#but i think i just flopped when it came to doug

[beanzabear]

something in her file. a hunch.

no yeah i’m totally normal. i’m SO normal.

alt version

[wonderfulworldofmichaelford]

Is It Really That Bad?

Disney and Dreamworks have been locked in combat since day one, and honestly, can you blame them? The Katzenberg/Eisner feud is pretty legendary, with both men taking potshots at each other in films, and the drama behind stuff like A Bug’s Life and Antz has been done to death. The thing is, in the early years of Dreamworks, it was pretty clear that no matter how hard they tried, Disney was the one who was taking the Ws when it came to the cinemas. Stuff like Sinbad and The Road to El Dorado were flopping pretty hard, and while The Prince of Egypt was a success, the failure of the former two ended Dreamoworks’s hopes of ever competing with Disney in the 2D animated market. What’s a studio to do in a situation like that? Well, someBODY ONCE TOLD ME...

Shrek didn’t just solidify Dreamworks as a contender, that movie changed the course of animation in the 2000s all on its own. With its snarky humor, pop culture references, awesome pop soundtrack as opposed to musical numbers, and celebrity cast, Shrek codified many trends for animation going forward—for better and for worse. But whatever impact the film had pales in comparison to one simple, unignorable fact: This movie came out on top over Disney. It won the first ever Academy Award for Best Animated Picture, and considering how long Disney was in that game that must have really fucking stung. While Disney spent the early 2000s floundering and releasing flops that would only become cult classics later, Dreamworks was riding that green wave Shrek produced all the way to the bank. What’s a studio to do in a situation like that? Well, someBODY ONCE…

Oh no.

Chicken Little was Disney’s blatant attempt at making their own Shrek (with blackjack! And hookers!), but to say that things didn’t pan out well for Disney there is a vast understatement. Michael Eisner made sure to meddle as much as possible, turning a more straightforward adaptation of the fairy tale into a snarky, self-deprecating comedy about baseball and aliens, which certainly is a choice. This choice had some dire consequences; while not a bomb by any means, the film ruined the already-struggling career of The Emperor’s New Groove director Mark Dindal, producer Randy Fullmer left Disney with Dindal and went into making guitars, and ultimately Eisner himself became a victim of the film as well, with it being the final blow to his tenure at Disney after a decade of failed investments. Eisner ended up passing the torch to Bob Iger, who turned out to be a better leader than Eisner who never did or said anything quite as stupid!

Audience reaction to the movie has always been pretty mixed, to say the least. Reviewers on YouTube such as Schafrillas, Doug Walker, and Mr. Enter have used the film as their punching bag at various points, with the latter in particular helping shape the image of Buck Cluck as Disney’s most vile father figure. Audiences these days aren’t particularly receptive to it either, with most people considering it Disney’s absolute worst film, though there are nostalgic viewers with a soft spot for it. I first watched the film myself a few years back, and I was thoroughly disgusted and unimpressed by what I saw; for the longest time, I had it higher than Doogal on my list of the worst films ever. Fucking Doogal! Can a film really be that bad?!

Well, I decided to give it a second chance and find out if maybe my perception was just colored by all the negative reviews. Is Chicken Little really that bad, or is this just a so-so Shrek ripoff that people overreacted to?

THE GOOD

Most of the characters in this movie are actually decent, even if they’re a little cringe. Chicken Little himself is a likable dork, which only makes all the suffering and setbacks he goes through that much harder to watch; I think they made him too likable, y’know? His friend group is pretty solid as well, with Abby being an okay love interest, Runt being a nice guy (or maybe I should say Nice Guy considering what he does with a bimbofied Foxy Loxy at the end), and Fish Out of Water being a cute “lol so random XD” character. They aren’t the best thing ever, but they’re all pretty decent. I can see why Zach Braff likes voicing the title character so much, and it is cool he got to be in the best Kingdom Hearts game, so that’s something!

Though of, course none of them hold a candle to the absolute Chad that is Morkubine Porcupine, a character so fucking cool that he refuses to give this movie the dignity of more than three single words out of his mouth. If he had more dialogue, the whole movie might collapse under the sheer power of his voice. He’s like Black Bolt, except a porcupine, and in a marginally better piece of Disney media.

There’s a great sequence at the end of the movie that has a Pee-wee’s Big Adventure-esque film within the film about Chicken Little’s exploits… except he’s a ridiculously buff rooster voiced by Adam West in a film that looks like an insane version of Star Fox from the brief clips we see of it. Runt is in there as a hardcore, ugly warthog and Abby is an overly-sexualized space bimbo, but I’m not even particularly bothered by the fact they gave the girl chicken breasts because Adam West’s chicken breasts are so much more massive. 

The entire scene, as brief as it is, is delightful thanks to West being West, and it honestly makes you wish that the whole movie was just a ridiculous space battle adventure… And everyone’s wish was granted when they released a pretty good video game based on this silly concept!

Of course, as is typical of any Disney movie, the best part is without a doubt the villain: Buck Cluck, Chicken Little’s own father.

 In his youth, he was a strapping sports star, and because of this he feels a deep sense of shame at his son’s wild antics and is completely unable to relate to him. He constantly puts him down in front of others to try and salvage his own reputation, throwing him under the bus at every opportunity and refusing to support him. And even after Chicken Little pushes himself to the limit and becomes a baseball star all so he can earn even the slightest smidgen of his father’s respect, Buck is quick to cast him aside once more all so that he can try and keep the dignity among the townsfolk he mooched off of his son’s victory. Buck Cluck is the proto-Mother Gothel, a distant and absent parent for the ages, and one of the most despicable foes the studio has ever produced. Hell, I might even go as far as to say he’s one of the greatest villains of all ti-

Wait, hold on. I’m being informed that Buck… isn’t intentionally a villain? He’s supposed to be… sympathetic…?

THE BAD

I’VE COME TO MAKE AN ANNOUNCEMENT! BUCK “THE CUCK” CLUCK’S A BITCH-ASS MOTHERFUCKER!

Ok, ok, let’s be serious for a second. I’m gonna get a bit controversial here, but Buck Cluck isn’t nearly as evil as people make him out to be.

Let me explain: While the film’s narrative completely and utterly fails to make his redemption feel earned at all, it’s not like he was ever really intentionally or even physically abusive like Frollo, Gothel, or Lady Tremaine were. Buck Cluck has a very real problem a parent can have, in that he has a hard time relating to his son while being a single parent that is likely still dealing with the loss of his wife. The issue is the movie doesn’t bother trying to flesh him or his feelings out and tries its damndest to make him look like a good guy all while he emotionally neglects his child.

All this being said, his vocal performance from The Princess Diaries director Garry Marshall is actually pretty great, he gets a few good jokes here and there, and it’s actually really endearingly goofy when he overcompensates with loving his son in the third act. While I’m never going to stop treating the character like he’s Chicken Hitler, I want it to be clear that my jabs at him are very much in the same vein as someone like Huey Emmerich. The difference, of course, is that Huey is an intentional case of making a character you love to hate, while Buck is accidental. And that’s why this segment is here, in “The Bad” part of the review: The movie failed this man so bad that he is put alongside characters like Shou Tucker, Ragyo Kiryuin, and Fire Lord Ozai in animated parent rankings. How do you fuck up that badly? Mainly by deleting the scenes where he actually gets development or characterization beyond being a lousy parent, that’s how!

These writing issues don’t just affect Buck, though; literally the entire movie is as messy as that Kentucky fried bastard’s characterization. The main issue is with the story itself. Now, when you have a movie called Chicken Little, you kind of expect an adaptation of the fable of the same name. And since this is Disney, you wouldn’t be stupid to assume that’s what they’d do, considering adapting fables, myths, and fairy tales is basically their bread and butter. But that is decidedly not what they did here; instead, they decided to make Jimmy Neutron: Boy Genius by way of Shrek, because movies like that were popular at the time, and what we’re left with is a film populated by mean-spirited jerkasses who do nothing but dump on our likable main character as he takes part in a story to win the love of his dad via baseball that suddenly, out of completely nowhere, turns into an alien invasion movie about halfway through. Absolutely none of these elements work well together, and the film comes off felling like it was stitched together from unrelated scripts and turned into an unholy Frankenstein of bad ideas.

Not helping helping the disjointed story are the desperate attempts to seem cool. I like Morkubine Porcupine, he’s one of the better gags in the film, but he is so plainly a desperate attempt at creating an ensemble darkhorse that it hurts (the fact it actually worked in spite of this is nothing short of miraculous). The humor is very much aping Shrek, with lots of snarky humor and mean-spirited characters which ends up not working because it’s too cruel, and even ignoring that the pop culture references (a staple of Dreamworks at the time) just all come out of nowhere. Why is the fish reenacting King Kong? Why are these animals watching Raiders of the Lost Ark, and why is Indy still a human? Why did Disney think referencing the lemming suicide myth was a good idea when they literally perpetuated that myth by driving lemmings off a cliff for a movie?

Then there’s the animation. It is so blatantly obvious that this is Disney’s first time making a fully computer animated movie without Pixar’s help. A lot of characters look really unpolished, and even worse is that a lot of the characters are extremely overanimated. If you wanna see what I mean, watch Abby at the end of the dodgeball scene when she’s talking to Chicken Little. She just never fucking stops moving! Once you notice it, it becomes really distracting.

But by far the worst thing this movie does is the constant needle drops. This movie would make The Super Mario Bros. Movie blush with its overuse of licensed music, and it sure feels like Suicide Squad took notes from this because they cram so many tracks in here it’s not even funny. Sometimes they even just have thew characters sing them because… who fucking knows. Barenaked Ladies gets a pretty fat W with their song “One Little Slip” playing over our introduction to Chicken Little, but after that we either get the most obvious songs possible for any given seen (“It’s the End of the World as We Know It” plays over the alien invasion at the end, because of course it does) to “what the actual fuck is this doing here in the movie” (“Wannabe” by the Spice Girls is sung by Runt and Abby during a karaoke session, proving that canceling the Spice World review was not enough to save me from this band).

IS IT REALLY THAT BAD?

Alright guys, here comes my hottest take ever: Chicken Little… isn’t that bad.

Now, don’t get me wrong! This movie is still not really good at all. It’s disjointed, mean-spirited, confused, and stuffed to the brim with the tropes and trappings of every bad animated movie of the 2000s. But all of that is also what helps make this so genuinely fascinating! When Dreamworks did stuff like this, it was whatever, that studio is a rising contender in the animation game… but this is Disney! This is THE animation studio, the biggest around, and they’re making every single mistake possible because they want to try and beat Dreamworks at their own game, and they are failing at it! It’s honestly so funny that they tried to make their own version of Shrek without any sort of understanding of what made Shrek work.

But even beyond that, even though this movie is bad, it’s not really worse than Shark Tale is, and that is a premier so bad it’s good film. Really, this movie is the opposite of that film in many ways. Where that film had a world that was too overly nice and propped up the shittiest main character animated at the time, this movie has an insanely cruel world where the sweet, charming, heavily traumatized child is incessantly beaten down and belittled to the point you half expect him to try and dive headfirst into a deep fryer; where that film had a single generic plot that was at least remarkably consistent, this film has two separate plots that don’t go together at all and just end up making both halves of the film feel stupid and pointless; and where in that film Oscar is desperately seeking love from his peers due to his sheer selfishness, Chicken Little just wants the love and respect of his father. Pile on that the mountain of similarities, from the overuse of lame pop culture references for the sake of pop culture references gags to the bland love interests, and you have the Awesomely Bad Animation Double Feature of your dreams.

So yeah, I think the rating it has is about what it deserves. This is easily one of Disney’s weakest entries for sure, but it’s not without its moments and it has some amusing jokes, charming characters, and Adam West as a buff space chicken. If you go in with lowered expectations, you might be amused, but honestly I get why this film is so absolutely despised. It really isn’t great at all, and is firmly in the “so bad it’s good” category. You can’t really expect much more from a movie that presents a character whose biggest crime was just being an asshole getting their personality overwritten with a girly-girl one that the comic relief fat guy insists is perfect as a hilarious joke and then leads into a dance party ending where the whole cast sings Elton John.

...Or you could expect more if it weren’t for that son of a bitch Buck Cluck. Fuck that guy.

[afriendlyirin]

Just finished The Imperfects and honestly, I'm not that broken up about it getting canceled. It feels like they used up all their good ideas in the first half and were ad-libbing the rest to fill time. Hannah is immune to the stem cells, then suddenly she isn't! Doug was so mad with pain he wanted to commit suicide, but Hannah is fine after sustaining even worse wounds! Suddenly the heroes have random extra superpowers to justify how they can take on government assassins! Suddenly Abbi's pheromones change based on her emotional state when they never did before! (Also what, does that mean they made people horny because she was horny, despite being ace? How does that make any sense?) Suddenly Tilda and Juan can magically willpower away any and all downsides from their powers, but Juan still sees the chupacabras as evil even though he now has complete control of it, because ???

Also, the character writing was... better than comic books, but that's not saying much. I especially hate the cliche of "I can't possibly explain this to my loved ones," like, how terrible is your relationship that you don't think your loved ones will believe you? Abbi, the scientist, can't explain the science thing to her other scientist best friend? Juan's girlfriend sees his power so he has no reason to keep hiding anything from her, but he does anyway, because...? It was also really jarring how the heroes kept flip-flopping so wildly on violence. Abbi is horrified by accidentally killing someone, then casually quips with, "Technically, she killed herself," when confronted on it not five minutes later. Juan constantly bemoans how evil and dangerous the chupacabras is, while also using it (to eat people) as his first response to every problem. (But oh, Abbi is the hypocrite here?) Tilda is the only person in this whole mess who seemed like she had her head on straight.

I liked a lot of the individual parts (actually accurate science, tons of queer and female rep, Tilda and Sarkov are The Best) but it never really came together and the ending cliffhanger reeked of desperately throwing stuff at the wall; the ending is perfectly satisfactory if you just ignore the epilogue.

[tripleaxeldiaz]

maybe one day i’ll fly next to you

chapter 7/8

read on ao3

start from the beginning

“Thought I’d find you out here.”

The balcony door slides shut behind Maddie, muffling the laughter and chatter coming from her apartment. 

“Just like last time,” Buck says. He smiles as she sits down next to him on the bench, throws an arm around her shoulders as she curls into his side. It’s a cool night, but he’s warm from the apartment and the champagne they’ve been drinking (“no liquor during the season” rule be damned), so it’s nice. Nicer still now that Maddie’s here.

“Yeah, but this time is a lot happier,” she says.

It’s true. Four years ago, they were in this same spot at the opposite end of the emotional spectrum — neither going to the Games, Buck with a busted leg, and Maddie without a partner after Doug placed full blame on her for not making the team and dropped her. They’d stayed out all night talking, saying their worst fears and insecurities — about the offseason, the next Olympic cycle, the rest of their careers — into the night, hoping the breeze would take them away and make them feel better. It didn’t, not once the sun came up, but for a while, they could pretend.

Now they sit in the silence that they so often find themselves in together, washed in the lights hanging around the balcony and the sounds of their friends — their family — celebrating inside. They’re in a bubble of happiness now that neither of them wants to break before they have to.

“It doesn’t feel real yet,” Buck says finally. “It still feels like tomorrow Bobby’s gonna call me into his office and say that there’s been a mistake.”

Maddie shakes her head. “There’s no mistake. You earned that spot. We all did.”

Buck rests his cheek on the top of her head. “I’m really proud of you.” She’s been his inspiration for as long as he can remember, the reason he stumbled into this sport that’s become his everything, and to see her dreams finally come true is in some ways better than his own. She was there for everything, exponentially more than their parents ever were, and he can’t even begin to think of how to repay her.

“I’m really proud of you too,” she says. “For everything, not just making the team.”

