can send you a moving kit that includes a box for your equipment and basic instructions for removing and reinstalling your system.

It’s also wise to consider how much equipment you’ll need. Whether you’re in a small apartment or a large home, we recommend having enough sensors to monitor every entrance. From your front door to the patio, a DIY security system is only effective when installed correctly.

Conclusion

Frontpoint has options for every budget. For $99 up front, you might spend more on your electricity bill. Overall, Frontpoint is an effective system with luxury options for different price points. Installation is easy as peeling a sticker, and the customer service representatives are friendly and available every day of the week. And while Frontpoint doesn’t have much of its own smart home equipment, the system connects smoothly with the app so you can control it at home or away.

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How We Reviewed Frontpoint

While online resources like product manuals and customer reviews inform our reviews, we got to experience this system first hand. Through the eyes of our in-house tester, Wayne, we learned more about Frontpoint’s customer service for ordering, setting up, and cancellation. He set up his system in a single-family condo with the help of his Android app. He even tested the company’s 30-day money-back guarantee, which was “easy as pie.”

We believe experiencing a system for ourselves brings better insight than anything we can find online, so we test products whenever possible. Learn more about how we review Frontpoint and other security systems on our methodology page.

Related Pages on SafeWise

Frontpoint Crash and Smash Protection

Frontpoint Security Packages

Frontpoint Customers’ Frequently Asked Questions

Frontpoint’s Wireless Outdoor Camera

How Much Does Frontpoint Cost?

SimpliSafe vs. Frontpoint

Frontpoint vs. Vivint

Sources:

Better Business Bureau, “Frontpoint Security Solutions, LLC”; Trustpilot Reviews, “Frontpoint”; Consumer Affairs, “Frontpoint”

The post Frontpoint Home Security Review appeared first on SafeWise.

Article source here: Frontpoint Home Security Review

[optimisticheartbarbarian-blog]

Dating my father. Write only if you are serious! Diana. Age 20 My new photos and sexy videos here >>>

Name: Diana Age: 20 Country: Ukraine City: Lvov Marital status: single Children: none Height: 5'6" - 167 cm Weight: 110 lb - 50 kg Eye color: hazel Hair color: dark brown Body type: slim Religion: Christian Smoke: no Drink: no English level: don't speak

Diana Dating my father

While she doesn't appear to have a specific boy in mind right now (though I may be wrong about that), she's asking questions about what her dating rules will be. No one wants you to take the place of the missing parent—not the kids, not your partner—so that should ease the pressure. You may think that there's no consequence when you pick up the phone to call the man in your life, but there is. At the end of the day, despite what a girl may say they want, they want confidence, and trying to carry on a long email conversation is hardly that. Perfect First Date Start a new relationship off right with the perfectly cute and corny date on Valentine's Day. I'm passionate, affectionate, confident, funny, intelligent, and driven.(he says modestly). As I grow older I realize more and more how lucky I am. Then I would bump up my search radius by a mile or two and there they were again, and the cycle would repeat. However, we also offer an optional subscription package (Bumble Boost) and non-subscription, single and multi-use paid features (BumbleCoins). Not talking to me like he suppose to. Just lies. At the end of the day I still have to face this guy because his cousin is married to my aunt. In a break a bunch of us play a game and at the end of it he makes everyone shake hands with everyone.

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Dating my father

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Speed dating значение

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Dating quimper pottery

Visit sites like Games2Win.com, AGame.com, NewGrounds.com, DatingSims.net, GamesGames.com, Gahe.com, OneOnlineGames.com, and y8.com for even more choices. For many students, families remain an important source of emotional, if not financial, support during their years at the university. These girls have let the massive amount of choice they get from online dating go to their head and most seem obsessed with finding the perfect guy. Besides being effectively banned by one’s professional organization, the entire membership and sometimes the public receives notification of this action with no expectation of confidentiality. I have seen and known many men who are close to, romantically attracted to, and in long-term, successful marriages with women who outperform them—and whom they also consider smarter than themselves. As China's expatriate population grows, many foreign women looking for love are saying this is the wrong place to meet Mr Right. Your profile will also be displayed to other users in our network that have similar interests and location to you. With a member base of over 7.5 million, you get the most out of Asian online dating by searching and meeting Asians around the world. It is very informative and will give you advices that will help you if you are in a relationship or dating.

Dating site where the girl makes the first move

INGREDIENTS Cetearyl Alcohol: lubrication, moisture retention Cetrimonium Chloride: combability, elasticity, softness, static reduction Dimethicone: gloss, smoothness. In my opinion, email banter should be based on finding out something you think you need to know about the person, before asking them out, that they didn’t already share. There is, however, an unwritten rule in the internet dating world that it is acceptable to ignore mail from people who don't interest you. The bad thing about online dating is that it gives a disillusioned perception that anything is possible and the perfect person is there. You can sort the entire site, as well as the shemale niche, by most recent additions, most popular movies or by the titles that have the most comments posted to them. PORN.COM has an active online community of porn fans and with every visit you make to our tube site, you have the ability to rate transsexual movies you have seen, create playlists for yourself and others to enjoy and leave comments on any video that you watch. At the same time, public attitudes towards online dating have grown more positive in the last eight years. They're both incredibly nervous, but that will melt away as soon as they share their first people-watching joke at the park. We provide this service for free and instead choose to generate the income for the business from advertising and affiliate programs. We may receive advertising compensation from the sites listed on this page if you click a link and buy a product or service.