#for context i am now sharing my bathroom/the main bathroom of the house with my sister and niece

[tamayokny]

my dad asked me if i locked the bathroom door when i'm in there. he's a couple months late to the party but yes? sometimes people in thw household don't check before opening the door and i would like a couple moments of privacy ffs!!

[blossom-adventures]

Kingsglaive Legends 2023! Organised by @calling4glaives

Day 2: AU & Life After (Feat. Luche & Nyx, Pelna, Crowe, Libertus and Drautos)

I’m classing this as an AU even though it will appear in my fic, because I am intending most of the Glaive to survive… so it’s kind of AU but most of the main plot of the game and film still happens

Little context: at the start of The Long Night, Cor and Titus buy a penthouse apartment in Lestallum and they get bunk beds to accommodate their close friends and “family” so that they all have a safe place to live and don’t have to worry about accommodation themselves… also there’s a little teaser to Violet and Nyx’s relationship ☺️🥰

A year into The Long Night

Luche climbed the stairs to the apartment he shared with the rest of the Glaive, he’d just got back to Lestallum after a supply run.

He unlocked the door and pushed it open, being hit by the strong smells of curry being prepared in the kitchen, Libertus was working with Crowe to prepare the evening meal for everyone, there were a lot of people living in this apartment, so Libertus was hard at work, throwing various spices into the large 2 handled pan, while Crowe was carving up the Dualhorn steaks into bite sized cubes.

“Hey, Luche!” Nyx stepped out the bathroom, he had clearly just had a shower, “how’d your supply run go?”

“Ok, not great, we didn’t get much, but I did manage to bring back some more resources for the Power Station, so it wasn’t a complete loss” Nyx clapped him on the shoulder while Luche looked around, it seemed to him that they were the only ones in the large apartment at the moment. “Where is everyone?”

“Pelna was called to help Monica with some communication problems, Drautos and Cor had a meeting with Holly, Violet was helping Iris at her shop and the Kings friends are still out on a mission, most of them will be back soon” Nyx pointed over his shoulder to the bathroom, “we’ve still got some hot water and you’ve got time for a shower if you want, dinner is probably going to be another hour or so”

By the time Luche had showered and changed most of the others who lived in the apartment had arrived; Titus was now helping Libertus and Crowe prepare dinner, Cor was discussing something with Pelna and Iris was bouncing her nephew on her knee while Nyx and Violet sat together on the opposite sofa, Violet saw Luche leave the bathroom and gave him a smile.

Luche had been so unsure about the apartment at first, the idea of so many people sharing a space was bound to cause issues, but he’d been wrong, so far there had been no problems, the people who could cook took it in turns to cook the evening meals, and if they needed help, others would step up, but there was never any arguments or shouting. Everyone offered to help Violet and Nyx with their son if he was crying, or they offered to babysit him, like Iris was doing now, just to give them an hour or 2 to themselves. The house work was everyone’s responsibility, you cleaned up after yourself, it was only fair, and everyone was responsible for their own belongings.

Luche sat down next to Iris and reached over to her nephew, who was laughing and clapping every time she bounced her knee, Luche tickled him under his chin and he squealed happily before he took hold of Luche’s finger and looked at him, he had the same rich amber eyes as his mother and aunt but he had his fathers hair colour; an unkempt tuft of slate grey hair covered the top of his head.

“You always grab my finger when I do that” Luche spoke to the baby boy, who cooed in response

“He likes you Luche” Iris said “isn’t that right!” She said and she gave her nephew a tickle, now that his attention was back on her she began pulling faces, making him laugh even more than before.

Luche leant back on the sofa and looked at the group, Titus, Lib and Crowe were working together in the kitchen and Cor and Pelna were joining them on the sofas now that their discussion was done, they had become a family over the year they’d been living together and although times were much harder now, Luche wouldn’t change it for anything

[delicioussshame]

Have more of Luo Binghe trying to rationalise buying his love interest.

Luo Binghe’s constant pacing is only interrupted by Shen-laoshi’s arrival.

From the look of it, his teacher is too occupied with taking in Luo Binghe’s penthouse to spare him much attention, which is perfect. It leaves him completely free to take in Shen-laoshi himself.

He hadn’t been wrong. Shen-laoshi is so thin he’s verging on unhealthy. The result of too much work and not enough home-cooked food, surely. Luo Binghe would be worried if he didn’t know it wouldn’t last. Shen-laoshi had always eaten every dish Luo Binghe used to bring to his tutoring sessions, the only thanks he could afford at the time, with every sign of enjoyment. Luo Binghe fully intends to rekindle that tradition.

“This is a bad idea.”

Luo Binghe is too fast; he steals Shen-laoshi’s small luggage before he can take it back. “Am I such a bad host that Shen-laoshi won’t even give me a chance to show him hospitality? He should at least let me serve him the meal I prepared for him. It would be a shame for the food to go to waste.”

He doesn’t smile when Shen-laoshi visibly hesitates. “Binghe still cooks? Doesn’t he have people for that?”

Luo Binghe would never let strangers handle his food in his own home. “I do. I’ve always enjoyed cooking, especially for others. It’ll be a pleasure to do so again.” It’s not a lie. He does enjoy cooking for others, as long as he cares about those others. The people he holds dear are just very few.

Shen-laoshi throws a longing glance at the door, but slumps in defeat. “Well, I guess it would be rude not to at least stay for dinner then.”

“And Shen-laoshi is never rude.” Luo Binghe starts for his room. “Here, I’ll put your baggage away.”

Shen-laoshi follows him in a hurry. “Binghe, wait! Where are you going?”

Could he settle Shen-laoshi somewhere less provocative than in his own bedroom? Yes, he could have. He’d thought about it. The last thing he wanted was to spook Shen-laoshi away. He does want to take his time, in his own way.

But he knows his teacher. He’d made Luo Binghe’s adolescence hell with his complete obliviousness to his student’s shamefully evident crush. If his interest is too subtle, Shen-laoshi will fool himself into thinking it’s platonic, which it never was.

Shen-laoshi freezes when he enters a room he has to recognise as Luo Binghe’s. “Binghe…”

Luo Binghe ignores him in favor of setting the luggage down beside a dresser. “This is yours. I did say you didn’t have to bring anything if you didn’t want to, so there are clothes in it and in the closet. Take whatever you want.” Would he love to see Shen-laoshi leaves his bathroom with wet hair dripping down on a shirt Luo Binghe had bought him? Why yes, he would very much enjoy that. Also, Shen-laoshi deserves better than the worn garments he was usually seen in.

But if it’s too much, too fast, he’ll settle for Shen-laoshi’s own clothes stored in his home, like they belonged there.

Shen-laoshi peeks into the closet gingerly. “…Binghe, that’s way too much.”

It is not. “It’s nothing less than Laoshi deserves.”

Shen-laoshi shakes his head. “I don’t know what story you’ve constructed about me, but Binghe must be confused about something. What I have ever done for you to think this all makes sense?”

Luo Binghe could spend hours explaining to Shen-laoshi how lonely he’d been as a child. Struggling to adjust after his mother’s death, terribly aware that what little money she left him wouldn’t last forever, the soothing presence of Shen-laoshi, the only adult willing to listen to him, had been a lifeline he’d needed more than anything. He’d promised himself he’d be the same for him, when he would be able to.

He could, but he’s afraid he’ll scare Shen-laoshi away. He’s been told before he can be a bit… intense. “Shen-laoshi will understand in time. Meanwhile, why doesn’t he follow me to the dining room? Now that you’re here, we should catch up properly. There is so much I want to share with him!” The urge to reach for him, to put a hand on his back or his arm to guide him makes itself known, but he restrains himself. Patience. He can’t spook his teacher, or he’ll run.

Shen-laoshi doesn’t fight the suggestion, meekly following along.

Dinner is nice and uncomplicated. Luo Binghe deliberately keeps conversation light, retreating to familiar grounds, his studies. After all, Shen-laoshi is the only reason Luo Binghe managed to ace the required entrance test. He should be made aware of the results of his hard work.

As he prattles on, he gets to see Shen-laoshi’s walls fall, piece by piece, as he forgets why he’s here to only focus on Luo Binghe’s words. Luo Binghe knows Shen-laoshi has always been fond of him. With insight, he can tell he was favored, maybe more than a teacher should favor one of his students. As long as Shen-laoshi can think of Luo Binghe as that student of his, he’ll happily let himself be entertained.

If he had time, he would have invited Shen-laoshi over to such dinners. He’d have taken him out to good restaurants. He’d have visited museums with him, taken him shopping, walked around the city by his side until Shen-laoshi would have accepted him, and then he would have confessed.

But that would have meant letting the object of his affection struggle through another summer of part-time jobs, tutoring gigs and calligraphy lessons that barely paid the rent. Shen-laoshi would have been stretched even thinner.

Luo Binghe couldn’t allow it.

He waves Shen-laoshi away after dinner, claiming work he has to finish before tomorrow. He, of course, would prefer to spend the rest of the evening with him, but the point of this manoeuvre is to let Shen-laoshi discover his house by himself. It’s a show of trust, demonstrating he has nothing to hide from his teacher.

It’s also a chance for him to find the room Luo Binghe always thought of as his.

He believes it will be obvious. The rest of the house has been professionally decorated, all tasteful whites with the occasional colorful accent.

Shen-laoshi’s study is all soft green and rosewood furniture, a more antiquated style Luo Binghe had always associated with his teacher. Nothing like the modern feel of the rest of the house. There are shelves, some stocked with classic literature, others empty, waiting for their proper owner to fill them as he saw fit. A fully furnished desk with the latest tech. A soft, huge couch Luo Binghe made sure he could sleep on comfortably if he wanted to. Large windows letting in the sun in the morning. A few plants Luo Binghe diligently watered so that they’d be radiant when Shen-laoshi first saw them.

A space just for him.

Luo Binghe thrills as he heard Shen-laoshi putters around the house, the muffled sounds of his steps on the hardwood floor or of doors opening and closing softly obliterating the silence he’s used to, reminding him each time that this is real, that Shen-laoshi really is here with him. It’s a good thing the work he has to do isn’t too demanding, because he could never focus in this state of elation.

He hopes his teacher likes the place, though he’d move in a heartbeat if Shen-laoshi found it lacking in any way.

After a while, the sounds stop. Luo Binghe supposes he found the study.

When, a few hours later, he closes his laptop for good, he does find Shen-laoshi sitting on the couch, engrossed in one of the books.

He smiles. The sight of Shen-laoshi making himself home here is very pleasing to his more possessive tendencies. “I see Shen-laoshi have found a way to entertain himself.”

Shen-laoshi startles. “Binghe!” He sets the book down. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude, it’s just-“

Luo Binghe cuts him off. “Shen-laoshi has done nothing wrong. All that is mine is his, and these books were always intended for him.” He opens the desk’s drawer and hands him the card. “He is welcome to purchase any book he wants to read, or anything else he lacks. He doesn’t have to restrain himself.”

The credit card is a crass reminder of their supposed arrangement, but there is no way around it. Luo Binghe wants Shen-laoshi to get all he desires, and money facilitates that process.

Shen-laoshi doesn’t take the card. “Binghe, I can’t accept this. This isn’t right.”

Luo Binghe is getting quite tired of Shen-laoshi’s refusals, no matter how expected they were. “Please do. It would make me so happy to know Shen-laoshi is provided for, for once. But it is getting late.” Luo Binghe settles the card back into the drawer, ostentatiously, so that Shen-laoshi knows where to find it tomorrow, when he’s alone in Luo Binghe’s apartment and wondering how to spend his time. Once he’s done, he offers Shen-laoshi his hand, keeping his face blank and his tone simply pleasant. “Will Shen-laoshi turn in for the night?”

He sees Shen-laoshi tense as it becomes impossible for him not to worry about what will be coming next.

The silence stretches on.

Luo Binghe breaks first. “Shen-laoshi doesn’t have to worry. He needs to recuperate. I wouldn’t keep him from his sleep.”

The hand finally settling in his still is a bit unsure.

Luo Binghe decides to ignore it, preferring to focus on its warmth and the fluttering feeling of holding Shen-laoshi’s hand.

“Binghe shouldn’t call me Laoshi in this context. It’s… He shouldn’t.”

“What should I call him, then?”

“My name, simply. Shen Yuan.”

Shen Yuan.

While to Luo Binghe, Shen Yuan will always be his teacher first, he can definitely learn to love the sound of his name. “Shen Yuan it is.”

Luo Binghe lets Shen Yuan uses the main bathroom while he uses a guest’s, and tries to steel himself for what will be coming next.

He doesn’t manage it.

Even if the pajamas Shen-laoshi are wearing offer him full coverage to the point of prudishness, it’s still Shen-laoshi standing by his bed, waiting for him to signal how to proceed.

Luo Binghe bites his tongue until he tastes blood as he himself settles down, and pats the space besides his.

There is no relaxation in either of them, though, Luo Binghe expects, for very different reasons. From this close, he can smell his soap on Shen Yuan’s skin. He can hear the faster-than-average rhythm of his breath. He can feel the warmth of his body.

But he can’t reach for it.

He keeps his antsy hands to himself, instead very deliberately turning off the lights. “Good night, Laoshi. Please rest well.” He needs it.

He doesn’t expect an answer, but the soft “Good night, Binghe,” he gets in response ensures that when he finally falls asleep, he does so with a smile on his face.

[jaskierswolf]

The Grass is Greener Pt.1/3

Summary: Jaskier's mother is coming to stay and his garden is an absolute mess and his lawn mower has seen better days... luckily for him his ridiculously hot neighbour is there to lend a hand. 

Geraskier

CW: Shitty parents being shitty.

(Prompted by @alwenarin and based on this post by @infinite-mirrors)

________

Jaskier stared forlornly out at his garden. His mother was due to come over on her yearly visit and the next few days of his life were going to be hell. His mother was the sort to blast into his life like a fucking tornado, pull apart everything that he had built for himself and leave him broken, shattered into a thousand shards of glass. He wasn’t even sure why he still let her in, probably some childhood trauma that meant he was desperate to please her, to make her proud, but what did he know? He wasn’t a therapist, much to her displeasure. Anything would have been better in her eyes than a musician and occasional bartender.

He didn’t make much money. His band hadn’t taken off yet and only really had a small but dedicated following online that donated pocket money in exchange for small previews of new tracks or little poems that could be given to lovers or in greetings cards. Most of his rent was paid for in the tips he made at the bar. He was lucky to have the house at all really. He shared it with his housemates: Priscilla, his bandmate and ex, Essi, her younger sister, Valdo Marx, his former schoolmate, professional rival and absolutely twat face who lurked in his attic room and never really came out to talk to them, and last but not least, Regis, a kind scholarly type who had been living in the house before the other rooms had become available and most importantly made excellent homemade gin.

Said housemates had agreed to fuck off for the weekend so he could pretend that the house was his in a last ditched attempt win over his mother.

Of course, none of them had helped to tidy up before leaving and he’d spent the last twenty-four hours deep cleaning the house, and bolting the door to Regis’s bathroom shut. The gin in the bathtub wasn’t ready to bottle yet and he wasn’t exactly going to drain the tub of his elixir. He’d moved the furniture in his friend’s rooms around enough to make it look like they weren’t extra bedrooms, more… rooms that just happened to have beds in case he had company. Priscilla’s room now resembled a music room, Essi’s room had been turned into a makeshift study, Valdo’s he’d left a mess and claimed it was just an attic, and Regis’s room was sort of a library if you squinted hard enough.

That just left the garden.

“Bollocks!” He moaned.

None of them really cared much about the garden, apart from the box down the end which housed Regis’s herb garden for cooking. The rest of the garden a mess. The grass was practically a wild meadow filled with weeds. He quite liked it. He enjoyed looking at the dandelions, daisies and buttercups but his mother would have a fit.

Where was he even going to start?

Lawnmower. They must have one. He stumbled through his back door onto the patio and made his way to the shed that honestly barely lived up to its name. It was falling apart and leaked horrendously, but luckily inside was one rusty looking lawnmower.

“Bingo!” He grinned and pulled the mower out of the shed. It was heavier than it looked but luckily Jaskier was also stronger than he looked. Even so he wasn’t entirely how he was going to start the damn thing.

Perhaps Geralt would know…

Fuck.

Geralt.

Geralt had just adopted a newborn baby. Her name was Ciri. Most of the time Geralt just called her ‘Cub’ which Jaskier found to be incredibly endearing, a fact that had nothing to do with his teensy little crush on the mechanic.

He pulled up Geralt’s number in his phone. He’d been delighted when Geralt had given him his number, yes maybe it was because Jaskier kept turning up at Geralt’s doorstep after shifts at work because he’d forgotten his keys and none of his bastard housemates were answering the door and Geralt just happened to have a spare key, but the main thing is he had Geralt’s number.

After that they’d conversed a few times over text. Mostly if one of them was running to the shops and wanted to know if the other needed anything. Occasionally Geralt would text to ask Jaskier if he could watch Ciri for a short while if Geralt needed to leave the house. Once Geralt had even given him a lift to work because Jaskier’s bike had gotten a flat tire and he didn’t have enough time to walk all the way to the bar. So they weren’t exactly strangers but he wouldn’t really call them friends.

In fact Geralt was still listed as Hot Neighbour in his phone. He meant to change it, it was just that you couldn’t argue with the truth. Geralt was his hot neighbour.

 J —Hey Geralt! Is it ok if I mow my lawn? I don’t want to wake Ciri if she’s asleep. :)

He stared at his phone intently until about an eternity later, Geralt replied.

 G — The child must not be an obstacle.

Jaskier snorted as he read the response. He read it aloud a couple of times trying to mimic Geralt’s rough husky voice and managed to give himself the giggles.

His phone buzzed again.

 G — I can hear you laughing at me.

“Oh shit!” He almost dropped his phone and his cheeks felt like they were on fire. “Sorry Geralt!” He called into the air.

 G— Hmm.

Jaskier scoffed. Who text back “Hmm”? And why did Jaskier still find that so attractive?

But never mind that! He had the green light. Operation Finally Make His Mother Proud, or FMHMP for short, and yes you could absolutely say that if you tried hard enough, was go! He was going to mow the lawn like a proper adult!

He tried for about six years to turn the mower on but without any success. He kicked the lawnmower in frustration and the whole damned thing fell apart.

“Fuck it!” He yelled as he hopped about on his good foot that hadn’t been battered by lawnmower.

He sulked back into the house and flopped down dramatically on the sofa. It was over. His mother was going to hate him and he would die as a disgrace to the Pankratz name and the Lettenhove estate.

He was half way through his pity party when the doorbell rang. He grabbed his phone to check the time. Strange, his mother wasn’t due for another three hours.

“What the fuck?” He mused and padded over to the door. To his surprise Geralt was standing on his doorstep with Ciri tucked safely into a baby sling on his chest and behind him was a shiny lawnmower. “Ah. Geralt!” He grinned.

Geralt turned to the lawnmower and back to him. “Thought you might need some help.”

Jaskier blushed. “Right. Yes. Of course. Come on in!” He stood back to let Geralt through. “Oh, actually do you want to come round the side gate? The lawnmower probably shouldn’t come through the house. I’ve just cleaned up.”

Geralt grunted but followed Jaskier around the side of the house and into the back garden.

“What the fuck, Jaskier?” He grumbled when he saw the state of the lawn. “I thought you said you were mowing the lawn, not trying to find it!”

“Ah, yes, well. That is an excellent point.” Jaskier stammered, pulling at the hem of his shirt nervously. “You see my mother is visiting.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow. “Your mother, how old are you? Twelve?”

Jaskier gaped at his neighbour. “Geralt!” He whined. “I’m twenty-nine! Mother is just a cow.”

“Hmm. Fine. Let’s do this.” Geralt pulled Ciri gently out of her sling and passed her to Jaskier. “Hold her. I need to grab her stuff. This will take longer than I thought.”

“Oh hang on!” Jaskier called after Geralt but it was too late and Ciri began to cry. “Umm. There there.” He cooed and rocked her gently. “Shall I sing you a lullaby, cub?”

She didn’t answer, babies rarely did, so he decided a lullaby would be fine and began to sing in hushed tones as he rocked her in his arms. Geralt wasn’t long but he seemed surprise to come back to Jaskier rocking his daughter to sleep in his arms.

“Hmm. She likes you.” Geralt noted.

He was carrying Ciri’s car seat and a bag was slung over his shoulder. In his other hand was a large electric contraption with some nasty blades at the end. He dumped the scary looking monster and placed the travel cot on the patio table. Once Ciri was safely asleep they got to work.

Or more accurately, Geralt got to work. Jaskier mostly just watched and made sure Geralt had all the refreshments he needed. He also kept the conversation going by listing all the grievances his mother had with him from her last visit, Geralt hummed and grunted but didn’t offer much in return but it didn’t matter. Jaskier was more than capable of holding an entire conversation by himself.

“And then she starts wittering on about how my sister has a perfect husband and a darling little angel.” Jaskier moaned. “So of course then it’s ‘Julian why don’t you have a wife?’”

“Julian?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier glared at his neighbour. “Don’t ever call me that, I beg of you.”

Geralt shrugged. “I won’t. Just asking.”

“And I tell her, for the hundredth time, to say partner or spouse or lover or you know… not gender specific because she knows! Geralt! She knows. I don’t know how many times I have to tell her.” Jaskier sighed. “Oh, umm I’m bisexual just to give you some context there.”

Geralt nodded. “Right.”

“So of course she starts complaining that I always have to make everything gay, and I’m like… ‘Mother, I am gay!’” Jaskier announced with wide arms.

Geralt looked up at him, pausing halfway down the lawn that was now starting to resemble a lawn. “So why not tell her you’re seeing someone?” He asked. “Solve both problems if you say it’s a guy.”

Jaskier put his hands on his hips and tilted his head. “Yeah.” He scoffed. “Until she asks to meet him.”

Geralt shrugged. “I could do it.”

Jaskier’s heart jumped in his chest. “You what? Geralt!”

“My ex has been bothering me about finding someone.” He grumbled. “Two birds, One stone.”

Jaskier narrowed his eyes at his insanely hot neighbour who was now apparently suggesting they… fake date??

“What exactly are you suggesting here?” Jaskier asked slowly. “You pretend to be my boyfriend for my mother’s visit and we what? Send a few photos to your ex to prove you’re moving on?”

Geralt smirked. “As long as you promise not to fall in love with me.”

Jaskier’s jaw dropped.