He blames the stinging in his eyes on the wind and kisses the top of her head as they fall back into quiet, enjoying the peace of the night for a little while longer before rejoining the party inside.

~~~~~~~~~~

Buck basically lives at the rink for the next 15 days, even manages to sleep there a couple nights in a row before Eddie drags him back to his place for actual rest. Every day there’s something new he finds — a jump that needs a cleaner landing, an edge that needs to be deeper, a spin that needs to go faster. Little bits that add up to less than perfect, and they’re putting him more and more on edge as the days tick by. He’s got other responsibilities too — press packages, photoshoots, commercials, interviews — and it’s all a whirlwind, flying past him before he can get a chance to really wrap his head around it all. He’s dreamed of this moment for years, of being able to represent his country and see his face in commercials credited as Olympian, and it’s every bit as gratifying and incredible as he’d hoped, he just wishes everything would slow down for a minute so he can actually enjoy it. 

But it all just keeps moving, so he takes everything as it comes and tries to live in the moments as much as he can, to live in the positives instead of worrying about the negatives that are threatening to crack him if he thinks about them for too long.

The whirlwind turns into a hurricane once they land in Beijing — as soon as they’re through customs, there’s flashbulbs and reporters shouting at them in multiple languages, fans pushing through the crowd for their own photo ops. Eddie’s got that caged animal look in his eyes again as they make their way to the exit, so Buck grabs his hand and squeezes, lets him know he’s still here, they’re here together, and he’ll shove through the crowd to get them out if he has to.

He hopes someone gets a picture of the smile Eddie gives him. He wants it printed and framed and hung on his wall where he can always see it.

The Olympic Village itself is like a luxury apartment complex — 15 high rise buildings with smaller ones around them, housing dorms for every athlete, cafeterias, workout rooms, a general store, even a post office. They have just enough time after the tour to drop their bags in their rooms before they’re whisked off to the Olympic Park to get their credentials and a first look at the skating arena. It looks like any other arena on the outside — big, industrial, a looming presence over the rest of the buildings — but it’s what’s going to happen inside, or what might not happen, that makes it feel all the more imposing, like it’s waiting to swallow everyone whole.

They’re all at dinner when he really starts to feel overwhelmed. As much as he wants to talk with the team and mingle with friends and acquaintances he hasn’t seen in years, he feels twitchy and uncomfortable and everything is just the wrong side of loud. He excuses himself, blaming jet lag and an early workout session, and he ignores Eddie’s concerned gaze as he makes his way back to their room. He flops onto the bed, the only light coming from the dim lamp on the nightstand and the view of the city skyline from their balcony, and he tries to get himself to relax, to settle the electricity jumping all over him.

He doesn’t notice Eddie come in the room until he feels the bed shift, sees him crawl up his body until they’re face to face, Eddie’s arms bracketing his head as he gently rests his weight on Buck.

“You okay?” he asks.

Buck shrugs, hands coming up to rest on Eddie’s hips. “None of this felt real before today, and now we’re here and...I don’t know, it’s almost too real. It’s a lot to take in.”

Eddie hums and leans down, places a feather light kiss in between Buck’s eyebrows where he knows he scrunches up when he’s upset. “Do you need anything from me?”

Buck threads a hand through Eddie’s hair, firm so he doesn’t go too far. “You,” he says, because it’s true — Eddie’s the only thing he wants to see or feel or think about until he feels settled in his own skin again. “Just need you.” He pulls Eddie down and kisses him, unhurried, wanting to take his time and get lost in it, will his brain to shut off and just be. Eddie drops down to his elbows, pushing them even closer together, and Buck gasps softly as their cocks brush together, both of them well on their way to hard. Eddie takes the opportunity to lick into Buck’s mouth and Buck melts, sure it’ll only take a few minutes like this for him to come in his pants like a teenager.

But that’s the opposite of what he wants right now, so he flips them both over until he’s straddling Eddie’s hips and starts kissing down his neck, his hands finding the hem of his t-shirt and slowly pulling it up and off. He takes his time, savors the way Eddie’s breath stutters as Buck swirls a tongue around his nipple, chases the blush moving down his chest with open mouth kisses. Eddie tugs at his shirt, and Buck is more than happy to oblige, stripping it as he moves back up to kiss Eddie again, deeply, soundly, relieved that he can feel the crackling anxiety tone itself down, turn into simmering want instead as he tastes more and more of Eddie.

“Lube?” Buck asks, because Eddie’s hot under his hands and his pants are feeling more than tight and he needs to be in Eddie right now or he’s going to lose it.

“In my bag,” Eddie says, kissing down Buck’s jaw and working his pants down.

“And condoms?”

He feels Eddie smirk into his skin. “I think there are some in that welcome basket they gave us.”

Buck thanks whoever’s listening that those rumors were true. He only trips a little bit as he gets up and grabs everything and strips the rest of the way. When he turns back, Eddie’s stripped too, miles and miles of skin laid out on the bed and Buck’s certain he’s glowing and it’s not just his imagination this time and— 

“God you’re gorgeous.” It’s worth it to see Eddie’s blush get impossibly deeper and move further down his chest.

He kisses Eddie again, a little more frantic, slicking up his fingers and swallowing the moan Eddie lets out when he starts rubbing at his entrance. He works his way in slowly, with every intention of still taking his time, but Eddie’s sighing into his mouth, an unconscious string of “please please please” tumbling out with it, and Buck doesn’t want to deny Eddie anything, ever, as long as he can help it. He moves faster, working in a second finger, then a third, scissoring Eddie open until he’s shaking and panting underneath him.

“Come on, Buck, please—” Buck cuts him off with a searing kiss, pulling away long enough to tear the condom open and roll it on, and then he’s kissing Eddie again and pushing into him, and he’s hot and tight and perfect, and Buck almost blacks out. He picks up a rhythm, steady but not teasing, and tastes every part of Eddie he can reach — his jaw, his neck, his chest, his shoulders and back again. Eddie’s everywhere, completely surrounding him, and he chases his orgasm as it builds in his gut, finesse and any attempt at taking his time quickly forgotten. He can tell Eddie’s close too, feels him clenching down around him, and Buck gets a hand on Eddie’s cock between them, stroking him in time with his thrusts. Eddie bites down on Buck’s shoulder as he comes, spilling hot onto Buck’s hands and on their stomachs, and it only takes a few more thrusts for Buck to follow, the edges of his vision whiting out with the force of it. 

He drops down just enough to bury his face in the crook of Eddie’s neck as they both come down, still wanting — needing — to be surrounded by him. When he can finally breathe again, he pulls out and makes his way to the bathroom, throwing out the condom before finding a washcloth in a cabinet. Eddie’s half asleep when he gets back, but perks up as Buck cleans them both up and manhandles him until they're both under the covers. The bed is on the smaller side to fit two full grown men, but it’s all the more excuse for Buck to plaster himself to Eddie, an arm thrown firmly over his chest and their legs tangled together. 

They lay in the quiet, the only sounds coming from the city below, and Buck finally feels calm, or at least calm enough that his mind’s not racing. His eyes get heavier and heavier, lulled by Eddie’s breathing underneath him and the random shapes he can feel him trace on his back.

“Still okay?” Eddie whispers, stopping his drawing and wrapping his arm around Buck fully.

Buck nods and closes his eyes. “Still just need you.”

Eddie kisses his forehead and whispers, “I’m not going anywhere.” Buck falls asleep with a smile on his face and I love you echoing in his head.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Team USA, get ready, you’re up next!”

Everyone around Buck starts jumping and cheering, hustling toward the exit to get ready for their march in the Parade of Nations. It was almost easy to forget that’s why they’ve been waiting in the bowels of the stadium for two hours in the first place — watching the performances on TV screens placed around the room didn’t quite translate to the fact that they too would be out there soon enough, decked out in full red, white, and blue, waving at the fans and supporters that have traveled from all over the world to watch them compete. It’s how Buck’s watched the opening ceremony ever since he was a kid anyway — glued to the TV, trying to pick out his favorite skaters from other countries as they marched through, picturing himself there so clearly he could practically feel the wind on his face, hear the roar of the crowd so loudly it was like the were in his living room.

It was a fantasy then, but it’s reality now, and Buck wishes he could go back and tell his six year old self that he will get here, and it will feel every bit as amazing as he imagined it would.

By the time they make it to their seats, Buck’s arms feel heavy from waving for five straight minutes, his cheeks hurt from smiling in a million different selfies, and he’s shivering in his designer Team USA uniform.

He wishes he could stay in this moment forever.

There’s some more performances about unity and peace and everything else the Olympics are supposed to represent, until finally, a torchbearer runs into the stadium, carrying the Olympic flame that’s made its way here all the way from Athens. They pass it to the final torchbearer, a decorated Chinese speed skater, who runs it up the short hill to the cauldron, lighting it from below. The flames grow and fireworks go off, people start cheering and dancing around him again, and for all the pinching himself he’s had to do since they announced the team, this is the most real thing he’s felt and may ever feel. The flame in him is blazing too, ready to be set free, and it burns brighter still when he looks to Eddie, his smile wide and his eyes sparkling. In all his wildest dreams, he never imagined being at the Olympics with someone who makes him feel like he’s already won something, but now that he is, that desire to win just keeps growing, fueling the flame more and more.

He kisses Eddie’s cheek and joins in on the celebration. They’ll party tonight and into the morning, but then, it’s back to business.

He’s here for a medal, and whatever the next two weeks try to throw his way, he is not going home empty handed.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I’m gonna throw up.”

“There’s still four teams before they skate, Buck.”

“Perfect, plenty of time to throw up.”

Eddie just shakes his head and focuses back on the ice as the Russian team hits their final pose. As each team gets their scores and doesn’t monumentally fuck up, Buck gets more and more nervous for Maddie and Chim. It’s not that he doubts them, it’s more like he doubts the entire scoring system — they’re only in first by two tenths of a point after the rhythm dance, and anyone could pull ahead enough to beat them at the last minute.

He knows they’ll be amazing. They’re always amazing. Their win just depends on whether or not the judges agree with him today.

The final group comes out to warm up, and Buck and Eddie are on their feet, flags waving high above their heads and cheering with the rest of the supporters’ section. Maddie and Chim spot them from the ice and wave before quickly schooling themselves back into performance mode. They look incredible — Chim in all black and Maddie sparkling in her gold dress — and Buck’s stomach clenches again in the hope that she’ll have a matching medal when it’s all over. 

He feels Eddie nudge him as they sit back down. “You still with me?”

Buck smiles at him and it’s easy, real, despite the nerves still swimming around in him. “Just thinking about how this reminds me of our first date.”

Eddie scrunches his nose. “Autumn Classic was not our first date.”

“It kind of was,” Buck says, shrugging.

“You barely wanted me there, if I remember correctly. Plus May was there too.”

“Okay, so it wasn’t perfect.”

“No,” Eddie says, slipping his hand into Buck’s. “But I think this date makes up for it.”

They fall into an easy running commentary after that, and it’s enough to distract Buck and keep his anxiety at bay. If he tries, he can pretend they are at Autumn Classic again, where the stakes were lower and anything felt possible. It makes him a little less nervous for Maddie and Chim, and a little less nervous for himself, too. The mens’ event starts tomorrow, and it’ll be his turn to get on the ice and prove himself to the judges and most of the world watching from home. If he just keeps pretending it’s the beginning of the season — and not the potentially crushing end — maybe he’ll be able to keep it together.

The announcer introduces Maddie and Chim, and seeing them on the ice, looking confident and excited and ready, settles Buck even more. Their program is classic — classic music, classic costumes — but still fun and technically top notch and undeniably them, and the audience is mesmerized from the very first steps. They hit every line, every pose, every lift, and by the time they transition from the soft tones of “Fever” to the ripping guitar of “Burning Love”, the audience is all in, clapping along to the beat and loudly cheering them on. They hit their final pose, and the whole arena is on their feet, and louder still once they get their final score.

Buck’s not great at math, but he’s pretty sure the last team will need a miracle to beat them.

He holds his breath anyway, right up until the end, until the final team’s score is announced, and Maddie and Chim are officially gold medalists. It’s a blur of celebrating after that, but everything clears enough for Buck to get a perfect view of the medal ceremony and Maddie and Chim’s faces, beaming with joy and slight disbelief, even as the medals are slipped over their heads. 

Buck’s proud, unbelievably so, and happy beyond belief for his sister, but the nerves are churning in him even faster, because now it feels like there’s a precedent, an expectation that he and the rest of Bobby’s skaters will do as well as their teammates. He’s always aiming for gold, but now it feels like it’s necessary, like anything less will be devastating instead of just disappointing. And then what about Eddie? He wants to win just as much as Buck, and Buck wants him to do well, but they can’t have a tie, one of them is going to do better than the other. And won’t that make it all the more heartbreaking when it’s not Buck that comes out on top?

He shoves all that away for now as he and Eddie fight their way through the crowd and down to the green room, because it’s too much and it doesn’t matter, at least not today. What matters is that Maddie is running into his arms, still happy crying, and he lets himself be completely wrapped up in her joy.

He’s proud of her. That’s one thing he knows for sure. That’s what he focuses on and hopes it’s enough to keep the voices quiet until tomorrow.

[icarusbuck]

27. give me that

FOX! 911

∞

A commotion from the balcony caught Maddie's attention the moment she walked into the firehouse. She made her way toward the back of the garage and climbed the steps, transferring the bag of groceries in her arms to her hip when she reached the top.

Chimney stood a few feet away, leaning against the railing with his arms crossed. He was watching the source of all the noise with his lips pressed together, though whether it was in amusement or disapproval, she wasn't quite sure. She slid up next to him with a confused smile.

"Hey babe," she said, putting her free arm around him. One of his arms came loose automatically and wrapped around her shoulders. "What's going on?"

"Buck thought it would be a good idea to change the channel."

"Is there some kind of rule against it?"

"No, but Hen already had something on," Chimney explained. His lips twitched, revealing his amusement.

"I take it that's frowned upon," Maddie said, turning her attention to the wrestling match happening on one of the couches.

Buck was on his stomach on the couch, his chin hooked over one end and arm extended beyond Hen's reach. She had one knee on the couch and leaned over Buck, reaching for it.

"Give me that," she demanded, tugging uselessly at his broad shoulders. If he wanted to, he could have easily flipped her off of him.

"Whatever that was had me bored to tears!" Buck protested, barely contained laughter wavering in his voice.

"If you don't change it back, I'll have you in tears for a different reason," Hen threatened, punctuating her words by jabbing two fingers into Buck's ribs. He yelped and jerked away from it, but the couch blocked him. A fit of giggles escaped him, darkening Hen's expression further.

Maddie narrowed her eyes. He was very particular about who did and didn't know his ticklish spots.

Buck's squirming tipped them off the couch and onto the floor. His side hit the low table and sent it sliding a few feet away, and he took care not to land on top of her. Hen popped up onto her knees, her eyes darting back and forth in search of the remote. Buck started to shift and she put her knee on his chest, poking the same spot.

He let out a sound that was halfway between a giggle and a grunt of pain, curling one arm protectively around his side to block any further assault.

Hen cried out triumphantly when she spotted the remote lying on the floor. She ignored him and leaned over to scoop it up. Shifting her weight off of Buck, she scowled down at him.

Buck grinned up at her and flinched when she pointed her finger in his face, laughing nervously. She rose to her feet and left him there in favor of returning to the kitchen, pausing only to change the channel back to whatever she'd been watching.

"Aw, come on," Buck whined once he finally sat up and noticed the nature documentary playing on the screen.

"I was watching this, you can deal with it until I'm done," Hen called back to him. The remote then went into her pocket.

Buck climbed to his feet and pouted at her. He turned to sit back down and finally took notice of Chimney and Maddie by the stairs.

"Hey guys, I need your help," he said, taking a step toward them.

"Not a chance," Chimney said.

Maddie snorted and shook her head. "You deserved that."

A third voice piped in from slightly behind them, making Maddie jump in surprise.

"When are you gonna learn?" Eddie said, clicking his tongue in disapproval. He looked at Chimney and held up a ping pong paddle. "You up for a game of table tennis?"

"Who calls it table tennis?" Chimney teased, gently extricating himself from Maddie's arm with a kiss to her cheek. Their conversation faded as they retreated down the stairs, leaving Buck to flop dramatically back onto the couch.

Maddie made her way toward the kitchen and set down the bag of groceries she'd brought. She focused her attention on helping Hen with the dishes and started putting away the plates used from their last meal.

"Hey," she started, and winced when she realized she didn't know how to start the conversation she wanted to have.

"What's up?" Hen said, her back to Maddie as she sorted out a handful of silverware.

With a furtive glance at the next room, Maddie lowered her voice. "I just wanted to say thank you."

Hen dropped the last fork into the drawer and turned, her brow furrowed as she looked at Maddie. "For putting your brother in his place? Any time."

"No," Maddie laughed, though having someone else take up the task was nice. "For him. You were there when I couldn't be, when I was…" She trailed off and pressed her lips together. Talking about Doug had gotten easier since his demise, but it was nowhere close to easy. Hen's expression transformed to one of understanding, and relief flooded through Maddie at not having to explain it any further.

"You know I'm not trying to take your place or anything, right?"

"Of course not," Maddie rushed out, taking a step closer. "I would never think that. I just see how he treats you, like you're - well, he treats you like he treats me. Like a sister."

Hen leaned against the counter with a soft smile. "We're family here, Maddie. Buck's a good kid, and he needed people when he got here." She shrugged, eyeing Maddie as she tipped her head. "You need people too. More than just Buck and Chimney," she said pointedly.

"I know," Maddie allowed, holding back a laugh as she wrinkled her nose. She glanced into the next room and wasn't surprised to find Buck already asleep, snoring softly. "I do have friends, but most of them are from the dispatch center."

"You should come out for drinks with me and Athena some time. She likes you, so you must be good people."

"I'd like that," Maddie said with a nod. She looked back at Hen and smiled.

[obvious-captain-rogers]

For Buddie First Kiss Week: Day One. Pride for me right now is going to be pushed back for another month, so I’m glad that I could write a little about our boys enjoying it!

Prompt: Related to Pride

           Buck had gone to Pride every year since he’d moved to L.A. His first year, he’d gone alone since he’d only just started at the 118 and wasn’t sure about being out at his job just yet, especially since everyone seemed pretty set in their opinion that Buck only chased after women for his hookups. Heteronormativity was a hell of a drug. After he’d tipsily come out during one of their infrequent team nights out after a shift, and once the time rolled around, Hen asked Buck if he wanted to come with her and Karen to Pride. Buck had felt a smile tugging at his cheeks and he’d agreed. They’d both acted a little bit like Buck’s older sisters- making him miss Maddie with a sharpness that he hadn’t felt since right after she’d left to move in with Doug- and they’d made a deal to go together every year. Which they had, Michael having joined them in the past couple years, and for Buck it was really good to have people there that he knew had his back.

           But this year was different.

           Hen was working so hard on studying for her MCATs that Buck knew it had most likely slipped her mind completely since she hadn’t brought it up. And he wasn’t upset. He was excited for Hen to be doing what she was so obviously perfect for. So, he hadn’t brought it up to her even though it was just a handful of days away.

           Buck was debating with himself if he should still go or if he should just ask Bobby for an extra shift that day- granted, some firefighters were on standby at Pride just in case there was an emergency so he could volunteer for that- when Eddie came into the locker room.

           “Hey,” Eddie said and moved to open up his locker so he could start changing into his uniform. Buck’s eyes flickered over Eddie like they sometimes- normally- did whenever the other was changing into his uniform. His neck felt hot and he turned his eyes back towards the inside of his locker.

           “Hey,” Buck responded and he knew that he sounded distracted.

           “Everything okay? You seemed to be in your head when I walked in,” Eddie said and leaned back against the lockers as he buttoned up his shirt, tilting his head a little to fish for Buck’s gaze.

           “Yeah. Just thinking about this weekend,” Buck said and finished tucking in his shirt.

           “Big plans?” Eddie asked with a teasing grin that had Buck rolling his eyes as he closed his locker.

           “Not exactly,” Buck said and sat down on the bench to tighten the laces of his boots.

           The grin faltered a little at Buck’s tone. “What’s going on, man?” Eddie asked and sat down next to Buck, their shoulders brushing as they always did when the two of them sat next to each other.

           “It’s… dumb,” Buck said and shrugged as he plucked at the string of his boot. Eddie’s slight frown only seemed to deepen and he knocked their knees together to prompt Buck to keep going. “Pride is this weekend and I usually go with Hen, but since she’s busy with her MCATs-” Buck shrugged.

           Eddie hummed and then he bumped against Buck’s side playfully. “Why don’t I come with you?” Eddie offered easily. Buck’s heart kicked up in his chest and he glanced over at Eddie with a raised eyebrow. Eddie had been fairly open with the team about his own bisexuality not long after Shannon’s death, but Eddie was overall a private guy. This would be- in Buck’s mind- a major concession to Eddie’s comfort.

           “You don’t have to, Eddie,” Buck said and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

           “I know,” Eddie said and stood up. “But I’m offering, Buck. If it means that much to you- and it obviously does- then I’ll go with you. Though, I’m telling you right now that I’m not putting on any hot pink shorts or body paint.” He narrowed his eyes at Buck jokingly, a grin breaking out across his face- making Buck marvel at how handsome Eddie was- as he tucked his hands into his pockets.

           “Well, damn,” Buck said with a joking grin. “There goes my plans for your outfit.” Eddie snorted as Buck stood and they made their way up to the loft to grab a cup of coffee before the start of shift.

…..

           Buck had spent the night before over at the Diaz house, Eddie insisting that it would just be easier on the both of them and that they could get ready together, and he could admit to feeling a funny sense of home when Christopher came into the spare bedroom and loudly scrambled up into bed to- accidentally- knee Buck in the stomach in the guise of waking him up. “Buck, Dad said you had to get up,” Christopher said before flopping across Buck’s chest.

           “I am up,” Buck said, though he sounded a little winded since Chris had some sharp knees, as he combed his fingers through Christopher’s hair.

           “No,” Christopher laughed a little and pressed his face against the side of Buck’s neck. “Up-up. Not just awake,” Christopher said and poked at Buck’s ribs. Buck snorted a little before nodding.

           “Oh, okay. Got it,” Buck said teasingly and he laughed when Christopher lifted his head to wrinkle his nose at Buck’s tone.

           “I sent you to get Buck out of bed, not pin him down in it,” Eddie said from the doorway and Buck turned his head to look at where Eddie was shaking his head fondly.

           “Buck can get up if he wants to. He’s pretty strong and I’m not that heavy,” Christopher pointed out and rolled his eyes a little at the two of them.

           “Let’s not test that theory. Come on, kid. You’ve still got to pack your stuff for your sleepover at Abuela’s,” Eddie said and gave Christopher a look. Christopher shuffled to the edge of the bed and Buck sat up, stretching his arms and his back before ruffling Chris’s hair and getting out of bed. Christopher laughed a little before he went about what Eddie had told him to do.

           Eddie crossed his arms over his chest and there was a small smile on his face as Buck moved to dig in his duffle bag that he’d brought with him. “I got you something. You don’t have to wear it today, but I figured if you didn’t have any other ideas- and before you ask, there’s no hot pink involved,” Buck teased before tossing Eddie the shirt once he’d found it. It was a white t-shirt with the L.A. skyline across the best in black with Los Angeles in blocky letters right under it. Across the back right over the shoulders was PRIDE in varied colors.

           “Alright,” Eddie said and settled the shirt over his shoulder like he did with the dishtowel whenever they were cleaning up after one of their game or movie nights. “Thanks, Buck.”

           Buck felt something warm settle in his stomach and he just nodded mutely.

           They all three had a quick breakfast of cereal and coffee- milk for Christopher- before going about getting dressed and ready for the day. Buck pulled his own L.A. pride t-shirt on before shimmying into his best pair of jeans. They were just on the right side of tight and they were pretty worn and comfortable. Buck cuffed his jeans before tying on his bandana to help keep himself cool and slipping on his socks and shoes. He looked at the face paint in his bathroom bag before blowing out a breath. Eddie wasn’t going to make fun of him, he had to keep reminding himself of that. He painted the bi flag onto his cheek, a grin pulling at his mouth and making it tough to make sure his lines weren’t all smudged. He tossed the little brush back into his bag after rinsing the paint off.

           He stepped out and Eddie was fastening his watch on in the hall as he wandered down towards where Buck had been getting ready. Buck’s mouth went a little dry. The shirt fit Eddie perfectly in all the best places and Buck’s heart thudded against his chest uncomfortably as he took the other in. “All set?” Eddie asked and lifted his head from his watch band. His eyes flickered over Buck and for a moment Buck thought he saw something hot burn in Eddie’s hazel eyes. But it was there and gone so quickly that it must have been wishful thinking on Buck’s part.

           “Yeah,” Buck said and gave Eddie an easy smile despite the way the nerves had settled into his stomach. He always felt like this a little bit whenever he went to a Pride event or something associated with his sexuality- it was leftover from his teenaged years of having to cram everything down. “Let’s go.”

           “Uh, wait,” Eddie said and touched Buck’s wrist. Buck felt a spike of worry that Eddie had changed his mind and that he didn’t want to do this with Buck anymore. “Could I- uh- I mean if you don’t mind…” Eddie pointed at his own cheek awkwardly before nodding in Buck’s direction. After a moment it clicked, Eddie wanted Buck to paint his face too.