Well fuck. _______

Next

[not-reagan]

milf: man i love forests

pairing: deforester boo seungkwan x frat boy mirror demon han jisung (side pairing reagan x rainbow)

genre: crack, strangers to friends to lovers, non-idol au

warnings: cursing, brief supernatural elements, i don’t know if this applies but all lcase, and i listened to christmas music and abba while writing this

word count: 2.7k

authors note: happy birthday @miyuuraiura !! i am so sorry about this monstrosity being your birthday gift but you asked for it so it's your fault entirely. i was gonna include some context on this story for those who are not rainbow and i but actually i don't think i will.

seungkwan did what he could to get by. he loved nature, he really did, but sometimes you have to make moral sacrifices to survive. he was a college kid strapped for cash, and when he saw a sign reading “GET RICH QUICK, INVEST IN DEFORESTATION” in the summer going into his freshmen year, he jumped at the opportunity. sure, he would have rather been a freelance singer, hired for bar-mitzvahs and children's parties, but that job market was flooded at the moment.

jisung, on the other hand, had no care for nature. actually, he didn't care for any human things, apart from “banging parties, booze, the boys™, and bitches”. he hated quite a bit about earth, the worst of all to him being college. as a demon, he had no reason to attend university, but after he was summoned in the bathroom of a frat house by the school’s power couple; rainbow and reagan, he felt obliged to follow the two around and keep them company.

for seungkwan, his main job rarely required in person work. he usually just chose plots of land to demolish, and sent plans to local managers. the only time he actually had to knock down any trees himself was during his summer break. he has a part time job of course, but it didn't provide him enough cash to survive. for someone with a job as a deforester, he truly did do what he could to save the environment. he joined his schools environmental club, becoming vice president his sophomore year because of his work with them. he kept his job a secret, not even telling his parents where the influx of cash was coming from. he kept a low profile and went through the motions of life. he didn't have much of a social life, with his small amount of friends being from the environmental club.

han jisung found joy in witnessing his professors and fellow students lose their minds over his lack of effort in class. he did the bare minimum and still passed with flying colors. most of all, it angered his seatmate in earth science, who happened to be none other than boo seungkwan. seungkwan was a hard worker in everything he did, particularly in school. he didn't get the best grades, but by no means was he the worst. averaging a steady B+, seungkwan spent most of his nights studying or working, rarely going to parties and enjoying himself only through one person karaoke rooms.

this fact upset jisung. he didn't know why, but seeing seungkwan so tired every day made him feel sad(? jisung wasn't sure what it made him feel. it was an emotion he had never experienced before. rainbow told him it meant he had a crush. to this he threw an empty soda can at them). not to mention seungkwan’s upsetting karaoke addiction, which he knew all about the danger of because of reagan, who spent most of her weekends drunk and singing. jisung didn’t know why he took such a liking to seungkwan. what he did know was that he was ecstatic to find that they would be paired together for a project. a project that required quite a bit of teamwork, and a lot of after school work sessions.

seungkwan liked to think that he didn’t hate anyone. he hated evil people, like hitler and stalin and jyp, but he didn’t really hate anyone besides the worst of the worst. that was until he experienced jisung. he wasn’t sure why jisung always talked to him when he was trying to take notes in class. he especially wasn’t sure why he was so excited to be partnered up together for the project that was worth 25% of their grade. seungkwan was less than happy to have to cooperate with jisung for an extended period of time, and he was not looking forward to letting him into his dorm room, or going anywhere near jisung’s frat house. seungkwan had no idea what he was pushed into.

they planned to meet at the cafe on campus at 5:00 pm after class. seungkwan was less than happy. jisung was thrilled. when jisung arrived seungkwan was sitting at a table drinking an americano and working on an english essay. he wasn't sure how to approach him, slowly walked closer before tapping on his shoulder. seungkwan jolted in his seat.

“jesus fuck jisung. you scared the crap out of me,” seungkwan gasped. jisung’s ears flushed as he brought his hand to the back if his neck.

“sorry,” he started, pausing for a second before starting again, “why don't we get started?”. he swung his bag down to the ground as he took a seat. seungkwan offered a small, non genuine smile before pulling out the project’s guidelines.

“let's try to finish this as quickly as possible. im pretty busy and don't have much time to fool around.” seungkwan said. jisung felt his heart drop. did seungkwan really think that little of him? granted, he always dozed off in class but he got his work done on time and in an orderly fashion. he felt his mind begin to wander. if seungkwan felt this way about him now, how would he feel when he found out that jisung was a demon. would seungkwan start to like him if he knew him better? jisung couldn't figure out why he cared so much about how seungkwan perceived him. he had never had an issue with others opinions of him before, so what made seungkwan so different? for some reason, jisung felt the need to connect with seungkwan. if not for himself, then at least to help him let loose.

after working silently on each of their portions of the projects for 3 hours, jisung finally spoke up. “do you want to maybe come to my party next month? well, it's not my party, it's for rainbow’s birthday. i know you're not one for social interaction but it would be cool to see you there. i’ll give you the details if-”

“i’d love to go,” seungkwan cut off jisung’s rambling. to be honest, he wasn't exactly sure what he was agreeing to, but he knew it would shut jisung up, and seungkwan valued his peace and quiet. part of him also just felt downright bad for the other. he seemed to be trying awfully hard to become friends with seungkwan, and he wouldn’t admit it, seungkwan had started to warm up to the boy. he really wasn’t as much of an issue as he had thought before, and was actually really respectful of seungkwan’s wishes. maybe i’ll give him a chance, seungkwan thought before going back to his work.

over the next month, jisung and seungkwan continued meeting to work on their project. seungkwan was less short with the other, and jisung was still red faced every time seungkwan decided to talk to him, which became quite frequently over the next few weeks. jisung was starting to realize that the feelings he had for seungkwan were not simply platonic, and that he didn’t just want to be friends with him. with the help of rainbow and reagan, he had come to the conclusion that he really, really liked seungkwan, and that he was going to do something about it. remembering that he had invited seungkwan to the party, he devised a plan to not only tell seungkwan about his whole “i’m actually a demon” thing, but also about his true feelings. it wouldn't be easy, but it was what he had to do.

a month later, seungkwan still wasn’t exactly sure why he had agreed to go to jisungs frat house at 9:00 pm on a saturday night. yet there he was, standing on the front porch of a large house, wondering if he should bite the bullet and walk in, or spare himself and leave right then. he didn't get a choice, however, as rainbow and reagan stepped out of the house giggling while clutching onto each other. both stopped in their tracks when they saw seungkwan. the couple and seungkwan stared at each other for a good minute before seungkwan shook himself from his trance.

“hey rainbow!” seungkwan started, “and reagan too. i know we aren’t super close, but jisung invited me and i thought i’d just drop by and wish you a happy birthday.” he passed her a birthday card filled with $50 bucks and then turned to leave. “i’ll leave you guys now. have a great birthday!” before seungkwan could get very far, however, rainbow grabbed him by the arm.

“hey, i’d love if you’d stay! at least go say hi to jisung. i’m sure he’d like to see you,” she said, silently making note to have jisung pay her back for being a great wingwoman.

“he’s probably hiding in the second floor bathroom. if you don't see him in there, just say his name three times in front of the mirror. he’ll appear.” reagan explained. seungkwan thought she was joking. how wrong he was.

following his entrance to the house, he had to refuse not one, not two, but three different people who were looking to give him bottles or cups of something which seungkwan presumed to be various types of alcohol. navigating through the house was difficult, reaching the stairs to the second floor only after running into numerous people borderline fucking on two large couches in the living room, a smoke circle taking place in what seungkwan assumed to be a dining room, and a very aggressive makeout session against a wall. once he finally reached the second floor, he had some difficulty finding the bathroom, accidentally walking in on reagan and rainbow, who had miraculously made it upstairs faster than he had.

“if you don’t stop shitting constantly i am going to break up with you! also, stop taking feet pics! it’s weird!” he heard rainbow shout.

“at least i can eat seafood! how does it make your head hurt? you’re the weakest link! that fucking seafood platter was delicious. and you know what, i’m glad i didn’t have to share it with you!” reagan responded. seungkwan quickly shut the door, not wanting to get involved in whatever drunken argument was going on there. after a bit more searching, he finally stumbled across the right room. knocking first to see if anyone was in there, he entered, and to his surprise, nobody was there. jisung was nowhere to be seen. seungkwan reviewed his options. he could a) leave the party, or b) continue to look around the packed house. but there was another option. he thought about it for a second.

“what's the harm in trying,” seungkwan thought out loud, before staring directly into the mirror.

“han jisung, han jisung, han jisung.”

nothing happened. that's what seungkwan thought, until a minute later the lights in the bathroom flickered off and the mirror began to glow. “what. the. fuck,” seungkwan managed to squeak out before falling backwards into the tub. first a leg emerged, then two arms, and finally the rest of jisung’s body.

“i feel like the genie in aladin every time i have to get into a fucking mirror,” jisung complained before seeing seungkwan toppled over. to that view, he jumped down off the counter and moved to help him up. seungkwan, aside from falling, seemed to be reacting well to the whole situation, at least in the sense that instead of freaking out he seemed to be in a state of shock. jisung took this as a good sign, and lifted the motionless body up onto the toilet seat.

“hey seungkwan, you there?” jisung waved his hand in front of seungkwan's face as he slowly came to his senses.

“what kind of twisted party trick was that?” seungkwan asked, pretty seriously. jisung just laughed.

“you summoned me from the mirror. i’m like a funny version of michael jackson except i'm a demon and not a man in the mirror.” jisung explained. seungkwan just stared. “are you ok kwan? do you want me to get you some water?”

“it was… kind of sick.” seungkwan stated. he didn't know why he wasn't scared. under any other circumstance like this one, he probably would have shit his pants. for some reason he felt comfortable around jisung. he felt warm. he felt seen. it was something he hadn't felt before. that's when he realized. he wondered why it took himself to long to figure it out. he never hated jisung. he just didn't know what to do with the fact that he made him feel special, and that he felt as though he belonged when they were together. it had hit him why he was so nervous the whole night, why he had wanted to make such a good impression, and why he was willing to embarrass himself by calling out jisungs name as opposed to just choosing to go home. it was because he loved him.

“can i tell you something?” both of the boys said at the same time. jisung giggled and seungkwan flushed red. **authors note! bonus starts here**

“you first,” seungkwan offered. he wasn't exactly sure he would be able to make it through a sentence without getting any redder than he already was.

jisung took this opportunity to finally get his true feelings out into the air, “i like you… uhh like, i like like you. i have since we first became seatmates. well, i think that's when i've liked you since. i knew whe-”

“you're rambling again,” seungkwan told him. jisung flushed a dark shade of pink. “it's a habit of yours. i think it's cute actually.” seungkwan wasn't sure where his sudden surge of confidence came from, but he was glad it came. he was standing up now, holding jisungs hands in his. jisungs heart was racing a mile a minute as he looked down at their intertwined hands and them back up, catching seungkwan looking directly at his lips. “can… can i kiss you?” seungkwan stuttered out. jisung couldn't find his words, so he opted to just nod.

when their lips connected, seungkwan could have sworn he heard fireworks. he did later find out that someone was setting off a firework in the back yard, but it was the thought that counted. their lips melted together perfectly, and seungkwan wondered why it took him so long to admit his feelings to himself. he could have been kissing jisung for a month before this.

once they finally parted, seungkwan spoke softly, “i like you too. i think that's pretty obvious now but just in case you didn't know.” jisung had the dumbest, most confused face on, and seungkwan had the brightest smile he'd ever had. seungkwan had rendered jisung speechless, for once in his life. not long after, they started kissing again, content with their emotions and their new relationship.

seungkwan was never one to believe that good things were permanent. he was overdramatic, stubborn, and hated interacting with people outside his small social circle. that was until han jisung came along. he was starting to think that maybe, just maybe, he could let someone else into his life.

jisung was a simple man. well, not a man, but he was simple nonetheless. he liked banging parties, booze, the boys™, and bitches. well maybe there was one more thing he liked. he knew for sure he liked boo seungkwan. maybe he loved him. maybe seungkwan even felt the same way.

-fin

**BONUS**

reagan and rainbow leaned up against the door to eavesdrop on their matchmaking work.

“holy shit!” reagan gasped.

“what is it?? tell me what happened. you're hogging up the door!” rainbow hissed.

“our boy is so grown up,” reagan pretended to cry. “put your goddamn ear up here.” rainbow felt her ear connect with the cold door just as jisung confessed his feelings.

“i like you… uhh like, i like like you. i have since we first became seatmates. well, i think that's when i've liked you since. i knew whe-” his next words were cut off on the girls side of the door as reagan squealed.

“shut your mouth! seungkwans saying something!!” rainbow said, obviously annoyed that reagan was obstructing her ability to hear the exchange.

“can… can i kiss you?” they heard seungkwan say. both looked at each other in shock.

“oh. my. god.” was all rainbow could say.

“i think we should give them some alone time,” reagan suggested as she tugged rainbow down the hall.

“i think we need some alone time for ourselves,” rainbow said as reagan pushed her into a random room and locked the door behind them.

[hashtagartistlife]

so i went room hunting today bc i need to move out in less than 3 weeks and this was how my day went: 

house 1: pretty standard sharehouse, 5 pretty small rooms but at least the common areas were well-kept and clean, there’ll be a cleaner every 2 weeks for the common area so that’s a plus, extremely close to my place of work and fairly low priced. All good except room is probably too small for my outsize wardrobe + 25 tonnes of craft/art/sewing supplies

house 2: THERE IS A CAT. Owners live in the house with us and one other tenant but owners are in a separate part of the house and we only share the kitchen, so that’s cool. Room is large and tidy + there’s space for more storage elsewhere. BUT THE BEST PART ABOUT THIS HOUSE IS THAT THERE IS A CAT. IT’S A LARGE MAINE COONE NAMED LEON AND YES I KNOW IM ALLERGIC TO CATS BUT IT’S NOT THAT SEVERE, AS LONG AS LEON DOESN’T SLEEP IN MY BED I’LL DEAL, WHEN ELSE WILL I EVER BE ABLE TO LIVE WITH A CAT. CAAAAAAT. Oh yeah the location wasn’t that ideal but nothing i can’t manage- BUT CAT. 

house 3: ok tbh after the cat house i was pretty set on that one, and the pictures for this house on the website weren’t that great so I didn’t have high hopes, but when i asked for the address for this one they didn’t give me a standard street address??? they gave me a... like... one of those.. estate addresses. the ones where there are luxury apartments all lumped together and they’re all called fancypants names like Elmswood Estate Luxury Apartments Unit 3 or whatever the fuck. So, like, ok, whatever, I drove in, and like... turned into one of those super long driveways you get leading up to actual mansions? Like ok I turned off the main road a while ago and I’m still driving and on either side of the road there’s just... landscaped gardens. At this point I’m kind of like shit am I lost??? But then I see the actual building and no, the name in front of it (in massive fancy curlicue letters) is definitely the address I was given, so I parked my car in the visitor’s carpark and the owner who apparently is not the ACTUAL owner, he too is renting and is just subletting a room, anyway I will continue to refer to him as owner for convenience - so the owner came down to meet me and he seems like a nice guy, about my dad’s age, it’s just him and his wife in the apartment but his wife is in china at the moment. He pulls out a keychain with like.... 3 separate remote control keys attached to it and lets me in, we go up an elevator and i shit you not the elevator literally opens up into the house. No corridors. Elevator oPENS STRAIGHT UP INTO THE HOUSE like what the FUCK. Like, this whole apartment is literally called XXXXXX LUXURY APARTMENTS AND THEY. MEAN. LUXURY. the elevator opened up right into the house what the FUCK!!! This was GENUINELY like. 6-star hotel penthouse kind of dealio with TWO balconies and one of the most SPECTACULAR ocean views I have ever seen in my life, and I do not say this lightly, I am Australian, I have grown up around beaches my whole life, I actively enjoy marine sports, I have SEEN my fair share of nice beaches, and tbh I don’t even CARE about ocean views anyway but this???? this was genuinely.... i was at a loss for words. what the fuck. I’m not a morning person but I would wake up at 6am every single day to see a sunrise over THAT kind of horizon. 

anyway i saw the room and like. broe. broe the room.... is massive. MASSIVE. Master bedroom in a 6-star hotel penthouse kind of massive (AND IT’S NOT EVEN THE MASTER BEDROOM.... THE OWNER HAS THE MASTER BEDROOM). It has an ensuite. It has a double bed and it’s big enough that it looks like the double bed was just... placed in the living room. IT’S LIVING ROOM SIZED. ONE WALL IS ENTIRELY GLASS AND IT OPENS UP ONTO A PRIVATE BALCONY. IT LITERALLY LOOKS LIKE THE KIND OF ROOM THE RICH MALE LEAD OF A CHEESY K-DRAMA WOULD LIVE IN I was like losing my mind at this stage???/ ?? is this real life is this just fantasea? anyway the kicker is this room is going for $200 AUD A WEEK and for context, in Sydney, when I was sharehousing near the uni, I was paying $220 for a SHARED ROOM in a tiny dingy apartment shared with 4 other tenants, only one bathroom, not very clean or tidy at all. The other rooms I looked at were all going for about the same rate or slightly cheaper. The even bigger kicker is

the owner himself is only paying $500AUD/week to rent this whole damn place

that’s CRAZY. You would barely afford a studio apartment for that rate in Sydney, and certainly not anyplace busy or central. THIS PLACE IS LITERALLY A LUXURY 6 STAR HOTEL I am, genuinely, just, completely floored

anyway with all this said I am still VERY seriously contemplating the cat house simply because.... like... the emotional support a cat can provide (and im not even joking, at my most depressive periods in the past year i have felt that if i just had something small and warm and fluffy to hold that would have cheered me up so much) + the owner is pretty separate and there r other tenants so, like, less pressure on me to interact socially, whereas luxury apartment is literally just me and the owner couple so like... lol hope they don’t mind that i spend all waking hours cooped up in my room. But with that being said....... (a) this is temporary till june as i have plans 2 move to perth after that and (b) literally WHEN am i EVER going to be able to live somewhere like this. WHEN. There’s this popular text post in korea that said ‘god i wish i could break down in a depressive fit in my king sized bed in my penthouse suite’ and, like, that’s gonna be me babey!!! 

God anyway, this is such a big difference from my house hunting escapades in sydney im still a bit wilded out. Got more lined up tomorrow so i’ll see how that goes but honestly? as of right now? it’s a toss up between cat house and luxury apartment 

[zen3to5]

J/H 3-16: Romantic Weekend

Movin' right along...

Following the production order, this timeline leaves "Hyde's Christmas Rager," "Dine and Dash," "Donna's Panties," "Who Wants It More," and "Radio Daze" just as they are, no change in order and no changes in story. That's especially important to remember about "Donna's Panties," given the "B" story there with Kelso.

That brings us to 3-16, "Romantic Weekend." Just like last time, the "A" story has been left alone and included for context. The "B" story, however, is completely new and all about the Zen...with some basic tenants borrowed from a later episode (and how does that affect said later episode? Keep reading...)

FF.Net AO3

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SHOW TITLE   INT. GYM - DAY   The school auditorium. The bleachers are filled with students decked out in green and gold. The school marching band can be heard playing off-screen. FEZ, ERIC, DONNA, and KELSO sit in a row, in the middle of the bleachers. Fez is in his letter jacket with pom-poms in his hands, Eric is looking over a brochure, Donna’s head is in her hands, and Kelso rocks in his seat with a big grin.   DONNA: God, this blows. We should’ve just skipped like Hyde did.   KELSO: Come on, Donna. Pep rallies are fun.   DONNA: Kelso, you only like pep rallies because it’s a chance for you to ogle the cheerleaders.   KELSO: (beat) Yeah, what’s your point?   Donna rolls her eyes.   KELSO (cont’d): Come on. Just look at Jackie out there. She’s so cute in that little uniform. And so’s Julie. And Rachel. And Bethany.   FEZ: This is a good day. I am a-flush with school spirit. GO VIKINGS!   He stands and raises a pom-pom high in the air.   ERIC: (to Donna) Donna, are you all set for our weekend getaway?   DONNA: So set. I have to get out of town. Ever since my dad lost the store, he just shuffles around in a not-completely-closed bathrobe. It’s really depressing.   Fez sits down and takes the brochure from Eric.   FEZ: (reading) “The Wisconsin Dells’ most romantic hideaway. Hunters and truckers always welcome.” Sexy.   Cheers and applause come up from the gym floor. The gang, and the rest of the crowd, rise to their feet as the cheer squad begins sounding off. CHEERLEADERS (v.o.): Can you hear us As we cheer? We’ve got the spirit Can’t you hear it?   FEZ: YES!   Eric and Donna share a look as Kelso pumps his fist.   CHEERLEADERS (v.o.): Viking spirit! Shhhhhh... Viking spirit! Yell it out! Viking spirit Spin, scream –   A horrible sloshy noise cuts off the cheerleaders, who all break into screams and shouts. JACKIE’s can clearly be heard over the others. Fez, Eric, Donna, and Kelso all gape at the sight below them.   KELSO: BURN!   He, Eric, and Donna laugh, while Fez cradles his pom-poms.

MAIN CREDITS   BUMPER   INT. FORMAN KITCHEN - EVENING   Eric, RED, and KITTY sit around the kitchen table, enjoying dinner.   ERIC: So, looks like I’m gonna spend the weekend with Kelso. Tutor him in math.   Red and Kitty look up from their dinner. They share a look, then glare at Eric.   RED: Really?   KITTY: Hmmm...   CUT TO:   INT. FORMAN KITCHEN - EVENING   Eric is sat on a stool as Red and Kitty circle before him.   RED: So, you’re allegedly tutoring Kelso in math?   ERIC: Yes, sir.   KITTY: Are you good in math?   RED: What’s the square root of “x?”   ERIC: Um, I really can’t answer that.   RED: Aha!   ERIC: No, see, “x” is a variable, so until you define its parameters the only possible answer is a variable, or “x” if you prefer.   Red and Kitty look at each other.   RED: (to Kitty) Is that right?   KITTY: (beat) Sounds good. (to Eric) Will Michael’s parents be home?   ERIC: Yes.   RED: Are they as dumb as he is?   ERIC: I can’t lie - yes. Yes, they are.   RED: Right answer. (to Kitty) That was a trick question. (to Eric) I know they’re dumb.   ERIC: (beat) So... I can go?   RED: You can go. But I’ll be watching the news. And if anything is vandalized, or explodes, or catches on fire, “x” is gonna equal me kicking your ass.   Red exits into the living room. Kitty sighs, kisses Eric on the top of his head, and follows.   CUT TO:   INT. PINCIOTTI KITCHEN – EVENING   Donna, BOB, and MIDGE sit around the table, eating. Bob is in an open bathrobe, nursing his drink.   DONNA: So anyway, Jackie took what happened at the pep rally really hard. I, uh, thought I should stay with her this weekend. Help her get through... you know, stuff.   Neither of her parents reacts.   DONNA (cont’d): Anyone?   MIDGE: I’m sorry, honey. I can’t concentrate when your father’s robe is open.   BOB: Leave me alone. I’m ventilating.   MIDGE: (to Donna) It’s alright with me, sweetie.   DONNA: Thanks, Mom.   MIDGE: What happened at the pep rally today?   CUT TO:   INT. FORMAN BASEMENT – EVENING   HYDE sits alone in his chair, reading a magazine. The basement door opens, and Jackie steps in, wearing her cheerleading uniform. She is an absolute mess, with a brown sticky substance all over her and white feathers stuck to her clothes and disheveled hair.   Hyde looks her over, then bursts into laughter. Jackie throws her bag at him, but he keeps laughing.   BUMPER   INT. FORMAN LIVING ROOM – EVENING   Later that evening. Red and Kitty share the couch. Kitty reads a magazine while Red reads the paper.   KITTY: (not looking up) You know, Red, if the house is gonna be empty this weekend, it might be a nice opportunity for a little romance.   RED: (not looking up) Uh-huh.   Kitty sets her magazine down and glares at Red.   KITTY: Is that, “uh-huh, my passion burns for you” or “uh-huh, you’re as exciting as an old hat?”   Red looks up from his paper.   RED: Well, what kind of old hat?   KITTY: How about a hat that’s about to be super P.O.’d?   RED: (beat) Oh. Then the passion one.   Kitty frowns and shakes her head at him.   CUT TO:   INT. FORMAN BASEMENT – EVENING   Hyde is still in his chair, back to reading his magazine. Jackie sits on the couch, her arms crossed tight. The feathers are starting to flake off her.   JACKIE: And then, just before we were going to form the human pyramid, the cheerleaders from Fort Anderson stood up and pelted us with water balloons full of this gross sticky goo!   HYDE: Is it maple syrup? (looks up, grins) That’s good stuff.   JACKIE: And then they took out these big bags of feathers and threw them at us, and we ended up like this. (shakes her arms) God, it was so humiliating! And right in front of the whole school!   Hyde laughs again. Jackie glares at him.   HYDE: Sorry. (points to his magazine) National Lampoon.   JACKIE: I just don’t understand how they could do this. I mean, I know those girls. We went to cheerleading camp together. I thought we were friends. I mean, we all went out to the mall together just last weekend.   HYDE: (as he reads) Did they ask what you’d be doing at the pep rally?   JACKIE: Yeah. So?   HYDE: Well, there you go, man. They conned you.   JACKIE: I don’t understand.   HYDE: They were nice to you so you’d give them something they could use to burn you later. And they did. And for the first time in my life, I’m sorry I skipped a pep rally.   He laughs and sets his magazine down as he stands and moves to the deep freeze.   JACKIE: Oh, my God. Oh, my God, I can’t believe I was so stupid. I mean, these are the same girls who told me that we’d all set a new trend by wearing white after Labor Day to make it cool, and then, when we all went out the next day – I was the only one who did it!   She sniffles, puts a hand over her mouth, and squeezes her eyes shut. Hyde looks over his shoulder at her.   HYDE: Alright, cool it, princess. Don’t start getting all weepy over this.   JACKIE: Well, what else am I supposed to do?   HYDE: Get even.   Jackie puts her hands down and looks over at Hyde. He grins at her, brings two soda bottles over and hands one to Jackie as he sits back down.   HYDE (cont’d): I think it’s time for another lesson, grasshopper.   Jackie frowns, confused, as Hyde chuckles and opens up his soda.   BUMPER   INT. HOTEL – DAY   The next morning. A small, modest hotel room. Eric and Donna step inside, mouths open. Eric drops the bags to the floor, and Donna dives for the bed.   DONNA: This place is awesome!   ERIC:  I know! There’s gotta be, like, seventeen pillows on this bed!   DONNA: What’s this?   She crosses to the dresser, which supports a lamp and fridge, while Eric enters the bathroom.   DONNA (cont’d): Oh, my God, it’s a tiny fridge! (opens fridge) With, like, a million bottles of tiny liquor!   She takes two of the bottles out. She notices a case on the inside shelf of the fridge and picks it up too.   DONNA (cont’d): Oh, and tiny cookies!   Eric returns from the bathroom.   ERIC: Oh, yeah? Well, in there – tiny shampoo and tiny soap. Donna, I think elves work here.   DONNA: I feel so classy. I’m stealing all of it!   Eric nods, and Donna goes back to rifling through the fridge.   CUT TO:   INT. FORMAN KITCHEN - DAY   Jackie and Hyde, in their winter coats, hover by the fridge.   JACKIE: Okay, Steven, what does this have to do with getting back at Fort Anderson?   HYDE: Jackie, to get even, you’ve gotta get evil. And to get evil, you gotta think evil. And nothing helps you think evil like a good beer. Now, I’ll sneak it out of the fridge, and you go be lookout.   Jackie sighs, shrugs, and moves in front of the patio door. Hyde opens up the fridge and dives in.   Red and Kitty enter quietly from the living room. Neither Hyde nor Jackie notice anything.   RED: Steven.   Jackie whirls around, and Hyde stands up straight. A six-pack is in his arms. Kitty frowns and Red grins.   RED (cont’d): Get out.   Jackie shakes her head and exits out the patio door. Hyde sets the beer down on the counter and moves to leave, but Kitty holds him back by his coat sleeve.   KITTY: Steven, Steven, now what were you thinking? Making your girlfriend snoop around like that?   HYDE: Mrs. Forman, we’ve been over this. Jackie is not my girlfriend.   KITTY: Oh, of course not! (laughs) You don’t even like her! (laughs)   She runs to the fridge and takes out a soda and a snack pack.   KITTY (cont’d): Now you, you just split these with her, and then you two go find a nice movie to cuddle up in. I hear that Pete’s Dragon is just adorable.   Hyde looks down at the snacks, looks up at Kitty, and hurries out of the house.   RED: Okay, Kitty. I’m going to cook you a romantic dinner. So, you go put on something pretty and I’ll warm up the toaster oven.   KITTY: Oh, wow. Dinner from the toaster oven. (laughs) Well, whoop-de-do. I’ll put on my fancy dress.   She moves to the living room door.   RED: Okay, I’m gonna work on Plan “B.”   KITTY: Oh, I would.   She exits. Red sighs and leans on the island. His hand brushes against Eric’s brochure for Wisconsin Dells. He picks it up and starts looking it over.   CUT TO:   INT. HOTEL - NIGHT   Donna is in pajamas, hopping up and down on the bed by her knees. Eric enters from the bathroom, wrapped up in a hotel bathrobe. James Brown’s “Get Up” blares on the radio.   DONNA:  Hey, Eric! Do you know that if you mix Kahlúa and scotch, it tastes just like Dr. Pepper?   She jumps out of bed, hurries over to Eric, and embraces him, her hands sliding all over his face.   DONNA (cont’d):  You’re cute!   ERIC: (beat) Okay. I think you’re cute too. And a little drunk, which is gonna make my job a whole lot easier.   He and Donna start to make out when someone begins pounding on the wall.   DONNA: (whispering) What was that?   ERIC: I guess the guy next door thinks we’re being too loud.   DONNA: Oh, yeah?   She crosses to the wall and pounds on it. The guy next door pounds right back.   DONNA (cont’d): Oh, my God. He just pounded right back.   ERIC: Uh, okay. You know what? Let’s just be quiet.   He shuts off the radio.   DONNA: But then he wins, Eric. We need to get the last pound.   She pounds on the wall again and waits for a reply. None comes.   DONNA (cont’d): See? We won! We’re not gonna take crap. We’re gonna give it, ‘cause we’re fearless!   Someone pounds on the room door.   ERIC: Oh, my God. He’s at the door. Okay, you know what? I think I have a little fear. So let’s just, uh, be really quiet and pretend we’re not here, and maybe he’ll just think we’re not here.   DONNA: (whispering) Okay.   ERIC: (whispering) Okay.   He moves toward the bed, but Donna creeps up to the door and pounds on it. Eric hurries over to her.   ERIC:  Will you cut it out? Okay, look –   He steers Donna toward the bathroom.   ERIC (cont’d): Just stay in here and shush.   He shuts the door behind her.   DONNA (v.o.): (whispering) Okay.   The man outside pounds on the door again. Donna pounds on the bathroom door. The man outside pounds again. Eric spins on his feet in both directions before going for the room door. He opens it to reveal:   ERIC: Dad?   Red, in pajamas and an open bathrobe, stares at his son, mouth open. Donna races out of the bathroom and laughs when she sees Red.   DONNA: Hey, it’s big Red!   RED: Son of a bitch!   FADE TO BLACK   COMMERCIAL   BUMPER   INT. HOTEL - NIGHT   Right where we left off. Donna and Eric stand on either side of the doorway. Red, in the doorway, breathes deep. He steps inside, slams the door shut, and leads Eric aside by the arm. Donna lies down on the bed.   RED: What the hell are you doing here?   ERIC: Wait, what are you doing here? Oh, my God. Who are you with?   RED: Your mother, you dumbass! Okay, I’m gonna make a deal with you. I never saw you. I don’t know you’re here.   ERIC: Wait, So, we’re good?   RED: No, no. You’re getting your ass kicked on Monday. But for now, you shut up and stay here. If your mother sees you, my fun time is over.   With a last look around the room, Red exits.   DONNA: Oh, this is just awful!   She stirs, kicks at the covers, and pounds the mattress. Eric sits next to her on the bed.   ERIC: Oh, no. Hey, cheer up. I’ve been in trouble with Red before. It’s okay.   Donna sits up.   DONNA: No, it’s not that. It’s just, seeing your dad reminded me of my dad. Your dad’s going away on nice weekends and having fun. My dad’s out of work and sad. Plus, your robe’s not completely closed, and that reminds me of him too.   Eric adjusts his robe and starts to rub her back.   ERIC: Okay, okay. You know what? Let’s turn that frown upside-down. That’s right – let’s have super-hot sex, baby!   Donna slugs him in the chest.   ERIC (cont’d): And by “super-hot sex,” I mean, “let’s talk about your sad feelings.”   Donna falls down onto the pillows.   CUT TO:   INT. FORMAN BASEMENT – NIGHT   Kelso and Fez share the couch, each munching on a bag of chips. The television plays quietly.   KELSO: So what’s going on tonight?   FEZ: Well, Eric and Donna are off on their romantic weekend getaway with the hunters and truckers, Hyde is helping Jackie to claim vengeance on the cheerleaders of Fort Anderson, and we are here, alone. (sniffs) So alone.   KELSO: Yep, that revenge burn’s a hard “no” for me. I’ve got a strict “no burn” policy for cheerleaders. You never know who you’ll end up wanting to do it with.   FEZ: Kelso, is it strange that we are here in Eric’s basement when he is out and Laurie is out and Red and Miss Kitty are out?   Kelso pauses mid-bite and looks around the basement. The thought has never occurred to him before.   KELSO: I mean... we could go to the Hub -   FEZ: No, we have no car. We could go to my host parents’ -   KELSO: Nah, they always try telling me how I shouldn’t be playing with my naughty parts. We could go to my house –   FEZ: No, your brothers think it’s funny to put me upside-down into your trash can. And you can tell them from me, it is not.   Fez and Kelso look up at the TV. They shrug together, settle into the couch, and resume eating chips.   CUT TO:   INT. HOTEL – NIGHT   Red and Kitty’s room, the mirror layout of Eric and Donna’s. The bed is ready for them, but Kitty dances around in her nightgown while Red stands at the head of the bed.   KITTY: What should we do with all this time alone?   Red chuckles. A knock comes to the door.   RED: I’ll get that. I ordered you a special surprise.   He hurries to the door and throws it open without looking.   RED (cont’d): Ta-da!   A clearly upset Donna steps into their room.   KITTY: (beat) Donna? Donna is my surprise?   Red looks around the door.   RED: Donna! What the heck are you doing here, Donna? (chuckles) What the heck?   Donna scurries into the room.   DONNA: (to Kitty) Mrs. Forman, Eric is being a jerk, and I wanted to talk to my mom, but since she’s not here, can I talk to you?   Without an answer, Donna goes over to Red and Kitty’s bed and crawls inside.   RED: Eric’s here too? What on earth is going on? What the heck?   KITTY: Red, what is going on here?   RED: Oh, I’m just as surprised as you – oh, all right! Eric and Donna are the noisy people next door.   KITTY: And you didn’t tell me?   Donna sticks her head out from the covers, the phone in her hand.   DONNA: Hello, Mommy? I’m sad!   Kitty looks from Donna to Red, who rolls his eyes.   CUT TO:   INT. HOTEL – NIGHT   Eric and Donna’s room. Eric sits at the foot of the bed. A knock comes to the door. Eric hurries to open it.   ERIC: Donna, where have you –   It’s Red, a pillow under his arm.   RED: Your mother kicked me out.   CUT TO:   INT. HOTEL – NIGHT   Eric’s room, a short time later. The lights are out. Red sleeps in the bed, while Eric struggles to fit himself on the footrest. Hearing Red snore, Eric tries to crawl to the open end of the bed.   RED: (eyes shut) I said “no.”   Eric quickly retreats.   CUT TO:   INT. HALLWAY – NIGHT   The athletic locker area of Fort Anderson High School. The distant sounds of a basketball game echo through the halls. Jackie, overdressed in black, and Hyde creep quietly along the wall and peak around a corner. Hyde has a large knapsack slung over his back.   JACKIE: Okay, they just started their big game against Sacred Heart. The whole cheerleading squad should be out there.   HYDE: Bunch of losers. Mindless slaves floating along on the conveyer belt of conformity.   JACKIE: Yeah... but you get pretty uniforms and everyone tells you you’re cute, so it’s worth it.   They round the corner and move to a locked door marked “JV Cheer.” Hyde sets his bag down, draws a tension wrench and a pick from his jacket, and starts working the lock. The pick slips out of his hands, and rolls under the door.   HYDE: Dammit.   JACKIE: What is it?   HYDE: I need something else to jimmy the lock with.   He pats his pockets, looking for an alternative. Jackie produces a bobby pin from her hair.   JACKIE: Steven, will this work?   Hyde takes the pin and looks it over. He bends it into shape, inserts it, and picks the lock. The door gives way. Jackie gives a silent cheer, and Hyde looks up at her, smiling.   HYDE: You’re coming along nicely.   He grabs his sack and they head inside.   CUT TO:   INT. HOTEL – NIGHT   Red and Kitty’s room. Kitty and Donna are sitting up in bed. Kitty sips at a large drink in her hands.   KITTY: Huh. This does taste like Dr. Pepper.   DONNA: Told ya. Hey, you know what? I think I might puke.   Donna leans over her side of the bed. Kitty pulls her back upright.   KITTY: Oh, no, no, no, no. Honey, nobody gets sick in Mr. and Mrs. Forman’s room. (laughs) You know, it is a lovely room. Red just saw the brochure on the counter and he whisked me up and he brought me here. It was very Humphrey Bogart.   DONNA: Eric did the same thing for me. Sometimes he’s really sweet. Do you have a bucket?   A knock sounds at the door.   BELL BOY (v.o.): Room service!   KITTY: (to Donna) Honey, honey – pretty girls do not throw up.   Laughing, Kitty climbs out of bed and goes to the door. The bell boy wheels in a cart with iced champagne, a bowl of nuts, and roses.   KITTY (cont’d): Oh, no, no, no. I didn’t order this.   BELL BOY: Oh. Uh, it was ordered by a Mr. Red Forman.   He smiles and exits. Kitty claps a hand over her heart.   KITTY: Oh, my gosh, this must have been his surprise. Oh, flowers, champagne... cashews.   She lifts up the bowl of cashews.   KITTY (cont’d): The most expensive nut, you know. (laughs) Oh, dear sweet Red. I have to go see him. (to Donna) Are you feeling better now?   DONNA: No.   KITTY: Okay, good. Nighty-night.   She takes the cart and wheels it out of the room.   CUT TO:   INT. LOCKER - NIGHT   The locker room of the Fort Anderson JV Cheerleaders. It has been thoroughly trashed. The showers are T.P.ed, spray paint covers the walls and lockers (random graffiti and one cartoon unicorn), whipped cream coats the handles of each locker, and beer and spray paint cans litter the floor.   Hyde stands in the middle of the room, admiring the work done. He sees a bit of fabric sticking out of a half-open locker. He pulls out the top of a red and black Fort Anderson cheerleading uniform.   HYDE: Hello, souvenir.   Laughing, he stuffs the top into his sack.   Jackie runs in from the bathroom. A massive smile is plastered on her face, and she shakes where she stands.   JACKIE: Oh, my God. I can’t believe I’m doing this!   She gestures all around the room, especially toward the unicorn graffiti. Hyde nods approvingly.   HYDE: Pretty fun this side of the law, ain’t it?   Jackie nods excitedly and runs over to Hyde.   JACKIE: Yes, yes, yes! Steven, Steven, this is so amazing! Um, quick question – do those cherry bomb thingies smell like cherries when they go off?   HYDE: (beat) No.   Jackie’s smile slips as she nods.   JACKIE: Uh-huh. Then we probably want to get out of here.   Hyde looks toward the bathroom. Quickly, he grabs his sack from the floor and he and Jackie break for the door. Before they can reach it, the sound of the doorknob turning stops them.   HYDE: Crap, the game’s over.   He grabs Jackie’s hand and pulls her after him as he takes cover inside the shower.   The JV CHEERLEADERS file into the locker. Each gasps, screams, or swears at the sight before them. They hurry in to inspect the damage, none of them noticing Jackie or Hyde. Hyde squeezes Jackie’s hand, nods toward the open door. She nods back, and they quietly make their way towards it.   An explosion rocks the locker. Two enraged cheerleaders emerge from the bathroom, soaking wet.   JACKIE: Oh, my God, they worked! My cherry bombs worked!   The cheerleaders all turn toward Jackie and Hyde. Several BASKETBALL PLAYERS appear in the doorway of the locker, blocking the exit.   HYDE: Jackie, there’s an important part of getting even: not getting caught!   Jackie offers a shrug and half-grin of apology before they’re rushed from both sides. She and Hyde push back against the basketball players, trying to make their way to the door, as everyone around them attacks.   BUMPER   INT. HOTEL HALL - NIGHT   The hallway of the Wisconsin Dells. Eric’s room door opens, and Red shoves Eric outside.   RED: Out.   He slams the door shut behind him.   ERIC: But it’s my room.   The door opens again. Kitty tosses Eric a blanket.   KITTY: Love you, sweetie.   Laughing, she shuts the door on Eric. He moves down the hall and knocks on Red’s door.   ERIC: Donna? Donna, are you there?   He knocks again.   CUT TO:   INT. HOTEL – NIGHT   Red’s room. Donna is curled up in bed, sound asleep, even as Eric continues to knock.   ERIC (v.o.): Donna, please open the door, please.   CUT TO:   INT. HOTEL HALL – NIGHT   Eric closes both hands around his blanket.   ERIC: Great, I’m locked out of both rooms. Well, at least I don’t have any pants.   He heads down the hall. Just as he leaves, Bob, Midge, and the bell boy march up the hall from the other direction.   BOB: (to bell boy) I want you to open that door right now. Our daughter’s in there, and she’s drunk.   The bell boy opens the door and quickly retreats.   All the lights are off in the room. Bob and Midge march inside, out of sight.   BOB (v.o.): You get off my daughter!   The lights click on.   RED (v.o.): Bob, what the hell?   BOB (v.o.): Red?   MIDGE (v.o.): Ooh, Kitty, what a pretty night gown.   KITTY (v.o.): Thank you, Midge. Could you hand it to me, please?   BUMPER   INT. FORMAN BASEMENT - DAY   The next morning. A large pile of shoes rests on the coffee table. Eric sits on the arm of the couch, a shoe and shoe brush in his hands. Donna, laughing, sits down on the couch seat.   DONNA: Look, I’m sorry about getting all tipsy last night.   ERIC: Oh, no, please. I’m sorry. The fight was all my fault.   DONNA: Fight? We had a fight?   ERIC: (beat) No.   DONNA: What did you do?   ERIC: Nothing.   DONNA: Obviously, you did something, and I want to know what it is in case I’m still mad about it.   ERIC: (beat) Well, okay... I had said that you were the most beautiful girl in the world, and then you got all mad and said “get bent.” Not your finest hour, but I still love you.   DONNA: Wow. You must be really upset about this.   ERIC: Um... kind of, yeah.   Donna puts a hand on Eric’s arm.   DONNA: Well, come on, Eric. Let’s turn that frown upside-down. That’s right – let’s have super-hot sex, baby!   ERIC: Oh, crap.   He and Donna both laugh, and Donna picks up one of the shoes from the pile.   FADE TO BLACK   CREDITS   INT. FORMAN BASEMENT - DAY   Moments later. Eric and Donna are each brushing a shoe when the basement door swings open and Hyde steps in. His lip is swollen, his shirt is badly torn, his sunglasses are missing, and his hair is a mess.   DONNA: What the hell happened to you?   HYDE: Fort Anderson basketball team, Fort Anderson coaches... Fort Anderson cheerleaders.   Eric chokes down a laugh.   ERIC: You got beaten up by cheerleaders?   HYDE: No, no. Not beaten.   Jackie rushes into the basement beside him, breathless. She has a black eye, her clothes are untucked and torn, and her hair is wild, but she’s smiling ear to ear.   JACKIE: You know, I never thought I would use high kicks for anything except cheerleading!   HYDE: Yep. Turns out they’ve got a practical application after all: kickin’ ass.   Donna, Eric, and Jackie all laugh, and Hyde smiles as Jackie leans on him and he throws an arm around her shoulders.   END.

[rena-rain]

The Shortcut Home ch. 1

I totally forgot to post this on tumblr! It’s also posted on my AO3 under rainforestgeek.

“Marinette!” Alya wrapped her roommate in her arms as soon as she came through the door. “Are you okay? Are you still feeling sick?”

Marinette nodded. She’d been having dinner at her parents’ house, but was hardly there for fifteen minutes before she vomited in the kitchen sink. The smells emanating from the dining table had sent her stomach into a mutinous upheaval even though she normally loved her parents’ cooking. They’d wanted her to stay to take care of her, but settled for escorting her back to her and Alya’s apartment. “Just a little nauseous. Did you get my text?”

Alya pulled away and handed her a paper bag. “I got you three just in case. You know I have to grill you about this, right?”

“I’d expect nothing less,” Marinette sighed. “Just please get me something to drink first.”

Ten minutes later, Marinette poured herself her second glass of orange juice while Alya sat frozen on the couch.

“You’ve been sleeping. With Adrien.”

“Yes.”

“Adrien Agreste has been having sex with you. And you didn’t tell me?”

“We’re not together, Alya.”

“That’s what I don’t get. I never took that boy to be a fuck buddies type.”

Marinette cringed at the term. Yes, she and Adrien were having sex alongside their platonic relationship. But it sounded too crass. Too casual for their close relationship, lack of romance aside.

She got up. “I need to pee.”

“Don’t forget the tests!”

 “Okay, but this one says it’s negative?”

Alya rubbed her back. “False negatives happen, Mari. False positives don’t. These two are positive you’ve got a mini-Agreste in your belly.”

Marinette groaned and left the bathroom. She flopped face-down onto the couch. “How – ”

“If you say ‘how did this happen’ I’ll smack you with this pillow.”

“Alya, how am I going to tell Adrien?”

Alya sat down, Marinette flipping over to rest her head on her best friend’s lap. Alya stroked her silky black hair contemplatively. “Let’s take this one thing at a time. When was the first day of your last period.”

Marinette counted in her head. “Nine weeks and five days ago.”

“Okay. Do you want to have a baby? Because you have two weeks to decide.”

Marinette’s immediate thought was yes. She’d always wanted children and now she had the chance to have Adrien’s child. Her infatuation may have died down over the years, but no matter what, she did love him.

But was she prepared to be a single mother? She and Alya had to share an apartment just to avoid living paycheck to paycheck. Marinette’s savings weren’t impressive, and that’s money she’d been saving to open her own boutique someday. Yes, she wanted kids, but this was risking her dream career. She still had plenty of time to have children.

She peered up at Alya. “I don’t know if I’m ready. Do you think I would make a good mom?”

Alya grinned at her. “Girl, you’d be an amazing mom. Nobody’s ever ready for a baby, that doesn’t mean you’d be a bad parent. But it is your decision and you have no obligation to tell Adrien before you make it.”

“I think I need a few days to think about it. God, I wish I could have some wine.”

“I could drink two glasses tonight if it makes you feel better.”

Marinette laughed. “That actually makes it worse.”

--

Nino met his girlfriend at their favorite café. The weather was nice, the sun out and only slightly chilly. He greeted her with a kiss and sat down across from her.

“Babe, I just wanna start out with saying I wasn’t doing anything weird. I accidentally kicked the trash can over.”

“Why would I think that’s weird? It was an accident right?”

“Yes, totally, 100%! So I did not mean to look at anything private, I was just cleaning it up, and…”

Alya touched her boyfriend’s cheek. “Nino, what’s going on?”

“Are you pregnant?” he blurted. Both of their eyes went wide. Nino rushed, “I swear I’m not trying to corner you or anything! I saw a couple positive tests when I was cleaning up the trash in your bathroom, and I couldn’t not tell you that I saw them, so…are you pregnant?”

Alya sighed and looked around the café. She leaned close and lowered her voice. “I’m not pregnant. Now I need you to promise me you’ll keep this under your hat. The tests weren’t mine.”

Nino gasped. Alya dove to put both hands over his mouth, accidentally knocking over a glass of water. “Ugh! Dang it. You don’t say a word or make a sound, okay? Marinette’s not ready to tell anybody yet and I don’t even know if she’s keeping it so you’re sworn to silence.”

Nino helped Alya mop up the water with a pile of napkins. “Of course, I’d never betray her like that. Just gotta, like, process for a minute.”

The waiter came out to take their order, effectively ending the conversation.

--

A knock came from the front door. Adrien told Plagg to hide before opening it to reveal a very anxious-looking Marinette. Her eyes darted to and away from his face rapid-fire, and she fiddled with her purse’s shoulder strap. “Marinette? Are you all right?”

“I – ” Her voice broke. She took a shuddering breath. “I wasn’t sure if I should tell you or if I wanted to tell you but I haven’t decided anything yet, I really need to talk to somebody and I want to talk to you – this is big, but I need to talk to you as my friend right now.”

Adrien took her hand and coaxed her inside, closing the door behind her. He pulled her into a hug. She buried her face in his neck, clinging to him tight, so he hitched both arms around her back to bring her as close as possible. He felt like he was absorbing her anxiety like a sponge, making his own blood jitter along with her. “Whatever it is, it’s okay. I’m here for you.”

Marinette lifted her lips to his ear. She murmured two soft words to him.

He froze for a moment. They were still hugging, so hopefully she didn’t notice his shock. Adrien gathered himself, gently untangled their limbs, and held her face to look in her eyes. “Why don’t you go sit down, okay? I’ll make us some tea.”

She nodded. He went to the kitchen and filled up the water heater. While he waited for it to boil, he leaned against the fridge, trying to figure out what he was supposed to do.

Marinette was pregnant. He’d gotten her pregnant. She was probably here to talk about whether or not to stay pregnant. Oh god, his father was going to kill him.