           “Yeah, Eddie,” Buck said and slipped his hand into Eddie’s easily from where the other still had a gentle grip on his wrist. He tugged Eddie into the bathroom and had him lean back against the counter as he dug around for the brush and the face paints. Buck stepped into Eddie’s space, and held the other’s chin with one had as he focused on making sure that Eddie’s came out perfect.

           “What’re you doing?” Christopher asked and Buck turned to look over at where he was standing in the doorway with a curious tilt to his head.

           “I’m painting your dad’s face so me and him will match,” Buck said and pointed to the colors on his own cheek since he only had blue and was working on the purple on Eddie’s cheek.

           “What’s it mean?” Christopher asked and Buck looked to Eddie.

           “It means that Buck and I are bisexual,” Eddie said and held out his hand for Christopher without moving his head so Buck could keep going with the face paint. Christopher leaned into Eddie’s side. “The blue stands for liking the opposite gender, the pink- which Buck hasn’t got to yet- is for liking the same gender, and the purple is for both,” Eddie explained and Buck couldn’t help but smile a little.

           “Oh,” Christopher said, sounding like he was in thought. “Okay.” He shrugged and kept watching as Buck changed to pink and finished up with Eddie’s face. “I think it’s pretty, and Buck did a good job.”

           Eddie twisted so he could look and grinned a little, his eyes flicking over to Buck’s in the mirror. “He did.” Eddie turned around and patted Christopher’s back easily. “Alright, kid. Let’s get you to Abuela’s.”

           “Can’t Buck paint my face too?” Christopher asked with just a little bit of a whine in his voice.

           “How about I make you a deal?” Eddie offered and tapped his fingers against Christopher’s shoulder. “If you’re good for Abuela, and if Buck wants to, he can paint your face when we get back.”

           “Deal,” Christopher said with a bright smile.

           “Alright. Now go get your shoes while me and Buck finish up.” Eddie watched Christopher go and they lingered a little in each other’s space while Buck put his stuff away. “Thanks,” Eddie said quietly and rubbed at the corner of his eye with his thumb.

           “Any time, Eds,” Buck said and bumped their shoulders together before nodding. “Let’s go.” Eddie nodded and ducked his head, but not quick enough that Buck couldn’t catch a glimpse of one of Eddie’s rare bright smiles that resembled Christopher’s.

           They dropped Christopher off at Abuela’s- Buck staying in the car with a slightly uneasy feeling in his stomach. Eddie talked with Abuela for a moment, and then she was touching Eddie’s forehead, chest, and then either shoulder in quick succession before kissing him on his unpainted cheek. She glanced over at the truck, said something to Eddie with a look that Buck didn’t recognize, before she was raising her voice. “Evan, what are you still doing in Eddito’s truck?!” Buck stiffened a little but he hopped out of Eddie’s truck and made his way over to where Abuela and Eddie were standing. “¿Te ibas a ir sin saludarme? You know that I love seeing all of my boys.” Abuela gave him the same soft smile that she normally did on the times that Buck came and picked up Christopher from her house. It helped to ease some of the unease in his gut. “Ven aqui, mi amor.” Buck felt the tension bleed out of him as Abuela pulled him into a tight hug. She repeated the motions from earlier, murmuring softly in Spanish too quick and quiet for Buck to understand, before kissing Buck on the cheek as well. “Alright, now go have fun and be safe.”

           “We will,” Eddie said before throwing an arm around Buck’s shoulders easily and tugging Buck towards the truck. It wasn’t until they were driving again that it clicked for Buck: Abuela had blessed him. He had known that it was a pretty common occurrence for Abuela to do so when Eddie dropped Christopher off occasionally before he went to work, Eddie had teasingly laughed that she worried too much but Buck could tell how touched Eddie was that his grandmother cared so much. Buck quirked a little smile and felt a lump forming in his throat at the little gesture.

           When they were parked, Buck and Eddie hopped out of the truck with Eddie reaching into the back to grab a bag that he’d packed with things they might need: waters, sunscreen, and a small first aid kit just in case. Buck watched as Eddie swung in onto his shoulder and then gave Buck a small smile. Buck returned it as best he could with his nerves ratcheting up to an eleven.

           They walked around for a bit and Buck started to relax as they listened to the music that seemed to fill up the entire park. They stopped at a few booths here and there whenever it caught either of their interest- and they made sure to stop at the LAFD booth to see if there were any familiar faces, which there weren’t when they passed by- but it was mostly just them hanging out together as they walked.

           There was only a slight problem when they ran into a cluster of protestors like the ones from the call at the military funeral. Eddie went stiff as could be and Buck put a hand to the small of his back to try and steer him away before any of the idiotic people were stupid enough to say anything to him.

           “Assholes,” Eddie muttered under his breath as they went to find a place to sit for a bit after grabbing lunch from the food trucks. “They’re only here to try and start shit with people.”

           “I know,” Buck said and they found a patch of grass where they could stretch their legs out and just relax for a bit. “You should have been here the first time that someone started to start shit with Hen in earshot,” Buck said with a laugh as he unwrapped his sandwich and shook his head. “She got all up in this huge guy’s face and absolutely shredded apart everything they said about me and then when they tried to start in on her and Karen, I had to pull her away before she landed her ass in jail. Don’t think Athena would have appreciated a call from either of us.” Buck pulled a face at that before taking a bite of his sandwich. Athena had still been pretty skeptical of Buck at that point, but it had been nice to have Hen stick up for him when they hadn’t really known each other that well yet.

           Eddie snorted and broke out into an easy grin. “I would have paid money to see that. Maybe next year,” Eddie said and he dropped it so casually, but he gave Buck an almost shy look as he said it.

           Buck’s heart kicked up in his chest and he cracked a small smile. “That was real smooth there, Diaz,” Buck joked and he bumped Eddie’s ankle with his own.

           “Thank you, I really tried,” Eddie said and pressed their legs together easily. He opened his mouth as if to say something but then he closed it and looked away. Buck didn’t push. He knew that whatever it was, Eddie would tell him whenever he was ready to say. They finished up their lunches, put on some more sunscreen, and then walked around for a bit longer.

           They found where the music was coming from, an amphitheater with a rotation of performers, and hung out there for a bit. Buck didn’t really know how- and in all honesty, he didn’t really care how- but he ended up dancing around to the music with Eddie, and he leaned into Eddie’s chest easily as they both laughed breathlessly. There was a moment, a spark, and then Eddie was leaning in and kissing him softly. Buck was surprised but when he didn’t immediately kiss back, Eddie pulled away with an embarrassed grimace. “I’m sorry, Buck. I didn’t-” He made a noise as Buck leaned in to kiss him to fend off any apologies.

           Buck clung onto the front of Eddie’s shirt and Eddie’s hands pressed warmly into Buck’s waist as they kissed. It didn’t feel like a first kiss with how easily they fell into it, but Buck felt his stomach swoop anyways. Buck couldn’t help the huge grin on his face as he pulled away from Eddie, not really moving out of Eddie’s space. “Took you long enough,” Buck joked and Eddie let out a laugh, holding onto Buck’s waist just a little tighter.

           “Well, I was just looking for the right moment,” Eddie said back as he stroked his thumb over Buck’s waist.

           “I think you found it,” Buck said and ducked in for another quick peck because he couldn’t help himself and because he finally could.

[anexplanationofunfortunateevents]

A Tale of Red States and Blue States

Once upon a time, there was a state.

It was a large state, with vast stretches of country between its world-class cities. It had communities rich in diversity and activism and ideas – and it had a lot of resentful white people who were just plain old rich.

The richest and most resentful white people created a terrible blight they called “modern conservatism.” They set their wicked curse on the state, and then unleashed it on the nation with two Republican presidents – one lamentable, the next even worse.

There were many along the way who sounded the alarm, but there were more who ignored the danger far too long. The spell had summoned a beast. The beast was hideous and stupid. It was no good at anything except being a hateful beast. But the dark spell had done so much damage that being a hateful beast was enough for the beast to win, at least for a time.

In one version of the story, the state is called “California.”

In another, it is called “Texas.”

It’s strange to think of now, with a decade of sneering about the “left coast” and “San Francisco liberals” and blah blah blah baked into political conventional wisdom, but it’s true. The reactionary modern conservatism which held the whip hand on the backlash to the great civil rights advances of the 1960s was born in California. California voted for Richard Nixon six times: once as their senator, twice as Eisenhower’s vice president, and then three times as the Republican presidential nominee. In between those elections, Nixon of course had to win primaries. In 1968, when he was the Republican front-runner, he faced an upstart challenger who wanted to make sure he’d be racist enough to keep conservative southerners in the tent. That person was not a southerner, but the then-governor of California, Ronald Reagan, who would go on to be the next Republican elected after Nixon.

So what the fuck happened? Well, a lot of things, and I don’t want to pretend to do justice to the generations of righteous activism that pushed back against this disastrous regime. Democrats did occasionally win state-wide – notably, California elected two Democratic women to the Senate in 1992 – even though Orange County was practically a metonym for American conservatism right up until the 2018 midterms. But the turning point that seems to have gotten your average voter to turn on the Republican party for good was in 1994. Governor Pete Wilson, a kind of hard-right proto-Trump, threw his weight behind a hateful anti-immigrant ballot initiative. It passed, even though it was so deranged that it never went into effect because a federal court ruled it unconstitutional within days of the vote, because the California electorate really was that conservative. The electorate changed, almost on a dime. Mexican-American voters organized. Their friends and neighbors and fellow citizens realized that sitting back wasn’t an option. And now the Republican Party of California is a fucking joke.

This isn’t, like, the eternal winds of history blowing microscopic chips off the statue of Ozymandias. If you remember the Clinton presidency, this happened in your lifetime. If you’re a little bit younger than that, it happened in your big cousins’ lifetimes.

Part of what makes it hard to see changes like this is that the dim bulbs in our political media see everything through a horse race lens, where who gets one particular W is the only piece of information worth retaining. You win and you’re clever; you lose and you’re a dumb sucker who tried. Who gets power is really important! But if you only care about that, then you miss the really important trends.

Take the Georgia 6th, the district once represented by Newt fucking Gingrich. Its representative joined Trump’s cabinet in early 2017, at least in part because it was such a supposedly safe Republican seat, so there was a special election for his replacement. Traumatized Democrats and Women’s Marchers threw themselves into the steeply uphill campaign of former John Lewis intern Jon Ossoff. When he came up a few points short, our blue-check media betters tried to turn Ossoff into a punch line stand-in for silly #Resistance liberal losers coping with Trump by losing some more, SUCK IT, MOM! but the other, correct, interpretation is that Ossoff only came up a few points short in a district that was supposed to protect the kookiest of right-wing cranks. His campaign had functioned as kind of an ad hoc boot camp for novice organizers, canvassers, and future school board candidates who had previously been too discouraged and disorganized to take this kind of swing, and it showed Democratic party donors that the district was winnable. So when gun safety advocate and Mother of the Movement Lucy McBath stepped up to the plate in the 2018 midterms, her campaign had the infrastructure it needed, and now she’s well-positioned to be reelected because she’s doing a great job. Meanwhile, Ossoff’s organizing chops and the enthusiastic work his supporters did for Rep. McBath are a big part of why he’s in a dead heat against incumbent Republican Senator David Purdue.

That’s why I’m keeping an eye on the South this year. The presidential campaign there is interesting, but the real story is in those network effects. There’s a rising tide that threatens to make the blue wave of 2018 look like a light spring shower if things break the right way. Just look at the Democratic senate candidates. They’re a diverse group: men and women, Black and white, preacher and fighter pilot. Most are relative newcomers to national audiences, but only some of them are young. Jon Ossoff is just 33; when he was in grade school, Mike Espy of Mississippi was Secretary of Agriculture. What they do seem to have in common is that they are having the time of their fucking lives.

Here’s Espy:

Moving and grooving in McComb. pic.twitter.com/RANCRGGpX7

— Mike Espy (@MikeEspyMS)

October 31, 2020

Ossoff:

The people of Georgia are tired of having a spineless, disgraced politician serve as their Senator. pic.twitter.com/OdaYwFKzmz

— Jon Ossoff (@ossoff)

October 30, 2020

Senator Doug Jones of Alabama:

I know you’ve heard us say it before, but when you see this clip, it bears reappearing: This guy really is clueless. https://t.co/w9YOUHegCW

— Doug Jones (@DougJones)

October 22, 2020

Jamie Harrison of South Carolina:

It's debate night and y'all know I'm going to walk it like I talk it. Let's see if @LindseyGrahamSC can do the same. pic.twitter.com/TNABxsaTEO

— Jaime Harrison (@harrisonjaime)

October 30, 2020

And the bad bitch with her eye on the big prize, MJ Hegar of Texas:

It's about time Texans had a senator as tough as we are. https://t.co/8MQ8Tykmyt pic.twitter.com/bgPr5vtgdh

— MJ Hegar (@mjhegar)

October 16, 2020

Clutch those pearls, John! https://t.co/iWej8MrhtV

— MJ Hegar (@mjhegar)

October 22, 2020

The spineless bootlicker Hegar is challenging, Senate Majority Whip John Cornyn, is currently resting his dainty patoot in the seat once held by none other than Lyndon Baines Johnson. As president, LBJ would aggressively push for some of the greatest human rights legislation in American history in pursuit of what he called the Great Society. That meant Medicare and Medicaid. It meant a revolution in environmental protections. It meant PBS. And it meant telling the one-party authoritarian regime in the Jim Crow south that America was done with their bullshit, they were going to have real democracy, they were going to do it now, and if they didn’t like it they could eat his ass.

Johnson was a complicated guy and left a complicated legacy. His project required an unusual leader of courage, conviction, and unmitigated savvy, cut with streaks of megalomania and dubious mental health. No architect but Lyndon Johnson would have built the Great Society, and no place but Texas could have built Lyndon Johnson.

Then again, Texas also gave us the Bushes in the late twentieth century. It gave us a terrorist attack on a Biden campaign bus just this weekend.

That darkness is real. So is the long, grinding slog to turn on the light. Like the GA-06 silliness, Democratic efforts in Texas get laughed at as some quixotic waste of resources by arrogant flops. In fact, the past few years of high-profile statewide elections in Texas have been on a pretty clear trajectory. In 2014, Wendy Davis, a state senator from Fort Worth who captured widespread progressive attention with her heroic filibuster of a 2013 state abortion ban, ran for governor. She lost by the ~20-point margin you’d expect in a year where Republicans everywhere did really well, but it was a vitamin B-12 shot to a perpetually overwhelmed state Democratic party. The 2016 Clinton campaign, when it was (correctly!) on the offensive before FBI Director Comey decided he would really prefer a Trump presidency, invested heavily in its Texas ground game. It was always a long shot, but even after the Comey letter and the Texas-specific sabotage by the Russian Internet Research Agency, Texas Democrats cut Trump’s margin there down to single digits. That is to say, they recruited the volunteers and taught the skills and raised the cash and registered the voters to carry the ball way down the field. And in the 2018 midterms, El Paso representative Beto O’Rourke built on all that energy to fight Senator Ted Cruz to a near draw. O’Rourke didn’t quite make it, but he did help a lot of downballot Democrats over the finish line and forced Republicans to light a few oil drums of cash on fire to save a seat that they had always assumed would be safe.

That growth has been possible because of a ton of hard work and persuasion, but it’s also been possible because there was so much untapped potential. As progressives have argued for years, Texas was less of a “red state” than a non-voting state. I’m not a person that usually has a lot of patience for people not bothering to vote, because the people who get to be loud about that are whiny, privileged assholes who can afford to be flip about the right to vote. But there are a lot of people who find it hard because they absolutely do know the weight and importance of voting, because they or their mothers or their grandfathers were beaten and terrorized to keep them away from the polls. They might make the same mouth-noises as the selfish dilettantes about how it doesn’t matter and they’re all corrupt and blah blah blah. But a vote is a tiny little leap of faith. It’s at least a skip of hope. And it hurts to know the weight and importance of that and to keep feeling that disappointment over and over again.

A key thing that Republicans in the South managed to do for a while, but California Republicans didn’t, was to let their misrule seem almost tolerable day to day. As outrageous as the overall trends were, as catastrophic the results were for a lot of people’s lives, it didn’t necessarily feel entirely irrational for lots of people to avoid the inconvenience and disappointment of trying to stop them. But if you’re just going to be a constant, unwavering shit show of incompetence and evil, infuriating people every waking minute of every fucking day for years on end, they’re not going to be deterred by inconvenience and disappointment. They're not going to be deterred by fucking tear gas. They’re going to understand that it’s worth trying to get rid of you, even if it’s a long shot. They’re going to line up to kick you in the shin just for the hell of it. And that’s exactly what millions of them have already done.

These dumbass motherfuckers radicalized Taylor goddamn Swift!

LOOK WHAT YOU MADE HER DO!

So yeah. People who had given up are fucking voting. Texas has already had hundreds of thousands more people vote than voted in all of 2016. BEFORE ELECTION DAY!

Vice President Biden likes to recite a poem by the great Irish bard Seamus Heaney. It’s about how you have to have faith that a better world is possible, even when you don’t have any rational reason to expect it any time soon, because it’s the only way you’ll be able to seize the most precious of opportunities, when “justice can rise up/ And hope and history rhyme.”

Sometimes hope and history walk into a bar to tell dirty jokes for a bachelorette party in downtown Austin. And they rhyme.

For a hundred and fifty years, unreconstructed revanchist terrorist sympathizers have threatened that “the South will rise again.” They mean the treasonous mobsters who called themselves the Confederacy.

Why do those losers get to define the South? Like, literally, they’re losers. They lost.

There’s another South. The terrorists cut it off at the knees, so it never quite rose the first time. But it’s always been there. The South the heroes of Reconstruction tried to build. The South of the Kennedy Space Station and the Center for Disease Control. The South of the French Quarter of New Orleans and the gay neighborhoods of Atlanta. The South of Barbara Jordan, Ann and Cecile Richards, Stacey Abrams, and the young women of the Virginia state legislature. The South of Maya Angelou, Molly Ivins, and Mark Twain. The South of the exiles of Miami and the Cherokee Nation of Oklahoma. The South of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. and Representative John Lewis. The South of James Earl Carter, William Jefferson Clinton, and Lyndon Baines Johnson.

Once upon a time, there was a colossus. The richest and most resentful white people feared it, for it was both great and good. So they hunted it mercilessly. They tortured and killed its most vulnerable people. They bound it and silenced it and told the rest of the world it didn’t even exist. But they knew that wicked lie was the best they could do, for something so mighty could never be slain by the likes of them.

The giant grows stronger every day as it struggles against its chains, and those chains are turning to rust. One day soon  - maybe in this decade; maybe this week – it will break free. It will rise. And it will shake the earth. Just you watch.

[fanfoolishness]

Home Cooking (SUF)

(Fluff and angst in nearly equal measure, Connverse, 8800 words. Set between Little Graduation and Prickly Pair.  Steven experiments with home cooking and decides to share his creation with the Maheswaran family, but he finds himself getting unexpectedly emotional.  Many thanks to @honestlyhufflepuff and @followerofmercy for help bouncing ideas around, and @taikova, whose tweet about the sadness of Together Breakfast is briefly referenced here.)

*************

Steven shuffled aimlessly down the aisles of Beach City’s small organic grocery store, his shoulders nearly brushing against the wares more than once in the cramped space.  Grocery shopping was one of the few errands that got him out of the house these days.  He supposed he should be grateful for that, at least.

He paused in the freezer aisle, wrinkling his nose as he looked at the lean selection of vegetarian options.  He was getting sick of the macaroni, even though it came in three flavors, and he hadn’t been impressed with the tortellini or the enchiladas.  They always seemed to come out mealy and weird when heated.

He left the microwave dinners in the freezer case, wondering what else he should get.  He’d already loaded up on a few packs of protein shakes.  He wandered into the spice section and noted a hand-written recipe card under some Cajun seasonings.  He looked it over for a moment, raising his eyebrows, then took a picture of it with his phone.  

He nodded to himself.  He pulled a few things into his basket, then wandered back into the loaded produce section, piling peppers, celery, onion, okra, and garlic on top of the spices.  

“Why not?” he murmured, and headed to check out.  The worst that could happen was that he might ruin it, and messing up dinner sounded a lot less intimidating than some of the other mistakes he could make.

***

It had been a long time since Steven had properly cooked anything, and he was starting to realize it.

He did mess up in a few ways.  Nicked himself badly, his eyes burning as he tried to cut the onion. He kissed his hand to heal it and tossed the bloodied knife into the sink, reaching for another one.  Luckily the onion remained unscathed.

He was fine with chopping the okra, celery and peppers, getting into a steady rhythm.  He julienned them first, then diced the resulting strips until he had piles of colorful, slightly unevenly chopped vegetables.  The garlic was tricky, but he was more careful this time, using a smaller knife.  His tongue poked out the side of his mouth as he focused.  

The roux almost stymied him.  It took three attempts before he stopped burning the flour and creating a sludgy black mess in the bottom of the pan.  He summoned his shield to fan away the smell out the front door, grumbling to himself.

But he’d come this far, hadn’t he?  The fourth attempt with the roux was okay.  He had been tempted to give up and order another cheese pizza, but he was determined now.  What else was he going to do with the vegetables he’d bought if he gave up now?  He stirred the roux carefully, brow furrowed in concentration as he added more ingredients and allowed them to simmer.

It smelled so good.  So different, too, from the greasy smell of pizza, the clean scent of tea, the dull lifelessness of protein bars.  He really had been eating just to eat, hadn’t he?  The kitchen hadn’t smelled this good in months.

He half wanted to text the Gems and ask them to try it with him, but he felt a little uneasy at the idea.  They weren’t talking much these days; Steven spent most of his time working on his plants in the greenhouse, now that he’d left Little Homeschool, and the Gems were working hard to pick up his slack.  They mostly saw each other in vague elliptical orbits these days, a hello from one of them running into a goodbye from another.  He wasn’t sure how to fit back in with them again.  Maybe he was just going through a phase.  He stirred the pot, taking care to keep the vegetables from burning.

Besides, food wasn’t exactly the Gems’ thing.  Garnet only ate occasionally, mostly at Steven’s request.  Pearl would share a cup of tea with him once a month or so, though he knew she still didn’t actually care for it; tea was just the least offensive thing she had discovered in the entire lexicon of human foods and drinks.  Amethyst would readily eat both the food and the spoon as well, but he didn’t exactly trust her judgment when it came to fine dining.  Yesterday he’d seen her eating dry ramen in the wrapper  with chocolate and motor oil.  

He thought about inviting Dad over for dinner.  But lately things had been kind of weird with Dad, too.  Steven knew he was still having a hard time adjusting to losing his hair and being attacked, but he wondered if there was more to it than that.  He also kept trying to ask Steven questions that made him uncomfortable, questions about plans and the future and how he was doing, and Steven wasn’t sure he was up for it right now.  He let out a long breath.

His phone buzzed.  Hi you! What are you up to? Connie asked.  

He mentally kicked himself.  Of course, it was a Saturday.  Connie actually had a little time to hang out some weekends.  Why hadn’t he asked her to do something earlier?  Too wrapped up in his own head, he supposed.

Trying out a new recipe.  It’s hard.  I burned it three times already, but I think this time is the winner.  It smells awesome.  He sent her a picture, having to try twice because steam from the dish clouded the first shot.

That looks amazing!  Wish I could try it.  Actually, I’m getting hungry just looking at it!

He gulped, fingers firing off a reply before he could stop himself.  Want me to bring you some?

The phone buzzed again.  That sounds like a great idea!  But I told my parents I’d hang out with them tonight.  Dad found a new strategy game and he thinks he can take out my mom, but he doesn’t know how badly she’s going to stomp him.  My mom gets really competitive.  It’s gonna be hilarious.

He considered.  Well, there’s a huge pot of this vegetarian gumbo.  I could make some rice, and we could all share?

Let me check! 

He paced back and forth with his phone in his hand, hoping to feel a familiar vibration. He gave the gumbo a stir, then nodded.  It looked like the recipe had said it would, three hours after starting it.  He dipped in a tablespoon and brought out a steaming spoonful, blowing on it gently, then swallowed a bite.

Oh.

“That’s… that’s really good,” he croaked to the empty dining room.  Tears pricked his eyes unexpectedly.  He tasted garlic and pepper, heat and spice. He felt warmer than he had all week, a warmth that had nothing to do with his jacket or the temperature outside.  It seemed to fill him up from his chest and belly outward.  How was food this powerful?

His phone buzzed.  He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and read Connie’s reply, and his face spread into a smile. 

They’d love that!  Come by as soon as you can!  Miss you <3

***

Steven rocked back and forth on his heels, standing on the Maheswarans’ doorstep, the food carefully nestled in his largest grocery bag.  He could feel the heat radiating through the cloth bag against his leg.  He rang the doorbell, his stomach flip-flopping as he did so.

She asked you to come, he reminded himself.  Yet he was seized with a sudden fear that the Maheswarans were just being polite, that Connie must have talked them into pitying him, that they didn’t actually want him around --

The door opened.  Doug Maheswaran grinned at him, looking comfortable and relaxed, no trace of pity in his warm eyes.  “Young Universe!  Good to see you.  Wow, have you grown again?  It’s been too long.  Come in, come in.”  Doug reached out and took the bag of food from Steven.  “Thank you for bringing dinner, it smells delicious. Saves me from having to come up with something!”