Hold your horses there, kid, he told himself in a mental voice that sounded alarmingly like Plagg. Gabriel doesn’t have to know if she decides not to keep it.

Adrien pushed the thought aside. His father didn’t matter right now; he’d burn that bridge when he got to it. Right now, his pregnant friend needed his support.

And her tea, he realized when he heard the water heater beeping. Adrien prepared and poured two steaming mugs and reminded himself that while he was culpable in creating this situation, Marinette had a lot more at stake here.

When he came back to the living room, Marinette had a ball of yarn out and was crocheting in the round. He was glad she’d brought something to do with her hands. It seemed to help keep her nerves in check. She set the project aside when he handed her the cup and took a sip. Adrien sat down on the couch next to her.

They drank in silence for a minute, neither sure how to broach the subject.

Finally, Adrien gathered his nerve. “So, how long have you known?”

“Four days. I’m about ten weeks along.”

“Okay. You…you said you wanted to talk about it?”

She puffed out a sigh through her teeth. “I’ve been trying to decide if I should keep it or abort it. I tried talking to Alya about it, but she’s so stuck on not influencing my choice that she just refuses to give any advice. But I need to talk through it.”

Adrien drank a hot sip of tea, letting himself think. “Thank you for trusting me. Let’s start with what you’ve been thinking. Feel free to word vomit.”

And word vomit she did. Marinette babbled about her career, her body changing, not being ready to take care of a kid, the money she didn’t have, the fact she wasn’t married – all in no particular order. Her stream of consciousness sentences ran together, making Adrien focus hard on keeping track of what she said.

Once she’d run out of breath, he asked the question she hadn’t addressed at all.

“Do you have any ethical issues with terminating the pregnancy?”

Marinette furrowed her brows. “Do you?”

“That’s not what I asked.” Adrien didn’t love the idea, but he’d thought a lot about what it’d be like to grow a human inside him and then push it out of his ass, so yeah, he figured it was okay to say no to anything or anyone using your body as a house-slash-IV bag.

(Plagg says he’s too morbidly curious for his own good. Plagg doesn’t get to judge, he’s a cat and once caused a mass extinction.)

Marinette looked him straight in the eye. “No, I don’t.”

Adrien chose his next words carefully. “If money and single parenthood are your main concerns, you’re not alone. I’m here, I have a good job, and a trust fund that’s just gathering dust. Only if you want to. Whichever you decide, I’m all in.”

He took her free hand. “We’re a team. I promise.”

The words rang jarringly in both of their ears with a familiarity that didn’t belong in this context.

She smiled at him. “That was quite a speech.”

“Yeah, that came out cornier than I intended. I meant it, though.”

“What are you trying to say, Adrien?”

“I’m saying it’s not a matter of what we can do. It’s about what you want to do. You don’t have to give up your dreams for this.” He gazed at Marinette’s face, wished he could read her better. “Do you feel ready for a kid?”

“I feel scared,” she said quietly.

“Me, too.”

“But I…I think I want to. But only if you commit to being a dad.”

Adrien’s heart pounded. “Like I said, Marinette, I’m all in.”

She nodded and stood, wrapping up her yarn and putting it in her bag. “I don’t think I should decide tonight. I’ll tell you by the end of the day tomorrow.”

He stood as well to see her out. “Good idea. Sleep on it, take your time. I’ll just be here freaking out where you can’t see me.”

Marinette let out a little laugh. Her eyes crinkled adorably. “Thank you, for talking with me. And for the tea.”

“Do you want to stay over?” Adrien wasn’t sure what possessed him to ask that without thinking. Was that inappropriate? Did their relationship change after she got pregnant? Did she think he meant he wanted to have sex? Was it okay to ask your pregnant friend with benefits to sleep over after an emotionally draining conversation? Okay, come to think of it, that does sound kind of suspect.

“I’m too nauseated to fool around tonight.”

He shrugged. “Doesn’t mean you can’t stay over.”

Marinette gave him a long, searching look. He wondered what she was looking for. He wondered if it was there. “I should go back to my apartment. Where my pajamas and toothbrush are. Goodnight, Adrien.”

They both ignored the fact that he kept a toothbrush for her here anyway, and she’d slept in his clothes more than once.

--

Plagg was being insufferable. “Baker girl’s got a bun in the oven!”

“You’re not funny, Plagg.”

“Screw you, I’m hilarious. It’s not my fault you decided to mix your milk with her eggs.”

Adrien groaned. “You’re really not funny, Plagg.”

--

Marinette fiddled with a lock of hair while the dial tone sounded in her ear.

“Mari?”

“I’m going to have the baby.” All at once. Ripped off the bandage. Besides, Adrien had to know why she was calling him, and he was surprisingly okay with when she cut past the pleasantries.

There was a pause. “Okay. I should tell my father soon.”

“My parents, too. Maybe we should have those conversations alone, so my mom and dad don’t grill you about not being in a relationship.

“Am I a dead man?”

“I’ll throw my body in front of yours. It’ll be better than a bullet-proof vest.”

“Is it too much to ask you to tell my father with me? I know he’ll stay calm, just…”

“Cold,” Marinette finished. She should’ve known Adrien would want emotional support when he told his dad he was about to become a young, unmarried parent. “Of course I can. Just tell me when.”

“Thanks. Have you gotten a doctor’s appointment yet?”

Marinette rolled her eyes. She was looking at six to seven more months of this fretting.

Chapter 2

Ko-fi

[imaginarydaydreams]

Quest Start!: Be My Player 2?

Fandom: Mystic Messenger Pairing: Yoosung x MC Date Written: 3/2/19 Thoughts: My piece for the @yoosungkimzine! I still am so honored to have worked on this project to show my first Mysme love all the love and praise he deserves! Thank you to the team for having me on board and special thank you to @byebi for being my collab partner!  If you get the game refs I used, I will come to your house and personally thank you.

The first indication of something going on had been about a week ago. “Yoosung, what are you working on, honey?” Normally, her questions would illicit an excited response from her boyfriend, him leading her by the arm and into his lap as she watched him work. However, this time was different. “MC! It’s not what you think!” Yoosung swiveled around in his chair, hands raised to cover the contents of the screen. His face sported a beautiful red blush while his eyes darted back and forth, as if caught doing something bad.

She tried to peer at the screen, but every time she tilted her head, he just shifted his entire body into her line of sight, face reddening with each movement. A smile worked its way onto MC’s face. He was just as much of a dork as he was when she first met him. “Oh? Is that so?” She said, teasingly. “Is that why you keep blocking the screen? Or is your red face just a side effect of me being here?” She laughed at the choked noise he gave, relishing in how easy it was to get under his skin. “No, I swear it’s nothing!” He kept his guard up as he continued to block the screen, but the tension in his body relaxed slightly. “I swear it’s nothing, but this game…it’s a super secret project that I’m not allowed to show just yet. Company orders, and they were extremely strict this time about it. Sorry, MC.”  Yoosung gave a sheepish smile, cheeks growing redder by the minute. “But hopefully I’m able to show you one day! Just…not today.” MC paused, eyes scanning his features before she sighed, giving him a soft smile. “Okay,” she said, “I’ll let you off the hook. But don’t overwork yourself, okay? I know you have that habit sometimes!” She turned towards the door, taking one last look at his figure—his back was already turned towards her to face his computer—before walking to the kitchen to fix the both of them a meal for later. Perhaps by dinnertime, she could weasel some information out of him. Now, if this was a one time instance, she would have understood. Sometimes the industry needed to keep certain projects under wraps and Yoosung’s indie dev company was no exceptions. But even then, Yoosung wasn’t the best at keeping secrets and would usually break after a day or two, excitedly rambling about the newest game system or the cool concept designs that they were working on. But instead, he was quiet. Whenever she would come home from the store or her job, she would only hear the tapping of keys accompanied by small mutterings; Yoosung would still be sitting at his desk, furiously typing away at the keyboard. Her eyes would wander to the small glimpses of the screen, only making out a vaguely pixel-y style, but that was about it. Yoosung’s mess of blond hair managed to block out any other details. The few times that she did bother him, he would always seize up, immediately jumping from his seat to cover the screen as his face flushed various shades of red. He would give her the same excuse as well—“Sorry, MC, I really wish I could tell you but I’m sworn under contract. But I’ll show you one day!”—going back to his work as usual, the typing of keyboard resounding as if nothing had transpired. Other times, she would overhear a few snippets of phone calls, most likely from his team. The words ‘game,’ ‘quests,’ and ‘girlfriend’ were thrown in there every now and then, but without context, they remained vague and only increased her curiosity. This strange behavior and turn of events continued on for a few days, now becoming routine. Worry ran through her mind with each day that he spent locked up in his office, not bothering to come out even for food or drink, or even to use the bathroom. Was he really okay? What was so important about this project that he would openly neglect his health, or even his own girlfriend? MC’s mind was running with this single thought one day as she walked through the door, groceries in hand. She had went out earlier to buy some special ingredients for a nice dinner, hoping that it would help Yoosung relax and perhaps open up some type of conversation. After all, she had missed him during his week-long isolation. She wasn’t even halfway through the door when she heard the sound of loud footsteps approaching before she was enveloped in a warm hug. Soft strands of blond hair tickled her cheek. “Honey, I’m so glad you’re home! But we don’t have time to talk, I want to show you something!” Before she even had the chance to lean into his touch or even ask him how his day was, the groceries were pried from her hands and hurriedly set on the counter. She felt him grab her wrists gently, pulling her along and down the hall of their shared apartment, towards his office. She only looked at him with a bewildered expression but not once did he look back, instead guiding her to the computer and gesturing for her to sit. Once she was comfortable, he moved to lean over the back, hands placed softly on her shoulders. “Yoosung,” she asked carefully, “what’s going on..?” He only smiled before leaning over the backrest to place a kiss on her cheek. “Remember the game I was working on but couldn’t show you?” He said, motioning towards the screen. “Well, it’s finally finished and we need a beta tester. I thought you’d be perfect for the job! So go ahead, start it up and tell me what you think!” Her gaze turned back to the screen and the blatant icon, a simple green heart backed by a star, in the middle of the monitor. Under the icon were the words ‘8-Bit Love Starry.’ Her eyebrows furrowed at the title; however, curiosity finally got the best of her as she hovered the mouse and clicked on the icon once, twice. The splash screen appeared, showing the familiar logo of his dev company, before moving into the title screen. It seemed like a simple RPG game. The cheerful tunes of a music box greeted her at start-up, one that brought a smile to her face when she recognized the song as their personal melody. She was greeted with swirls of purple and indigo that filled the entire screen, tiny golden stars dotting the sea of colors and twinkling throughout. Words soon filled the sky, spelling out the title. But what caught her attention were the two pixel figures that were floating through the pixel night sky. They were waving at her, beaming with bright smiles, but it was their appearances that caught her off-guard. The boy had familiar blond hair, cut short and swept to one side while red glasses framed his violet eyes. Meanwhile, the girl’s long brown locks framed a delicate face, honey eyes looking at her sweetly. “Yoosung, sweetheart—“ the laughter was evident in her voice— “are those who I think they are?” “I have no idea who you’re talking about,” he said, his smile leaking through his words, “but that’s not important right now; go ahead and start playing, sweetie! I need that feedback as soon as possible!” She waved away the hands that lingered on her shoulder. “Okay, okay, I’m starting it!” With a hand on the keyboard, she pressed enter, humming along to the cheerful tune of the start screen. Instantly, she was met with a pastel apartment layout and the energetic bounce of the main character, front and center in the screen. A little blue text box popped up at the bottom with the following message: [☆Quest One!: Go to work!☆] “What is this, Yoosung?” MC looked over her shoulder in confusion; the game just immediately started, no tutorial, no commands. Just straight up threw her into the thick of things. But she was only met with that bright smile of his, the one he used when he was definitely hiding something from her. “It’s just a simple quest game,” he said, smile never wavering. “The commands are your standard arrow keys, and to interact with things, just press enter.” “Okay…” she said slowly, moving the character towards what seemed to be the exit. “That still didn’t answer my question, but okay.” “Trust me. Just play and tell me what you think after. There’s a surprise at the end, so it’ll all be worth it!” She gave him one more dubious look before turning her attention back to the game. She had to admit, it was really cute. The pixel art gave her nostalgia of past games that she and Yoosung would play together in their spare times—especially with the fetch quests. It really reminded her of this one game that she really enjoyed…but she would ask him later about it. The game itself was simple enough. The quests consisted of easy tasks—‘Leave the apartment’, ‘go to the park’, ‘check out the shops.’ The routine cycle kept continuing that, every so often, she would ask Yoosung if the game would end. But he would just give her that placid smile of his and tell her to keep playing, promising reward at the end. So she continued on, waiting for something to change—which would hopefully be soon. It wasn’t until four days in-game passed that she noticed a different message box that popped up, indicated by the bright cherry red: [☆Important Quest!: Go to…☆] “‘The strange apartment’…Rika’s apartment?” The puzzlement was evident on her face, turning to look at her boyfriend for any explanation. But he still refused to give her one, just going over to give her a kiss on the cheek and encouraging her to keep playing. Something still didn’t sit well with her.  However, despite the uneasy feeling, she continued to keep playing and navigated her little character through the streets of Seoul and to the familiar apartment that set in motion everything. The game continued as normal, but this time, she was stuck in the apartment; most of the quests had changed to things like ‘Talk to the RFA’ or ‘Answer Guest Emails.’ With each in-game day, she felt more and more nostalgia as the events of those eleven days replayed before her in pixel format, right down to the RFA party where she had met the now love of her life. And even then, the game continued. This time, her character was accompanied by a little blond pixel doppelgänger—“You’re still so adorable, even in pixel form,” she teased, receiving a blush in return—the tasks going back to a sense of normalcy of ‘Meet with Yoosung’ or ‘Go on a date with Yoosung.’ Her attention caught on one of the days when a new message box in red appeared: [☆Important Quest!: Follow Yoosung ☆] She did as she was told, following the blond sprite out the door and towards a pixel car modeled after a very familiar blue car. As the scenery passed them by, she could see the remnants of sunlight beginning to dwindle, the soft hues of sunset painting everything in warm colors. “Am I near the end of the game yet?” “Yep, just keep going. Your reward is almost there.” She merely hummed, eyes focused on the screen as she watched the pixel car drive out into the little countryside, past the city lights as twinkling stars lit up the night sky. MC was amazed—if she had anything to say about the game, it was that the art style was definitely well-done. It was then that the car stopped along the side of a park, the mini MC and Yoosung leaving before setting up a picnic on the grass. Even without voice overs, she could see the little hearts above the both of them, the cheerful melodies indicating laughter. But then as they seemed about to leave, Mini MC standing up from her position to walk towards the car, Mini Yoosung grabbed at her arm. Confusion crossed MC’s features as she looked on with rapt interest, watching as Mini Yoosung dropped to one knee in front of Mini MC. A dark blue text box popped up at the bottom: [☆Final Quest!: …Turn around, MC.☆] Her eyebrows furrowed at the sudden direct command, but she complied, turning to Yoosung to ask him a question when she noticed that he wasn’t to her immediate right like he had been a few moments before. No, instead, he was kneeling before her as his hands held out a small box. Embedded in velvet was a small ring, the silver band encrusted with tiny star-like diamonds framing the large center emerald. A dark blush dusted his cheeks, his eyes downcast and if she looked closer, she could see the slight shake of his hands as he held out the box to her. Well, she would be able to see, if the tears in her eyes hadn’t been obscuring her vision. “I know this probably seems so convoluted,” Yoosung began, “but I felt that I would stumble on my words the whole time. So I thought a game would better convey my words. Sorry.” He slowly stood from his position, shifting the ring box to one hand and holding out the other for her to take. Her fingers intertwined with his and he pulled her up from her seat, wrapping her in a tight embrace. She could feel the faint chill of drops on the fabric of her shirt; sure enough, when he pulled away, his violet eyes were glistening with unshed tears. “MC, you’ve been by me this whole time, probably longer than anyone in my life outside of my family. When we first met, I was alone, grieving—just overall a mess without any direction or stability who didn’t know what kind of life I wanted to lead anymore. “But you…you helped me, encouraged me, showed me that I still had a future worth looking forward to. And even now, you shower me with your continuous love and patience—something that I feel like I take for granted at times.” He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead, hands tightening around hers before he looked at her with a determined expression. “It took me a long while to figure out what I’ve wanted to do with my life. Everything in my life’s changed at least once, but your presence is something I never want to change.” The hand holding the ring moved, raising the box between them.  “So, MC, the love of my life, my one and only…would you do me the honor of becoming my first and only love for the rest of my life? Will you marry me?” Yoosung waited with bated breath for her answer, heart near pounding out of his chest. He was pretty sure he was almost close to dropping the ring from how sweaty his palms were. But from the wobbly smile on his love’s face as she practically tackled him to the floor, attacking him with kisses in between her sobs, he knew without a doubt. He would get his video game ending with his cherished princess.

[aboysbestfriendishismum]

Chapter 51 - Elvis, the beard and Schroedinger’s kisses (Part Two)

In the previous chapter: Eddie wouldn't want to leave San Diego and his house, but he must go and follow his band for the tour. He calls Meg to see if she's got news from Angie and when he finds out that the girl has called her friend, but not him, he takes it kind of bad but doesn't think anything else of it. Matt and Meg have a clarifying conversation where he apologises for his behaviour and reveals he's got a new girlfriend. Meg's not exactly happy about the news. Angie's finally back in Seattle, learns that Eddie has called but doesn't call him back and tries not to think about what happened and about the kiss, which she doesn't mention to Meg. Once she's back to work at Roxy's, Angie gets an unexpected visit by Kurt and Dave, who asks her out again.

**

“Anyway your hair is great. Is it something permanent or...?” Dave is at the counter, saying goodbye before leaving, his lovely friend a few steps behind.

“It's just a coloring shampoo with highlights, it'll go away by washing it...”

“Well they look amazing on you!”

“Suuuure and they have this very... psychobilly vibe in this context.” Kurt shares his mind, points his index finger up and turns it around, as to point at the diner's style “No need to say, the psycho part suits you the most”

“Ha-ha”

“Ok, back to the important stuff: what's your decision?” Dave inquires and it's like he was jumping in place, but keeping his feet well grounded on the floor.

“How can I say no to you?”

“Well, like you did when you dumped him, for example?” Cobain answers my rethorical question and acts confused when both his friend and I give him an annoyed look “What? I said it was an example!”

“You're coming then! Great!” Dave shrugs Kurt's comment off in a second and flashes me another big smile of his. One that makes me think that maybe it would all be much easier if I hadn't dumped him. Or maybe not?

“Yes, but I don't wanna stay out late, ok?”

“Don't worry, you just have to stay for the concert... and a little after the concert, can you?”

“All these fine feelings... you'd like to know my ears are bleeding”

“No, Kurt, we're not interested really. See you at the Off Ramp at 8 then” first I address the singer, who's dramatically wrapping his scarf around his head, then Dave.

“I can come and get you if you want”

“Don't worry, we can meet there”

**

The time at the diner goes unusually fast. Maybe because it was one of the few times I wished it wouldn't pass. The longer I say out of home, the easiest it is to avoid certain phone calls... I finally get back home and as I enter the apartment and see it's all dark inside I think I got away with it for tonight, at least until the door of my roommate's bedroom opens wide right when I'm walking in front of it.

“Hey Meg, still awake?”

“Mmm” she mumbles as she trots through the hallway into the kitchen.

A coincidence? I don't think so. I remain puzzled in the middle of the hallway, until I can hear her turning on the tap. Simple thirst. I shrug and go straight into my room.

“Good night” I whisper as I hear her barefoot steps coming closer again and her reply consists into getting into my bedroom and grab me by the arm as I'm taking my pyjiama from under the pillow. Needless to say, I'm about to have a stroke.

“FOR CHRIST'S SAKE!”

“Angie, you can't act like this”

“Sure I can! You scared me to death!”

“I mean with Eddie. Here” Meg lets me go only after she's put the phone in my hand.

“What the hell does it mean?”

“I get you're disappointed after San Diego, but you can't avoid him forever”

“Meg what the... look, you're making a fuss for nothing” I try to keep calm as I stare at the phone as if she'd just given me an ignited bomb. Did he call again?

“Shut up and call Eddie” she orders but doesn't look so threatening given her half shut eyes and sleepy voice.

“But... I called him already” I blatantly lie and I'm usually very good at it. It shoud be easier with her senses blurred by sleep.

“When?”

“Tonight” I try and give her the phone back but she doesn't move an inch.

“When?”

“Tonight! During my cigarette break”

“From work?”

“Yeah, I left him a message so he won't worry” I give her the phone and this time she reluctantly takes it.

“Uhm... good”

“Ok, good night Meg” I take my pyjiama and quickly walk into the bathroom.

I don't like lying to Meg. No, that's not true. I like it. Well, it's not that I like it but I'm doing it... gladly? I mean, I'm not glad but... I just do it and don't feel guilty for not telling her about the kiss. The kiss. Did it ever happen anyway? Maybe I dreamt about it, like seller, Eddie drowning, Depeche Mode and all the rest. It could have been just a creation of my twisted mind, from the Sonic Youth awakening to the curious lady on the bus. What if I'm still dreaming? Maybe going to bed and sleeping it off is the best way to... wake up! If I still want to.

He won't call anymore anyway.

I get out of the bathroom and check the way. I go to bed and rest my head on the pillow, falling instantly asleep. When I open my eyes I can't say if it's been five minutes or five days but I know for sure that it's not night anymore since the sunlight is coming through the window blinds. And after a few seconds I understand it must not be so late because I can hear Meg's voice and this means she hasn't left yet. A spiderweb in the corner next to the door catches my attention and I'm about to make the equation spiderweb=spider, when a bigger upcoming danger shows up as my friend's voice becomes clearer.

“But didn't she call yesterday?”

Shit.

“Oh. I must have misunderstood then. Huh? No, it's not like she told me she did... it's just me that... I mean, I saw her going to her room with the phone in her hand so I put two and two together and thought she'd call you. Surely she wanted to do it, she must have fallen asleep before hehe. What? No, I'm on the other phone” Meg stutters and I can almost see her as she halts and goes back towards the entrance, where the small table with the main phone is. He can't see you, Meg! But trust me, he doesn't need to see you to see your bullshit. She can't lie but I appreciate the fact she wants to help me despite finding out I told her a lie.

“Wait, I'm gonna call her. Oh no, don't worry, she has to wake up anyway. Ok, just wait, let me get her for you, just one sec!” I move the duvet out of the way not so delicately, basically throwing it on the floor, and after two seconds I'm standing right in front of the door, with Patti Smith looking straight at me with a judgemental look from the poster. I know, I know, I'm ridiculous and childish, can't we discuss this later, auntie?

“Hey Angie, are you awa-” Meg slowly gets in and I cover her mouth with one hand, make sure she's left the phone in the other room and drag her inside, shutting the door behind her.

“I'm not here, ok?” I tell her.

“Mm?” she can just mumble with surprised eyes.

“Please, help me” I beg her as she tries to get free and answer.

“Wh..?”

“I'm gonna explain later, please...” Meg looks up and nods yes. At that signal I can't help letting her go.

“What the fuck” she mouths a moment before disappearing again through the hallway.

I discretely follow her steps... she could still change her mind and pass me the phone. In the meantime I try and put all things together in my mind to prepare myself for the big explanation I'm expected to give soon after. 'Cause I'll have to tell her everything now and she'll think I'm stupid because nothing of this makes sense. I mean, it's perfectly logical to me but it automatically becomes absurd the moment I try to mentally translate it into words to communicate to another human being.

“Yeah, she must have left early, I didn't hear her...” I really hope I'll never commit a crime but if I do I hope I won't have Meg as my only alibi because she's so little credible that she'd have an innocent person condemned.

“Ok, tell me everything. No, wait, the pen doesn't work, I'm gonna take another. I'll be back in a second huh!” Meg gets out of the kitchen and walks me by shaking her head then getting into her room, then she comes out a moment later with a blue pen between her fingers.

“Here I am. Huh-uh... Until tomorrow morning? Ok, I'll tell her. No, not at all! You know how she is, it's just she works stupid shifts and maybe she thinks she'd bother you. Ok, I'll ter her this too. Look, I'm writing it! Angie never bothers. Ok? Hehe bye Eddie have a nice day. Yes, don't worry! Bye”

I take a deep breath and walk towards my destiny. I enter the kitchen with my hands already raised.

“What the fuck happened, can you tell me?” Meg is already waiting for me, sitting on the table with her arms folded.

“It's... it's complicated”

“Did he hurt you?” she asks seriously and I basically laugh at her face, then crawl on a chair.

“Who? Eddie? Of course not, are you kiddin?”

“Was he an asshole to you? Did he get back with his ex?”

“No, at least, I don't think so, not as long as I was there...”

“But something must have happened, right?”

“Well, yeah...”

“Did you have a fight?”

“No”

“Did you tell him about your feelings and-”

“Haha what feelings?”

“Shut up. Did you tell him and he rejected you?”

“I didn't tell him shit!”

“Did he bring up the thing?”

“We didn't talk about... the thing”

“What did you talk about then?”

“We didn't talk”

“Did he let you know without telling? Look, Eddie cares for you, it's evident. Maybe he's got second thoughts because of the age gap and I can understand it, I mean, it's a positive thing. It shows he's a mature and responsible guy”

“There was no talk and no rejection, Meg”

“Did he tell you I love you and then took it back, like Jerry?”

“No!”

“Angie, would you please tell me what the fuck happened or I'll have to try and guess for another couple of hours?”

“He... well...”

“Told you he's gay?”

“No!”

“So what the hell did he do to you?!!”

“He kissed me”

“WHAT?!” Meg jumps off the table so fast that she almost flips it over together with my chair.

“He gave me a kiss. Well, more than one actually, multiple kisses but all together, in the same occasion, so I think we can call it a kiss, I think they count as a single act”

“EDDIE KISSED YOU! And you tell me just like this?”

“How should I tell you?”

“Most of all, you only tell me now?!”

“I'm not even sure it happened for real...”

“ANGIE, I'M GONNA KILL YOU, I SWEAR TO GOD”

“It was a weird moment”

“Did he kiss you, yes or no?”

“I think he did”

“YOU THINK?”

“Yeah, I mean, at this point, after thinking and rethinking all things through, I think I can affirm he 90% actually kissed me”

“What the fuck does it mean, I mean, were you stoned? Were you blindfolded and ignore who put his tongue into your mouth?”

“I didn't mention tongues”

“Did he kiss you without tongue?”

“Well, no, I mean, both with and without”

“OHMYGOD”

“Why? I didn't think it was such an important detail”

“The detail is not important you asshole! I mean, he kissed you. You and Eddie really kissed”

“Yeah”

“And when? What happened? How did it go? Come on, tell me!”

“Didn't you say details are not important?”

“Don't be your usual pain in the ass self and tell me everything”

I spill the beans, also because there's nothing else I can do. I start from the beginning, that is from my arrival in San Diego.

“Did he kiss you on the beach right in front of Jerry Cantrell? Tell me yes”

“No”

I tell her about our touristic tour of the city.

“Did he kiss you at Subway's? On the bench at the park?”

“No”

I add details about the night at the disco I hadn't told her before.

“Did he kiss you while you were doing The Hustle?”

“Noo!”

I try to cut the too long story short by quickly recapping the day with Dina, the show and the after show beach party.

“Did he kiss you backstage? On the beach under the moonlight while the others were skinny dipping in the ocean?”

“No”

“Goodnight kiss when you got back home then?”

“No, Meg”

“Angie, I'm losing my patience, when the fuck did he kiss you?”

“I'm getting there!”

“Just tell me, please”

“Umph... at the bus station before I left”

“You mean... he had two whole days and he kissed you a minute before saying goodbye?”

“Yes...”

“What a dickhead”

“Well, he felt like doing that there and then!”

“Yeah but he's a dick, he had you suffer until the last second”

“That's not true”

“Yes, it is”

“I didn't suffer, they were two fantastic days! I mean, good, two very good days, nice”

“And the kiss? What was it like?”

“Well..”

“Fantastic? Or good? Or just another nice kiss?” she teases me quoting an old conversation of ours about a totally different kiss with someone else.

“It wasn't nice, it was... it was... I don't know, I wouldn't even know how to describe it, it's like I lost my senses for a few minutes”

“Oh Angie”

“I mean, not all senses, not like anesthesia, because I felt everything extremely well”

“Hahaha I can imagine”

“It was... it was electricity, heat, confusion, wind...”

“Wind?” Meg asks and I almost laugh at the coincidence...

“Yeah, much like when the wind makes you lose control while you're walking and blows so heavily against your face that takes your breath away for a second and you almost feel it in your stomach... Like when you dive down on a rollercoaster”

“You took a nice ride on Eddie The Rollercoaster then”

“But that's different because you're already expecting it. This instead... it was more like when you're going down the stairs and take a false step and without realising you tumble and find yourself with your ass on the ground. But I never got to the ground. Eddie was kissing me and I kept falling and falling and that's it”

“And what about Tom?”

“Tom?”

“Jones? Did you hear him?”

“No”

“Hahaha thank god, I'd be seriously worried then!”

“I heard Dave?”

“Dave? Your ex?”

“Gahan, from Depeche Mode. I even saw him dancing actually...”

“Did you and Vedder exchange psychedelics together with saliva?”

“I was present and absent at the same time, I was there, but in a different form, a different state. Like evaporated water or melted ice. More the first, because I felt light. I was evaporating. Well, maybe sublimating would be more correct...”

“And you still have the guts to claim you've got no feelings for Eddie?” Meg interrupts my nonsense pondering with something that makes even less sense.

“I... I have feelings but, well, it's just... I don't really know what they are yet”

“You don't really know?”

“I'm... trying to figure out!”

“I think you can see it from fucking space what the fuck you're feeling for him, Angie”

“Well, I'm the limited one then because I don't get it”

“You know exactly what those feelings are, you just don't want to admit it”

“It's all a big mess”

“Why? Are you afraid? Is that why you're avoiding him?”

“I'm not avoiding him...”

“You literally asked me to tell him you were not here, how do you call it?”

“I'm just postponing a conversation none of us wants to have right now”

Sure, he called you ten times 'cause he doesn't want to talk to you at all, it seems logic”

“He doesn't want to but he feels he has to, 'cause he's a nice guy”

“Nice guy? Excuse me, what do you think he wants to tell you?”

“What do you think? That it was all a mistake and we should forget it”

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA”

“Why are you laughing?”

“Hahaha call me silly, but I think he wants to tell you he can't wait to take another ride on your rollercoaster” Meg mimes a rollercoaster with her hand, which lands straight against my right hip.

“Stop it!”

“Or on your windmills” she goes on and pretends to kiss me, then blows against my face.

“You're not funny”

“Well you're making me laugh a lot, you know”

“Eddie and I... it can't be! It's impossible” I get up and walk towards the hallway, my roommate tagging along as she really can't understand.

“Why?”

“Because that's the way it is”

“That's not an answer”

“Because... because we've got nothing to do with each other”

“Oh Jesus...” Meg sighs, walking past me right on the doorway of my room and diving face down on my bed.

“I'm not telling he's better than me. Let's forget for a moment the fact that he is. I'm not saying it's because I am... I don't know, a dusky-capped flycatcher and he's an Atlantic yellow-nosed albatross. It's because we're actually two very different things, like... like... a bollard and a poem by Robert Frost”

“What?” Meg looks up from my duvet and gives me a puzzled look.

“An obliterated bus ticket and... the rings of Saturn”

“Is it a bad sign that in both statements I can easily say who is what for you?”

“You're getting into my logic”

“Please, let me out! You've already given me headache” Meg stretches her arms towards me as I'm still standing in the center of the room, trying to convince my audience that consists in one single person.

“What would Eddie do with me?”

“I don't know, maybe writing a poem by Robert Frost on a bollard with a permanent marker?”

“Using my terrible metaphors against me won't change my mind”

“Eddie knows exactly what he wants to do with you and he already gave you a preview from what I heard”

“Eddie confused friendship with something else, that's all”

“No, it's you who are mistaking a guy in love for a confused person”

“In love?! Hahahahah please!”

“It's your brain that evaporated first, Angie, let me tell you”

“I bet Eddie thinks he's made a stupid mistake” I suggest trying to shake her hand but she shooed mine away.

“Of course he is! You're avoiding him. If I kissed a guy and he ignored me for days, I'd think that too”

“I say he thought of it in spite of my following actions”

“I say you just keep repeating this story to try and convince yourself, whereas you know exactly there's another possibility”

“Of course I know” Meg managed to make me shut up, it takes me a while to reply.

“Ha! See?”

“The two possibilities coexist”

“Exactly”

“And will keep coexisting and being both valid, at least until I don't... observe the system”

“What system?”

“This portion of universe”

“The fuck are you talking about, Angie?”

“Quantum physics. Do you know Schroedinger's cat paradox?” I ask her as I sit beside her on my bed.

“The cat that's dead or alive in the box?”

“Actually, it's both dead and alive until you don't open the box”

“So are you the cat? Or Eddie?”

“Eddie kissed me, then I left and haven't seen or heard of him ever since. It's like I closed him in the box, right? And now we're in a quantum superposition situation, that is two possibilities overlapping”

“Remorseful Eddie and Eddie in love?”

“Yeah... well, more or less”

“The cat is both alive or dead until you check inside the box, so in the same way...”

“Eddie's both remorseful and, ehm, infatuated until I talk to him”

“That's obvious”

“So you must have understood why I wanna talk to him as late as possible”

“Actually... no”

“Oh shit, Meg, follow me! It's Schroedinger's kiss, right? In this scenario, the kiss is both something with a meaning and a mistake that doesn't mean anything”

“Ok...”

“And if I don't talk to Eddie, it'll go on being like that, right?”

“Right”

“And maybe half an alternative is all I've got left, isn't it? What if it's the best I can expect? I'd better hold it, don't you think?”

“You mean you're not calling him because you want to postpone your disappointment?”

“Bingo!”

“And couldn't you just say it like that instead of giving me a headache with this quantum stuff?” she jokes shoving me.

“You forgot someone here has difficulties in admitting things in a linear way...”

“If you're afraid of being disappointed... it means you've got hope!”

“Of course I've got hope! It'd be much easier if I hadn't! But no, there's always a small bitchy part of me who hopes for all these absurdities to become true, that's my problem”

“Once you become Eddie's girlfriend, you'll laugh about all this, Angie” Meg shakes her head and gets up from my bed, walks up to the photocollage Eddie made for me and points right at him in one of the pictures, which captures my whole attention for a good couple of minutes.

“Trying to raise my hopes won't help me”

“So what? Is it better to wallow yourself in a 50% possibility?”

“Still better than 100% certainty”

“Depends on what's the certainty”

“The only logical one”

“And Eddie? Don't you think about him?”

“What do you believe I've been thinking for two days? And who are we talking about?”

“I mean, quantum shit aside, and leaving out the eventual sentimental consequences, you two are friends and friends deserve sincerity and respect”

“Yeah, I know...”

“A friend has been looking for you, for days, and you avoid him with lies, do you think it's a correct behaviour?”

“No, I didn't mean to justify myself, I was only explaining the way I think”

“You think with your ass. Whatever is the reason he wants to talk to you, you're disrespecting him”

“It's hard...”

“Doing the right thing is never easy.” Meg gets out of my room again, then comes back a minute later “Now take the phone, dial the number of the hotel in Santa Rosa Eddie gave to me and open this fucking box” Meg physically puts the phone in my hands once again, together with the notepad he scribbled on while she was talking to Ed.

“Now?”

“Now”

“Now I have to go and get dressed, and go to class”

“Call him while you're getting dressed, it's a chordless phone, no chord, the word says it, you can take it anywhere with you, even in the bathroom”

“Listen, I promise I'll call him later”

“Bullshit, I don't believe you”

“Really, I'll call him by the end of the day, for real, you convinced me”

“You'll call him tonight in front of Grace and I. On speakerphone. Fuck, Grace will literally lose her mind once she'll know you and Eddie kissed haha. Perfect timing for our girls night!”

“Oh err, by the way, I wanted to tell you I won't be here tonight unfortunately”

“What do you mean you won't be here?! What's with this bullshit?”

“I'm busy”

“I was joking about speakerphone! Listen, I've just thought what we can do: Grace calls Stone to have a chat, then you and I chime in and ask where the others are and turn it into a group call like the other night. So technically you'll speak with Eddie, but not alone”

“I'm going out with Dave”

“So you can break the ice and the deadlock you're in. And the kiss, you can talk about it another time, maybe in person... Sorry, I didn't understand who you're going out with”

“Dave”

“Gahan?”

“Haha no, Grohl! We're going to a concert”

“You mean you're afraid the cat is dead so you just go and take another?”

“Hahaha but no!”

“Resurrecting a cat you had already buried? Really?”

“It's not what you think”

“Uh so you're not going out with your ex, while the guy who kissed you pines for you?”

“No, because it's not a date! And no one is pining...”

“At this point, why don't you call Jerry too? You could have dinner together tomorrow”

“Ok listen, I'm gonna have a shower now, if you wanna know the truth just wait for me and I'll tell you, if you don't well just keep on making fun of me, as you wish”

“Uhmm both things are tempting, I think I'll just stop talking to you to have them coexist so I can enjoy them both in my fucking quantum system” she jokes as I leave the room and flips her the bird.

“Fuck you, Meg”

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

It must be cool I think. Having your workplace right outside your home. It'd be my dream. Or maybe not. On one hand it'd be more practical, I'd never be late, well, almost never; but on the othe r hand I'd have the impression I'd never had a real break, my head would be on work even when I'm not working. You look outside your window or get out of home in the afternoon and there is the minimart sign, watching you, and you start thinking about the upcoming deliveries, the new displays to assemble and the technician to call for the fridge. God no! In this case the proximity turns out as something positive, since I simply cross the road and I'm already pressing my finger on the buzzer of the McDonald-Pacifico residence. My finger basically starts to atrophy on the fucking button because after a quarter of an hour nobody has answered yet. It was today, wasn't it? Maybe Meg left for a while. The lights are on though...

“No point ringing Grace, it's broken” I'm so focused on the fourth floor's windows that I don't notice Angie showing up on the doorway.

“Hey, welcome back... ex friend who ditches on us at the very last moment!” I mess her hair up and give her a quick hug.

“Thanks. Did Meg tell you?”

“Yeah, she anticipated you'd have ditched us tonight”

“Did she also tell you it's for a good cause?”

“Sure, unless I wouldn't even talk to you right now!”

“Did she tell you only this?” she asks, suddenly lowering her voice, who knows why.

Right in that moment a car horn honks twice behind our backs and we turned around simultaneously.

“I see, your date has arrived”

“That is, my companion in misfortune. Gotta go. Have a good time and easy with Meg's puryfying masks!” Angie rolls her eyes and smiles at me before walking away to the car, waiting for her on the opposite side of the road.

I enter from the glass door left open by Angie and take the elevator. I'm sorry she won't be with us tonight but I feel a lot of curious anectodes will come out and we'll still discuss them in the future with her too. In today's menu, Meg promised juicy updates about Angie and her but she didn't tell me anything in advance. We'll see! By the way, she asked me news about Stone and I but there's not that much to say. She keeps asking but, I mean, doesn't she realize we're not even in the same state right now? The flame is neither on or off, it's just on stand-by. I get out of the elevator and walk through the long hallway, kind of creepy because of a flickering lightbulb. I turn around the corner and basically find myself face to face to Meg, who's leaving the apartment with her purse in her hand.

“Don't tell me you're ditching me too and the evening is cancelled because in that case I won't talk to you and your heartbreaker roommate anymore”

“Hahaha no, I'm just going outside to wait for the pizza guy, because now the buzzer's broken too in this shitty building”

“Yeah, I met Angie who opened the door for me or I'd still be out in the cold”

“Come on, get in, he should be here in a minute, I'll be back soon. And prepare yourself psychologically cause I've got a lot of absurd stuff to tell you!”

“I can say we won't watch the movie” I smile as I enter the apartment, whereas Meg walks away, buttoning up her jacket.

“We won't need the movie, trust me!”

Salt lick by Tad is the first record of the evening I decide to put on, although the evening hasn't started yet, considering Meg's still outside waiting for the pizza guy. I look outside the window to see if someone's coming, but nothing for now. I sit on the couch and start playing with the beer cans that are on the coffee table, I line them up, first in rows of two, then of three until one is left out and I open it for me. I get up again and walk around the house to waste some time. Actually I don't just look around, I go straight to one point, the fridge in the kitchen, and start checking it for something new, which I immediately find. A magnet with a panda, an orca and a smiling sun with a hat, surrounded by palms and the writing SAN DIEGO. The magnet itself holds a retro-style postcard, showing a beach at sunset, a line of parked old cars, each one with a surfboard over the roof, and four silhouettes of surfers, two guys and two girls. I knew she'd have addes something to her collection. I'm examining the long shadows of the surfers on the postcard when I'm startled by the sudden ring of the phone. I wait a little before answering, after an inner debate, I'm not at my place after all... But what if it's important? What if it's the pizza place calling to say they're late?

“Hello?”

“Oh thank god! I thought I had to sit through a whole conversation with Meg and Angie about shit before I could finally talk to you” the voice on the other hand only makes me regret I didn't answer at the first ring.

“Hey Stone”

“Hi, love. What's up? Are you still sober? Do you already have nail polish on your feet?”

Great.

Couldn't he just be sarcastic? Why does he have to add things? Two sentences, two uncomfortable things. I'm already changing my mind, I'd have better not answer.

“Hehe no. I mean, yes, I'm sober and no, my toenails are... are just like before, everything's the same”

“Are you ok? You sound weird... Is Meg threatening you with eyebrow tweezers? If you can't speak don't risk it, tell me something in a secret code, something that would sound absolutely natural in a conversation with your boyfriend like They shot Tommy in the face so his mother couldn't give him an open coffin at the funeral...”

“Hehe no, it's alright, I'm just a little lost. Meg's not here anyway, she's outside waiting for the pizza delivery guy. Broken buzzer”

“Yeah, I guess this sounds even more natural. I'll call 911”

“What about you? Aren't you playing tonight?”

“Yeah, actually we're in the dressing room, that is also some kind of extension of the toilet”

“Or vice versa” I can barely hear it but the voice is unmistakable.

“Or vice versa, like Eddie says, we still didn't understand”

“Look! Here's Mike Patton's phone number!” Jeffrey chimes in too in this messy phone conversation.

“Sorry babe, I gotta hang up and call him immediately. It surely is his number, after all there's no more reliable source than a writing on the toilet wall in a club in Sacramento”

“Wasn't it the dressing room?” I chuckle and for a moment I think about asking him for that number too. Would he take it bad?

“I told you, we still haven't understood!”

“Faith No More played there, it can't be a bad place”

“Mr Bungle I think. Jokes aside, it's not bad, I think it's one of the coolest places we've been so far, although it's as big as your apartment”

“And it's packed!” Jeff shouts, probably swallowing the receiver.

“I have to agree with what the caveman said. It's full of people... who are here for Alice in Chains of course”

“How do you know? Don't put yourself down like that” I try and console him, although I know he doesn't need it.

“I'm not putting myself down, it's the truth. 99% they don't know us, we have to conquer them”

“So go and conquer them!” I encourage him and only after a while a realize that it might sound like I want to end the call now. But I don't want to. Really! I'm perfectly at ease in this conversation, when he doesn't remind me once every five minutes that he's my boyfriend.

“We'll do that, dear. What about pizza? Not arrived yet? And alcohol? Are you still sober?”

“Haha your friends will think I'm some kind of alcoholic! Anyway, no pizza. And now that I think about it, I'm so hungry!”

“Come on, resist. I couldn't eat anything right now, my stomach's in knots, you know it's always like that for me before I get on a stage”

“Hehe yeah, you told me. Don't be nervous”

“I'm not nervous, I'm realistic. I do my job but there are other four variables for the success of the show, you know what I mean”

“Hehe four variables in flesh and bones, who disturb you while you're calling me?”

“Exactly. But they left me alone now, they must have gone searching for the other guitarist since we're on in like half an hour”

“Talking about sobriety...”

“You get it. Anyway would it sound too sappy and inappropriate if I told you that I miss you and wish you were here with me?”

“Yes, totally inappropriate, Stone” I have the feeling I held my breath before answering. What if my silence was too long? Would he believe it was just a dramatic pause?

“Ok, I won't tell you then. Oops, one variable is coming back. Eddie's here, we must stop with our extreme phone sex for now, sorry babe”

“Fuck... Stone!” I hear Vedder mumble something that sounds like embarrassment, whereas Stone giggles in the receiver.

“I was clearly joking, do you think that if I had hardcore sex on the phone with my girlfriend I'd tell you?”

My girlfriend, yeah, let's say it again, maybe the people in the back didn't know already.

“Leave Eddie alone, don't make him uncomfortable!”

“What? Now?” Stone's speaking but clearly not to me “What do you have to tell her? Uh ok, wait! Sorry Grace, Eddie wants to talk to you a sec, I'll put him on”

“He wants to talk... to me?” I don't think I'm the object of his interest, but it's probably the absent girl of the night. As far as Meg told me, neither Angie's surprise visit or her change in style were enough to wake the handsome surfer up. And she's kinda avoiding him now. And I totally understand her, I mean, I know her and she'll surely act as if it's nothing because 'what, I don't like Eddie' and 'I went to San Diego to see the band' and shit like that. She was surely expecting something from this but he didn't do anything. She must be so sad. What if his ex girlfriend got in the way? That would be a heavy blow, even for the always (apparently) indifferent Angie.

“If he tries hardcore phone sex with you, tell me, ok?”

“Hahaha shut up and let me talk to him!”

“Have a good time, love”

“You too and... break a leg!” why does he always have to add something in the end?!

“Ehm hi Grace” Eddie's deep voice sounds a little higher than normal, it must be that he's uncomfortable. Or impatient? Surely he wants to know about Angie. And for like the 18th time he'll be told she's not here. And it serves him right! I mean, it's ok if you're shy and your head's full of doubts but here it's about keep a girl hanging, a girl who clearly has a crush on him. Because I wanna believe it's just doubts and he's not leading her on on purpose just to be a dick, because in that case he'd be a real piece of shit.

“Hi Eddie, how's it going? What's up?” now I'm gonna keep him on the phone for an hour asking him random questions, I wanna see how long it takes before he asks me about Angie.

“Oh, everything's fine, except for stage fright, but that's normal for me” aw no, it wouldn't be fair, turture him like that.

“Don't worry, you'll do great. I guess you wanna talk to Angie, right?” also because I've just had the greatest idea. The perfect system to punish him.

“Uhm well, yeah, actually... it looks like she's pretty impossible to find lately”

“And you keep on not finding her, she's not here tonight”

“Oh really? Great, hehe, I was expecting that...” he nervously answers and I'm almost sorry to do what I'm about to do. Almost.

“You're a little unlucky, Eddie”

“Yeah, I noticed that. Well, I'll try and call her at the diner. I didn't want to disturb her at work, but it looks like it's the only way to actually speak to her so...”

“Oh but she's not at Roxy's”

“Working the nightshift at Westlake's? On a Saturday?” Eddie sounds honestly confused and I feel like I'm playing like a cat and mouse.

“Hehe no, Eddie, she's not working. No justification for ditching us, that little bitch!”

“Oh! I see, and... ehm, where-”

“And ditching us for a guy!”

“What?” I think I caught the exact moment the jealousy switch snapped.

“You don't ever ditch friends, for any guy, don't you think?”

“What guy?”

“Uhm yeah, you know him! Her ex, sort of, the one who plays the drums...”

“Dave?” the sound of his voice as he pronounces that name scaries me: red alert!

“Yeah, from what I know, there're going to a concert”

“I see. Thank you, I'll get Stone for you, ok? Bye”

“Ok, by-... bye Ed?” as I reply a loud thud blows out my eardrum. I dope he didn't throw the receiver on Stone's head. Anyway, now we'll see. If this doesn't rock the boat then I don't know what to do with that guy!

“Excuse me, babe, what did you tell my singer exactly? He just stormed out like a fury...” he doesn't sound like someone who's just been hit by a phone, so I relax.