Steven blinked, slightly overwhelmed by the sheer force of Doug’s cheeriness.  “Hi, Mr. Maheswaran, you’re welcome!  Um, well, it made a much bigger batch than I thought it would, so it seemed silly for me to try to eat it all on my own…”

“Doug, for heaven’s sake, let the poor boy get inside before you badger him to death,” Dr. Maheswaran called from the dining room.  Steven peeked around Doug, hoping for a glimpse of--  “Connie!  Steven’s here, come on down.”

A barrelling of footsteps down the stairs, and Connie burst into the living room, grinning all over.  “Steven!”  She wore a shirt he hadn’t seen before on her, a pretty purple one with little white polka dots.  Her hair fell in loose waves around her face.  He fought a burst of giddiness.

“Connie!”  

Steven grinned back at her.  Normally they’d go for a full-on, leap-in-the-air style hug upon seeing each other again, but he held out his hand for a stiff handshake instead, conscious of Doug still standing a few feet away and Priyanka leaning into the doorway between the living room and dining room.  

Connie batted his outstretched hand aside and hugged him anyway.  He closed his eyes, her hair soft against his cheek, and held her for just a moment before she pulled back.  She was still taller than him by a good inch or two, but hadn’t grown since the last time he’d seen her.  Good. It hadn’t been too long, then.

“It’s, um, good to see you,” he breathed.

“Likewise,” she said, blushing.

Doug coughed delicately.  “All right, you two.  Come on, let’s get dinner set up before it gets cold.”

Steven followed Doug toward the dining room, but couldn’t help but take the opportunity to grab Connie’s hand and squeeze it, for just a moment, before letting it fall.  “You’re sure they’re okay hanging out with me?” he whispered to her.

She gave him a sweet smile. “Of course they are.  My parents love you, Steven.”

He chuckled, his nerves catching up to him.  “Are you sure?  I’m surprised they don’t think I’m a bad influence on you.”

“I’m perfectly capable of being a bad influence on myself, Steven,” said Connie loftily.  “Don’t flatter yourself.”  She winked.

They entered the dining room, where the table was already set.  He could see into their small kitchen through the propped open door, where Doug was already putting the rice and gumbo into serving dishes.  

Priyanka pulled glasses down from the shelf.  “It’s good to see you, Steven,” she said with a faint smile.  “This is so thoughtful of you.  Thank you.”

“Oh, uh, no thought at all, really,” blustered Steven. “I just was trying out something new and thought it would be nice to share it.”

“Were your father and the Gems busy?” Priyanka asked, opening the refrigerator.  “Water, or iced tea?”

Steven glanced at Connie, who caught the look on his face.  “The Gems are pretty busy these days, Mom,” said Connie.  “And they don’t have to eat, remember?  Iced tea for me, please.”

Doug laughed. “Oh, yes, I remember now.  It was very nice of them to try that time we went out to dinner.”  He set out the serving dishes on the table, faint wisps of steam still rising from the gumbo and rice.  

“And Dad… doesn’t like Cajun food,” said Steven quickly.  “Iced tea would be great.”

Priyanka gave Steven an odd look, but brought out their drinks without further questions.  “Well, I’m excited to try this. Connie tells us you’re an excellent cook.”

“Aw Connie, come on.”

“You are!” said Connie, sitting down at the table.  Steven sat beside her, and Doug and Priyanka took the seats across from them.  “I mean, I know you don’t cook fancy things all the time, but when you do, they’re always really good.”  Steven’s ears burned.

Doug doled out portions to each shallow bowl, setting out a scoop of white rice on each dish, followed by a full ladle of gumbo and a sprinkle of chopped green onions.  The gumbo was rich and reddish, thick-bodied and clinging to the edge of the rice, glorious with the scents of pepper, onion, garlic. Steven peered into his bowl, hoping it tasted as good as he thought it had in his own kitchen.

Priyanka was the first to take a bite.  She chewed thoughtfully, then smiled in satisfaction.  “Steven, that’s quite good.  This is your first time making this?”  He nodded. “Well, color me impressed.”

Steven’s eyes widened.  He knew exactly how much a compliment from Priyanka meant, and he blinked in astonishment.

Beside her, Doug dove in.  “Steven, this is fantastic.  This tastes just like something you’d have visiting the Crawfish State.  Send me the recipe, all right?”

“Sure,” said Steven. “Really?  You -- you guys like it?”

Connie licked her spoon.  “That is insanely good.  What did you put in it?  It’s nice and spicy. Not exactly hot-spicy, but more of an earthiness? It’s delicious.”

“I just followed the recipe,” he said, shrugging and looking from face to face.  They each kept eating, apparently honestly enjoying the food.  He’d known he could cook, he supposed, but it was different sharing that with people besides himself.  He felt a sudden stab of sympathy for Lars being nervous to share his ube roll cake, back before when Lars still worked at the Big Donut. 

But Steven had no reason to be nervous, right?  Connie was sitting beside him, relaxed and happily eating his cooking, and her parents both wore warm smiles.  There was something strange and familiar both about this, a scene he’d seen a thousand times on television, a scene he’d tried to recreate at home more times than he could remember.  He tried to imagine Dad and the Gems sitting around the table, each enjoying the meal, laughing together, conversation flowing as easily as breathing.  It seemed both more and less possible than it ever had before.  He watched the Maheswarans, eating and talking together, and he felt hungry in a way that had nothing to do with his food.

“Don’t you want some?” asked Connie, nudging him a little with her elbow. 

“Oh!  Yeah, yeah,” he said, carving out a bite of rice and gumbo.  The whole reason he’d come here!  He popped it into his mouth, heat and spice hitting his tongue, combining with the sharpness of scallion and the comfort of fluffy rice.  He swallowed and closed his eyes, breathing deeply.

Oh. Oh, no.

There it was again, that warmth, a comforting feeling that seemed less about the food than what the food meant.  He blinked, tears starting at the corners of his eyes.  Not here!  Not in front of Connie’s parents!  He stared furiously into the depths of his bowl, willing himself not to cry.  A losing battle.  A tear trickled down his cheek, falling into his food before he could wipe it away.

The conversation fell quiet, and the Maheswarans’ faces shifted from open and relaxed to suddenly worried.

“Steven?  Are you all right?” asked Priyanka, her voice cautious.  Soothing.  He wondered if she saved that voice for her patients.  He’d only rarely heard her use it with Connie.

“Is something wrong?” said Doug.  “It is a little spicy --”

“No!  I’m fine,” Steven muttered, setting down his spoon and rubbing at his face with his right hand. More tears.  Was he bright red?  He felt his cheeks flushing.  “I -- might have put too much garlic in, that’s all --”

He felt Connie’s hand on his left hand, nestled in his lap beneath the table.  She took it in her own and squeezed.  He didn’t trust himself to look at her without crying even more obviously, and that was not what he had come here to do.

She fumbled, trying to come up with something.  “Steven Universe, afraid of a little garlic?” The words were teasing, but the tone was concerned.

He sniffed, straightened up, and let go of her hand.  “You’re right. I’m being silly.”  He took a few more bites, the food as delicious as before, his eyes feeling puffy.  He smiled through it.  “So, Connie said you guys were going to play a new board game?”

“Oh! Yes,” said Doug.  “Now, Priyanka always claims to be above such frivolous things as board games --”

“I do not,” she protested. “Games have a place and purpose, as long as your responsibilities are taken care of first.  Besides, they’re a good way to hone critical thinking skills and --”

“And crush everybody,” Connie supplied.  “Don’t pretend otherwise, Mom, you love being competitive.  How were you surprised at all that I took up swordfighting?”

Priyanka arched an eyebrow.  “Because swordfighting is an archaic form of battle and you were twelve.  But I have to say, I have always admired your determination.”

“She’s the best, isn’t she?” said Steven, finishing another bite.  The comforting warmth in his chest was more manageable now that the topic had changed, and he found himself enjoying what he’d made, something filling, something delicious, something real.  The stinging in his eyes faded.  “She’s always worked so hard.  She’s amazing at swordfighting, and science, and literary analysis -- I mean, the conversations we’ve had about books --”

“Steven!” Connie hissed. “You flatterer!”  She giggled and nudged him again.

“All right, all right,” he laughed.

“I know it’s rough on you two not being able to see each other as often,” said Doug sympathetically.  He ladled a second helping into his scraped-clean bowl.  “What are you up to these days, Steven?  I heard you’ve been busy.”  He dug into his food.

“Hm,” said Steven, pushing a chunk of pepper around in his dish.  What am I up to?  “The school for Homeworld Gems is going well, I guess.  We had our first graduating class.”  Don’t think about the dome.  

He kept babbling, aware that the Maheswarans were looking at him.  “It went really well?  They were all pretty excited to head back out to space and move on.”  The chunk of pepper slid around in circles, aided by his spoon.  “I kinda stepped back from the school, though… I figured the other Gems were the best ones to be in charge.  You know, they actually know what it’s like, trying to adjust to life on Earth without being ruled by anybody.  I… don’t.  At all.”  He shrugged glumly.  “But I hear they’re doing great without me.”

Priyanka looked at Steven, then glanced at Doug, giving him a slight nod.  Doug finished his second portion, letting his spoon rest back in his bowl.

“That’s excellent news about the graduation,” said Priyanka, her voice measured. “You must be proud.  But I know that for me it’s always bittersweet, seeing the interns match to their new residencies and move on.  It does sound like you’ve helped a lot of people.”  She got to her feet and collected her dishes. “Doug, would you please give me a hand with these?”

“Of course, dear,” said Doug, gathering up his own dishes and following her into the kitchen. As soon as the kitchen door closed behind them, Connie turned to Steven, taking his hands in hers.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” he said, gazing into her dark eyes.  He reached out, brushing a strand of hair back behind her ear. 

“Thanks,” she said softly.  “That was bugging me.”

“It was very cute though.  It made your ear look like an elf’s. Just the way it peeked through the hair.”

She smiled, but the action didn’t reach her eyes.  “Are you okay?” 

He looked down at their intertwined fingers.  “Ugh.  You noticed that, huh?”

“Of course I noticed you getting teary at the dinner table, and don’t tell me it was garlic.  You love garlic.  If you hadn’t realized, I know you pretty dang well, Universe.”  

He squeezed her hands.  “I -- I don’t know if you do,” he mumbled.  “I don’t know if anyone does right now.  I feel like I barely know me.”  He gulped past the sudden lump in his throat.

Connie leaned forward until their foreheads touched.  “Isn’t that what being a teenager is all about?”  They were quiet for a moment, their breathing matching.  

“Are you okay, Connie?”

She spoke into the stillness, her words winding, wandering. Wounded.  “I don’t know.  Mostly?  Not completely.”  She shrugged.  

“Come on.  You can tell me.”

“I know, it’s… hard to get started, is all.”  She held tight to his hands.  “I swear, I feel crazy some days.  It’s like I’m normal me, the same as I used to be.  But then there’s this new Connie fighting to form inside me, trying to figure things out, and I don’t understand her.  And in between the two of them, everything is just a mess.  Sometimes I mouth off to my parents and get in trouble, sometimes I just want to cry for no reason, sometimes I just don’t care about school, sometimes I hate everything --”  She squeezed his hands back, much harder than he had squeezed hers.  “Mom says it’s pretty normal for my age, but if that’s the case, this is a stupid age.”  Her eyes shone with sudden tears.

 “That sounds really hard.  And… kind of familiar, actually,” he said in a soft voice.  “I didn’t know you were going through all that.”

“That’s because I didn’t tell you,” she whispered.  “I knew you had your own stuff going on, and I didn’t want to pile on, especially when we don’t get to see each other as much as before.  It’s been weeks!”

“I know,” said Steven miserably.

“But it’s all so frustrating, and I hate not feeling like the me I’ve always been.  It makes everything more difficult.  I have a harder time focusing on my classes, but I need to, because for the first time in my life they’re actually challenging and it’s weird.  I got my first C on a test last quarter, did I tell you?  And sometimes I try talking to friends at school like Jeff or Bri, and that helps with the human stuff, but they don’t understand how much I miss seeing you and the Gems all the time. Especially you.  Because I do miss you, jam bud.”

 “I’m sorry, I should have been around more -- I should have been here for you --”

“Don’t apologize, you dork,” said Connie, wiping her eyes.  “It’s not like it’s your fault.  Sometimes stuff sucks a little and that’s how it is.”  She took a deep breath.  “Now.  Tell me what’s been going on with you.  I went first because I knew you’d feel bad telling me unless I shared my stuff too.”  She leaned back and stuck her tongue out at him.

“So rude,” said Steven, laughing despite himself.  “I guess you do know me pretty well still.  Um, as far as what’s going on with me, I -- I don’t know.  It’s like, everyone’s growing up, you know?  You’re getting ready for college prep stuff, and Lars and the Off Colors went back to space, and Lars, of all people, is… actually mature now.  I think he finally has his head on straight.  And it’s good, but it’s also confusing, because that was never the guy I knew.  And he and Sadie never made it work, and they’re fine with it, and that’s fine, but it just feels weird.”  He bit his lip.  “Did you hear, the Suspects broke up --”

“No!” Connie gasped.  “I heard about it, but I thought it was some sick prank --”

“Right? Me too!  But they all have their own things going on now.  Buck is going to medical school, Jenny’s got a little business going, Sadie has this new partner Shep and they have a totally different sound together… I don’t know.”

“Welcome to the club,” said Connie.  “Why do things have to be so confusing now?  I thought growing up was supposed to make things clearer.  Instead it seems like everything just gets more complicated.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” Steven mused.  “I keep thinking, it seems like Beach City is doing fine without me, and so are the Gems, too.  I hardly even see them now.  They’re doing great with Little Homeschool, and I wonder did they even need me at all?  What was I doing, trying to run a school?  I’ve never even been to school!  I was making it all up as I went!”  He huffed in frustration, then continued.  

“I guess I’m glad my schedule’s opening up now, but I haven’t figured out what I should do instead.  I have time to sleep in but I keep waking up in the middle of the night.  I could do music stuff, but I haven’t felt like it in forever.  Lately I’ve been messing with plants, growing them the old-fashioned way, but that doesn’t really feel like anything.”  His voice trailed off.  

“And…”  He hesitated.  He hadn’t told her yet about the dome he accidentally created on graduation night, how he’d nearly hurt everyone. Or what happened in the Reef with Pearl and Volleyball.  He still wasn’t sure how to say that out loud. To anyone. 

“-- and I think my dad is still messed up after what happened with Bluebird,” he said instead.  “He was starting to get more comfortable with Gem stuff, but now he’s not coming over as much.  He doesn’t say it, but I think he’s kind of worried something might happen again.  I am too, I guess.  It honestly scared both of us.”

“I still can’t believe they went after your dad,” said Connie, a glimpse of her warrior side shining in her eyes.  “I know you let them go, but if I’d been there with my sword --”

“There’d have been no stopping you,” he chuckled.  Could they have stopped me? If I hadn’t stopped me?

“So what we do, then?  I’m a mixed up bunch of stupid hormones and you don’t know what to do with your life or your family, and I guess that makes us both at least a little awkward,” said Connie.

“I don’t know,” said Steven honestly.  But not knowing wasn’t as scary with Connie holding his hands.  There was that much, at least, and that was a lot.

The kitchen door swung open and Steven and Connie quickly let go.  He wasn’t sure if holding hands would be frowned upon by the Maheswarans, but didn’t want to find out, either.  “All done with your food?” asked Priyanka.  They nodded.

“That was truly delicious, Steven,” she said.  “Why don’t you help me finish up, Connie, and Steven, you and Doug can set up the game.  That is, if you’d like to stay for it.  You’re certainly welcome to join us.  From what I’ve seen perusing the rules manual, this game is much better balanced with four players than three.”

“Oh, please stay, Steven!” said Connie brightly.  “Maybe we could form an alliance and actually take my mom out for once.”

Priyanka let out a sharp bark of a laugh as Doug took down a board game from the bookshelf behind the dining room table.  “You’d like to think that, wouldn’t you?”  

“All right, I’ll give it a shot,” said Steven. “But no promises, Connie.  Gemkind has abolished warfare, remember?  Strategy’s not exactly my strong suit.”

“Well, check out the rules and see what we can swing.  You’re going down, Mom,” said Connie.  They retreated, and Steven joined Doug in the living room, where he already had the game out on the coffee table.  Steven sat down beside him on the sofa.  

“Have you played this one, Steven?  It’s called Interstellar Showdown.  It can be collaborative and cooperative… or intensely competitive!”  Doug’s face glowed with anticipation.  “Priyanka always wins no matter what we play, but I’ve been studying strategies for this game on the sly.  Just between you and me, of course.”  He opened the box and started rifling through the instructions.  “Would you mind organizing the pieces for me?”

“Sure,” said Steven.  He held up one of the small transport ships.  “This is actually a pretty close version of some of the Gem ships I’ve seen,” he said.  “Do you think it’s a coincidence?” He grouped the blue pieces across from him, where he guessed Connie would probably sit, and got to work separating the pink pieces from the plastic that held them in place.  

“Hard to say.  What’s that thing Connie was telling me about the other day -- convergent evolution?  Sometimes nature makes things very similar to each other because it’s the best shape for the task, like bird wings and bat wings. I think that’s what she said.  She’s always telling me about interesting things she’s learned in school,” said Doug.

“Me too,” said Steven.  “I never knew our atmosphere was mostly nitrogen-based until Connie told me.  Who knew, right?”

“Right!  Nitrogen’s not the first thing you think of when you think ‘breathable.’  I always thought it was all oxygen, all the time.”  Doug set down the instructions and picked up a deck, tearing off the plastic wrapper. He shuffled the cards, doing both the regular shuffling as well as the bridge where the cards fanned upward.  Steven watched, slightly jealous.  He’d never figured out how to shuffle like that.

“How do you do the bridge thing?” he asked Doug.

“Bridge thing?”  Doug looked down at his hands.  “Oh, with the cards.  It’s not too hard.  You basically do the same shuffling action, but in reverse.  Give it a shot.”  He handed the cards to Steven.

“See, I can do the regular shuffling just fine --”  He demonstrated.  “But then this always happens.”  The cards limply collapsed between his hands, refusing to arc.  “Splat.”

“Try again,” said Doug, pulling out another deck of cards from the box and shuffling them downward.  Slowly he arced them upward, the cards bending into perfect semicircles.  Steven watched his hands closely.

“Okay, let’s see --”  Down shuffle.  He fanned his fingers outward, trying to urge the cards to go up instead of sideways.  They splatted again, and he frowned, mouth twisting.  “I can never get it,” he muttered.

“It’s hard to explain.  I think I had to keep practicing.  And try to change the shape of your hands as you lift the cards.  That’s key,” said Doug.  He shuffled again.

Steven tried it three more times, getting more irritated each time.  The third time the cards fluttered away from him, making a mess and knocking over the pile of pink spaceships.  A few of them skittered onto the floor and Steven flushed, suddenly embarrassed at his own irritation.  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to,” he said hastily, picking the pieces back up.

“Hey, it’s fine,” said Doug, picking up a ship he’d missed under the couch.  “No big deal if the bridge doesn’t work out for you.  But if you want to keep trying, we can.”

Steven took a deep breath.  “Okay.”  He tried again, this time flaring out his fingers more widely, driving his thumbs downward as he did.  A few of the cards finally arced, weakly, and he looked in surprise at his own hands.

“See, you’ve got this!”  Doug showed him again, and Steven studied how his fingers curled beneath the cards on the upswing, the angles in relation to the table, how the thumbs moved.

Steven tried again, and this time the arc was actually visible, if not as neat as Doug’s.  “Hey! I’m doing it!”

Doug set his cards down, smiling.  “You just needed a little help.  It’s tricky!”  He clapped Steven on the shoulder, and Steven shuffled the cards once, twice, a third time, smiling.  Doug switched decks with Steven, and Steven shuffled the cards, the action getting smoother with each attempt.  

“Thanks, Mr. Maheswaran.”  

“No problem.”  They went back to punching out spaceship pieces from their plastic frames.  Doug took the white pieces, and Steven took the pink ones, leaving yellow for Priyanka.  

Doug cleared his throat.  “I’m sure you already know this, Steven, but in general, there’s never anything wrong with asking for help.”

Steven’s hands stilled on the plastic spaceships.  “With… shuffling?”

“With anything.”  Doug kept setting out the yellow plastic pieces, one at a time, his hands steady and sure.  “No one knows how to get everything right on the first try.  Sometimes it’s shuffling cards.  Sometimes it’s stuff at home, too.”

Steven’s cheeks flared.  “It -- it was just too much garlic --” he faltered. “I wasn’t --”

“Hey, hey, I’m not trying to put you on the spot, Steven,” said Doug, turning a little to face him directly.  He looked worried, but kind.  “But you’re important to Connie.  And you’re important to Priyanka and me, too.”  He reached out again, and this time instead of a quick clap, his hand rested on Steven’s shoulder.  “If there are things that are worrying you, I know you already have a lot of people in your life you can turn to.  But when I was your age, sometimes the people closest to me were exactly the ones I didn’t feel like I could talk to.  And if you’re ever in a place like that, I want you to know you can talk to me and Priyanka, even if you feel like you can’t talk to Connie or your family.”

Steven looked into his face, then sniffed, reaching up to rub his eyes.  Part of him wasn’t sure what he could possibly say to Mr. Maheswaran.  But part of him felt like he was thawing, a cold layer of fear slowly breaking up and dissolving in parts.  Not completely.  Still, though, the feeling was a good one.  

“Thank you, Mr. Maheswaran.  I -- maybe I will.”  He let out a long breath.  “Though we should probably finish setting up the game.”  But impulsively he leaned forward, and Doug’s hand on his shoulder became a hug, brief and a little clumsy but warming all the same.

“Sounds like a plan, kid,” said Doug, smiling.  His own eyes looked a little watery, or was that a trick of the light?  “Come on, ladies,” Doug called.  “Are we going to defeat you, or what?”

***

They did not, in fact, defeat Priyanka.  Though it was very, very close.  Steven’s Pacifist aliens did form a powerful alliance with Connie’s Warrior race, and Doug’s strategic use of the Zombie aliens constantly stymied them.  But in the end Priyanka’s Virus aliens stood victorious with their colonies towering above the others’, with most of the other players’ ships lost to the warp. 

Priyanka was a restrained, if slightly smug, victor.  “Well,” she said, smiling faintly at her collection of yellow colonies.  “That was certainly tricky.”

“Modest as always,” Doug teased, reaching out to squeeze her hand briefly.  “Ahhh, one of these days I’ll get the perfect strategy together.  Maybe.”  He let out a long sigh.  “I thought for sure that last gambit was going to work….”

“My dad, the eternal optimist,” said Connie.  “What’d you think, Steven?  It ended up being a very Gem-like game, didn’t it?”

“Uncannily so,” said Steven.  He was glad he’d managed to draw the Pacifist card at the beginning of the game and could worry more about helping Connie win.  Even in board game form with painted on planets, the idea of colonization couldn’t help but creep him out a little.

Despite that, though, it’d been fun to see Connie with her brow furrowed in concentration, poring over the board to come up with a strategy.  He’d enjoyed Priyanka complimenting him on a particularly clever bit of negotiation, and it had been fun to cheer Doug on with Connie for the final encounter.  “It’d be cool to play again as some of these other alien species.  They all seem to have a special power that breaks the rules just a little bit. It’s a neat game.”

“I wouldn’t say no to a rematch another time,” said Priyanka.  She checked her watch. “But it’s nearly nine o’clock.  Won’t your family be getting worried, Steven?  Beach City’s not exactly down the block.”

Steven met Connie’s eyes.  He knew he’d probably be unable to convince the Maheswarans that it was fine to stay longer, that the Gems hadn’t had the concept of “bedtime” for him in years.  “I hadn’t realized it was getting so late,” said Steven.  “I hope I didn’t intrude on your family time --”

“Not in the slightest,” said Priyanka.  “It’s been a pleasure to have you, Steven. We should do this more often.”

“Besides, you were kind enough to bring over a delicious dinner!” said Doug.  “Don’t forget to send Connie that recipe for me.”

Connie reached out and poked him in the side. “If you don’t remember, he will hound me forever about it,” she warned.  “You wouldn’t do that to me, would you, Steven?”

“Of course not,” he laughed.  “Don’t worry. I’ll send it as soon as I get home.”

“Speaking of dinner, there was a little bit left. Let me go package it up for you,” said Doug.  “There’s plenty left for a few more servings.”

Doug and Connie both stood from their seats, and Steven gave Connie a questioning look. “I’m just going to the restroom,” she said.  Steven nodded, and realized he was now alone with Priyanka.

For a moment they didn’t speak, looking at each other from across the game board.  Steven wondered about Doug and Connie both excusing themselves, remembering how long Connie’s parents had taken in the kitchen after dinner. After he’d cried.  His cheeks burned as he put the pieces together.

He cleared his throat.  “Dr. Maheswaran, can I ask you something?”

She blinked, looking as if she had been lost in thought.  “Of course, Steven.”

He looked down at his hands, fingers twisting together.  “Did you and Mr. Maheswaran plan on… giving me a talk?”

“What do you --”

“Mr. Maheswaran talked with me earlier.  He told me I could always talk to you both.”  Steven looked pointedly at his shoes.  “That was planned, wasn’t it?  After I got weird at dinner?”

Priyanka sighed, then rested her elbows on her lap, leaning towards him.  “I suppose I can speak plainly, then.  Yes.  We saw that something seemed to be bothering you, and we didn’t want to leave it unremarked upon in case you needed to reach out.”

Steven blinked in surprise.  He’d fully expected her to deny the whole thing.  It was what the Gems would have done.

“Oh!  You -- I thought so.”

Priyanka smiled ruefully.  “You’re nearly an adult, Steven.  I’m not too surprised you realized.  I hope you don’t think that we’re trying to patronize you.”

Steven stopped twisting his hands and shoved them in his pocket instead, willing them to stay still.  His leg betrayed him by starting up a quiet jitter.  “No, I don’t think that,” he said in a rush.  “At least, not exactly.”  His leg stilled a little, remembering Doug’s quick hug, the way he’d felt like he was thawing.  “It was… really nice, what he said.”

She nodded. “That’s why I asked Doug to talk to you, instead of talking to you myself.  He’s far more approachable than I am.  I have been told I can be… intimidating.”

Despite himself, Steven could feel a smile tugging at the edges of his lips.  “I was pretty scared of you at first,” he admitted.  “I think Connie was too.”

Priyanka’s gaze softened.  “I can be very stern.  Subtlety isn’t one of my strong suits, Steven.  That’s why I wasn’t going to belabor the point by trying to corner you, if that’s what you suspected is happening right now.”

Steven looked anywhere but at her face. “Maybe…”

She chuckled.  “No. I wasn’t planning on pulling you aside myself, and Doug really did just decide to go box up the food.  And Connie wasn’t in on it, if you’re worried about that.  This was solely a parental decision.”

Steven relaxed, a fear he hadn’t even fully articulated slipping away.  “Oh.  That’s, um, good to know.  Thank you.”

“However, since you’ve brought it up… would you mind if I shared my thoughts?”

He thought for a moment.  He was, quite honestly, still a little afraid of her.  But he liked that she had asked.  “I’d like to hear them,” he said cautiously.

Priyanka straightened back up, leaning against the back of the sofa and looking thoughtful.  “I worry about you both,” she said, looking up at the ceiling.  “To be frank, this is a terrible age.  Every problem is magnified, large or small.  Human brains struggle so much at this age to mature, to grow, to form identity.  I wouldn’t go through it again if you paid me.” She let out a short, sharp laugh before continuing, still keeping her gaze fixed above him.  

 “I know Connie is having a hard time of her own, and sometimes she lets us in, but sometimes she doesn’t.  It’s normal, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t difficult.”  She sighed.  “And I know she worries about you. She’s always wanted to fight by your side, but soldiers often struggle after their war ends.  I know that neither of you was a soldier in the traditional sense, but still… as I said, I worry.”

“Was I a soldier?  I don’t know.”  He’d never thought of himself like that.  Yet he knew battle, didn’t he?  Didn’t he know sacrifice?

“Maybe,” she said.  “I don’t know all the details.  But I know it was a war.”

“Yes.  It was.”  He swallowed.  “There are things that happened to me I still haven’t told anyone,” he said, so softly that he could barely hear his own voice.  He followed her lead and gazed up at the ceiling, its plain eggshell surface slipping and blurring in his vision.  “And some things that only Connie knows.  Terrible things.”

A moment’s pause.  “I... wondered.”

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to say them out loud.  They’d be real, then, wouldn’t they?  The war is over.  Why do I still think about old scars?”  The tears started again, but if he didn’t look at Priyanka, he could pretend they weren’t happening.  He kept staring at the ceiling.  “And then there’s new things. I’m not human.  Not fully.  And sometimes things happen that I don’t understand -- that I can’t control --”  He sucked in a breath, suddenly remembering where he was.  He snapped his head back down and tore his gaze from the ceiling.  “No. I shouldn’t --”

Across the table, Priyanka’s eyes looked red.  She folded her hands in her lap.  “What if you did talk about it?”

Steven stared at her, his cheeks damp, his nose running.  “I can’t.  I -- I’ve already said more than I should. I’m sorry.”

Priyanka nodded.  “All right.  You don’t have to speak about it to me. Or to Doug.  Or even Connie.  But I would ask you… please think about sharing with someone.  When you’re ready.”

Steven nodded blearily.  “I’ll… think about it.”

She stood up, bringing him a tissue from the box on the end table and taking one for herself.  She dabbed at her eyes.  He got to his feet, feeling uncomfortable sitting while she stood.  He wiped his face, then balled up the tissue and stuffed it into his pocket.  

“You aren’t alone, Steven,” she said, standing beside him with her arms crossed, looking through the window to the darkened street outside.  “Even if it must feel that way sometimes.”

“It does,” he mumbled beside her.  “And I feel stupid for even thinking that, when you’ve both been so kind, when I have Connie, and my family, and --”

“That doesn’t mean it isn’t difficult.  Sometimes, it makes it even harder,” she said, and the fact that she didn’t tell him it was fine, or that he was going to be okay, made his chest ache.  He was more grateful to her for it than words could convey.

“Um… Dr. Maheswaran,” he said awkwardly.  “I don’t, um, I don’t know if you’re a hugger, but --”

Before he’d finished his sentence, she put an arm around his shoulders and pulled him to her.  He rested his head against her shoulder, closing his eyes, trembling only a little.

“Usually, I’m not,” she said, and he could tell by her voice she was smiling.  “But I make exceptions for those I care about.”  She embraced him a moment longer, then let go. He found the balled up tissue in his pocket and used it again.

“Thanks, Dr. Maheswaran,” he said in a hoarse voice.

“You’re very welcome, Steven.”

“Uh… what are you guys up to?” asked Connie uncertainly from the entrance to the dining room.

“It’s a clear night, and Steven was pointing out the regions of some of the nearer Gem outposts,” Priyanka answered without hesitation.  “I was curious about some of the missions he’s been on.  Once things settle down with school, hopefully you’ll both be able to explore further.”

“Thanks, Mom,” said Connie, though she still looked suspicious.

Doug appeared beside her, holding the bag of Steven’s food.  “Thanks again for sharing with us,” he said.  “Any time you want to come by and bring us dinner, you won’t catch me saying no.”

“Nor I,” said Priyanka. She nodded toward the front door.  “If you two want a few minutes to say goodbye outside, take your time.”

“Just not too much of it,” Doug joked.  He handed the bag to Steven, and gave him a warm smile.  “We’re up for a rematch any time though, Steven.  Take care.”

“Drive safely,” said Priyanka, smiling as well. “We’ll see you in a few moments, Connie.  Goodbye, Steven.”

Steven followed Connie through the front door and onto the doorstep, where she promptly sat down, patting the step beside her.  He closed the door and gratefully joined her, setting the food down between his feet.

“Um, what was that?” Connie asked.  

“What was what?” said Steven, trying to keep his voice casual.  Not that that would work on Connie.

“You and my mom talking.”  Connie waved a hand at the night sky, which was covered in clouds.  “I know she didn’t develop a sudden interest in astronomy.”

Steven buried his face in his hands, the ups and downs of the evening catching up to him.  He took a few breaths before he lowered his hands and looked at her with a watery smile.  “They worry.  About you.  About me.”

“About us?  Being together?”

“Not like that.  I think they’re fine with that.  I do think they like me,” he admitted. “But they know we’re not exactly fine.”

“Mm.”  Connie leaned against him, laying her head on his shoulder and wrapping an arm around his waist.  “I thought they might try some kind of concerned talk after I realized how long they were talking in the kitchen.  I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to warn you, but they came back too soon.  That’s where they go to be sneaky.  ‘Oh, we were just doing the dishes, Connie!’  And then the next thing you know it’s ‘we’re not mad, we’re just disappointed.’  They didn’t do that, did they?”

“No, no.  They were kind.  Really kind.  Your mom… She’s actually a big softy, isn’t she?  I never knew that before.”  He reached up, putting his arm around her shoulders.  He’d never stop marveling at how right she felt beside him.

Connie laughed, the sound sweet and silvery.  “It took me a long time to realize that’s why she’s so scary sometimes.  She doesn’t want anyone to know.  Whereas Dad -- he’s just out there with it.  He doesn’t care who sees.”

“Sorry if I made dinner weird.”  He tried to think of a way to explain how he had felt.  “I just… did I ever tell you about Together Breakfast?  That was before I knew you.”

“You mean Garnet’s wedding cake that we didn’t get to eat?  I figured there had to be a story behind it.”

“Yeah, we had one then, but there was an original Together Breakfast.  There was one day I was trying to get the Gems to hang out with me.  I was twelve, I think.  I made this nasty breakfast -- waffles covered in chocolate and whipped cream and popcorn -- and I wanted them to share it with me so much.  But they were all hiding in the Temple, and then Amethyst tried to eat the whole thing, and Pearl and Garnet were too busy.... Anyway, a Gem monster got out and it turned the breakfast into this hideous horrible whipped cream nightmare.  We defeated it and went out for pizza in the end.”

“That sounds messed up, but also, completely normal for you.”

“Right?” he laughed.  “But I thought about it a while back.  The messed up part wasn’t the monster.”  This was hard to say.  Harder than he’d thought it would be.  “Why’d I have to beg them to hang out with me?  I was twelve.”

“Oh, Steven.”  She was quiet.  “They really are aliens, aren’t they?  But that doesn’t make it okay.”

“I saw you and your parents sitting around the table, happy and normal and enjoying something I’d made -- something good, something I was proud of  -- and I don’t know.”  He pressed a kiss to her forehead.  “I really enjoyed dinner with all of you tonight.  But it was hard, too.”

“I didn’t know all this stuff was going on with you,” said Connie.  

“I didn’t know about your stuff, either,” he reminded her gently.

She nuzzled against him, her face soft against the crook of his neck.  “Okay, okay, fine.  I’ll talk to you if you talk to me.  Deal?”

“That seems fair,” he said, though his mind raced with thoughts of pink flashes and white-hot rage.  He forced the thoughts away, stuffing them down.  He’d talk to her about more things.  No need to bring up everything.  There were still some things he had to figure out on his own.

“I don’t know if I can see you every week,” said Connie sadly.  “Not until some of my classes start dying down.  But we should do a video chat every week for sure.  We’ve been bad at that lately.”

“Agreed,” said Steven.  He’d been the one to say he was too busy for the past three or four calls.  He swallowed his guilt and kissed her forehead again.  “I missed you, Connie.”

“I missed you too, Steven.”

A gentle knock at the door. Connie let out a long sigh.  “Ahh, that’s my cue.  I could sit here with you forever, you know.  But I guess they have a point.  I’m freezing.”

He laughed, holding her close.  “I’d better warm you up before you go.”  A quick kiss, then a longer one, slower, softer.  They broke apart, blushing furiously.  

“Now they’re really going to give me a concerned talk,” Connie giggled.  “‘Why are you so flushed, young lady?’”  

“Because it’s cold outside!” said Steven, his eyes wide in the picture of innocence.  They broke down laughing almost immediately.

She got to her feet and crossed her arms.  “Go on, you.  Before I do get in trouble.”  She beamed at him.

“Oh, fine,” said Steven, standing up and grabbing the bag of food.  He grinned as she kissed the tip of his nose.  “But… call me tomorrow?”  

“I will. And don’t forget to text me that recipe!”  She blew him a final kiss as she opened the front door.

“Bye, Connie!  Bye, Dr. and Mr. Maheswaran!” Steven called.  He turned and headed back to the Dondai, gently swinging the bag in his hand until he remembered it held his food.

He drove back home, the car still pleasantly full of the smell of spices and peppers.  This time of night there was an utter lack of traffic on the road.  The drive home passed quickly, smooth and dreamlike in the cloudy dark.

The Dondai’s wheels drove over the gritty sand, coming to a stop just below the path up to his house.  He sat in the car for a moment, considering, then pulled out his phone.

First he sent a text to Connie.  Made it home, safe and sound.  Here’s the recipe, he sent.  He included a few photos and perhaps an overabundance of heart emojis.

Then he hit a familiar phone number and raised the phone to his ear.  After three rings, it picked up.  “Steven?” asked Greg.  “Is everything okay?”

“Oh!  Sorry, Dad.  I forgot how late it was.  Everything’s fine.  I was just wondering… have you had anything for dinner yet?”

“No, I was just snacking around…”

Steven smiled, looking at the bag in his passenger seat.  “Want to come over and watch a movie?  I made dinner.”

Greg’s voice through the phone was surprised, but glad.  “I’d love to, son.  I’ll be over in five.  Love you.”

“Love you, too, Dad.”

He ended the call and lowered his hand.  He let out a long breath, then unbuckled his seatbelt and grabbed his dinner.  He stepped out into the sand, heading up the path home, and he left behind the sound of waves upon the shore.

*****************************************

(Note: I chose gumbo based upon the meal I had at a soul food restaurant for my 33rd birthday, five days after my brother died.  My family and my friends gathered there, and it was the first food we’d had all week that I could actually *taste.*  It made me feel alive again. It made me feel human.  And I thought Steven needed that too.

And yes, this is a real board game. It’s called Cosmic Encounter in our universe and it’s delightful.)

[insomniac-dot-ink]

Just Beyond the City

Genre: wlw urban fantasy

Summary: a young woman moves to a new city where she begins exploring fresh hiking trails, only to hear of something strange in the woods there. Something ancient and dark and that doesn’t belong.

The hiker starts seeing a witch in the woods and wandering closer and closer to whatever this malevolent presence is. A story in three parts.

PART ONE

I liked hiking. I liked it since I was a kid and my mom had to tighten the laces of my boots with both hands and my baseball cap flopped right over my eyes. I liked following her bright purple backpack up the trails with the sound of my shoes crunching on the rocky path. I liked slathering sunscreen on my arms in large creamy dollops. I liked pushing my body up and up and up and feeling those small complaints in my muscles telling me I was moving. I was here. I was living.

Most of all, I liked how inexplicable things were. My mom raised me by herself and I was not an easy kid. I often talked so quickly I bit my own tongue and then cried about it. I was well-liked, but if anyone even looked at me wrong I would come home in tears. I hated being apart from her and the school nurse would often call in the middle of the day saying I demanded her come pick me up. I asked a thousand questions wherever we went: why did the movie end like that? Why does that woman carry her dog that way? Why can’t I be wheeled around in a chair like that person?

I was overly curious. I was sensitive. I was over dramatic. I was clingy. Very few things made sense to me. The outdoors didn’t make sense either, but they did so in a way that was enchanting.

I liked the sounds of birds trilling to each other in a language I couldn’t possibly fathom. I liked the way the wind blew in directions I would never be able to follow. I liked how the trees knew things I never would and how the roots went in thousands of directions at once that I would never fully grasp.

In those mountains, in the trees and the dense forests, and in everything else, I was okay with not knowing.

When I was 26 I moved away from my trees and my mountains and my snow and I found myself on the outskirts of a sprawling metropolis. Normally, people move to LA to try and become starlets or script-writers or big-time directors. I had never dreamed of being an actress since I threw-up if too many people looked at me at once and definitely didn’t think I was pretty enough. I simply went because the Franklin Law Firm was the first one that offered me a position.

There were plenty of lawsuits in California, enough that even a small-town girl from Montana could find work right out of law school. It took their bar exam. I passed. I applied. It was a change.

The sky was piercingly blue and the air thick with smog and people all moving and chatting and absolutely littered everywhere. It reminded me of watching ants troop back and forth on their hills, making lines, and zig-zags, and following invisible cross-walks. Things were busy.

I felt it in my veins and through my head and just underneath my tongue, like a metallic aftertaste, as I drove through the slow-moving traffic. That “busy” was everywhere. The streets were sun-soaked and warm with thumping feet. The wind carried noises of dogs barking and music playing and life going on. I had to take deep breaths until I took a right and started driving away from the “busy.”

I was so grateful that instant for being a hiker. My mom had suggested it, she had always been my beacon to follow, and I took an apartment almost forty-five minutes away from my work on her advice. The commute wasn’t going to be fun.

However, it was worth it. Away from the thick smoggy crowds of buildings and youthful men in cut-off jean shorts and beautiful women in shirts that showed off their flat bellies. I passed residential neighborhoods with immigrant families and struggling playwrights and then up past gated communities with green cut lawns and paychecks that looked like lucky numbers on fortune cookies.

Finally, I passed right up toward a ridge outside the city. I would bite off my own tongue before I’d call it a mountain (as some people there did), but it was luckily a little bigger than a hill.

I exhaled as I got closer to the hiking trails and there were finally bigger gaps between the houses. I was so grateful I chose this over convenience. It was different of course, the bushes were dusty and barren, and the trees were squat and barely greened. But it was outside the business of the city.

I smiled at the trails as I pulled up to a grey apartment building with concrete balconies and four stories just below it. I got out of my little Nissan and peered up toward my new home. It would have to do. I got out the keys I had received earlier that day and found my way inside to the fourth floor.

It was a decent modern building with air-conditioning on high and big mirrors in the elevator with shiny metal panels on the sides. I found my way to my room where I opened it to find the same modern aesthetic with a sleek silver refrigerator and a simple metal bed frame left behind from the last tenants. I wondered around the boxy rooms each with one or two windows and bare floors. It had the feeling a bit of pre-packaged meals, neat, and tidy, and underwhelming, but it would do the trick.

I went back outside and started unpacking.

I heaving up boxes from the trunk of my car and it was only on my second trip up that I realized someone was watching me. He was outside on the sidewalk and stood perfectly still as I got out my next box. He had a strong jawline thick with stubble across his face and neck. I looked to either side of me to check that he was staring at me and not some other girl in a bikini standing behind me.

“Need some help there, new neighbor?” He finally called out with a wave. “Uh,” I fumbled with the box for a moment and tried to come up with an excuse to shake him off.

“Don’t worry.” He smiled. “Not a stalker. I just knew I’d be getting someone new across the hall from me. I was just checking to see if you needed anything.” “Uh,” I repeated again elegantly. I was definitely a lawyer. “Sure.” I said after a long pause. “Always nice to meet... neighbors.” He came over and helped me with another box. I wondered if the stranger danger alarms in my head should start going off at that point, but they never seemed to. He was wearing North face gear and smelled like the ocean and was relatively benign.

He just took a box and started chatting, “yeah, I can tell you about all the good restaurants you have to drive thirty-minutes to in order to reach from here.” “Ah,” I said as he slowly made our way back inside. “I thought it’d be pretty far away from things. Yeah.” “You come in for Hollywood?” He said with interest.

I just snorted. “Not even.” We talked about work and the price of gas and the area for another few minutes. His name was Doug and he had lived there for three years and was still a waiter/aspiring actor himself. He liked my leather bracelets.

“So,” I finally brought up what I really wanted to talk about. “How’s the hiking around here?” “Dunno.” Doug shrugged. “I wouldn’t go near the stuff nearby. Like I said, most good things are a thirty-minute drive at least.” I furrowed my brow and looked over my shoulder at him. “You don’t go up Timber Ridge? Online said it had some nice views.”

He looked away and waved a hand through the air. “Nah.”

“Why not?” I asked a little too hastily.

“I mean,” his eyes darted left and right. “Look, I’m not superstitious or anything, but...” “But?” I gave him a focused look.

He shrugged again, “I’ve heard some weird stuff about it.” His eyes darted back and forth, “weird even for this place I mean.” I made a face, “should I be worried about a serial killer on the loose?” One of my mom’s new favorite hobbies was reminding me about all the serial killers that came from California. “No. I mean like,” he placed my box down outside my new apartment door. His brow bent innards and he whispered slowly. “They’ve been finding... stuff.”

I bounced my eyebrows up and down, I tried not to smirk, “monster stuff?” “Bloody rags.” He said solemnly, “rocks with strange symbols, plants that shouldn’t be here, bones, and I dunno... bad vibes.” He cleared his voice and leaned forward so much so that the air hummed with his discomfort. “They say it’s a witch.” “A witch?” I tried not to laugh.

Doug sniffed, “just saying.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Though I’d rather be eaten by her than take the interstate 405 again.” He changed the subject back to complaining about traffic after that and I let him.

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

I didn’t see any witches the first time I went up Timber Ridge. I didn’t see much of anything actually. 

The path was dusty instead of crunchy, the bushes were low to the ground and mostly leaf-less and dry, the trees were tiny and hid nothing from the eye. If my tall forests back home were thick with greenery and secrets, LA nature was brittle and easy to digest.

There weren’t that many bird sounds, but even from that high up sometimes I still heard honking and sirens and voices from someone’s open window. I still wasn’t that far from the city.

I ached from sleeping on the floor in my sleeping bag because I hadn’t bought a new bed yet. I had also for some reason given Doug my number and he kept texting me-- which felt like a game of jeopardy I accidentally entered where I didn’t know any of the right answers. I was sore and not particularly impressed with my new living situation. I missed my mom. I missed my dog.

I missed my mountains.

I frowned at it all as I climbed. The path was long at least and for moments at a time dipped down far enough that the city itself disappeared. After an hour I finally climbed up far enough that I reached the top of the ridge and I did have to stand there in awe.

My mouth fell open gently and the weight in my chest shrunk to nothing. It was probably because it was dawn and there was always something selfless about dawn: it gave and it gave and it gave.

The sun shimmered in long pink and orange streaks behind me and just beyond the city was an expanse of ocean that ate up my vision. An ocean vast and smooth and heart-stoppingly creamy blue. I had gone to the ocean once when I was a kid, but it had been cold and unfriendly and the waves were too big. Now, it was the backdrop to something that made my eyes water.

I sniffled and wiped at my tears as they fell. It was probably because I missed my mom and my dog and hated my new city, but that didn’t stop me from wiping at my cheeks and tasting salt. I cried at that sunset on the first day.

Finally, I turned around and something flitted dark and swift in the corner of my vision. I jerked my head around and there was something on the ground. It was transparent and yet tangible, like clothe. Dark. It was something I could only call a “shadow” that lingered long and twisted across the ground. It seemed to dance across the path with no end for a long second. I looked up quickly to try and catch it’s source, but nothing but the small trees and dusty bushes remained.

“Hello?” I said, but nothing responded.

I touched my left elbow and turned around in tight circles. When I stopped I got one last look at it slipping away. There was a shadow staring back at me: hollow eyes and hollow mouth and a gaping frozen expression caught in some unknowable stomach-clenching emotion. I gasped lowly, took a step back, and when I blinked again it was gone.

I hurried away from that spot. I chalked up the strange vision to too much crying and not enough breakfast that morning.

I didn’t see a witch on the ridge that first day or at least or, at least, I didn’t think I did.

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

part 2 coming soon! 

So all of my hours were cut at my job bc of coronavirus, if you enjoyed my writing please, please consider donating to my Ko-Fi or becoming a patron I could really use the help!

[propertyofnikkisthighs]

Sure Feels Right Ch. 8

Taglist: @hllywdwhre, @xxkellsvixen19xx, @desdestiny, @lain-ee, @crystalbaby12, @lovemythsworld, @hxllywood-whxre

Warnings: Angst, Drug use

2019

“No Colson I’m not firing my assistant because Rook expressed his feelings before you did” Ash crossed her arms over her chest. She was pissed to have been woken up at 1 a.m. in the first place and her annoyance was growing with every word that came out of Colson’s mouth.

“Fuck them both” Colson ranted pacing her hotel room. “Rook’s replaceable just like she is”

“Oh shut the fuck up Colson.” Ash rolled her eyes “You’re drunk and angry, but you don’t mean that.”

“Yes I do. They’re all replaceable, I don’t need anybody but my damn self.” Colson was seething with anger. Ash could practically see him steaming.

“So I’m fucking replaceable too? Slim’s replaceable? Do you hear how stupid you sound?” She was raising her voice at him and sober Colson would have known better than to push it, but this was drunk and angry Colson and he was dumb.

“You start fucking my band members then you are fucking replaceable. She was just getting close to me to fuck me over just like everybody else does. That’s why I can’t trust anybody.”

“She wasn’t fucking using you!” Ash yelled. “She got a fucking tattoo with YOUR symbols about YOUR band for YOU!”

“She fucking chose Rook!” Colson screamed back at her. They were both red faced and staring each other down. Colson sat on the edge of one of the beds and put his face in his hands.

“She kissed a guy, you’ve never minded it before. She fucked Doug and you were cool with that. You fuck other girls all the time, why is it now such a big deal?” Ash sat next to him and rubbed his arm. She had a point and he knew it, but expressing why he was so hurt wasn’t easy.

“What if she stops wanting anything to do with me now that she has Rook?” It came out much more quiet than he intended. He hated feeling vulnerable, but luckily Ash was someone he could be that way around. Well Lux had been too.

“Colson, she has HAD Rook. She has had the both of you this whole time, she loves you both, and you both love her. Stop being insecure and stop being an asshole.” Ash lightly pushed him up and into his room shutting the door between them and locking it.

He didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts tonight. He couldn’t be when that meant facing the consequences of his actions and replaying the hurt on Lux’s face. Sure he could text any of the girls that were at the party to come distract him, he could smoke until his brain was hazy, he could drink until he couldn’t see straight anymore, or he could use what was in the tiny ziplock bag in his pocket to help drown out the thoughts. He sat on his bed and pulled the small bag out examining it. The white powdery contents screaming at him to use. The urge to self destruct stronger than any other urge he has felt recently. He closed his eyes, was it worth it? He heard the sound of the room next door opening and shutting signifying Lux must be back at their hotel room. He tore his eyes away from the shared door between the rooms and focused back on the baggie in his hand. This wouldn’t chose his drummer over him. He poured some of the powder on the small side table and grabbed a hotel key to create a small line.

Ash had told Lux she didn’t have to go back home as she was Ash’s assistant and not his, but Lux was sort of regretting her decision to stay. She avoided all the boys as much as possible, especially Colson. She would only speak to him if needed to in order to relay a message that was business related and she would leave a room if he entered and she wasn’t required to be in there. When the boys set up for shows she didn’t stay backstage to keep company with conversation anymore. She would no longer stand side stage before and after the shows to watch them, to feel the kick drum in her chest, instead she hung around the merch tables or went back to the bus. It seemed all she did now was sleep and if she wasn’t sleeping she was crying and isolating herself. She kept herself holed up in her bunk letting silent tears fall from her eyes onto the pillow beneath her. Rook tried to check on her, but she just pushed him away for the sake of his relationship with Colson.

She heard a loud noise and jumped seeing that Ash had slammed a plate with a bagel on it down in front of her.

“Eat. Now.” Ash demanded.

“Oh no I’m okay, I’m not hungry.” Lux gave a tight lipped smile hoping it was convincing enough.

“I haven’t seen you eat anything in like two days” Ash kneeled in front of Lux and took her hands into her own. “Please you need food.”

“I eat” Lux avoided eye contact. “It’s just usually while you’re at the venues to avoid running into anyone”

“Bullshit” Ash replied sadly. “You’re just as bad as Colson with this self destructive bullshit.”

Lux winced at the mention of his name. She wished she could ask how he was doing, he looked rough honestly, but he wanted her out of his life so she abided by his wishes. She missed him so much it hurt and every time she caught a glance at her tattoo it was as if she was being stabbed a thousand times.

“I’ll eat it see.” Lux took a bite of the bagel and chewed slowly to fight off the wave of nausea that now overcame her every time she tried to eat. She swallowed harshly and smiled at Ash again hoping that the smile would appease her. Seemingly convinced Ash walked back to the back of the bus where the boys were playing video games. Lux waited until she was sure Ash wouldn’t walk out and ran to the trash can to dump the rest of the bagel in there. She quietly made her way to her bunk where she figured she wouldn’t be bothered. She placed her headphones in her ears and laid down waiting for sleep to overcome her. The tour would be over in a week so she just had to make it till then. Seven days and she would be home free, and able to look for a new job. That last thought had the tears cascading down her cheeks.