“Nothing, he wanted to talk to Angie but...”

“Let me guess: she's not there”

“Exactly”

“Ok, I couldn't care less but please, let him talk to her. I like it when he's aggressive on stage but he's starting to be intractable off stage too...”

“It's not our fault if they never find each other...” I innocently reply. I don't feel like sharing my evil intrigues with Stone, although I think he'd appreciate them.

“Whatever, who cares. Let's go back to us. You wanted to know what I'm wearing, right?”

“Haha no. And by the way, Meg's just arrived with pizza, I gotta go” my friend finally gets back home with two steamy hot pizza boxes and puts them on the coffee table, right in front of me.

“HI STONE!” she yells in my direction “Did I interrupt something?” she adds in a low voice.

After some more small talk the phone call ends, I hang up and silently look at Meg as she takes off her jacket and throws herself on the couch right next to me, opens the boxes and a beer can.

“What's up? Why do you have that smile plastered on your face? Does Stone have this effect on you?” she winks.

“Haha no, my friend. Stone's got nothing to do with it this time. I'm the one who had a certain effect. And not on him. On someone else”

“On who?”

“I think I set a good mechanism in motion, this time I have to compliment myself” I add patting myself on my shoulder.

“How many did you have already?” she asks suspiciously pointing at the beer I'm holding with my right hand.

“This is the first and only one! Anyway, let me explain to you why I'm a genius...”

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

“There she is! She's arrived!” Grace finally moves away from the windowsill and closes the window shut.

“It was about time, at least you'll stop letting the cold in. It's already freezing here...” I mumble as I rearrange the blanket over my shoulders.

“Technically, it's not the cold getting in but the heat going out, anyway...”

“You don't need to act like the Angie of the day, the original's here” I joke as I get up from the couch.

“Thank god, the waiting's killing me. I can't wait to solve this mess” Grace has been pacing the living room back and forth for a few hours, basically with no interruptions.

“Ok, come on, it's not your fault. I mean, not only. I could have been more specific and told you what happened between Eddie and Angie”

“What does it even mean? You didn't have to tell me anything, after all it's all Angie's business. It's me, I shouldn't have intruded. What have I done?”

“You had good intentions and did it for a good cause”

“Sure, making Eddie jealous to make him come clean about his feeling once and for all... Unfortunately he already did in San Diego and what did I do? I told him his girl was out with another guy!”

“And not just an average guy!” I know, I'm twisting a knife in her too, but I can't help making fun of Grace. She's so sweet in her feeling like shit.

“Her fucking ex! How long does it take to her to come upstairs?” the girl looks at the watch, as if she was timing our friend.

“You know she never takes the elevator, it depends on how much breath she's got left after the concert”

“And what if Eddie fucked another chick for revenge? What if he goes back to his ex?” Grace goes on desperately, while the noise of the key in the lock is the signal of Angie's arrival.

“Here she is, thank god. So we can just solve this thing and you can relax, I can't stand you anymore” I can barely end the sentence when Grace has already launched herself towards the doorway.

“ANGIE, I FUCKED UP!”

“Hello to you too, Grace... what did you do? Did Meg go too far with waxing?” Angie gives a more than perplexed look at the girl, who's basically cornered her and pushed her against the closed door.

“Haha no, none of that”

“I WISH, ANGIE, I WISH IT WAS SOMETHING LIKE THAT!” Grace yells at her face.

“Stone would liked that for sure” I joke as I come close to them.

“MEG, PLEASE, THIS IS NOT THE RIGHT MOMENT”

“May one ask what the hell's going on here? What did you smoke? And most of all, why didn't you wait for me?”

“Come here, Angie, I'm gonna tell you everything, Grace's not exactly sane and lucid right now” I put my arm around Angie's shoulders and automatically drag them both to the living room and to the couch.

“I fucked up and it's all my fault. But it can't go like this, I promise that if something bad happens I'll go talk to him” Grace takes Angie's hand and my roommate eyes her more and more suspiciously.

“Him... who?”

“Eddie, who else?” she reveals and Angie removes instantly her hand.

“Why? What happened with Eddie?”

“What happened is that-” I try and start a clear explanation but anxiety in person interrupts me.

“We'll tell you ok? But you need to keep calm. Whatever happens, we'll deal with it together, ok?”

“Ok... can I take off my coat first or...?”

“Oh yeah, sure! Sure, take it off, make yourself comfortable”

“Sure, Angie! Make yourself at home hehe” I can't help myself, I specifically try to release the tension.

“Meg, don't make fun of me, please, I'm already feeling like shit like this” Grace puts and Angie warily takes off her coat and her boots.

“Why do you feel like shit? Can you please tell me, what did you do? And what's Eddie got to do with it?”

“If you both keep calm and quiet for a minute, I'm gonna tell you”

“Is that all?” Angie shrugs after listening to the whole story.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN IS THAT ALL? CAN'T YOU UNDERSTAND? HE THINKS YOU WENT OUT WITH DAVE!” Grace is surprised by Angie's indifference. Of course she had to act like she doesn't care.

“Well, that's the truth, isn't it?”

“But you didn't... go out in the true sense of the word” Grace retorts.

“Don't play dumb, Angie. He must have thought it was a date” I scold her.

“A real date” Grace adds.

“A full blown date”

“It's not that he must have thought... it's that I told him. Well, I suggested it, but I basically told him”

“So what?” Angie's shrugs are almost more irritating than Grace's guilty conscience.

“So what?? He must be angry!” I blurt out trying to have a reaction from her.

“You should have heard him, it seemed like he turned into ice all of a sudden. He scared me” Grace nods, whereas Angie shakes her head no.

“Please, like he cares...”

“Angie, you don't need to act, I told her about the kiss” I explain as I point at Grace, who keeps nodding yes with no reason.

“I supposed so. Anyway, as I already said, I don't think it's gonna upset him that much” Angie gets up with the coat in her hand, grabs the boots with her other hand and leaves the living room just like that.

“Suuure... he just looked like someone who's ready to kill the first human being passing by!” Grace temporarily borrows Stone's sarcasm uniform to react to Angie's fake indifference “What is she doing now? Is she leaving?” she later asks me.

“Let her put her pjs on, than we'll tease her some more”

When Angie shows up again later, walking through the living room to go to the kitchen, she finds us here, exactly where she left us: I'm on one couch and Grace on the other one, staring at her in disbelief.

“What's wrong?” she asks annoyed, with a glass of water in her hand, ready to put it on her nightstand for the night.

“You gotta call Eddie” Grace says before me.

“Why?”

“Because you have to tell him the truth” I speak first this time.

“You already did, didn't you? I mean, you spared me a long story, thank you Grace” Angie mimics a toast towards our friend.

“Shut up! You can't make me feel guilty forever for this, now you call him and tell him the truth” I kinda like Grace's aggressive passivity (or passive aggressiveness?).

“And you tell him the rest too” I add, just to make things clear.

“The rest? Which rest?”

“Well, for example, you could tell him what you feel for him and what did you feel when he kissed, using the same word you told me”

“You're crazy”

“Uh! I wanna hear the words too!” Grace gives up her desperate persona for a second and gets into gossip mode.

“Ok, just tell him what's going on with Dave and that the kiss was great, but you're in a difficult moment now and don't know what you want and you have to think about it”

“I don't have to think about shit”

“Just tell him you miss him!” Grace suggests again.

“I don't miss him”

“Angie, for fuck's sake!” I get up yelling so loud that I almost scare myself “I don't give a shit about what you'll tell him, tell him anything you want, but call him. Just call him so you can put an end to this mess”

“Ok... ok... I'll call him now! You don't need to all emotional...” Angie finally gives in, puts the glass on the coffee table and takes the phone right next to it.

“Oh finally!” Grace claps and winks at me.

“And put it on speakerphone”

“I don't need speakerphone if I leave him a message” Angie retorts as she quickly dials the number by heart.

“Hahaha yeaaaaaah, sure!” I steal the phone from my very clever roommate.

“What's wrong?”

“On the phone table at the entrance you can find Eddie's hotel phone number, you gotta call him there, so you can actively talk to him” I explain better, since she's playing dumb.

“And put it on speakerphone!” Grace can't wait for the call to happen and is sitting on the edge of the couch.

“They had a show tonight, do you think he's in his hotel room at this time?” she asks looking at us alternatively as if we were stupid.

“Sure” I calmly reply.

“Alone in his room, suffering for you” Grace adds.

“Punching the wall”

“And he hung a picture of Dave on said wall”

“And getting drunk to forget you”

“Alone and drunk with sore knuckles”

“Ok ok, I got the idea!” Angie flails her arms and walks towards the hallway, then comes back with the infamous notepad.

“Come on, call him!” Grace tells her.

“In a minute... but without speakerphone”

“But with speakerphone!” I'm sorry, it's a deal-breaker, babe.

“Umph...” Angie puffs loudly and dials the number, staring at the phone longer than she should before pressing the dial button “I guess he's not in his room anywa-... Ehm ehm, hello? Eddie? Yeah, hi, it's me” Angie's eyes are purely terrified, Grace's ones are heartshaped. Mine, instead, are fixed on the phone resting against Angie's ear and spot the speakerphone button, so that I can promptly press it as she speaks.

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

Didn't she say no fucking musicians anymore? Well, I'm a musician too, but that's different! And there must be some kind of justice, if it's no to me it's no to him too, what the fuck. Anyway she said they were just friends to behave, what to tell me. But it was much simpler than that. She just didn't care. But, you know, it's ok. Feelings are not necessarily reciprocated. I mean, somebody, a writer, I can't remember the name, used to say that the only true love is the unrequited one. Bummer. By the way, I can accept being ignored and dumped, but you can't kiss me and then don't give a fuck about me and go out with another guy without telling me. I mean, you can, you know, you can do whatever you want, you don't owe me anything, you never promised me anything and, even if you did, you'd have the right to change your mind and tell me to go fuck myself as you want. You can, but I can't help feeling disappointed. Bullshit. I'm fucking mad and if I had my hands on Dave right now I'd fucking punch him. I mean, I'd fucking punch anyone. That's why I decided to take a cab back to the hotel right after the concert. The show wasn't bad, anger's always a good stage fuel. We were great and the more or less thirty people who actually gave a shit about our set too, enjoyed a show they won't easily forget. How easily will I forget her? And her lips? And the delicious way she kisses? And the small twitches of her closed eyelids I spyed on while we were kissing? And how she held me tight? God, can't you hear yourself?! Wake up! She didn't call you back and went out with someone else, isn't it enough to understand you have to take your mind off her?

The croaky phone ring startles me. It must be Jeff who wants to know if I got here safe. I sit on the bed and pick up the receiver.

“Hello”

“Hello?” she says after nervously clearing her throat.

She.

Damn.

“Angie, it's you”

“Eddie? Yeah, it's me” I know it's you, it wasn't a fucking question.

“I can't believe it, you do exist then? I was starting to think you were an abstact entity”

“Hehe yeah, sorry, it's just I was kinda busy, with work and the rest”

“Yeah, I've been told about your schedule” I coldly reply, I mean, I try and seem cold, but I most likely just seem enbittered.

“You know, whenever I could call you I thought it wasn't the right moment and whenever the right moment came, I never had the time or was too tired. I'm inexcusable”

“Never mind” are you calling me now only to tell me you have a new boyfriend? Yeah, that must be the reason. Grace must have told her about our conversation and now she felt like she had to explain . But there's nothing to explain, everything seems pretty clear to me.

“I'm sorry”

“I said never mind!” I repeat, maybe too vehemently, since Angie keeps silent for long seconds.

“Grace told me you had called tonight too and I thought what the hell and just went for it and called you, I mean it's now or never at this point. I tried and I didn't think I'd find you in your hotel room by now”

“And you're busy now too, I see”

“W-why?”

“The speakerphone...”

“Ah! No, it's just... I'm tidying up my room and getting ready for bed. How... how arre things going? How did the concert go?” in a different situation, the image of her in a bed would have had a totally different effect on me.

“Good”

“Good as in you're good or the show was good?”

“Both” I'm feeling great.

“Good!”

“Good, yeah”

More silence.

“Is it... is it maybe a bad moment?”

“No, why?” it's a wonderful moment, best moment of my life.

“I don't know... you don't talk much”

“Did you just find out? Looks like you've been kinda distracted lately” and why should you have paid attention anyway if you're not interested in me?

“No, I wasn't. Anyway it's not the number of spoken words but more the way you speak them” ok, she really wants to hear me say that I'm jealous and she broke my heart. Can't we just ignore it, like she's been doing for almost three days?

“Why? Which way is it?”

“I don't know... weird... maybe you're tired”

“Yeah, it can be, concerts can be exhausting, once the adrenaline drops you kinda collapse too” but my adrenaline is still at the highest, I could go literally walk back to Sacramento and then get back here and I'd still be pumped up. I could walk up to Seattle and kick him in the ass.

“Hehe you're right. And it's not that different from watching a show from the audience. I was at a concert tonight and I'm basically dead” ok, she's starting to shift the conversation to slowly get to the point.

“Uh you've been to a concert?” I decide to play along, I mean, let's just rip the band-aid right off, right? The sooner she tells me what she wants to say, the sooner this stupid phone call will end. I missed her voice though...

“Yeah, I had such a good time but I'll keep it in mind next time someone suggests moshing” and it's not her fault if she doesn't like me anyway. But I can't help getting angry if I think about her in the mosh pit together with that jerk.

“What band did you see?” better focus on something else.

“A whole female band, they're great! And they're from San Diego, sure you know them. They're called L7”

“Sure I do know them, they're old friends! My old band opened for them more than once too” I am in California and they're in Seattle, ironic.

“I know, the bass player told me”

“Did you meet Jennifer? Wait, you getting to know a band? You must have been in a very good mood tonight” talking about old friends doesn't make me forget she's with another man now.

“Well, I can tell you I was basically forced to do that, that was the reason why I went”

“Forced?”

“Yeah, Dave came to the diner to beg me on his knees” and you tell me? As if that silly serenade scene I witnessed wasn't enough...

“And you couldn't say no to him, I guess...”

“He trapped me! Actually, he and Jennifer are basically dating, although not officially, I mean, they went out together a few times. She's busy with her band and isn't calling him and he doesn't want to push, but at the same time wants to see her more. When he learned they'd have played at the Off Ramp he thought he had to go but didn't want to go alone and look creepy or pushy, at least that's what he thought. And he couldn't stand the idea of being ignored, he had no idea what she was thinking and she might as well not give a shit about it the whole night. So, in the end he asked a few people to go with him not to draw attention” Angie talks non-stop and I'm not understanding shit, oh well, I understood what I needed to, but I'm almost afraid to ask for further explanation.

“Dave and Jennifer?”

“Yeah, they're seeing each other. And I think they're a cute couple”

“And he went to see the show with a few people and you were one of these...”

“Well, actually Kurt ditched him 'cause he had to meet with a girl. No idea what kind of girl can stand such an unbearable guy, but... whatever. Krist is out of town. You know, Dave doesn't know many people here yet, he only had his roommate and I left. I took Brian from the diner with me too. If only I had known the asshole gets into the mosh pit keeping his elbows high, I wouldn't have invited him!”

“You were not alone then?”

“No, luckily Brian went to elbow the wrong guy and learned a lesson”

“No, I mean you and Dave... I thought... fuck, I feel like an idiot, I'm sorry” because I am, I'm an idiot, an asshole.

“Dave and I?”

“I thought you were going out with him. I thought you were with him. Again” I find myself standing beside the bed.

“Hahaha what? No!”

“But Grace said that-”

“Grace drew the wrong conclusion. Or maybe you misunderstood”

“Yeah, it was me, I misunderstood, I didn't understand shit. I never understand shit, especially when it's about you, Angie” am I still angry? Am I happy? Am I confused? I don't even know.

“What... what do you mean?”

“I mean... you know, you didn't call me after... and then Grace tells me you went out with... that... I thought you didn't want to know about it”

“About what?”

“About me” who else?

“Hahaha and why?” why is it so difficult to talk to this girl?

“I don't know... maybe because of what happened that morning, before you left...”

“Eddie... don't worry. Nothing happened, ok?”

Nothing? Why nothing? The fuck are you talking about? I'd better sit back down on the bed.

“Well, I wouldn't call it nothing...”

“Ok, let's pretend it never happened then”

Are you fucking kidding me?

“It doesn't seem doable to me, Angie”

“Well, it did happen then, but can't we just forget it?” she goes on nervously but trying to sound determined.

“Can you forget it? I can't think about anything else since you left” I confess and I hear a strange noise from the receiver right after that, like a moan, a choked meow.

“I don't... I don't know, Eddie”

“I know I made a mistake, I'll never forgive myself for that”

“That's not bad, you're making it worse and bigger than it actually is! As I said, nothing happened to me”

“The other morning, at the bus station, I shouldn't have kissed you”

“Exactly”

“I should have kissed you way before”

“Eddie, don't... what?”

“In three days, I could have kissed you a thousand time and I didn't because I'm a wimp. And even before that, I had like a million occasions to do that. I should have kissed you on the Space Needle, with that badass view. Or on Pike Place's roof terrace. Or while you were trying on that red hat at the mirror and weren't looking at me and you were so beautiful. Or on Cam's porch at new year's eve, while you were telling me about Schopenhauer, hedgehogs and Woodstock and you smelled like oranges and I'd have listened to you for hours”

“Also because you were high” she remarks and if she really thinks she can lighten the mood and break my speech she's fucking wrong.

“No, at that point, not yet. Anyway I could as well give you a kiss together with chocolate the night you came to the minimart in your pjs to buy pads and you were ashamed. Or when you found me alone at the gallery and you brought me food, whereas I'd have loved for you to feed me with kisses. Not to mention when I crashed at your place and slept with you and woke up in your fucking arms and instead of waking you up with a kiss, as you do with a princess, I grabbed your shoulder and shook it a little. What a jerk!”

“Eddie I... maybe we shouldn't discuss this on the phone, I mean...”

“I know, I know, that's why I'm saying I made a mistake. Because if I had kissed you before, we'd have had time to talk about it. Yet now we have to wait until I'm back in Seattle and I can't because I'd do it now. I'd want you here, now. Even without talking”

“I... I don't know what to say, Eddie”

“Don't say anything, I told you it's ok even without talking, right?”

“Hehe what do we do? We just shut up on the phone?”

“Yes. You know I'm a man of few words”

“I  know that well”

And that I want to shut up on the phone only with you and no one else? Do you know that too?

[watchtheblog]

no new friends

when i lived in new york, i was dating someone for 3 months and i literally didn’t know if i could refer to him as someone i knew. we’d be returning a vehicle we rented for a weekend trip and i’d still be like “him? oh. we’ve hung out two dozen times but i don’t really know him know him.”

in la, you wait on line at a grocery store with someone for two to seven minutes and they’re name checking you in therapy three hours later.

i have never had to question the descriptor “my friend” more times than i have since i moved here. 

i know now that “friend” is a spectrum that includes “person you’d invite to your wedding” and “person you exchanged “wow that party sucked” banter with in an elevator once because you happened to leave a party at the same time.”

a really corny thing people with no personalities like to promulgate - and always as if they’re the first person to have ever thought of it - is the idea that you can tell a lot about a person by the way they treat servers at a restaurant. 

while i do think that is true - because like, ok sure - on the flip, i treat servers like deities, but i also once described a 12 year old as a “no job having ass bitch”, so…

(^ a photo of me immediately post yelling at a stranger)

yes. that is important. but, in my opinion, seeing how a person speaks about and interacts with someone they’ve met (who is of any tenable social standing) 1-5 times in the city of los angeles is a far better indicator of whether this person is objectively “good”, or if they are someone who pronounces ibiza in the way you know i’m talking about (you know. like they’re a character in don quixote. you fucking know the way), who will likely try to entangle you in a ponzi scheme in the near future.

these are your friends in NY:

the person you’ve known since you were born, who bailed you out of jail that time you got popped for jumping over a turnstile (this is called “fare evasion”, fyi) in high school

that exact person. no one else.

in new york, a guy who was v close friends with my ex boyfriend pinned me against the door of my ex boyfriend’s dressing room and tried to fuck me... two weeks after we’d broken up… while my ex boyfriend was in the en suite bathroom.

that’s what friendship is in new york! it means nothing! 

these are your “friends” in LA:

every dog

the ex of the person you’re currently dating

the kids and other patients of any of your doctors

someone you let go in front of you on line at any establishment that serves matcha or anything CBD infused

someone you have the same in n out order as

anyone you’ve ever seen before 9am in a context other than working out

someone you DMed 10 times, who responded once with the heart that’s already there for you to click

a person you’ve fucked once or dozens or times over the course of 6 months, whom you refuse to call your significant other because you’re scum

and lastly,

a person who wanted to be your friend, whose trust you broke by trying to fuck them in a v creepy and unwelcome way

let me elaborate on the last:

last year, i was actively soliciting friendship on r*ya (a dating app) by setting up a profile and indicating i was “only here for friends”*.

*(this is a setting for 1. men who want to discreetly cheat on their girlfriends and 2. girls who want to trick men into being friends with them by pretending there’s a possibility they might fuck because they matched on a dating site.)

i matched with a “famous” “musician” (i put both words in quotations because i don’t quite consider a sleepy, middle aged white man whose music’s main accreditation is being the melody playing over a man slipping from coma to death on grey’s anatomy “famous”, but ok…) and we talked for a few weeks (mainly about how i had no friends and was desirous of a handful of them).

eventually we met up. he took me to a restaurant, i ate some food, i had one drink, we had a v boring conversation, and 50 minutes later i went home and remembered that i don’t need friends.

we didn’t talk again until three weeks later on a monday afternoon. he invited me over to his place to watch the new “curb” and eat chinese food. i said yes because i wanted free chinese food (and because i still have not learned that accepting an invitation to a man’s house apparently indicates that you’d like to suck his dick).

i arrived in sweatpants at 4pm. we ate chinese food, played backgammon, and he mansplained the “me too” movement to me for approximately 20 minutes. that is not a joke.

he also told me that louis ck would be the next man to be outed (weird flex but ok), and shared a story about him “lining girls up and masturbating on their shins”! also not a joke.

impossibly boring story short… at some point i thought, “i do not even want to be friends with this white devil. it’s time for me to leave”. so i got up, ordered an uber, and walked to the front door.

as i was putting my jacket on, he walked over to me in a way that i cannot even compare to anything to emphasize how crazy it was because it was so specifically over the top in it’s own way. this man sauntered over to me with both his arms outstretched, grabbed either side of my face and tilted his head to kiss me.

after touting his beliefs on the importance of women not being seen as sexual beings for three hours while i sat in his sterile home in sweatpants, eating lo mein, this soft, balding man tried to #metoo lite me.

that’s what friendship means to a man in los angeles. 

there’s no doubt in my mind this corny bozo refers to me as a “friend”... but my only friends are on the internet + the guy who pumps my gas on coldwater.

that being said. if you made it all the way here (wow. you must want to fuck me. hello!!) we are now friends and you are therefore obligated to buy me a christmas gift from the below list of carefully curated, v expensive christmas gifts i’ve assembled:

1. what i really want is a vintage sean john velour sweatsuit that i can have altered and wear every single day of my life until i die from texting and driving, but i don’t know if that’s reasonable… so maybe this tracksuit which is for children but i am sure will fit me. or this set. or this one, which matches my sneakers:

2. i want to go to a lakers game, please. front row. i don’t want this unless it’s front row. please respect this.

3. a trip here  (+ 1 for my sister)

4. this hand soap, because i love to keep my hands clean, and i also love people to know i’m rich when they use my bathroom, which they’ll know when they exit my bathroom, and i charge them for the squirts of hand soap they’ve just used

5. a personalized tray. i do all my business, sleeping, and eating in bed, so this would be helpful, so i can organize all my things.  or a clutch. same people

6. these sneakers. or these. or these. or these. size 7

7. one of these two books. or another book. i love to read, and i can afford to buy them, i just thought it nice to include here... so you remember i’m a thoughtful and educated thot.

8. this dress. or this one. or this dress which i don’t think will look good on me

9. this candle

10. this fanny pack, but only because i want to recreate that man’s exact look, so probably not the best idea to purchase this. 