Colson could hear Ash telling Lux she needed to eat from his position in the bathroom and he frowned. He shouldn’t care that she wasn’t eating since she clearly no longer cared for him. She was avoiding him, she would leave rooms he was in, and she wouldn’t even look him in the eyes anymore. To make matters worse when she was forced to speak to him she had reverted back to calling him “Kells” like when she first got hired. He looked at the substance on the sink in front of him, he guessed he wasn’t fairing much better than she was doing. He had it under control though, he wasn’t binging at all and he would stop when the tour was over since he could relax then. He leaned down and quickly snorted up the line from the sink. He heard the faint sound of the trash can lid and Lux’s retreating footsteps. He slowly opened the door and tiptoed to the trash can to see the full bagel with just a bite missing from it in the trash can. Fuck.

“What are we gonna do?” Ash asked after locking the door to the back area where the boys, minus Colson, sat.

“I don’t know dude. Lux isn’t eating and Colson is using again and thinking he’s slick about it.” Rook sighed.

“They are such idiots. They need to talk and clear the air.” Ash gestured with her hands wildly.

“Can’t we just do a two for one intervention?” Slim tried joking.

“No they’re both stubborn assholes” Ash chuckled humorlessly. “They need to be forced into reconciling, but think it was their own idea.”

“I think I may have an idea, but it’s really dumb and cliche” Rook said nervously rubbing the back of his neck.

“Well I got nothing so shoot” Ash groaned.

“We need to get them locked in a room together, somewhere they would least expect to be locked in together. Like a sound booth or something.” He replied nervously.

���Okay I actually like this idea” Slim laughed and Ash nodded.

“We get them in there together, rig the door, and don’t let them out till they sort out their shit. Or until the show needs to start.” Rook smiled triumphantly.

“Hey Colson this cute girl in the sound booth just keeps going on and on about how she’s a fan and would love to meet you.” Slim clapped Colson on the shoulder passing him.

“Really? Well shit let me go say hi” Colson waggled his brows and headed to the sound booth. He walked in shutting the door behind him and saw a head of long dark hair in one of the swivel chairs. Throwing on his best flirty voice he leaned against the door.

“Hey I heard you were a fan” The chair suddenly turned around and he caught sight of who was really in there. Fuck, Lux. Abort mission.

“Uh sorry Ash told me to meet her in here to go over some things for the show.” Lux shuffled nervously.

“Yeah uh slim said...uh nevermind” Colson went to open the door and found it wouldn’t budge.

“Let me try?” Lux asked nervously before trying to pry the door open as well, but again it wouldn’t budge.

“Fucking great! I’ll text Ash” Colson groaned pulling his phone out and flopping on the couch.

“Already on it.” Lux sighed tapping on her phone. An uneasy silence fell between them as neither wanted to really acknowledge the elephant in the room.

Colson was on a come down and was feeling extra antsy. He bounced his leg as he waited for someone to come free them from this makeshift prison. Lux sat back in the rolling chair and held her head in her hands.

“Um are you good dude?” Colson asked concern dripping from his voice.

“Yeah, just a bit faint.” Lux replied not lifting her head.

“Yeah, well, that happens when you don’t fucking eat.” Colson scoffed.

“We’re gonna do this right now?” Lux finally lifted her head to fix him with an angry glare.

“All I’m saying is maybe if you ate more than a bite off a bagel then you wouldn’t ‘feel faint’ right now” He threw his hands up defensively.

“Yeah well maybe if you weren’t doing coke again you would be less of an asshole!” Lux snapped. Colson froze and stared at her with wide shocked eyes. “I’m not a fucking idiot I know when you’re using again”

“And here I was thinking you were too busy with Rook to notice anything about me” Colson rolled his eyes.

“Oh fuck you Colson!” Lux yelled suddenly standing up.

“Fuck me? You were the one with your tongue down my drummer’s throat after weeks of us-”

“Of us what? Cuddling? Being ourselves? We’ve always done that. You making out with a girl at that very party you fucking hypocrit” Lux continued ranting irate.

“I know that Lux! I just saw you and Rook and I freaked out okay!” Colson began yelling back.

“Why the fuck would you freak out?” Lux could feel her face heating in anger.

“Because I love you dammit! I love you and I don’t want our relationship to change and we can’t be us if you’re dating Rook” Colson yelled exasperrated.

“You love me?” Lux asked voice suddenly at a normal volume.

“Didn’t I just fucking say I was?” She walked up to where he sat.

“You love me.” She stated and he looked up at her making direct eye contact for the first time since that night.

“Yes I love you-” Lux cut him off crashing her lips to his and cupping his face in her hands. The kiss was quick, but it lit a fire in both of their bodies.

“I love you too you big dummy” Lux laughed.

“You love me?” Colson searched for any hesitation in her eyes.

“I’ve loved you for a long time Colson Baker” Lux said stroking his cheek with her thumb. Colson leaned up and pressed their lips together again loving the feeling he got from the small action. He had a realization and pulled away.

“But you love Rook too don’t you?” He stroked her cheek with his own thumb. Lux nodded sadly and braced herself for another freak out.

“I don’t like my life without you in it.” He let a shaky breath out. “So I’m willing to try to figure this all out”

“Thank you” Lux leaned her face into his hand and Colson pulled her back down to kiss her again. Lux sighed into his mouth and he pulled her down more trying to deepen the kiss when the door flung open.

“Oh good I see you two made up” Ash said smirking at the two of them now red in the face with embarrassment.

[petitrenard]

George V

Juliette sat in the back of the towncar and could barely contain her excitement - she had finished her last interview! She grabbed a photo of front of the building, posted it to Instagram with the caption fin. and took a long, satisfying breath. Very French. Very done. She looked at her phone. 8:30 p.m.

“Back to the George V?”

“Yes. Please and thank you.”

The last 6 weeks on tour had been a blur of promotion and the next 48 hours in Paris had been the carrot Juliette desperately needed to get her through. It was her first time here and she wanted to see everything, but first she wanted to sit in the Hammam at the George V spa.

She was lost in thought when her phone vibrated. It was an Instagram message notification.

Hey Jules! It’s Ethan, Doug’s old roommate. I saw you’re in Paris. Been living here for 2 years. If you need a tour guide or want to catch a drink let me know! Would love to see you. Juliette smiled broadly and as her car pulled up in front of her hotel she took a moment to drink in this message.

Ethan was her older brother’s roommate from college. She first met him when they moved Doug into his dorm at the University of Michigan. She was a geeky high school junior carrying boxes of ramen arguing with her mom when Ethan walked in with his parents. She had a serious crush on him from the moment she laid eyes on him.

Ethan and Doug stayed friends and roommates throughout college and although the two weren’t living in the same city, they were still friendly and chatted frequently. Now here he was...hunky Ethan...texting HER...about getting a drink...in Paris. It was more than high school her could have ever imagined. She made a mental note to leave out the “hunky” when talking to him.

Juliette stopped at the front desk to confirm her appointment before heading up to her room. Once inside, she pulled out her phone to respond. Ethan, nice to hear from you. Would love to meet up. Tonight? Staying at the George V. Heading to spa shortly, back in room in about two hours. International cell service spotty, so insta is best - or hotel phone. Room 507.

When Juliette returned to her room 2 hours later she was blissfully relaxed...and super soft and smooth. She was so relaxed that she didn’t bother to change back into her clothes after her session, but instead opted to skulk the back stairs to her room in the oversized robe they offered her. She flopped on to her bed and casually picked up her phone. No messages.

It was 11:00 p.m. and Ethan “No Messages” wasn’t going to stop her good time. She had all of Paris before her, an in room bar and a 24 hour room service menu. Yes sir, I know how to have a good time. Good time is my middle name. Before she had left for the spa she placed an order for an American Cheeseburger and fries. She made the decision to eat the burger on her terrace...naked, like a glutton.

With the order placed, she turned on some music, opened the windows to the terrace and made herself a drink from the bar. Right as she was about to step on to the terrace, the doorbell rang. Juliette walked over to the door and opened it. It was Ethan.

“You’re not my cheeseburger.” she exclaimed.

Ethan laughed, “I’m sorry to disappoint you. I am not your cheeseburger.”

Juliette cringed a little bit. Yep. That’s Ethan. Great laugh, super hot and here you are J..in a fucking nana sized robe with no makeup on and your hair in a ponytail. All you’re missing is a box of ramen.

 She composed herself, “Ethan! What are you doing here at my room? I mean, not that I’m mad...I’m sorry, it’s been a long day. What’s up?”

“Well, I messaged you, but it didn’t go through. Then I tried to call you here, but the line was busy. I didn’t want you to think I was being flaky or standing you up, so...”

She looked at the hotel phone and it was off the hook. “Oh man, I left the phone off the hook after I ordered my cheeseburger. Of course. Please come in, I can get dressed and we can head down to the bar if you don’t mind waiting.”

“I do not mind waiting.” And with that he walked into Juliette’s hotel room. As he walked past her she reached out and hugged him a hello. He was wearing her favorite cologne, Tom Ford’s Vanilla Tobacco.

As she closed the door behind him the sound of a room service cart rumbled down the hallway. Just as she was about to close the door, the cart bumped the door slightly and left it ajar. A sweet looking younger man was on the other side of the cart. “Excuse me, excuse me.”

Juliette opened the door. Ethan turned around, smiled and said, “Your cheeseburger.”

“So it would seem.” she giggled.

The decision was made to order another cheeseburger and take their dinner on her terrace. They made fast work of the cheeseburgers and a bottle of whiskey. Ethan worked in finance and had spent the last two years helping his company establish their office in Paris. They laughed about Doug and talked about music and art and Juliette’s promotional tour.

It was a lovely evening and Juliette was thrilled that she didn’t have to change out of her nana robe. It had been a long day and this night had been just what she needed. They were sitting on the terrace in one of those lovely moments of space. When the conversation has a natural lull but it isn’t awkward. Juliette looked at Ethan and smiled. He pulled out two cigarettes, lit them at the same time and handed one to her.

She didn’t smoke on the regular, but that move was so smooth that there was no way she was turning down that cigarette. She took a long drag and said “I have a confession. I used to have such a crush on you when I was younger.”

“Really? I had no idea. You were always leaving the room whenever I came around.”

Juliette laughed. “Yeah, I had a real subtlety back then.” Ethan laughed too and she playfully reached across the table at him. “I left the room because you were a hot college guy and I was a 17 year old geek with braces and fluffy hair.”

Ethan smiled and nodded. “It was very fluffy.”

“It was the 90s. Perms were all the rage. I was excited to get your message and see you again.”

“Now that you’re a successful author and your hair seems to have de-fluffed you think you’ve got a shot?”

They both laughed really hard, “Yeah, that’s exactly what I was thinking. Sell 5 million books, fly to Paris, fuck Ethan.” Their laughing died down to a slightly more awkward silence. Juliette took another drag and looked at Ethan. He wasn’t smiling. He was staring at her.

“Ethan, I’m just being silly. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I didn’t sell 5 million books just to fuck you. I’m a really talented writer.”

With that Ethan smiled, “I know you are Jules. I wasn’t uncomfortable. I was just thinking about it.”

“My book?”

“No. About fucking you.”

Juliette’s heart skipped a beat. Suddenly she wished that she was wearing more than just the nana robe. She cursed that she hadn’t stopped at Agent Provacateur upon arrival. She put out the cigarette and stared at him while readjusting in her chair. When she did that her robe fell open revealing her thighs. Ethan didn’t try to look away. Her heart beat faster.

He got up from his chair, walked over to her and placed his hand on her soft, smooth thigh. Juliette wrapped her arm around his forearm and pressed her face against him. She kept her legs closed, but slid his hand deeper between her thighs until his wrist was touching her clit. She looked up at him, bit her bottom lip and started to gently use his hand to masturbate.

Ethan smiled. He bent down and kissed her neck, then her shoulders. He moved down to her breasts and licked and sucked on her nipples. Juliette arched her back as he did that and she rubbed herself more intently. Ethan took his cue and he grabbed both of her wrists with one hand while his other hand slid between her pussy lips.

He grabbed her lips and gently tugged on them so that Juliette would stand up. She stood up and followed him over to the bed. He sat her down on the edge of the bed, released her wrists from his hand and spread her legs wide. Ethan continued to make his way down her belly until he was face first with her pussy.

“It smells like vanilla.” he said.

“You sound surprised.”

“Not surprised. Excited.”

Juliette placed her legs over his shoulders and Ethan began to lick her pussy. She couldn’t believe how amazing it felt to have him between her legs. He ran his tongue all the way up and down her lips one last time and then he slipped his fingers into her waiting pussy.

He brought his face up to her and she pulled him close and licked his lips. Then she licked hers. “Not only do I smell like vanilla, I taste like it too.” Ethan took a deep breath and began to kiss her intensely. He was fingering her as he began to take his pants off.

He fumbled with his belt and it felt like he took forever, but once it was unbuckled Juliette’s hands took over and he stood over her. Kissing her face, fingering her pussy and loving every second.

Juliette drew immense satisfaction from how hard he was. She also felt her mouth water when she saw him naked. She pulled her face from his and whispered to him, “Please don’t just think about it, do it.” Ethan hesitated only long enough to pull the rest of her robe down, then he slid himself into her pussy.

She took him into her balls deep. He stayed deep inside of her and began pumping. He didn’t pull out very far, he just kept pushing deeper and deeper. Juliette’s nipples got really hard as she felt his balls slap against her ass. She put her hand around his shoulders, lifted herself up slightly and began grinding into him.

It only took a few moments for Juliette to be on the verge of cumming on him. He was rhythmic in his pumping and his mouth was tirelessly exploring the rest of her body.

“I’m going to get you sloppy with my cum Ethan. Is that ok?”

Ethan stopped fucking her for a moment, looked her in the eye and said, “Not only is it ok, I insist you cum on me.”

Juliette had been holding herself on the edge of her orgasm for a while and Ethan’s insistence pushed her over the edge. She grabbed two of his fingers and began sucking on them. Her back arched and she wrapped her legs around Ethan so that she could hold him on her while she came. Her legs were clasped tight around him until the moment she began to cum.

Ethan felt her pussy tighten and her legs weaken, but he pushed as deep as he could to keep her cumming. As soon as her pussy relaxed, so did her legs, and Ethan knew he had to cum too. He began pulling himself out of her until he was almost all the way out, then he slowly slid himself back in down to his balls.

Juliette’s pussy was warmed up and eager for his cum. She began wiggling her hips in a circular motion and sucking harder on his fingers.

“Fuck, Juliette. I’m going to cum.”

“Cum inside me.”

Ethan’s balls twitched and the thought of dropping a load inside of her was too tempting to not do. He took his fingers out of her mouth and with his thumb he began to rub Juliette’s clit. He picked up the pace of his fucking and Juliette groaned and spread her legs even wider. Ethan started to cum inside her and then he pulled himself out of her, stroked his cock and kept cumming all over her tits and face. Juliette groaned even harder and used her fingers to rub the cum on her nipples.

He looked at her and she was covered in his cum. She was now sucking and biting on the two fingers she had used to rub the cum on her nipples. Juliette smiled at him. Ethan laid down beside her - exhausted. They laid there for a few moments catching their breath.

Juliette turned to Ethan.

“I’m going to get up and take a shower before I go to bed. I am a very dirty girl and I’m going to need help to make sure that I’m very clean.” Ethan nodded at her. 

She smiled at him and walked towards the shower.

[nyanmitsus]

[RF4] the importance of keeping cool

title: the importance of keeping cool rating: g fandom: rune factory 4 pairing: doug/dylas additional tags: n/a read on ao3

They weren’t always quiet like this.

In the middle of summer, there was nothing to do but sweat. As high up as Selphia was, it still got unbearably hot, and if Dylas had to spend one more minute listening to Porcoline’s commentary about it, he thought he was going to go crazy. He’d excused himself from lunch and headed down to the lake, and he was pleasantly surprised to find no one there.

Well, maybe it wasn’t that much of a surprise. Today was one of those days where a trip to Autumn Road wasn’t too outrageous of an idea; Dylas supposed that most people decided to head out that way instead. Maybe he would have, too, if he’d thought of it earlier in the day. For now, he was content to sit by the lake and wait for a fish to bite.

At some point, Doug had joined him, with nothing more to say but hey. He sat down next to Dylas and stayed sitting up for all of ten minutes before he shed his coat and flopped down into the grass. And it was quiet—save for the lapping of the lake against the shore—which was both a blessing and a curse. It was easier for Dylas to not have to think about what to say for a little while, but he couldn’t help but wonder what Doug was thinking about.

Not like it actually mattered to Dylas. It was probably just something they’d end up fighting over, anyway.

...Right? Right.

The first time either of them spoke was when the sun was beginning to paint the sky dusty blues and pinks. Dylas’s bucket of fish was only half-full; it seemed like not even those under the water could stand the heat, but he made a promise to Porco to at least come back with something.

“I feel like an ice cream cone,” Doug said, and Dylas was entirely too focused on the charming lilt of his voice than what he was actually saying. “Except, like, in a puddle on the ground. A melted ice cream cone.”

Dylas looked away from the water, examining Doug from head to toe. Still completely intact, even with the shed coat and discarded boots. “You’re not melted, rice brain.”

Doug laughed. “Rice brain? What kinda insult is that?”

“The kind for you,” Dylas said. “Your brain’s only as big as a grain of rice.”

Doug rolled his eyes, and Dylas turned back to the water. 

Times like these were when Dylas really didn’t know whether he and Doug liked each other or hated each other. They spent so much time hurling insults at each other, but Dylas almost felt like he trusted Doug more than anyone else in this town, despite everything that had happened before. He knew that if he told Doug something secret, Doug would carry it to his grave. Likewise, he’d do the same for Doug.

But it was just too hard to read that damn dwarf! Sometimes Dylas would catch flashes of expressions across Doug’s face that didn’t seem intentional, but he just didn’t understand him. He talked so much about girls and being bored and wondering what he was going to eat next, but Dylas was always left wondering if any of those things actually interested Doug past a surface-level sort of interest. And if Doug didn’t care much about those things, then what did he care about?

Dylas didn’t even know how to approach a subject like that. He’d learned from Lest that there are some things you can’t just ask outright, and that definitely seemed like what Lest was talking about. But Lest was impossibly good at figuring things like that out—it’d taken Dylas nearly a whole season to even recognize that he and Doug were kind of friends.

He shook his head. Maybe now wasn’t the best time to think about stuff like that. He had fish to catch, anyway, even though it felt like nothing had bitten in the past half hour.

He decided to give himself ten more minutes: it was way too hot, still, to wait for ten more minutes, but whether or not he caught something, he was going home. And when those ten minutes were up, he kept his word, standing and collecting his bucket and his fishing rod.

“We’re leaving,” Dylas said, lightly kicking Doug in the side. “Get up, or I’ll leave you here.”

Doug was quick to collect himself, tossing his coat over his shoulder. “Felt like I was laying there for hours. Want me to carry that?”

“I’ve got it. And you were laying there for hours.”

The sun hung even lower in the sky by the time they reached the restaurant, but only because they stopped to talk to Lest on the way back. It seemed like the heat didn’t bother him, even though he’d been working all day. He was telling them all about how he and Dolce were running deliveries all day for someone named Eliza. Somehow, Doug had gotten hold of the bucket during the conversation, and he held it with both hands in front of him, swaying back and forth.

They said goodbye to the prince and resumed their walk back to the restaurant. The same sort of silence from the lake fell over them again. Doug was smiling, though; he didn’t look bored or like he was searching for something to say. Was he really content just taking a walk with Dylas?

No one was inside the restaurant when they arrived—aside from Arthur, maybe—and Doug set down the bucket in the kitchen as instructed. He lingered for a moment, looking like he had something to say.

“You can stay for a little,” Dylas blurted. “Until the sun goes down. So it’s not as hot when you go back.”

Doug raised an eyebrow, like it was completely outrageous that Dylas would extend any sort of kindness towards him, but he nodded. “Works for me.”

“I just don’t want to hear you whining about how hot it was.”

��I don’t whine! You’re way more of a whiner than me!”

“Am not! Did you hear me complain at all about the heat?”

Doug thought about it, just for a few seconds. “Well, no, but you looked so damn miserable hauling that bucket back here that you were practically whining. It was all in the eyes.”

“The hell you lookin’ at my eyes for?”

Doug stammered, but then it was silent again. He didn’t look at Dylas. Instead, he was looking somewhere off to the side, probably trying to come up with some sort of explanation. The thought of there being any sort of explanation made Dylas feel all kinds of strange. It’d be easier to accept that it was just some weird offhanded remark. Maybe it was just a dwarf thing. Or maybe it was something else.

No matter what it was, Dylas didn’t want to know, and the more time Doug had to think about it, the closer an answer came. So Dylas decided to talk about the first thing that came to mind.

“Porco makes ice cream in the summer,” Dylas said, like it wasn’t a fact Doug knew well. “You want one?”

Dylas could almost see Doug’s train of thought crash and burn at the mere mention of ice cream. The topic of Dylas’s eyes was completely abandoned, and they were back to their usual back-and-forth about whatever Doug had to start mouthing off about. It seemed like he’d done a lot of thinking while he was staring at the clouds earlier, and Dylas was half-sure that Doug was just spouting hot air rather than trying to pick a fight.

Still, this felt normal, and normal was something Dylas could handle.

(It was so hot that the ice cream started to melt when they’d barely started eating it. Dylas decided that it must have been the very same heat that warmed his cheeks whenever he thought about staring into Doug’s eyes—or rather, glancing to the side and catching Doug staring at him. He wondered how many of those moments he’d missed in the time they knew each other. He wondered if he’d catch them now that he was paying attention. He wondered if Doug felt the same heat, the same blush, the same feeling in his stomach like there were a bunch of wasps trapped in there instead of the butterflies he’d read about in books and heard about in songs.)

  Dylas was sure he’d wiped the same empty table about six times over.

It’d been a few days since he’d had that whole conversation with Doug, but things with him seemed to be normal. They didn’t talk about Dylas’s eyes again, and Dylas wasn’t even sure if that whole thing crossed Doug’s mind nearly as much as it crossed his. 

Maybe it was just a ridiculous thing to focus on. If Doug wasn’t thinking about it, then there was no reason for Dylas to be focusing on it either. Right now, anyway, Dylas had to focus on wiping the table for the seventh time. He could see his reflection in it already, but if he looked too bored, Porcoline would surely give him something else to do, and that something else had enormous potential to be something ridiculous. Or just plain unappealing, like going out to pick berries or flowers when it was twice as hot as the day he’d gone fishing.

Arthur walked in from the other room while Dylas was in the middle of his eighth table-wiping, and it was the most activity the entire place had seen for the past hour. Porcoline even stopped his singing to say hello.

“Are you hungry?” Porcoline asked. “You keep yourself cooped up in there all day and all night! You must be hungry.”

“No, I’m alright,” Arthur said, with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s quite hot today, though. I was wondering if it was cooler on this side of the building.”

Porcoline shook his head. “I can’t say it is. But! What I can say is that you should one-hundred percent stick around for a hot minute, as my darling Dylas has to go on a Porcomission starting right now!”

That seemed to perk Arthur up. He raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Dylas, what sort of mission are you going on?”

“Not one I was aware of,” Dylas said, tossing his rag over his shoulder and meeting the two at the counter. “What do you want?”

Porcoline spun around in much too big of a circle than was actually necessary, retrieving a basket that sat by the window. It looked rather delicate, and its contents were covered by a red and white checkered cloth. Knowing Porcoline, it was some sort of care package.

“I’ve prepared the most special soup in the entire world! Or at least this side of the world. You must take this to Blossom, okay?” Porcoline asked, with an unusual sort of seriousness. “Arthur has no problem covering for you until you get back. And if she offers you money, do not take it.”

Dylas wasn’t sure when Arthur volunteered himself for something like that, and by the look on the blond’s face, he didn’t know either. But Dylas knew he was more willing to take a walk in the heat than Arthur was, anyway, so he took the basket and started on his way.

The air felt hot even when Dylas breathed. It was no surprise that not many were willing to head all the way to the restaurant for a bite to eat. The path to the general store was pretty empty, save for a few tourists sitting with their feet in the river. Amber was around, too, looking like she was about three minutes away from wilting.

It was somewhat cooler when Dylas stepped inside the store. Doug was fiddling with something behind the counter, but it must not have been very important. He was staring off into space, and he didn’t even realize Dylas was standing there until Dylas cleared his throat.

“Hey!” Doug greeted him without half as much of his usual energy, looking like he was about to die of boredom. He probably was. “Why are you here?”

“None of your business,” Dylas said. “I have a delivery. It’s not for you.”

“Fine, don’t save me from the icy grip of death. Granny Blossom’s upstairs.” Doug came out from around the counter, and Dylas stepped back. “I’m not gonna hit ya. I just wanna take a peek.”

“No.”

“What? Why not?!”

“You’ll mess it up, you stupid dwarf! Porco said it was special!”

“I won’t mess it up!” Doug huffed. “Alright, keep your secrets. See if I care!”

At some point during all of that, Dylas had ended up looking at the ground. But when he looked up, Doug was staring straight into his eyes. He looked hurt. Like Dylas had wronged him far greater than refusing to let him look into the basket.

It hardly lasted a second, and Doug’s eyes flitted away towards the stairs, where Blossom was slowly descending.

“I thought I heard some commotion down here,” she said, a smile growing on her face. “You’re looking well today, Dylas. What brings you all this way?”

“I-It’s not that far,” Dylas said. He held the basket out in front of him. “Porco told me to bring this to you.”

He wasn’t sure why someone would need soup on such a hot day, but as he passed it to her, he felt her icy hands touch his, and it all made sense. She pushed aside the cloth, and inside, there was a jar of soup, two pieces of bread, and two different types of onigiri. Porcoline must have taken Doug into consideration, too.

“Oh, my! This is so lovely.” Blossom smiled and stretched out her hand. Dylas took it as a sign to lean down a bit so she could touch his cheek. “Aren’t you such a sweet boy?”

Doug snickered off to the side, and Dylas shot a glare at him.

“There’s something here for you too, Doug,” Blossom said, placing the basket on the table. “See, your friend cares about you just as much as you care about him.”

Doug laughed a little louder at that. “Me? Care about that guy?! I’d rather die!”

Dylas never in a million years thought hearing something like that from Doug would hurt, but it did, and he was pretty sure it showed on his face with the way that Doug’s expression changed to something unreadable. Concern? Regret? Dylas didn’t know and didn’t care, and he said his goodbyes and walked all the way back to the restaurant before he punched something.

Or more like some one. Really, he wanted to punch Doug. He also didn’t want to punch Doug at the same time, because he wanted to do something else, too, but punching was the thing that Dylas felt like he could actually do.Something like asking what Doug meant by preferring death over admitting whether or not he cared about Dylas was completely out of the question—Dylas already knew right now that he wouldn’t be able to do that even if he went back right now, fueled by adrenaline.

The restaurant was still as empty as it was when Dylas left. Margaret was there now, too, and her, Porcoline, and Arthur were all crowded around the counter. Their conversation stopped when Dylas walked in.

“Welcome back! Did she absolutely love it?” Porcoline asked.

“Yeah, she was happy,” Dylas said.

“Did Doug absolutely love the goodies I snuck in there for him? How was Doug?”

“He was awful, as usual.” Dylas rolled his eyes. “I can’t deal with him.”

“Oh, don’t say that,” Margaret said, touching a gentle hand to Dylas’s shoulder. “He’s not horrible! I know you know that.”

“Whatever.”

Dylas picked up his rag again. He was sure that the table was due for its ninth scrub now that he’d left it for a little while. Porcoline started up some weird conversation about something Dylas didn’t understand, and Arthur excused himself shortly after that got started. Margaret started tuning one of her instruments, only half-listening to Porcoline’s monologuing.

Business didn’t pick up again until the evening, and even then there were no more than five customers. It was a good enough distraction, though. Dylas had managed to get his mind off of Doug for almost the entire rest of the evening.

(He didn’t think about him until he was starting to fall asleep. His bedroom was way too hot, even with the window open, so he had no choice but to think about it. The look in Doug’s eyes was what got to him. Was that what Doug meant about it all being in the eyes? Doug hadn’t said anything else, but after thinking about it so much, Dylas felt like he could get a good idea of what was going through his head just by looking into his eyes. And as he fell asleep, he ended up committing each silver tone in those eyes to memory.)

“Today’s the Firefly Festival!”

Porcoline’s voice rang out through the entire restaurant. It didn’t really need to, considering Dylas was about five feet away from him, but if he needed to make sure every nook and cranny of the building heard him, then he was going to do it to the best of his ability.

“And?” Dylas asked, a bit flatly.

He didn’t know what the Firefly Festival had to do with him, unless Porcoline just thought he was daft and was making sure he knew it was today. Dylas was pretty good at keeping track of festivals, though, and Porcoline knew that, so it must have been something else.

Dylas was fond of festivals, but on this one, he usually watched the fireflies by himself. He didn’t have anyone special to watch them with, and it was somewhat nicer to find a quiet spot where he could sit and watch them fly around without the pressure of talking to someone else about it. It was probably a dreadful way of spending such a romantic holiday, but really, who was he supposed to spend it with? Doug?

...The thought sent chills down Dylas’s spine, and he wasn’t sure if they were bad chills or good chills.

“Hello? Aren’t you excited?” Porcoline asked, his face falling a bit.

Dylas shrugged. He couldn’t meet Porcoline’s eyes like this. “It happens every year.”

“Yes! Every year we get to see those scrumptious little lightning bugs, and every year I am so very excited!” Porcoline crossed his arms. “What’s got you being such a sourpuss?”

Now that was a good stopping point. Dylas trusted Porcoline well enough, but he really did not want to get into whatever was going on with Doug. Not with Porcoline or anyone—besides, if it was like one of their usual fights, it’d clear itself up in a few days, and neither of them would even remember it by next week.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“So there is something,” Arthur said, and Dylas nearly jumped out of his skin. When did he even get here?

“Who asked you?!” Dylas took a step back, nearly bumping into Margaret.

She thwacked him quickly on the back of his head. “You need to get yourself sorted out, Dylas. It’s not like you to get like this.”

“I have a wonderful idea!” Porcoline said. “You can clear your head by helping Arthur today! Wouldn’t that be a treat, Arthur? You’ve got a nice, strong boy to do all the heavy lifting for you.”

Dylas never actually agreed, but Arthur swept him up faster than he could protest to it. They met up with Lest along the way, and the three of them were off to Dragon Lake in no time—which appeared to have gotten a facelift since the last time Dylas was there, and that was hardly more than a week ago.

“You don’t have to stay for the actual festival if you’d prefer not to,” Arthur said. “I just need you beforehand, so if you’ve got any business to take care of after that, then please feel free.”

The way Arthur looked at him made Dylas feel like he knew a lot more than he let on. And while Arthur’s gaze was sharp and knowing, Lest’s eyes were wide and asked a million questions. The two looked at each other, and Lest seemed to understand whatever Arthur did. When did these two get so close?!

“You can do it, Dylas!” Lest said. “I believe in you!”

“Weirdo,” Dylas scoffed, but Lest smiled, and it almost made him feel better.

Evening came quicker than Dylas thought it would, the fireflies settling into the venue just as he finished preparing the last booth that Arthur had given him to work on. The area was more flooded with tourists, too, most choosing to sit by the lake or in front of the small stage Arthur and Lest (more Lest than Arthur, really) had spent all day on. Margaret was currently setting up to sing; it was no surprise that dozens and dozens of men were sat waiting for her. It made Dylas bristle a bit.

Regardless of what Arthur had said about leaving, Dylas figured he could stay for a little while. There were so many unfamiliar faces that he didn’t expect someone he actually knew to find him very easily, which, of course, made it a little easier for Dylas to relax.

Margaret’s song began, and the fireflies were drawn to her voice. The lanterns they’d set up earlier were rendered almost useless with how much light the bugs gave off. In the distance, standing near the stage, Arthur seemed quite pleased.

“I caught one!”

Somehow, Doug was in front of Dylas now, cupping a firefly in his hands. He grinned, holding it up to Dylas’s face. The firefly stood in Doug’s hands for a moment, almost as if it were staring at Dylas, before it flew away and joined the rest.

“What do you want?” Dylas asked flatly.

“Can I stand here with you?” Doug asked. “It’s kinda lame to watch these all by yourself.”

Dylas didn’t say anything. He just nodded, chest tight, and Doug stood much closer to him than he probably usually would have. Maybe it was the crowd. Maybe it wasn’t.

Margaret continued to sing, and when Doug got bored of standing still, he started to catch whichever firefly flew too close. He let Dylas hold one of them. Things almost felt normal, and Dylas felt stupid for expecting this fight to be any different than their usual. Saying sorry was tough for both of them, anyway, so it was probably best that they didn’t try.

Still, Dylas felt like there was something missing. Doug’s voice didn’t carry the life it usually did. Dylas couldn’t find it within himself to argue like they usually did. Nothing was the same at all, now that Dylas really thought about it, and it was weird and scary and Dylas didn’t want to lose what they’d built together, even if it was a careless little thing with a foundation of bickering and secret gifts and making sure the world knew they hated each other.

Dylas didn’t hate Doug. He never had.

Margaret’s song finished, and they were quiet, still, in the interim. Dylas had a million words to say that wouldn’t come out right even if he wrote them down and read them off. Doug looked like he had something to say too, but knowing him, he wouldn’t say it anytime soon.

Arthur was on the stage next, thanking everyone for coming and starting something about a beach beauty contest.

“That’s my cue to leave,” Dylas said.

“I’ll see you home,” Doug said, a little too quickly. “I mean, you’ll probably get lost or something in the dark. And I can see better in the dark. Duh.”

Dylas decided to just start walking, and if Doug followed, then he followed. The crowd was a little thinner now that it was later, but not by much, and Dylas instinctively kept checking behind him to make sure they didn’t get separated.

He nearly ran into Porcoline during one of these checks. The man put his hands on Dylas’s shoulders to steady him.

“Oho? Leaving early?” He waggled his eyebrows. “Have fun, you two. Not too much fun.”

“The hell is that supposed to mean?” Dylas snapped.

“Oh, nothing! Au revoir!”

Porcoline was away in a whirl, and Dylas felt like maybe something was up there, but Arthur was starting to announce the participants of whatever stupid contest he made up, and Dylas continued on. There were still people milling around just outside of the lake area, and Doug grabbed on to his sleeve at some point to make sure they’d stay together.

The crowd didn’t thin until they’d gotten past the castle square. He felt like he could breathe a little easier on the east side of Selphia, even if each breath was full of the flowery fragrance of Illuminata’s shop. The fireflies seemed even more plentiful with no one around.

They were halfway across one of the bridges when Doug finally spoke up.

“I wanted to apologize. Kinda,” he said, leaning against the railing.

“You wanted to kinda apologize?”

“I’m bad at this sort of thing, okay?” Doug looked away, staring at a point in the water. “Sorry for what I said.”

Dylas was silent—he didn’t expect an actual apology, especially since Doug said it would only be a kinda apology. The dwarf seemed sincere, though, even with his crossed arms, even with how he fiddled with a button on his coat. He took a breath, like he was going to say something, but he closed his mouth. 

He looked at Dylas, then looked away, then looked at him again and said, “Actually, I-I care about you way too much. So I kinda lied when I said that thing before.”

Dylas’s breath caught in his throat. “Y-You…”

“Granny Blossom said it’s best if I just say what I feel. Just to you. So I’m gonna say it.” He breathed in, breathed out, uncrossed his arms. “I like you. You don’t have to say it back.”

“I-Idiot!” was the first thing that came to Dylas’s mind. Doug flinched, and he added, “Wait. Sorry. I…”

Doug shrugged. “Nah, it’s fine. I just needed to tell you. Don’t worry about—”

“No, I called you an idiot ‘cause you…” Dylas shook his head, trying to get his thoughts in order. “Did you think I wouldn’t say it back?”

Doug’s eyes widened. In the glow of the fireflies, his cheeks were pink. “Well, yeah, we kinda have that rivalry going on.”

“I’m not a good talker,” Dylas said, “so you’re gonna have to keep dealing with that. But I li-li-li—Dammit! This is so hard!”

“Don’t force it like that! It’s fine, I getcha.” Doug grinned, clapping Dylas on the shoulder. “Cool! I didn’t think we’d be on the same page. I’m gonna kiss you now. I mean—can I do that? Do you want to—”

Doug’s lips were warm and kind of soft and Dylas had to tilt Doug’s face up so they could kiss properly. Dylas was way better at this—at kissing, at showing what he felt—than talking, and he was glad Doug was used to that by now. At some point during the kiss, Doug wrapped his arms around Dylas’s neck, and they parted for a moment before another long kiss.

A galaxy of fireflies surrounded them, and their moment felt like forever. Even when they parted for good, Dylas just wanted to stay close, to touch Doug’s face and brush away the fireflies that landed in his hair. Doug was whispering a whole bunch of things, but Dylas could only focus on how each high and low sounded like music, and if Dylas could capture it on paper, he’d want to play it for the whole country.

It was much cooler at night. Standing so close to someone seemed like it’d be too hot of an activity for summer, but it was quite comfortable like this.

The world only resumed when they heard Lest’s voice in the castle square, and they both figured out it’d be better to get out of there before the crowds followed.

(They walked hand-in-hand the rest of the way to the restaurant. There was ice cream in the freezer, and it was much easier to talk to Doug now that everything was pretty clear between them. They talked for hours, about the fireflies, about the feelings they’d been holding back, about everything, and the next time they kissed, Doug tasted like vanilla, and all of it made Dylas feel like things were going to be fine between the two of them for a very long time.)

  The minute Dylas came down the stairs the next morning, Porcoline asked, “No Doug?”

Dylas felt like he was going to die right then and there. “No,” he said, through gritted teeth. “Why would Doug be here?”

Porocline batted his eyelashes. “It was such an innocent question.”

“Not when you say it.”

“But you did leave the festival with him, did you not?” Arthur asked. “During the main event. I’ve got very sharp eyes.”

“Just because I left with him doesn’t mean he came here!” Dylas huffed. “How the hell would you know that anyway?”

“Well, it was a guess.” Arthur took a sip of his tea. “Thank you for confirming it, though.”

Margaret finally looked up from tuning her harp. “We’re so happy for you guys! Porco’s been waiting for this for weeks. You seem like you’re a lot happier, too.”

Dylas scowled. “I didn’t even say anything about what happened! You’re all the worst!”

“Oh, do tell us!” Porcoline urged. “I’ll make a delectable carrot stew if you tell us every single detail.”

In the end, Dylas didn’t tell them much. He cut his losses and kept it simple: he and Doug were a thing now, and that was that. If he said any more, then Porcoline would tell everyone, and he’d rather have the short and simple version be spread across the town by noon.

(Doug showed up to hide in the restaurant’s upstairs at around one o’clock. Something or other about getting way too much attention about the whole thing, and Dylas joined him when the usual lunch crowd came in with more questions than Dylas had answers. He joined Doug in sitting on his bedroom floor, and Doug took his hand, and he was perfectly content waiting there until everyone’s excitement died down. The summer sun shone through the window, and Doug let his head fall against Dylas’s shoulder.)

(With Doug, the heat didn’t feel so bad.)

[beatricethecat2]

if/then (2.0) - 18 (new edit)

This is not a new chapter, instead a highly edited version of what came before, taking into consideration the notes given to me by a certain someone (you know who you are, thank you!) I did a crappy job initially because my head wasn’t in the game. Fast forward to now, after an absurdly busy spring work-wise, and I’m back to taking a crack at it all. I had to push this out to move forward, but the first draft of the next chapter is written and in edit mode so that’s proof the wheels are turning. And I am confident where this is now heading - so many twists and turns, so many little details to add, it’s never-ending. Quick recap: Helena revealed that she’s been working with Bonnie to keep Mrs. Frederic from framing Myka. A police interrogation ensued and Myka has no idea where it’s all heading. Typos are all mine, I’m sorry my mistakes are beyond what robots can correct. When that day comes we should all probably run for the hills. (see reply for link to previous chapters.)

/////////////////////

"Hey Claud, I'm coming up." Myka pushes through the front doors but pauses in the lobby. “If you're there, text me or something, ok?” She smiles at the front desk guy as she ends the call.

“Hey Doug, you seen Claudia today?"

"Uh-uh. Just started my shift. Want me to ask Tony?" He picks up his walkie-talkie.

“That’s ok." Myka hurries past him as the elevator doors open. Two people step out as she steps in. She taps Claudia's floor and checks her phone, no reply, but she's not surprised. Every message she's left this week has gone unanswered.

Claudia should be home as it's late for a school night, but, no wait, it's already Friday. Maybe they're eating out or watching a movie really loudly. Or maybe Claudia's so miffed she won't pick up the phone.

Claudia's antics at the police station are still a conundrum to her, they could have been for show or totally sincere. After the harrowing group interview, she didn't see Claudia or Helena again, so she has no idea how clued in Claudia is. She'd feel more confident moving forward if she had talked to at least one of them. This holding pattern she’s in is making her paranoid.

The doorbell rings and rings, so she waits a beat, then knocks twice and inserts her key card. When she opens the door, Dewy whooshes out immediately.

"You don't want to go down there," she calls, dropping her bag and following him down the hall. She scoops him up near the stairs and walks back, holding on tightly as he squirms. She wedges her foot in the door and swings it open then crouches down to pick up her bag. Dewy wriggles free, but she blocks his second escape with her bag.

"Claudia? Christina?" she calls from the entryway. No reply, so she checks the bedrooms and terrace.

"Where's your moms?" she says to Dewy as he rubs up against her leg. He's purring so loudly she can hear him clearly from the floor. This level of affection must mean he wants something. She glances his bowl, it's completely empty.

"Let's get you some dinner, mister," she says and walks into the kitchen. Its surfaces are oddly clean, but the cat food cabinet is its usual mess. She sets the food on the counter then grabs Dewy's bowl. It could use a good cleaning before filling.

The sink is unusually devoid of dishes as they often linger for days. She checks the fridge, also sparse, but maybe Claudia hasn't gone shopping yet. An empty fridge is not as uncommon as a clean sink.

Dewy mews plaintively and Myka snaps back to her task. She opens the food bag and he hops up on the counter. "Dewy, chill!" she says and swipes him to the floor. He's way more anxious than she remembers.

As he eats, she strokes his head and rubs behind his ears, his purrs vibrating vigorously up her fingers. Such good cat, she thinks, so good-natured, and mostly well behaved. We're lucky to have him, even if he is a little dumb.

She looks towards her corner, then traipses through the living room, into her space. There's far too much stuff to take in one go so she'll have to divide it in two. She starts plucking out what she needs and laying it on the bed.

A picture of Helena hangs on the wall with one loose corner flopping forward. She drags a finger over Helena's likeness then peels it off. She studies the curve of Helena's lips as she sits on the bed.

"Would it be bad for you if I see them? I want to know they're ok. But I don't want mess this up for any of us." Second guessing her movements has already been difficult. Subterfuge isn't her strong point.

Dewy bounds into the room and jumps on the bed. He sits on his hindquarters and mews insistently.

"What's up?" Myka asks as he smushes his head against her, then drags his body in long strokes along her side. She rubs his head again, then swings her legs up and reclines fully, lying down. Dewy obviously wants the company, so she really should stay, if only for a few minutes longer than needed.

"You're lucky, Dewy. You can't fall in love. At least not the way humans do." She holds the photo of Helena at arm's-length and smiles. What a lovely day that was, laughing and lounging at the beach, with Helena beaming with positive energy. It’d be nice to get back to that happy place someday.

Dewy headbutts her cheek then flops on his side. She lays the photo on her chest and turns to look at him.

"She did this all for me, you know, but you don't know that means. I should be thankful, but…" She reaches over and scratches Dewy's belly. "I can't stop thinking about Bonnie."

Dewy claws at her wrist, lightly, as a warning. Myka yanks her hand away.

"Exactly! I don't know if I can trust her. But she's helping me, I guess. She's supposed to be an ally." She looks at the photo again, remembering the undercurrent: they were only pretending everything was ok. But if Helena knew that Mrs. Frederic planned to frame her then, was she already in cahoots with Bonnie? And was Bonnie's price a roll in the hay or is that the jealous girlfriend talking?

Dewy stands and turns, then lowers himself down, smooshing his back into Myka's middle. She scratches under his chin and turns on her side, pulling her knees up and hunching over to spoon him.

"She wouldn't do that to us, would she?" Dewy's purrs soar as she rubs behind his ears again. What lengths would Helena have gone to spare her? She skims a hand over Helena's pillow, smoothing a non-existent head print. She closes her eyes and summons Helena's form.

Helena often laid awake as the clock ticked toward her deportation. On those days, Myka would nudge her on her onto her side and spoon her from behind. She'd bury her nose into the bend of her neck, letting her warm breath graze over Helena's skin. When Helena would let out a whimper, she'd press kisses into her shoulder until Helena rolled over and kissed her back. And then quickly, but quietly, their bodies would meet, instinctively quelling each others lingering anxieties.

In comparison to now, those times seem simple; if only being deported was the worst of their fears. It's not fair their last night together was fraught resentment. She'd wasted precious time and energy being angry in Poland.

Dewy rises and blinks as she shifts to lie flat. He then settles into her armpit after a few turns. He lets out a huge yawn as Myka slips an arm around him. She yawns reflexively, then scratches his head.

"I wish I could stay and nap with you," she says as Dewy lays his head on his paws. "But I don't want to scare your moms when they get home. And, well, I probably shouldn't be here anyway." Myka turns to leave, but Dewy lays a paw on her arm. She slips it free. "Sorry, little dude. Say hi to them for me."

"I hope you're ok," she says to Helena's likeness as she plucks it off of the bed. She tucks it neatly into a bag and continues packing.

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

Myka's phone rings as she waits on the sidewalk for her Uber.

"Steve, hey!" She'd called earlier to ask about Claudia.

"You're back!"

"Yeah."

"Claudia's back, too?"

"She should be."

"Great! Then we don't have to feed Dewy anymore?"

"You're still feeding him?" A car pulls up to the curb with an Uber logo in its window. "Hang on a sec." Myka waves and points toward the trunk. After it pops, she throws in several overfilled tote bags and a garment bag. She slams the trunk closed and climbs into the back seat.

"Ok, back," she says to Steve, but gets no reply. "Steve?" She pulls the door shut and checks her screen; no service. The driver drives away as she waves the phone left and right.

"No use, dead zone," the driver says.

"There're no dead zones in New York," Myka snips. She scrolls through her settings and taps buttons, but to no avail. She glances at the driver, her voice is familiar, but her fair hair bunched up under a baseball cap doesn't give many clues. "Hey, your not..." She consults her app, but the phone won't connect. "I thought my driver was a dude."

"Change of plan," the woman answers. At a red light, she turns toward Myka. "You and I need to talk."

There's a thunk as Myka's phone drops. "B-B-Bonnie?” Bonnie's tone is deeper than she remembers. Plus the American accent threw her off.

"Morgana Kurlansky, Interpol," Morgana says, extending a hand over the seat. "Though apparently, you know that already."

"I, um..." Myka takes her hand and shakes it, limply.

"You should know, this whole business has gotten way out of hand. We're doing our best, but there are many loose ends."

"Am I a loose end?”

Myka jumps as a horn blares. Morgana turns back to the wheel and drives away.

Myka looks out the window to orient herself, is theist way to her apartment She feels trapped, too close to Bonn— Morgana, who is driving her who knows where. She yanks on the door handle as if to escape but the door doesn't budge.

"Child locks," Morgana says, then the locking lever clicks open. "Be my guest, jump out on the bridge." She motions forward toward the ramp they’re about to enter. “But I am taking you home."

Myka grimaces. Morgana knows where she lives, but then again, she probably has this whole time. To avoid Morgana’s smug gaze, she looks out the window, watching Coop Village fly by. It occurs to her that’s where Giselle lives, and if had she bailed, although it would have been complicated, she could have possibly run to her for help.

"Is Helena in jail?” If she’s stuck in this car then Morgana better pony up information.

"No. She's being monitored, held for questioning."

"Have you seen her?"

"I can't. Not as Bonnie Belski. But Helena's not alone, her daughter and friend are with her at home. Both are under our protection."

"They're in danger?"

"Potentially. MacPherson's a threat, but Mrs. Frederic's our main concern. We're worried she'll use Christina to force Helena's hand."

"She wouldn't do that," Myka says, "that's just wrong." Christina shouldn't be a pawn in this, ever.

"There's no limit to what she might do." Morgana glances at Myka in the rearview mirror. The sincerity in her eyes takes Myka aback.

"You and Helena…did you, really? You said you had proof.” Myka slumps back in her seat.

"What do you think?"

"I…I don't know," Myka says, narrowing her eyes.

Morgana mirrors the action. "Everything Helena's done has been to keep you in the clear. Do you think really she'd go that far?"

"No.” Myka looks down at her hands.

"She loves you, Myka. Remember that. Use your doubt wisely."

"What does that mean?"

"Go with your gut."

Myka groans. More cryptic bullshit. Great.

Blocks whiz by as Myka stews in silence. Too many questions swirl in her head.

"We have eyes on you, but stay on your toes. Has anyone at work asked about your trip?"

Myka mulls over her idle conversations. "Just normal stuff, like my show and Thanksgiving."

"Even Vanessa?"

"I've barely seen her."

"Steering clear until there's a verdict, hm. None of this is public yet."

"I know, I've looked." Myka stares at the back of Morgana's head as if that will force Morgana to divulge all. "How long will this last?” she asks when Morgana doesn’t continue.

Morgana drives on until a red light then turns to meet Myka's eyes. "There's no timeline I can give you. But if things go further south—"

"They could get worse?"

“—there's a contingency plan."

Myka scoots forward. "What is it?"

Morgana glances at the light then drives on.

"What about Christina's school? And Kenpo? And drum lessons?"

“All will be handled."

"Steve and Liam? Claudia's neighbors?"

"Claudia will be in touch."

"And if Steve asks what happened? What do I say?"

"You already know."

"I have to tell everyone Helena cheated on me?"

“That's the protocol.”

“There’s no other way?”

“This is the plan. How everyone stays safe."

Acting like a scorned lover is going to be difficult, but if it keeps Helena and Christina safe, she’ll have to do her best. "Do you really work or Interpol?" Myka asks as the car pulls up to the curb.

Morgana nods.

"And the other stuff Claudia dug up on you, is it true?"

"Don't forget your phone," Morgana says peering at the floor over the back of her seat.

Myka grabs it up then looks up at Morgana. Morgana's expression offers no answers, and while Myka could push, she’s unsure she wants an answer.

"Remember what I've said. And be mindful about what you say," Morgana warns. "This is a critical time and we all need to play our parts. Everyone's looking for faults, especially Mrs. Frederic. Be extra careful if she contacts you."

The remark stings like a slap in the face. It's still foreign Mrs. Frederic wants to hurt her and the ones she loves. "They're ok, right? All of them?"

“They’re fine, as far as I know," Morgana says. Her lips lift into a small smile, the first glint of hope Myka's gleaned this whole trip. "I'll be in touch when I can."

"Thank you," Myka says. She exits the car takes a few steps toward her building.

"Forget something?" Morgana calls.

Myka looks down at her hands, she has no bags. She walks back, shaking her head, cursing under her breath. The trunk pops open but the mass of stuff inside no longer seems as pressing. She unloads everything onto the sidewalk and Morgana drives away.

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

There’s no new news as December crawls to a close, exacerbating the dull, constant worry lodged in Myka’s gut. Lying to friends has left her questioning her every move, especially with Abigail, who innately knows when she's bending the truth. She's dreading meeting up with her after the holidays, worried she'll break down and divulge everything.

While she’s home for the holidays, there's little mention of Helena, except for her sister, who begs for details. Unable to stomach the tale in full, she babbles about visas and compromise, until Tracy seems appeased.

On Christmas afternoon, she hides upstairs, sifting through boxes her mom said to "take back with her." Nothing strikes her worth keeping, though lukewarm memories abound, displacing thoughts of Helena's whereabouts momentarily.