11. these shoes. or these. 7.5

12. this chair. or these

13. a series of 1 on 1 training sessions at lagree. if you’ve ever watched me simulate sex work out, you will come through with this gift before christmas  

14. this bag which is overflow from my birthday gift list. or this one

thank you so much. here is another picture of me and one of my closest friends in la - a dog i spent 90 harrowing minutes with. i hate dogs.

[didanawisgi]

Nonoverlapping Magisteria

by Stephen Jay Gould

“Incongruous places often inspire anomalous stories. In early 1984, I spent several nights at the Vatican housed in a hotel built for itinerant priests. While pondering over such puzzling issues as the intended function of the bidets in each bathroom, and hungering for something other than plum jam on my breakfast rolls (why did the basket only contain hundreds of identical plum packets and not a one of, say, strawberry?), I encountered yet another among the innumerable issues of contrasting cultures that can make life so interesting. Our crowd (present in Rome for a meeting on nuclear winter sponsored by the Pontifical Academy of Sciences) shared the hotel with a group of French and Italian Jesuit priests who were also professional scientists.

At lunch, the priests called me over to their table to pose a problem that had been troubling them. What, they wanted to know, was going on in America with all this talk about "scientific creationism"? One asked me: "Is evolution really in some kind of trouble. and if so, what could such trouble be? I have always been taught that no doctrinal conflict exists between evolution and Catholic faith, and the evidence for evolution seems both entirely satisfactory and utterly overwhelming. Have I missed something?"

A lively pastiche of French, Italian, and English conversation then ensued for half an hour or so, but the priests all seemed reassured by my general answer: Evolution has encountered no intellectual trouble; no new arguments have been offered. Creationism is a homegrown phenomenon of American sociocultural history—a splinter movement (unfortunately rather more of a beam these days) of Protestant fundamentalists who believe that every word of the Bible must be literally true, whatever such a claim might mean. We all left satisfied, but I certainly felt bemused by the anomaly of my role as a Jewish agnostic, trying to reassure a group of Catholic priests that evolution remained both true and entirely consistent with religious belief.

Another story in the same mold: I am often asked whether I ever encounter creationism as a live issue among my Harvard undergraduate students. I reply that only once, in nearly thirty years of teaching, did I experience such an incident. A very sincere and serious freshman student came to my office hours with the following question that had clearly been troubling him deeply: "I am a devout Christian and have never had any reason to doubt evolution, an idea that seems both exciting and particularly well documented. But my roommate, a proselytizing Evangelical, has been insisting with enormous vigor that I cannot be both a real Christian and an evolutionist. So tell me, can a person believe both in God and evolution?" Again, I gulped hard, did my intellectual duty, and reassured him that evolution was both true and entirely compatible with Christian belief—a position I hold sincerely, but still an odd situation for a Jewish agnostic.

These two stories illustrate a cardinal point, frequently unrecognized but absolutely central to any understanding of the status and impact of the politically potent, fundamentalist doctrine known by its self-proclaimed oxymoron as "scientitic creationism"—the claim that the Bible is literally true, that all organisms were created during six days of twenty-four hours, that the earth is only a few thousand years old, and that evolution must therefore be false. Creationism does not pit science against religion (as my opening stories indicate), for no such conflict exists. Creationism does not raise any unsettled intellectual issues about the nature of biology or the history of life. Creationism is a local and parochial movement, powerful only in the United States among Western nations, and prevalent only among the few sectors of American Protestantism that choose to read the Bible as an inerrant document, literally true in every jot and tittle.

I do not doubt that one could find an occasional nun who would prefer to teach creationism in her parochial school biology class or an occasional orthodox rabbi who does the same in his yeshiva, but creationism based on biblical literalism makes little sense in either Catholicism or Judaism for neither religion maintains any extensive tradition for reading the Bible as literal truth rather than illuminating literature, based partly on metaphor and allegory (essential components of all good writing) and demanding interpretation for proper understanding. Most Protestant groups, of course, take the same position—the fundamentalist fringe notwithstanding.

The position that I have just outlined by personal stories and general statements represents the standard attitude of all major Western religions (and of Western science) today. (I cannot, through ignorance, speak of Eastern religions, although I suspect that the same position would prevail in most cases.) The lack of conflict between science and religion arises from a lack of overlap between their respective domains of professional expertise—science in the empirical constitution of the universe, and religion in the search for proper ethical values and the spiritual meaning of our lives. The attainment of wisdom in a full life requires extensive attention to both domains—for a great book tells us that the truth can make us free and that we will live in optimal harmony with our fellows when we learn to do justly, love mercy, and walk humbly.

In the context of this standard position, I was enormously puzzled by a statement issued by Pope John Paul II on October 22, 1996, to the Pontifical Academy of Sciences, the same body that had sponsored my earlier trip to the Vatican. In this document, entitled "Truth Cannot Contradict Truth," the pope defended both the evidence for evolution and the consistency of the theory with Catholic religious doctrine. Newspapers throughout the world responded with frontpage headlines, as in the New York Times for October 25:

"Pope Bolsters Church's Support for Scientific View of Evolution."

Now I know about "slow news days" and I do admit that nothing else was strongly competing for headlines at that particular moment. (The Times could muster nothing more exciting for a lead story than Ross Perot's refusal to take Bob Dole's advice and quit the presidential race.) Still, I couldn't help feeling immensely puzzled by all the attention paid to the pope's statement (while being wryly pleased, of course, for we need all the good press we can get, especially from respected outside sources). The Catholic Church had never opposed evolution and had no reason to do so. Why had the pope issued such a statement at all? And why had the press responded with an orgy of worldwide, front-page coverage?

I could only conclude at first, and wrongly as I soon learned, that journalists throughout the world must deeply misunderstand the relationship between science and religion, and must therefore be elevating a minor papal comment to unwarranted notice. Perhaps most people really do think that a war exists between science and religion, and that (to cite a particularly newsworthy case) evolution must be intrinsically opposed to Christianity. In such a context, a papal admission of evolution's legitimate status might be regarded as major news indeed—a sort of modern equivalent for a story that never happened, but would have made the biggest journalistic splash of 1640: Pope Urban VIII releases his most famous prisoner from house arrest and humbly apologizes, "Sorry, Signor Galileo… the sun, er, is central."

But I then discovered that the prominent coverage of papal satisfaction with evolution had not been an error of non-Catholic Anglophone journalists. The Vatican itself had issued the statement as a major news release. And Italian newspapers had featured, if anything, even bigger headlines and longer stories. The conservative Il Giornale, for example, shouted from its masthead: "Pope Says We May Descend from Monkeys."

Clearly, I was out to lunch. Something novel or surprising must lurk within the papal statement but what could it be?—especially given the accuracy of my primary impression (as I later verified) that the Catholic Church values scientific study, views science as no threat to religion in general or Catholic doctrine in particular, and has long accepted both the legitimacy of evolution as a field of study and the potential harmony of evolutionary conclusions with Catholic faith.

As a former constituent of Tip O'Neill's, I certainly know that "all politics is local"—and that the Vatican undoubtedly has its own internal reasons, quite opaque to me, for announcing papal support of evolution in a major statement. Still, I knew that I was missing some important key, and I felt frustrated. I then remembered the primary rule of intellectual life: when puzzled, it never hurts to read the primary documents—a rather simple and self-evident principle that has, nonetheless, completely disappeared from large sectors of the American experience.

I knew that Pope Pius XII (not one of my favorite figures in twentieth-century history, to say the least) had made the primary statement in a 1950 encyclical entitled Humani Generis. I knew the main thrust of his message: Catholics could believe whatever science determined about the evolution of the human body, so long as they accepted that, at some time of his choosing, God had infused the soul into such a creature. I also knew that I had no problem with this statement, for whatever my private beliefs about souls, science cannot touch such a subject and therefore cannot be threatened by any theological position on such a legitimately and intrinsically religious issue. Pope Pius XII, in other words, had properly acknowledged and respected the separate domains of science and theology. Thus, I found myself in total agreement with Humani Generis—but I had never read the document in full (not much of an impediment to stating an opinion these days).

I quickly got the relevant writings from, of all places, the Internet. (The pope is prominently on-line, but a Luddite like me is not. So I got a computer-literate associate to dredge up the documents. I do love the fracture of stereotypes implied by finding religion so hep and a scientist so square.) Having now read in full both Pope Pius's Humani Generis of 1950 and Pope John Paul's proclamation of October 1996, I finally understand why the recent statement seems so new, revealing, and worthy of all those headlines. And the message could not be more welcome for evolutionists and friends of both science and religion.

The text of Humani Generis focuses on the magisterium (or teaching authority) of the Church—a word derived not from any concept of majesty or awe but from the different notion of teaching, for magister is Latin for "teacher." We may, I think, adopt this word and concept to express the central point of this essay and the principled resolution of supposed "conflict" or "warfare" between science and religion. No such conflict should exist because each subject has a legitimate magisterium, or domain of teaching authority—and these magisteria do not overlap (the principle that I would like to designate as NOMA, or "nonoverlapping magisteria").

The net of science covers the empirical universe: what is it made of (fact) and why does it work this way (theory). The net of religion extends over questions of moral meaning and value. These two magisteria do not overlap, nor do they encompass all inquiry (consider, for starters, the magisterium of art and the meaning of beauty). To cite the arch cliches, we get the age of rocks, and religion retains the rock of ages; we study how the heavens go, and they determine how to go to heaven.

This resolution might remain all neat and clean if the nonoverlapping magisteria (NOMA) of science and religion were separated by an extensive no man's land. But, in fact, the two magisteria bump right up against each other, interdigitating in wondrously complex ways along their joint border. Many of our deepest questions call upon aspects of both for different parts of a full answer—and the sorting of legitimate domains can become quite complex and difficult. To cite just two broad questions involving both evolutionary facts and moral arguments: Since evolution made us the only earthly creatures with advanced consciousness, what responsibilities are so entailed for our relations with other species? What do our genealogical ties with other organisms imply about the meaning of human life?

Pius XII's Humani Generis is a highly traditionalist document by a deeply conservative man forced to face all the "isms" and cynicisms that rode the wake of World War II and informed the struggle to rebuild human decency from the ashes of the Holocaust. The encyclical, subtitled "Concerning some false opinions which threaten to undermine the foundations of Catholic doctrine" begins with a statement of embattlement:

Disagreement and error among men on moral and religious matters have always been a cause of profound sorrow to all good men, but above all to the true and loyal sons of the Church, especially today, when we see the principles of Christian culture being attacked on all sides.

Pius lashes out, in turn, at various external enemies of the Church: pantheism, existentialism, dialectical materialism, historicism. and of course and preeminently, communism. He then notes with sadness that some well-meaning folks within the Church have fallen into a dangerous relativism—"a theological pacifism and egalitarianism, in which all points of view become equally valid"—in order to include people of wavering faith who yearn for the embrace of Christian religion but do not wish to accept the particularly Catholic magisterium.

What is this world coming to when these noxious novelties can so discombobulate a revealed and established order? Speaking as a conservative's conservative, Pius laments:

Novelties of this kind have already borne their deadly fruit in almost all branches of theology.…Some question whether angels are personal beings, and whether matter and spirit differ essentially.…Some even say that the doctrine of Transubstantiation, based on an antiquated philosophic notion of substance, should be so modified that the Real Presence of Christ in the Holy Eucharist be reduced to a kind of symbolism.

Pius first mentions evolution to decry a misuse by overextension often promulgated by zealous supporters of the anathematized "isms":

Some imprudently and indiscreetly hold that evolution…explains the origin of all things.…Communists gladly subscribe to this opinion so that, when the souls of men have been deprived of every idea of a personal God, they may the more efficaciously defend and propagate their dialectical materialism.

Pius's major statement on evolution occurs near the end of the encyclical in paragraphs 35 through 37. He accepts the standard model of NOMA and begins by acknowledging that evolution lies in a difficult area where the domains press hard against each other. "It remains for US now to speak about those questions which. although they pertain to the positive sciences, are nevertheless more or less connected with the truths of the Christian faith." [Interestingly, the main thrust of these paragraphs does not address evolution in general but lies in refuting a doctrine that Pius calls "polygenism," or the notion of human ancestry from multiple parents—for he regards such an idea as incompatible with the doctrine of original sin, "which proceeds from a sin actually committed by an individual Adam and which, through generation, is passed on to all and is in everyone as his own." In this one instance, Pius may be transgressing the NOMA principle—but I cannot judge, for I do not understand the details of Catholic theology and therefore do not know how symbolically such a statement may be read. If Pius is arguing that we cannot entertain a theory about derivation of all modern humans from an ancestral population rather than through an ancestral individual (a potential fact) because such an idea would question the doctrine of original sin (a theological construct), then I would declare him out of line for letting the magisterium of religion dictate a conclusion within the magisterium of science.]

Pius then writes the well-known words that permit Catholics to entertain the evolution of the human body (a factual issue under the magisterium of science), so long as they accept the divine Creation and infusion of the soul (a theological notion under the magisterium of religion):

The Teaching Authority of the Church does not forbid that, in conformity with the present state of human sciences and sacred theology, research and discussions, on the part of men experienced in both fields, take place with regard to the doctrine of evolution, in as far as it inquires into the origin of the human body as coming from pre-existent and living matter—for the Catholic faith obliges us to hold that souls are immediately created by God.

I had, up to here, found nothing surprising in Humani Generis, and nothing to relieve my puzzlement about the novelty of Pope John Paul's recent statement. But I read further and realized that Pope Pius had said more about evolution, something I had never seen quoted, and that made John Paul's statement most interesting indeed. In short, Pius forcefully proclaimed that while evolution may be legitimate in principle, the theory, in fact, had not been proven and might well be entirely wrong. One gets the strong impression, moreover, that Pius was rooting pretty hard for a verdict of falsity. Continuing directly from the last quotation, Pius advises us about the proper study of evolution:

However, this must be done in such a way that the reasons for both opinions, that is, those favorable and those unfavorable to evolution, be weighed and judged with the necessary seriousness, moderation and measure.… Some, however, rashly transgress this liberty of discussion, when they act as if the origin of the human body from pre-existing and living matter were already completely certain and proved by the facts which have been discovered up to now and by reasoning on those facts, and as if there were nothing in the sources of divine revelation which demands the greatest moderation and caution in this question.

To summarize, Pius generally accepts the NOMA principle of nonoverlapping magisteria in permitting Catholics to entertain the hypothesis of evolution for the human body so long as they accept the divine infusion of the soul. But he then offers some (holy) fatherly advice to scientists about the status of evolution as a scientific concept: the idea is not yet proven, and you all need to be especially cautious because evolution raises many troubling issues right on the border of my magisterium. One may read this second theme in two different ways: either as a gratuitous incursion into a different magisterium or as a helpful perspective from an intelligent and concerned outsider. As a man of good will, and in the interest of conciliation, I am happy to embrace the latter reading.

In any case, this rarely quoted second claim (that evolution remains both unproven and a bit dangerous)—and not the familiar first argument for the NOMA principle (that Catholics may accept the evolution of the body so long as they embrace the creation of the soul)—defines the novelty and the interest of John Paul's recent statement.

John Paul begins by summarizing Pius's older encyclical of 195O, and particularly by reaffirming the NOMA principle—nothing new here, and no cause for extended publicity:

In his encyclical Humani Generis (1950), my predecessor Pius XII had already stated that there was no opposition between evolution and the doctrine of the faith about man and his vocation.

To emphasize the power of NOMA, John Paul poses a potential problem and a sound resolution: How can we reconcile science's claim for physical continuity in human evolution with Catholicism's insistence that the soul must enter at a moment of divine infusion:

With man, then, we find ourselves in the presence of an ontological difference, an ontological leap, one could say However, does not the posing of such ontological discontinuity run counter to that physical continuity which seems to be the main thread of research into evolution in the field of physics and chemistry? Consideration of the method used in the various branches of knowledge makes it possible to reconcile two points of view which would seem irreconcilable. The sciences of observation describe and measure the multiple manifestations of life with increasing precision and correlate them with the time line. The moment of transition to the spiritual cannot be the object of this kind of observation.

The novelty and news value of John Paul's statement lies, rather, in his profound revision of Pius's second and rarely quoted claim that evolution, while conceivable in principle and reconcilable with religion, can cite little persuasive evidence, and may well be false. John Paul—states and I can only say amen, and thanks for noticing—that the half century between Pius's surveying the ruins of World War II and his own pontificate heralding the dawn of a new millennium has witnessed such a growth of data, and such a refinement of theory, that evolution can no longer be doubted by people of good will:

Pius XII added . . . that this opinion [evolution] should not be adopted as though it were a certain, proven doctrine. . . . Today, almost half a century after the publication of the encyclical, new knowledge has led to the recognition of more than one hypothesis in the theory of evolution. It is indeed remarkable that this theory has been progressively accepted by researchers, following a series of discoveries in various fields of knowledge. The convergence, neither sought nor fabricated, of the results of work that was conducted independently is in itself a significant argument in favor of the theory.

In conclusion. Pius had grudgingly admitted evolution as a legitimate hypothesis that he regarded as only tentatively supported and potentially (as I suspect he hoped) untrue. John Paul, nearly fifty years later, reaffirms the legitimacy of evolution under the NOMA principle—no news here—but then adds that additional data and theory have placed the factuality of evolution beyond reasonable doubt. Sincere Christians must now accept evolution not merely as a plausible possibility but also as an effectively proven fact. In other words, official Catholic opinion on evolution has moved from "say it ain't so, but we can deal with it if we have to" (Pius's grudging view of 1950) to John Paul's entirely welcoming "it has been proven true; we always celebrate nature's factuality, and we look forward to interesting discussions of theological implications." I happily endorse this turn of events as gospel—literally "good news." I may represent the magisterium of science, but I welcome the support of a primary leader from the other major magisterium of our complex lives. And I recall the wisdom of King Solomon: "As cold waters to a thirsty soul, so is good news from a far country (Prov. 25:25).

Just as religion must bear the cross of its hard-liners. I have some scientific colleagues, including a few prominent enough to wield influence by their writings, who view this rapprochement of the separate magisteria with dismay. To colleagues like me—agnostic scientists who welcome and celebrate thc rapprochement, especially the pope's latest statement—they say: "C'mon, be honest; you know that religion is addle-pated, superstitious, old-fashioned b.s.; you're only making those welcoming noises because religion is so powerful, and we need to be diplomatic in order to assure public support and funding for science." I do not think that this attitude is common among scientists, but such a position fills me with dismay—and I therefore end this essay with a personal statement about religion, as a testimony to what I regard as a virtual consensus among thoughtful scientists (who support the NOMA principle as firmly as the pope does).

I am not, personally, a believer or a religious man in any sense of institutional commitment or practice. But I have enormous respect for religion, and the subject has always fascinated me, beyond almost all others (with a few exceptions, like evolution, paleontology, and baseball). Much of this fascination lies in the historical paradox that throughout Western history organized religion has fostered both the most unspeakable horrors and the most heart-rending examples of human goodness in the face of personal danger. (The evil, I believe, lies in the occasional confluence of religion with secular power. The Catholic Church has sponsored its share of horrors, from Inquisitions to liquidations—but only because this institution held such secular power during so much of Western history. When my folks held similar power more briefly in Old Testament times, they committed just as many atrocities with many of the same rationales.)

I believe, with all my heart, in a respectful, even loving concordat between our magisteria—the NOMA solution. NOMA represents a principled position on moral and intellectua] grounds, not a mere diplomatic stance. NOMA also cuts both ways. If religion can no longer dictate the nature of factual conclusions properly under the magisterium of science, then scientists cannot claim higher insight into moral truth from any superior knowledge of the world's empirical constitution. This mutual humility has important practical consequences in a world of such diverse passions.

Religion is too important to too many people for any dismissal or denigration of the comfort still sought by many folks from theology. I may, for example, privately suspect that papal insistence on divine infusion of the soul represents a sop to our fears, a device for maintaining a belief in human superiority within an evolutionary world offering no privileged position to any creature. But I also know that souls represent a subject outside the magisterium of science. My world cannot prove or disprove such a notion, and the concept of souls cannot threaten or impact my domain. Moreover, while I cannot personally accept the Catholic view of souls, I surely honor the metaphorical value of such a concept both for grounding moral discussion and for expressing what we most value about human potentiality: our decency, care, and all the ethical and intellectual struggles that the evolution of consciousness imposed upon us.

As a moral position (and therefore not as a deduction from my knowledge of nature's factuality), I prefer the "cold bath" theory that nature can be truly "cruel" and "indifferent"—in the utterly inappropriate terms of our ethical discourse—because nature was not constructed as our eventual abode, didn't know we were coming (we are, after all, interlopers of the latest geological microsecond), and doesn't give a damn about us (speaking metaphorically). I regard such a position as liberating, not depressing, because we then become free to conduct moral discourse—and nothing could be more important—in our own terms, spared from the delusion that we might read moral truth passively from nature's factuality.

But I recognize that such a position frightens many people, and that a more spiritual view of nature retains broad appeal (acknowledging the factuality of evolution and other phenomena, but still seeking some intrinsic meaning in human terms, and from the magisterium of religion). I do appreciate, for example, the struggles of a man who wrote to the New York Times on November 3, 1996, to state both his pain and his endorsement ofJohn Paul's statement:

Pope John Paul II's acceptance of evolution touches the doubt in my heart. The problem of pain and suffering in a world created by a God who is all love and light is hard enough to bear, even if one is a creationist. But at least a creationist can say that the original creation, coming from the hand of God was good, harmonious, innocent and gentle. What can one say about evolution, even a spiritual theory of evolution? Pain and suffering, mindless cruelty and terror are its means of creation. Evolution's engine is the grinding of predatory teeth upon the screaming, living flesh and bones of prey.… If evolution be true, my faith has rougher seas to sail.

I don't agree with this man, but we could have a wonderful argument. I would push the "cold bath" theory: he would (presumably) advocate the theme of inherent spiritual meaning in nature, however opaque the signal. But we would both be enlightened and filled with better understanding of these deep and ultimately unanswerable issues. Here, I believe, lies the greatest strength and necessity of NOMA, the nonoverlapping magisteria of science and religion. NOMA permits—indeed enjoins—the prospect of respectful discourse, of constant input from both magisteria toward the common goal of wisdom. If human beings are anything special, we are the creatures that must ponder and talk. Pope John Paul II would surely point out to me that his magisterium has always recognized this distinction, for "in principio, erat verbum"—"In the beginning was the Word."

Carl Sagan organized and attended the Vatican meeting that introduces this essay; he also shared my concern for fruitful cooperation between the different but vital realms of science and religion. Carl was also one of my dearest friends. I learned of his untimely death on the same day that I read the proofs for this essay. I could only recall Nehru's observations on Gandhi's death—that the light had gone out, and darkness reigned everywhere. But I then contemplated what Carl had done in his short sixty-two years and remembered John Dryden's ode for Henry Purcell, a great musician who died even younger: "He long ere this had tuned the jarring spheres, and left no hell below."

The days I spent with Carl in Rome were the best of our friendship. We delighted in walking around the Eternal City, feasting on its history and architecture—and its food! Carl took special delight in the anonymity that he still enjoyed in a nation that had not yet aired Cosmos, the greatest media work in popular science of all time.

I dedicate this essay to his memory. Carl also shared my personal suspicion about the nonexistence of souls—but I cannot think of a better reason for hoping we are wrong than the prospect of spending eternity roaming the cosmos in friendship and conversation with this wonderful soul.”

[ Stephen Jay Gould, "Nonoverlapping Magisteria," Natural History 106 (March 1997): 16-22; Reprinted here with permission from Leonardo's Mountain of Clams and the Diet of Worms, New York: Harmony Books, 1998, pp. 269-83. ]

[writingwithinwriting]

Deceased Giraffe Malarky: Stories that can’t be poems.

Cw: Discussion of emotional abuse and descriptions of trauma.

One of the main reasons I get flashbacks, twitches, nightmares, nausea and cold sweats every now and again in fits of terror is because a giraffe in Copenhagen kicked the bucket.

I mean, more or less, that’s how it went down.