She’s weighing a vacation-related trinket’s worth when her phone buzzes, startling her into the present. The number on her screen's oddly long but her gut tells her to answer anyway.

"Hello?"

"Happy Christmas! Did you know they say that instead of Merry Christmas?"

"Christina?" Myka's heart leaps.

"It's Nadolaig Llawen in Welsh. Mom's been teaching me."

"Nadolay…huh?" The last word sounded like a phlemy version of "lawn."

"But on TV, everyone says Happy Christmas, and the Queen gave a speech to address 'her royal subjects!' Mom said I'm one of them, but Aunt Claudia's not because she's American."

"There was a war, back in the day. A revolutionary one. So she's right." Myka sags against the wall. They're ok; they're all ok. This is the best present ever.

"We opened Christmas crackers and mine had a hat, a bracelet, and a joke. Wanna hear the joke?"

"Sure!"

"Who delivers presents to baby sharks at Christmas?"

"I don't know."

"Santa Jaws!" Christina laughs like she doesn't have a care in the world. "Oh, oh, and we made fruitcake! Mom said the store-bought ones were gross but the one we made was kinda gross, too."

"I've never had fruitcake."

"Don't, ever, yuck!"

A mumbly voice sounds in the background. Christina says "Ok."

"Mom wants to talk to you."

"I want to talk to her, too."

"I wish you were here."

"So do I, honey."

"Merrrrry Christmaaaaas!" Christina says, words fading as the phone is passed on.

"Hello, Myka."

Those two words, spoken in that rich, velvety voice, make Myka's knees wobble. She swallows back a sob, pulling herself together, at least enough to reply. "D-Does this mean that you're..."

"Unfortunately not. There's been little movement since we last spoke. All that fanfare for such little gain."

"How are you calling?

"Many strings were pulled. A tantrum may have occurred. One in front of several key officers and not by Christina."

"Oh my." Myka pictures a distraught Helena pleading with suits with Claudia concocting a covert communication scheme in the background.

"You're at your parents, I assume?"

"Yeah."

"Good. You shouldn't be alone."

"Where are you—"

"How are you coping?"

"I'm…" Should she tell her how lying's been eating away at her soul and waking up without them every day is torture? "I'm managing ok, I guess. But it sucks, not knowing where you are or how you are."

"I apologize."

"It's not your…this is my fault. You did this for me.” And the weight of that's still sinking in. "It's just hard being here without you."

"As it is for us."

Myka tears up; bottling up the truth's taking its toll on her resolve. "I, um…I got that residency, in LA. I'm going in February. Unless you think I shouldn't."

Helena sniffs once then clears her throat, she must be affected, too. "Go on. Focus on your work. Move us into the background if possible."

"What if you come back while I'm gone?"

"That's highly unlikely."

"But it's already been a month. How long will this take?"

"As long as it needs to, so we all may be safe."

"I get it, it's just..." Myka pushes a box of out of the way and sits on the bed. "I'm being encouraged, 'for appearances,' to move to LA."

"By whom?"

"By Morgana."

"You've spoken?"

"Briefly. Twice."

“Good. I asked her to watch over you."

"I guess she is. Do you think I should go?"

"If she thinks it's best, perhaps consider it. I know it's a lot to ask."

"I have to move anyway because Charlotte and Bennett are leaving for London. And Vanessa introduced me to a museum there that has a job opening."

"Clever move. If she hands you off, you're no longer her problem. I imagine she's keeping her distance, riddled with guilt."

"Maybe, yeah. I don't know. It's been weird at work in general." Everyone keeps giving her these sad, concerned looks, and she's worried they know more than they're letting on. "A fresh start might be good, but I've never been to LA. I might hate it."

"It's awfully showy."

"You really think I should go? I want to be in New York when you get back, not on the other side of the country."

"Claudia will be back eminently, but Christina and I…"

"'Christina and I' what?"

"Christina and I will be moving on after the holidays."

"Moving on? Where?"

"Somewhere safe."

"You're not safe now?"

"We need somewhere permanent."

"You'll call me when you get there, right?"

"There'll be strict rules once we're settled."

“Settled.” Myka’s stomach sinks. "You mean witness protection."

"Myka—"

"For how long?" Myka yelps. "God, I sound like a broken record."

"We'll miss you terribly if that helps."

“Not really.” Myka drops her head into a hand. "This is bad, Helena. Really bad. What if I never see you again!"

"I won't let that happen."

"How?"

"Let's get through these next few months first."

“Months. Months!" Myka's hand curls into a fist. She looks around for something to hit, but nothing satisfying presents itself. "Does Christina know what's going on?"

"In as much detail as a highly intelligent eight-year-old can."

"She's almost nine, Helena. Nine! I'll miss her birthday. I don't want to miss her birthday."

"Nor do we want you to. You'll be there in spirit, I promise."

"What if—"

"Hold on."

There's mumbling in the background again.

"Please, not yet," Helena says.

More mumbling.

"They're saying I must go. The line's unstable."

As if on cue, the line crackles.

"Helena?"

"I'm here, love."

"Merry Christmas."

"Happy Christma—"

"Helena. Helena!" There's a click, then dead air, but Myka stays on the line. "I love you," she whispers as if the phrase will reach Helena anyway.

"Who ya talking to, sis?" Tracy says from the door.

“Tracy. Hi!" Myka swings around. "How long have you been there?"

"Just ran up. Mom's having a coronary because you haven't come down yet."

"Has she been calling?"

"Like a zillion times."

"Oh."

Tracy eyes Myka's phone. "What was that about?"

"Um..." Myka looks at the phone and lays it face down on the bed. “Abigail’s family's driving her nuts."

"Join the club." Tracy rolls her eyes.

Myka chuckles once, but it borders on a sob, her belly caving too sharply for mirth.

Tracy walks into the room and sits next to Myka. "This is a big one, huh? Got your heart broken, didn't you?"

Myka hangs her head.

"You'll get over it. You always do. I bet there's tons of hot girls in New York." Tracy punches Myka lightly on the arm.

"I might be moving to LA."

“LA? Oooh, that’s new."

“Myka! Tracy! Aunt Marjorie and Uncle Ted are here!" Myka's mom calls.

“Coming!” Tracy yells. “I’ll help you make it through dinner in one piece if you tell me everything after."

Myka answers with a shaky half-smile. “Ok. Deal."

-TBC-

[michaelkayauthor-blog]

Esparanza - A Horror Short

There are all kinds of secrets in this world. I’ve always said it and the things I’ve been through prove it true. Esperanza, Texas is one of them. I’m not supposed to talk about Esperanza, I’ve been promised very bad things will happen if I do, but I’ve never cared much for threats. See, I’m sitting here on a quiet beach in Mexico sipping a margarita with enough Pesos to keep me in cheap tequila for the rest of my natural-born life, but I still owe a certain oil company a big fuck you. What better way than spilling the dirty secrets they paid a lot of money to hide?

I used to work a rig out in Middle of Fucking Nowhere Texas. Fifty miles from the border and three hundred from anything resembling a decent meal. Me and eighty-five other roughnecks spent 9 months out of the year holed up in a shit hole company town named by the foreman in a moment of sarcasm. Esperanza, a town that you won’t find on any maps. Not really a town at all. It was just a bunch of disposable barracks thrown up around a company-owned general store and a ramshackle bar with one dirt road running down the middle.

For three years I lived there, and I was an old-timer by Esperanza’s standards. Not a lot of men came back after Christmas, and each year the company would offer big bonuses to pull in the next crop of fools looking to stash enough away for that little house with the white picket fence by pulling black gold out of a wasteland. Every freshie had his story, the reason he’d signed on to the gig. A woman he wanted to impress, a ranch in Montana he had his eye on, or a kid to put through college. No one came to Esperanza without a reason. No fewer than a dozen men died in the three years before everything went to shit, and I always figured their kids would rather have a father than a death benefit.

Of course, the fact men die for oil isn’t a secret to anybody, so let’s jump straight to the meat of this little tale. June 14th, 2011.

Rumors had been going for months that the company had found something big. Court battles, a challenge by the local native tribe, and a slew of inspections had finally ended in an official announcement. We were about to tap the biggest oil reserve discovered in Texas since the booms of old, and they wanted it done fast. Old wells were capped and half the men reassigned to digging wells and setting up new pumpjacks just forty miles outside town.

I was sitting in Mary’s, the only bar servicing the needs of Esperanza’s lonely drunks when the well collapsed. The whole building shook with the force of it and through the dirty tavern window, I could see a cloud of dust rising up from the direction of the new wells. We were all trained in handling disasters, forced to take a refresher class every six months as part of a compromise with OSHA, and the town set into motion in an instant. I was half-drunk, but I made my way to the company office and pull on an old gas mask that smelled of dust and mold. By the time I got to the waiting truck filled with off-duty oil men, it was already half full.

Most the men were unprepared. They were half asleep and half-dressed, only a handful wearing the masks they needed to make their way through the cloud of dust and debris that filled the air as we raced toward the collapse. Can’t say I was surprised by that, all the training in the world won’t prepare a man to act in a real emergency. Half the kids I rode out with were straight out of school, vocational or otherwise, and the other half were drunk old men hoping this’d be their last year digging holes and putting life and limb on the line so some foreign investors could buy another private jet. I was in the latter group myself, but I hadn’t had time to get a good drunk going. Pretty sure that accidental sobriety saved my life, without it I doubt I would have remembered to grab my own mask.

The truck pulled to a sudden stop as we hit the dust cloud billowing out from the collapse site. Most the boys started hacking up a lung, those of us with masks just sat there looking dumbfounded. It maybe wasn’t the brightest idea to drive right into the middle of a giant cloud of Texas desert sand like we could rush in and save the day. We didn’t make it a foot further, and I dropped to my knees in the bed of the old work truck when the driver high-tailed it out of there, going in reverse halfway back to town. No way I'll ever forget what he said when we got back.

“There’s things out there,” He told me when I ran up to him demanding to know why we stopped, “Things out in the dust.”

I was about to shove his ass back in the seat of that truck. I’m no hero, but I had friends in that collapse, and I wasn’t about to leave them out there if I could help it, and my first thought was that the driver had seen men out there covered in dirt and blood and panicked.

Then, one of the boys at the back of the truck collapsed, blood pouring out of his nose. Two more followed him to the ground. Everyone was in a panic then. I rushed over to the first kid who collapsed, his nose was bleeding and his eyes rolled back in his head so far all I could see was white. I’ll never forget the sight of that twenty-two-year-old boy convulsing in the dirt, his hands clawing uselessly at the ground. I had him by the shoulders trying to hold him still when he bit his own tongue off and sprayed blood all over the lollygaggers standing around in a stupor and across the face of the gas mask I hadn’t took off yet.

No point in sugar-coating it now; that was too much for me. Next thing I remember I was behind one of the barracks puking my guts out. I must’ve run off in a panic myself, though I don’t remember it. After I was done losing my head and my lunch, I made my way back toward the parked truck. The men who’d collapsed had already been carted off to the clinic where a nurse - the only medical expert in hundreds of miles - could have a look at them. A little later the foreman came on over the loudspeakers and told everyone we were officially closed for business until further notice. The foreman mentioned at the end that rescue workers were called in to deal with the collapse. I barely registered it, I was already in bed trying to sleep off the vision of that young man’s tongue flopping around on the ground.

Screaming woke me up from my nightmares that night. It was a woman’s scream, and that narrowed it down pretty fast. I jumped out of bed and ran out into the dark in my boxers and a wife-beater heading toward the clinic. Stepping through the door I saw the blood, it was sprayed across the walls and dripping from a single lamp sitting in the corner, casting the room in a reddish glow. That was the first time I saw one of them.

He was an older man, pretty sure his name was Jack or John or maybe James. Something with a J. He was thin and wiry, a tough old man who had spent his life in one kind of field or another. We’d shared drinks a couple of times, but never talked beyond that. I remembered his eyes, though, bright and clear and sharp. He had been one of the men who collapsed right after we got off the truck. Only it wasn’t really him, I’m certain of that. The thing that was crouched in the middle of the room had grayish skin, even in the dim light, and it stopped gnawing on some soft, dark piece of the nurse’s guts long enough to stare at me. Blood caked his lips, and black pieces of flesh were caught between his crooked teeth.

I backed out of the open door behind me, and he watched me as I went. I could hear men heading toward me. I wasn’t sure what to do, so I slammed the front door to the clinic behind me and leaned against it. The buildings were meant to be temporary, and the clinic was basically a small trailer with some pills and a bed in it. As long as I held that door closed I knew he couldn’t get out.

“What the hell’s going on?” the foreman, Doug Crawford, asked as he got there. Doug’s eyes were wide and deep bags were already settling in. It was just past two in the morning the day after the collapse, June 15th.

Eleven men had shown up with Doug, coming to the source of that first scream. As I sat there on the small steps leading up to the front door of a room where a nurse was being eaten, I tried to come up with the words. I didn’t have to; I was saved that effort by screams that erupted from the other end of town.

I don’t know all the details from there; I know screams rose and were cut short. Doug and I looked at each other for a long time. Finally, he turned away and headed straight for his office.

“You,” I told a kid standing with his mouth open, “You make sure this door stays shut. Nothing comes out.”

He stood there looking at me like I was stupid. I didn’t have time to explain everything to him, and I still wasn’t sure how to start. Instead, I just grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him toward the door. “Hold that shut, that’s an order.” The kid nodded; not that he understood what was going on, but I think he was happy somebody was telling him what he should do.

By the time I caught up to Doug he was already unlocking the gun case in the foreman’s trailer. Officially the guns were there in case we ran into any animals, but rumor around town was that it was just in case any cartel boys decided we were easy pickings this close to the border. Either way, I was glad to see them. Doug fumbled with one of the half dozen rifles as he handed it to me.

I liked Doug, he’d been foreman since the town opened and he was always fair. All that aside he was a Massachusetts boy who had fallen into the job when his business went tits-up. He didn’t really know the desert, and sure as shit didn’t know how to handle a gun. Me, I was born and raised in Texas. Learned how to handle a gun years before I learned to handle a woman. If you ask my ex-wife, I learned to handle guns a damn sight better. I was loaded and ready to head out before Doug finished collecting the rest of the guns. Outside we armed as many men as we could with what we had and told them to sit tight.

“We’re gonna check things out and come back. Try not to accidentally shoot your balls off while we’re gone,” Doug told the men gathered around the trailer.

We made our way across town. No need to go into the gory details though; and there were plenty. Most of the men who went out with us to try and rescue those workers had gone crazy in the night. I saw a twenty-three-year-old kid named Russell chewing on the arm of a sixty-year-old man like he was gnawing on the best ribs he’d ever had. That was the first one I put a bullet in, a single .223 soft point square in the forehead. Doug threw up on his shoes when Russell went down, and if I had anything left in my stomach I might have joined him.

Every man we found alive we sent back to the trailer. All told six men joined the ten we’d left there. The boy I’d left at the clinic was gone when we got back there, and I never saw him again. The trailer was empty, the nurse’s body wasn’t there either.

Mary’s was dark when Doug and I made our way through the half-open door. Mary’s was a converted aircraft hangar with a long bar across one wall and a kitchen in the very back. The lights were dim, and smoke poured out of the swinging door that led to the kitchen. I went to check on the cook and Doug watched the door. The smoke was pouring out of the deep fryer, but the kitchen was empty. I pulled the basket full of charred nuggets that might have been tater tots in another life and turned around to head out.

By the time I heard Doug scream, it was already too late. Mary must’ve been behind the bar, hiding, waiting. Or maybe it takes time, and she just hadn’t woken up yet. You’d have to ask someone else to explain that, Christ knows I wasn’t trying to study the damn things. Either way, I stepped through the swinging door and she was there latched on to Doug’s thigh. Her teeth went right through the denim like it was paper and blood was already pooling on the floor. He lowered his gun and blew her brains out, took her head clean off at that range.

Like I said, I liked Doug. I’m not proud of what came next, but Mary hadn’t been part of the crew that went out to save those men. I could see where Mary had been bitten clean to the bone on her upper arm, though. Maybe she’d bled out, and hadn’t turned until after she was dead. That thought keeps me up at night now, wondering if I had a choice, but it didn’t even occur to me then. Probably wouldn’t have mattered anyway. Doug was down, leaning against the bar with his gun across his legs with blood pouring out.

“Don’t,” Doug was pleading under his breath. He realized before I did what came next.

“If I don’t, you turn into one of those things. You don’t wanna go like that.”

“I don’t want to go at all,” he wheezed.

I don’t remember pulling the trigger, but I must’ve done. I remember Doug’s body, though, leaned up against the bar with his brains decorating the wood paneling behind him.

I stayed in Mary’s that night, and in the morning men in moon suits and guns came in and dragged me away. I was isolated, quarantined, poked, and prodded. I was released August 18th and paid a hefty sum if I agreed to disappear permanently. I might have argued, but some very stern men in very expensive looking suits made it clear that if I tried to go public they’d see to it I ended up a permanent resident at one of Dallas’ fine mental health facilities. Probably wouldn’t be hard to do to a man screaming about a zombie cover up even if these particular suits didn’t seem more like government spooks than oil money men. I did the smart thing and took the cash.

Officially a mine collapsed and released a toxic cloud of methane gas. No one who knows the real story is talking. I’ve tried to get in touch with other survivors, and with Doug’s family. No one is talking, no one will even listen. They’ve either been paid off or intimidated into keeping their mouths shut.

They sold the land to the government as part of a new military testing ground. No satellite images, no planes overhead. Nice and neat.

Or it would be, if not for the rumors you hear from coyotes, men paid to smuggle people into the states, over the past few years. I’ve kept tabs, paid the right people and asked the right questions since I made my way south of the border. Rumor has it that across the border in the land of the free the desert has gotten a lot more dangerous than it used to be. It’s not militias with guns or border patrol agents that has them scared.

It’s Los Muertos. The Dead.

[mostlydaydreaming]

A terrific Gene Kelly article showing off his humility and sense of humor (1947)

You can get a measure of Gene Kelly, the movie star and dancer, by having lunch with him at his favorite bar and grill in New York City, a closet-like eatery on 45th street, east of Broadway.

Harry Kaplan, who owns the grill, and Mae Belsky, the waitress, are particular friends of Kelly’s. He eats at their place regularly when he is in New York. Occasionally he drops in by himself; more often he is accompanied by his red-headed wife Betsy Blair.

Sometimes they order Harry’s 50 cent special, a hot roast beef sandwich with mashed potatoes. Sometimes they settle for frankfurters with sauerkraut.

Mae shuffles toward the booth with steaming cups of coffee. She has a discontented face and an Andy Devine voice. Both are designed to conceal her sensitive and generous disposition.

“Kelly, gimme your autograph,” she says plaintively.

Gene grins, “Why Mae honey, I didn’t know you cared.”

“I don’t,” Mae says. “A two-bit tip whose sitting a few booths down just asked me for it.”

“That’s fame,” says Kelly philosophically. “And to think I played in a movie with Frank Sinatra.”

He Likes The Place

Why does he keep eating at Harry’s

“When I was hoofing in choruses on Broadway,” Gene explains, “Harry put me on the cuff until payday many a time. But that’s not really why I still eat here. I just like the place.”

Kelly is a good natured guy but snobbishness or predjudice in any form infuriates him to the point of incoherence. On this score he has told off some of the biggest names in Hollywood.

He is always on the move, has a physique that can stand wear and tear. Five feet nine inches tall, he looks more like an athlete than a dancer. He once played semi-pro ice hockey and almost took that on as a profession. But dancing offered a better chance to make money.

Gene taught dancing in Pittsburgh and Johnstown until he was 27 years old. The Gene Kelly Dance Studio is still a going concern, now run by his mother and his sister Louise.

“I taught all ages,” says Kelly. “From four to sixty. But the kids were the most fun. They weren’t cluttered up with a lot of bookish theory. They’re response was purely emotional, which is what dancing is. If you want an intellectual response from watching a dancer, you may as well stay at home and read a book.”

No Bragging Here

Kelly’s first picture, once he got out of the Navy, was “Living in a Big Way.” The way he talks about his own dancing in it, brings shudders to the people whose job it is to glamorize him.

“I was a better dancer when I first came to Broadway than I am now,” he says flatly. “I was younger, that’s why. A dancer is like a prize fighter. He gets superannuated pretty early; can’t take it so well in his thirties.”

Kelly gets many of his best ideas for dancing from watching the screen work of the late Douglas Fairbanks Sr. “Doug never made an ungraceful move,” he says admiringly.

Since his electrifying success in “Anchors Aweigh,” The bobby-sox brigade has lifted Kelly up to it’s own gaudy gallery, which he shares with Sinatra and Van Johnson. In Chicago, just before Kelly got out of the Navy, the kids ripped all the shiny buttons from his uniform. Gene returned to New York wearing a coat held together with safety pins and scotch tape.

“Maybe you could help,” he told us. “Write that I am thirty four and I love my wife. Tell them I have a baby four years old, my hair is getting thin, and that romantic scar on my left cheek is the result of a flop on roller skates when I was a kid.”

Some people when they get rich and famous, develop a taste for caviar. Gene sticks to the 45-cent blue plate.

[classic-rock-roller]

1. You get into a heated debate with Nikki. Out of sheer frustration, you raise your hand to slap him. He catches your wrist mid-swing, looks you in the eye and says “wanna try that again, sweetheart?” What do you do?

I’d most likely go beet red and sputter but in my head, all I’d been thinking is probably fuck me or something along those lines. He’d most likely know what I was thinking. 

2. Continued from the last one. While Kevin DuBrow is using your shower, you hear a really loud bang. Upon further investigation, he fell and hurt himself pretty bad. Do you help him or leave him alone?

Well, if he hurt himself really bad, I’d cover my eyes and pass him a towel so that he could at least be able to cover and then I’d try to assess the problem and help him up. 

3. You’re tending bar at a place that all the rockers frequent. Everyone parties it up, usually, but Rick Allen always sits at the bar and talks to you. One day he doesn’t show. Do you hunt him down or wait for tomorrow?

I would probably wait the first night but if he didn’t show up on night number two, I’d go hunt him down. 

4. Out of nowhere, Vince Neil walks into your house, screams OH MY GOD and flops facefirst onto the couch. How do you react?

I’d go, “Awwwm baby what’s wrong?” and sit in my chair like a therapist while he talked it out. 

5. Who would you like to get into a tickle war with?

Nikki 

6. Would you survive a Crue pillow fight?

I’d like to think so, but getting hit in the head with pillows usually causes me headaches so probably not. 

7. Tommy is your roommate and constantly walks around without any clothes on. How do you fix this problem (or do you even consider it a problem?)

I mean I’d be used to it. I guess in the common areas I’d position the furniture just so so that I wouldn’t see anything but if someone came over and he came out in nothing they’d most likely be embarrassed or something and I’d be like “yeah this happens every day. you have to sit in this exact spot to not see anything.”

8. You’re walking home after a night on the town, when a creepy drunk guy starts hitting on you. An equally drunk Duff shows up and says “Get away from my girlfriend, you bastard” How do you respond?

I’d be thankful, and he would be my boyfriend so, but I’d lead him away from the creepy guy so as not to start a fight or a scene. 

9. Who buys a ridiculously small car just to spite their tall friend, who insists THESE ARE NOT FOR PEOPLE

I imagine Vince buying a tiny car and making Tommy and Nikki pile in the back because they're both over six feet.

10. Crue and OG Quiet Riot as Disney characters? Any Film

oh god...uh ok...I imagine Nikki and Tommy being the dogs from the Aristocats just because I can see Tommy going “I’m the leader. I saw when we go. Ok, go.” and then chasing Edgar down the road.  

Kevin DuBrow would be Dodger. He seems like he’s very streetsmart and Dodger is very street smart. 

Mick is...I can imagine him being Roger Radcliffe from 101 dalmatians for some reason. 

Vince would be...Charlotte from the Princess and the Frog

Rudy is Bert from Mary Poppins. I just feel like he would be Bert. 

Drew is...Doug from Up. 

Randy is...Piglet. I don’t know why I just think he’d be Piglet. 

11. GNR decides to have a contest to see who the best artist is, and they pick you as their subject. Who tries their best, who does a terrible job on purpose, and who just draws stick figures?

Axl would try the hardest because of his competitive nature, Steven isn’t good at art so I think he’d do the stick figures because he wouldn’t want to offend me, and Duff and Slash would try to outdo each other in the horrible department, while Izzy tries his best and is secretly the best at it. 

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

1. Would you pull pranks on Mick with Tommy?

2. How long do you think you’d survive babysitting the terror twins?

3. You live out in the country in the middle of nowhere, your closest neighbor is over a mile away. In the middle of the night, you get a knock on the door. When you open it, Randy is standing out on your porch, he says he woke up in the middle of the road right outside your house and has no idea how he got there. The kicker is, he is wearing no clothes and you don’t have any guy clothes in your house. What do you do?

4. You live with Mötley Crüe and Nikki and Tommy like to pull pranks on your all the time. How do you keep them from going too far/leading to indecent exposure?

5. You work in the restaurant business. Kevin DuBrow shows up at your work and starts randomly yelling at your shit boss. What is he saying and what will you do?

6. Bed, Wed, Behead: Jeff LaBar, David Lee Roth, Alex Van Halen 

7. While watching a movie Tommy comes and sits next to you. He whispers in your ear, “The guy behind you is looking at you. Pretend you're my girlfriend.” What do you do?

8. Tom Keifer and Vince Neil have turned into Zombies while Robbin Crosby is bitten and slowly changing. You only have two bullets in your gun. Who do you shoot and who do you bludgeon with a baseball bat?

9. What positions do you think the members of Mötley Crüe, OG Quiet Riot, and GNR would play in Quidditch and for what teams? Why?

10. You live on the same dorm floor as Tommy and Nikki who terrorize you and your roommate, Mick. When you go to the RA, Vince, he says, “Oh Tom and Sixx, but they’re so sweet. They wouldn't hurt flies.” What do you do?

11. You’re in a room with Mötley Crüe when they see a mouse. Who is going to faint, who is going to jump on the couch and scream, who is going to try to get it and then chicken out? Which leaves you to get the mouse.          

@osbournebemydaddy, your move.