Truth be told it is because my first teenage boyfriend was a deeply damaged and unstable person who wronged me, who needed help he wasn’t getting and we both weren’t experienced enough in relationships to know that. But also, y’know, in isolation, the giraffe thing. Which in a vacuum is hilarious. So I hold on to it, I have not forgotten it because it is how I introduce this patched up fracture of my life to people who inquire about the visible crack. I have to find some way to tell them it is mostly safe these days, so I do it with a smile.

Every time I recount the giraffe thing in its hollow, unnecessary entirety, I freeze. Not because I feel the pain of the moment but because I have to come to terms that what I am seeing is from my point of view.

I don’t feel when I have a flashback, the images flow in silence, it is akin to slowly coming to the realisation that the blood you are seeing, the blood that is coming out of you, is yours

A lot of the appeal of poetry is reclamation. You make something tangible and beautiful out of something distant and dispossessed. The moments that affected you no longer hang above your head, you prove they are real. There is an addictive catharsis in explaining your own experience. Like the proverbial Snuffleupagus. Only Big Bird spends a lot more time crying in locked bathrooms and gaslighting his own thoughts even after everyone believes his existence.

And much like a guttingly twisted Sesame Street metaphor, they can be sort of funny. The problem is that there is a deep knee-jittering urge to explain why they are funny. Context is the true coping method writhing out from the open wound. Because in explaining the whole giraffe situation, I get to recount the events in a safe environment and thereby feel better in an impromptu mini-counselling session. On occasion, this is healthy.

There is a difference, however, between working through events and regurgitating them on stage. It becomes less of an exploration of experience and more of a party trick. Usually, as poets, we are happy when we make people cry on stage because it affirms the power of our delivery and skill of wording, but if it becomes about the piano-drop juxtaposition between haha and oh that’s rather sad, it is a trick. Or at least, that’s how I feel when I attempt these subjects.

Which is why I can’t write a poem about dead giraffes. Or the fact I lost my virginity in a bunk bed without a ladder. Or the time my expensive as fuck shoes were smacked inside a rucksack into the pavement over and over in front of everyone on that bus because my ex got cheated on a bus ticket and I later had to fill in the dent on one of them with a red sharpie. These bitter moment sweetened in retrospect should be something I learn to accept not play up for the contrast on stage.

Either I present a void of an anecdote where we all laugh at something that really didn’t happen in such a clear-cut way. Or I get on a stage and recount a painful happening with the moral being… don’t let it happen again? Painful things happen, perhaps? Something something… this is why we need feminism…?

I never arrived at any of those conclusions in the wake of it all, they were likely there before this had all happened. I was a pretty clued in teen, I went to PSHE, I had a talk from my head of house about how you should never be with someone who hurt you. I knew that. My ex was an ardent feminist, he was also damaged and stupid, he never stopped being a feminist.

Everyone has experienced the arrival of a dead giraffe and its unquestioning continual presence, I would only be prolonging the idea that what happened to me was shocking and unusual. Or worse, somehow uniquely shocking and unusual. When sadly, it was not, yet happily we know from this that people grow from these incidents to lead happy productive lives.

I got the opportunity recently to recount a painful event in a funny way to a friend working on a play which involved accounts of sex education and what happens when you have a lack thereof. I haven’t heard the result yet, but the chance I got to let go of the story and let it have a transformation has eased my mind without having to feel guilty for not “spreading the word”. The word guilt here is used in the way that diet and lifestyle blogs use it to imply white bread is a special occasion treat.

I have written and rewritten my bunk bed story, my shoe story and my deceased giraffe malarky, it has always been exhausting. The energy writing saps from you should not be in the breaks it takes to recount them to spread out the anxiety caused by it.

It was not productive to “the cause” and I hate being encouraged to write about them again, despite the intentions of kindness and empowerment from others. I’m glad that I could do something with them that wasn’t at the behest of a person who hardly knew me, prodding me to write about something that, gee, never occurred to me before.

“There’s a great poem in there,” I hear, when in fact my dead giraffe is a decoy. It is a hastily painted road sign in a Roadrunner cartoon to throw Wile E Coyote off into a cliffside. My dead giraffe tale is the short end of a deep dive I take every other day, it is a tool to allow myself to be honest and frank about my history to others, but make room for my mind to skirt around the scar tissue and let it heal. And in that way, it helps people understand, accept and learn, this aftermath doesn’t need to be made tangible.

Where does past abuse belong in poetry? Where does our history belong in our writing? Does it necessarily always belong in the poems we bring to the table? I hope, instead, it could belong in the way we approach and listen to the stories we tell as poets, on and off the stage and the open and accepting atmosphere we must foster.

I think it should begin by accepting that what you hear is not always the whole unprocessed truth. Because that raw truth might be pure bile for the author hacking it up. Because we need to use that truth; sharpen it, blunt it and saw off the end.

Abuse is often held as a weapon by the people doing the storytelling, for them, it has already gone off and now they must carry it and trust you to observe it. So their demonstrations of the weapon might be limited to what is necessary to show, rather than what it is capable of doing. I don’t blame people for re-arranging events, endings, subplots, or characters that were never there. That is poetry, that is storytelling.

It should go without saying that I am not encouraging people to lie about their pasts or make things up, but for people to be honest about what can and will happen in our communities, we need to allow them the freedom to do that in the first place. There needs to be breathing room for every facet of truth being shared with an audience.

My ex smelt of WD-40 and this cheap manly shower gel, and he was very cute and tall. His voice was this mellow dusty oak brown which creaked with black. He had this pit in his chest which was perfect for snuggling into and he never minded me falling asleep whenever I liked. He always made sure to touch me gently, he always offered to heave his great fleecey coat over me in the cold, he never lied to me, and was always ready to put everything aside just to look after me to within his ability. I have also forgiven him even if he is a cunt and I hope he is well. This is my truth.

My giraffe story isn’t useful. It is greying and tattered, it is remembered for me in my flashbacks which feel dry and frayed. It has been reheated over and over for six years. It does not belong in poetry, it simply belongs in my head because it happened and that is the raw truth.

Trauma belongs at the back of open mic nights, a regular listener who pays their entrance fee and claps and clicks and compliments your piece when you run into them washing their hands in the toilets in the mid-break. Trauma should be allowed to be silent, and our voices, as victims and survivors, our own.

[act-addict-actors-blog]

Act 1 Chapter 5 - The New Troupe Member

You: “Good morning, guys! Let’s work hard today!”

Sakuya: “Good morning!”

Tsuzuru: “Morning.”

Masumi: “......zzz.”

You: “Alrighty - today we will be inviting people to join our theater.”

Sakuya: “Then three people is too few?”

You: “Well, the first Spring Troupe was five people and if we don’t have a minimum of five members, we’ll be restricted on the scripts we can use. So we need to add two more people.”

Tsuzuru: “Having only two leads and a supporting role would give us no choice but to increase the the dialogue for each actor, huh.”

You: “Right? Therefore, for now we’ll increase the main cast to five people, but when it’s necessary I was thinking that we could ask an actor from a different theater company to make a guest appearance.”

“So let’s get out there and gather new members the same way we recruited Tsuzuru-kun and Masumi-kun - A Street Act!”

Sakuya: “Ok!”

Tsuzuru: “K.”

Masumi: “......zzz.”

You: “Please stop falling asleep, Masumi-kun!”

Tsuzuru: “But, is it alright for a beginner to do a Street Act?”

You: “That is a problem......Tsuzuru-kun, you selected this theater company because it offered company housing, right?”

Tsuzuru: “S’right. Since I wanted to be independent, I was combing through Broadway St. strictly looking for something that offered convenient transportation options.”

You: “Okay, so if we search for someone like Tsuzuru-kun, I think that would be fine.”

Tsuzuru: “So by someone like me, you mean......”

Masumi: “A person who looks like a homeless bum?”

Tsuzuru: “Wow, do I really come off like that......?”

Sakuya: “T-that’s not true!”

“Then after that, we’ll look for a guy like Masumi-kun!”

Masumi: “I’m the only guy you’ll need.”

You: “I don’t know if we’ll be able to find someone else as uniquely talented as Masumi-kun.”

“So our target is somebody with nowhere to stay......Ok, let’s set the scene to be intimate and cozy to appeal to the homeless.”

Tsuzuru: “Please stop using homeless to describe my situation......”

“At Mankai Company, I was able find a home!”

Sakuya: “Now we are able to eat a warm meal everyday. Right, An-chan?”

Masumi: “It’s great to not have to sleep in a doghouse anymore.”

Passerby A: “What on earth is that?”

Passerby B: “Their acting is too over the top to be believable.”

You: (Well, the reactions aren’t great, but maybe we’ll draw some more attention this way.)

???: “Daikon!* I see! they mean the Japanese** Daikon radish, yes?”

You: “Huh?”

(A foreigner? He’s attracting a lot of attention......)

???: “A white and splendid Daikon!”

.You: (Oh, he’s talking to me!?)

“Sorry! They didn’t mean that type of Daikon, they meant Daikon as in a bad actor.”

???: “OH- Soooorry-. Beg your pardon, lady.” 

You: (This guys seems too fishy to be a regular tourist. He might be an actor affiliated with another Theater Company. Maybe he’s trying out a new role.)

“What Theater Company are you from? We’re doing a Street Act, so get out of the way.”

???: “OH- Cool Japan really is country that has everything, yes? But, if  I see stripper***, I prefer woman, yes?”

You: “Not strippers, a Street Act! I see through your disguise, so if you wanna do your own Street Act, find somewhere else to do it.”

???: “I am just foreigner passing by, yes? Not actor, yes?”

Passerby A: “I wonder who that guy with the mask is?”

Passerby B: “One of the actors maybe?”

You: (This is bad......this guy is drawing too much attention.)

Sakuya: “Coach, is there a problem?”

Masumi: “Who’s that guy?”

Tsuzuru: “Another Street Act?”

You: “I don’t think he’s an actor.”

Tsuzuru: “If he’s not an actor, then what’s with the clothes?”

???: “In my country, this is normal, yes? If I wear too few clothes, it is very perverted!”

You: “You’re from another country? Are you touring Japan?”

???: “I’m foreign exchange student, yes? Here is the Mecca of theater. I was interested in seeing it!”

You: “You’re interested in the theater? Do you already have a place to live?”

???: “Not yet!”

You: (If that’s the case, he might be a potential new member......! Now that I’ve had a good look at him, he seems to be telling the truth and he could really shine as an actor.)

“Well then, won’t you join Mankai Company? You can live here so you don’t have to worry about where to stay and you can study theater.”

Tsuzuru: “Coach, are you for real!?”

You: “Well, three people isn’t enough to cover all the characters and he’ll leave quite an impact. As long as he can stand on stage, he’ll be great for a worldly image.”

Tsuzuru: “Will he be able to recite lines?”

???: “I will be fine!”

Tsuzuru: “Will you, though?”

???: “It’s good, it’s good. I decide to join Manzai**** Company!”

You: “It’s Mankai Company.”

Masumi: “Aren’t we reaching too broadly by hiring foreigners?”

You: “Don’t say things like that!”

Citron: “I am Citron. Nice to meet you, yes?”

Sakuya: “Nice to meet you!”

Tsuzuru: “Is this really alright......?”

You: “The sun is setting. Shall we call it a day?”

Sakuya: “I can keep going!”

Tsuzuru: “If we keep on going with no end in sight, people will still just walk by.”

Citron: “They say that if it is busy, you must spin. Let’s spin around!”

Sakuya: “H-hey, please stop Citron-san! I’m getting dizzy!”

You: “I think you meant to say “Haste makes waste”. That word can mean “spin”, but not in this context.” *****

Citron: “OH- A mistake, yes?”

Sakuya: “If you made a mistake, then please stop spinning!”

You: “Tsuzuru-kun, how did you search for a theater company with housing?”

Tsuzuru: “I looked at the train station’s bulletin board for theater flyers that were advertising company housing, I also......”

???: ......

You: (Ah, someone just stopped in front of the bulletin board.)

Sakuya: “Ugh...everything is spinning. I can’t even walk straight......”

???: “Ouch--”

Sakuya: “I’m so sorry! I was so dizzy, I didn’t see you!”

You: “I’m so sorry about that. Are you alright?”

???: “Y-yes.”

Citron: “ Soooorry- Sakuya’s miss is my miss, yes?”

???: “I don’t mind.”

You: (This guy was looking at the property information.....I wonder.)

“Excuse me, are you currently searching for a place to stay in this area?”

???: “Huh? Yes, I am. But, who are you?”

You: “I am Tachibana, Mankai Company’s President and Director.”

“Our company offers housing if you join. Do you think you’d be interested at all?”

???: “Housing......”

You: “We have company dorms. We have practice twice a week at night and if you perform, the housing and meals are free!”

???: “The dorm and meals are free?......Is the dorm room for only one person?”

You: “No, the rooms are technically for two people and the bathroom is shared.”

???: “A two person room......I have a lot of luggage, so I’m very intent on getting a one person room.”

You: “Is that so?......”

Sakuya: “I’m living alone right now. There’s only one room left for the Spring Troupe, so why don’t we have that room be the single?”

You: “Sakuya-kun and Citron-kun, will you two will be ok living together?”

Sakuya: “That’s fine.”

Citron: “I am also ok. I adore the Japanese style room, yes?”

You: “Now that they’ve said that, a one person room is should be possible.”

???: “In that case, please tell me more details.”

You: “Yes! I’ll tell you more about the company dorms.”

Masumi: “First a foreigner and now a salaryman......I’m the one actually looking for a job here.”

You: “You need to graduate from high school first, Masumi-kun!”

To be continued......

*In Japanese, a bad actor is called a “Daikon”. This is the same word as the Daikon radish, a Japanese vegetable. Passerby B used this word earlier to describe their acting. Since Citron isn’t a native speaker, he is mixing up the two.

**Citron will interject with a lot of English words in his speech since he is a foreigner, but since I am translatinginto English, you can’t tell. Anything that he says in English will be in italics so that you can tell when he says an English word.

***Street = Strip. They sound sorta similar, I guess? He thinks the boys are gonna strip lol.

**** It’s not in Kanji so I can’t be 100% sure, but Manzai means comedian in Japanese, so this could be a pun as comedy is a form of acting.

*****Citron mispronounced the Japanese proverb/phrase 急がば回れ (can translate to Haste Makes Waste) to 急がば回せって (lit. If it’s busy, spin around). 

[seriouslyhooked]

Some Call It Magic (A CS AU) Part 4/?

When Killian Jones moves to Storybrooke he instantly senses something strange about this little town in Maine but he’s willing to overlook all the bizarre signs for one reason: the single Mum living next door to him. There’s only one problem. Killian is nearly positive she’s a witch, a brewing potions and casting spells witch. But when true love is involved, does a little thing like magical powers really matter? Story rated M.

Part 1 Here, Part 2 Here, Part 3 Here. Also On FF Here.

A/N: Hey all! I am back with another chapter of ‘Some Call it Magic’ and it’s a good one if I do say so myself. It includes more meddling Henry, some much needed CS interaction, and it also includes the start of Killian’s curiosity about Storybrooke and Emma herself. Many of you have asked when he will start to pick up on the magic, and these are the first steps of that happening. No worries though people, I always stay with the fluff and this story will be no exception. Hope you enjoy and thanks for reading!

The myth of weekends being designed for relaxation was one obviously created by a person without children.

Honestly in Emma’s experience, weekends were often the busiest time of her week. Though she hung up her work apron at the door on Friday evening (not to return for longer than an hour so on Saturdays or Sundays just to check in), she got to slip into a different responsibility landscape, the one of full-time Mom, housekeeper, cook, and cruise director for both her and Henry. That shift was often tiring and energy consuming, and most weekend nights Emma crashed even harder at the end of the day than she did on the craziest ones at the café, but even with that being the case, Emma loved her time at home and with her kid. Weekends might not often be calming, but they were valuable, and Emma wouldn’t trade these moments with Henry for anything.

Emma was lucky in so many ways, mostly because her son was so self-sufficient and truly well behaved. Henry knew it was a lot for Emma to juggle everything on her own. He’d had an understanding of her being a single parent since he was just a little boy, and he was patient when a lot of other ten year olds wouldn’t be, but he was also a handful. Her greatest blessing or not, Henry was excitable and spirited and sometimes that created moments of tension or conflict for Emma.

“Hey Mom?!” Henry yelled through the door of the bathroom where Emma was getting ready to grab a quick shower. She’d set him up with breakfast and the TV remote to tide him over for just a half an hour or so, but not even two minutes had gone by and she was already being beckoned for something.

“Yeah kid?” she replied.

“Do you know where the shovel is?” He asked. His tone was light and airy, but also a little suspicious, as if Henry was being too consciously polite for him to not be up to something. Emma’s warning bells sounded immediately in the back of her mind. A shovel? Why did Henry need a shovel?

“Did you check the garage, by the ladder and the hose?”

Too late Emma realized it might not actually be the best thing to tell Henry where he could find the shovel in question. Now would be the moment to tell him to hold his horses and that she’d help him with whatever idea he had when she was done, but she’d only managed one cup of coffee this morning and she was off her game. She was just about to retract that statement and tell him to press the pause button when Henry giddily replied and essentially dismissed her.

“Nope, I’ll check there thanks, Mom!”

With that and no other context he was off, racing down the stairs and Emma was left there sighing, knowing that this was about to be the quickest shower ever thanks to her new worries about what her kid might be getting up to.

Emma raced through everything in barely ten minutes, got dressed, and pulled her hair back, not giving a damn about how she looked or anything like that when she was worried about Henry. All she could think was that he’d come up with some crazy idea to build a mote or something around their house, or that he’d try to make improvements to the garden that could be a disaster. As it was she was barely keeping that jungle in check thanks to those dreams that she was still having about Killian, and there were a number of enchantments and charms she didn’t want Henry to have to mess with without her. But when she finally got outside, Emma was shocked to find that Henry wasn’t using the shovel in their yard at all. It was way worse, because at this moment Henry was digging up an entire chunk of Killian’s lawn and tearing up grass that would be impossible for her to replace speedily without giving away her magic to their friendly, charming neighbor.

“Henry, what are you doing?!” Emma asked, barely containing any of her shock or horror at this. Only when Henry turned back around, however, did Emma notice that he wasn’t alone. Killian was actually with Henry and he didn’t have a look of anger or anything on his face at all. He only had surprise at her being there, and then a genuine smile at her appearance.

“Helping Killian make a garden of his own. His house is sad. It needs more color.”

Oh great, so not only was Henry probably forcing his ideals on Killian right now, but he was also tossing around some insults about the home that Killian had just purchased for himself. Emma didn’t really know what to say, and she hadn’t come up with anything as she crossed the lawn to come closer to them, but Killian had taken it upon himself to step in and assure her, crossing the rest of the space that was left between them until he was close enough for her to touch, or pull close, or…

Pull it together, Emma. Now isn’t the time to fantasize about the neighbor.

“I apologize love, but I mentioned to Henry that I was going to try and do something with the space back here a few days ago. I even got all the supplies that the greenhouse in town said I would need, but I forgot a larger shovel and using the little trowel was… well let’s say less than ideal.”

Emma tamped down an immediate thought that with that accent of his and the charming, endearing manner, Killian could make anything seem ideal, because it was totally inappropriate for her to be thinking that way right now. Honestly she was completely infuriated with her own inability to keep her cool around this guy, but she prayed that on the outside she didn’t appear as flustered as she felt internally.

“So this was your idea?” Emma asked, clarifying and feeling the waves of relief washing over her as Killian’s blue eyes remained kind and sincere.

There was no sign in Killian’s expression that he was feeling put out by Henry, but Emma did worry. She didn’t really have any experience with new neighbors, not since she and Henry had moved to town, and Henry had always been a little more cognoscente of boundaries in those exchanges. Those boundaries seemed to be missing with Killian though, and Emma felt all the more cautious because of it. The last thing she wanted was Henry to get too attached or to read too much into their ties to Killian. They might live fifty yards away from each other, but that didn’t mean he had to be a part of their lives if he didn’t want to be. Yet the thought that Killian wouldn’t be there sent a pang through Emma that she neither wanted to analyze right now, nor could indulge for longer than a second.

“Aye, Swan. I took one look at the perfection you’ve crafted over there, and though I’ve no hopes of matching it, I couldn’t bear to think I’m depriving the neighborhood of anything.”

Emma willed herself not to blush at the compliment, and though it was on the tip of her tongue to dig for more praise about her garden and her house, she didn’t. Most people called her and Henry’s home ‘eclectic.’ Colorful was putting it mildly, and all the little knickknacks and everything they had outside had largely been of Henry’s choice, but for Killian to stand here and say that he liked it, and for there not be even a trace of deception in his eyes meant something to her. That house, unusual and unexpected as it was, was a part of Emma’s story, and whether she’d meant it to or not, it reflected a lot not just about her son, but of her personality too. This was the kind of home she’d wanted as a girl, and now that she had a place to call home and had found her family in Henry, she’d tried to make that for the two of them to the best of her ability.

“No one expects you to do this, Killian. I hope you don’t feel like anyone’s pressured you to become a landscaper overnight or anything…”

The rest of her words trailed off, not because Emma didn’t honestly believe them, but because at that moment Killian stepped forward again, closing some more space between them, and took her hand. It was a level of intimacy that Emma hadn’t expected, but the reaction her body had to his at the first touch of his hand on hers was too overpowering to ignore. She felt lighter, brighter, and still somehow her whole person was riddled with energy and butterflies. It was perplexing and yet so desirable all at once. Emma felt scattered in a hundred directions and totally centered at the same time, like she’d just been waiting for a chance to have this man’s hand in hers. Like it was somehow part of her destiny.

This was the first time she and Killian had ever touched now that she thought about it. They’d never so much as shared a handshake in introduction, but on some level this felt like a kind of sensory memory. Emma was entirely sure that she’d never known an instant response like this to anyone in the whole of her life, but the more muted parts of her dreams from the past few months jumped to the forefront of her mind. That safety and simultaneous elation that she’d been feeling when tucked into her fantasies at night were heightened now and Emma was speechless, affected in a way she’d never intended to be with anyone.

“The motive for my new attempt at a green thumb is simple, Swan,” Killian started with a newly added element of gravel in his tone. “I saw the little oasis you and Henry have created and I thought I might like to have a part of that too.”

Emma’s eyes flew back from where their hands were connected up to Killian again and ignoring how handsome he was in this moment of earnest reassurance wasn’t an option. If she’d been less enthralled by him, she might have been listening to those nagging instincts in the back of her mind that said not to let any man get too close, but for a moment longer she let herself just hear what he’d said and pretend it could mean more than it had. Though he was talking about gardening, it almost felt like he meant being a part of their world over all, and Emma liked the sound of that more than she should.

“You could help us if you want, Mom,” Henry offered, and only then did Emma really come back to herself.

She looked to her son’s wide grin and his clear appreciation for Emma and Killian being as close as they were, and that was when the panic set in again. It was irrational, but Emma couldn’t give Henry hope when she didn’t actually know the score herself. Emma was so consumed by the sudden arrival of their new neighbor and the cascade of emotions he inspired that she hadn’t even had a chance to figure out exactly what she was feeling or whether this whole thing was a good idea.

Her past told her it was the makings of a full blown disaster, but the continued warmth and understanding in Killian’s eyes, even when she pulled her hand back and began to make her retreat, sparked something in Emma. Maybe Killian was different. Maybe he wouldn’t care about the baggage and the hesitations and the whole magic thing. But that wasn’t something for her to figure out right now. Right now she needed space and a chance to clear her head.

“Wish I could kid, but some of us still have chores to do.”

Emma noticed the slight pout that came to Henry’s face and part of her felt bad for not indulging him, but it was more important for her to draw the lines in the sand now. Giving him false hope or letting Henry build up a relationship that didn’t actually exist between her and Killian yet was dangerous and she just couldn’t let that happen. To avoid the look of disappointment on Henry’s face she looked back to Killian and vocalized her major concern.

“I know Henry can be persuasive, but are you sure you want the help? This kid can talk with the best of them.” That last part she said teasingly, knowing that to the people she loved and trusted and had let into her life, Henry’s chatter was always welcome. Anyone who didn’t like it was someone Emma didn’t need in her life anyway, but Henry didn’t realize the full depth of that when he replied.

“Hey!” Henry said, feigning insult. She shot Henry a soft smile and he warmed to her again in an instant, looking to Killian who responded as convincingly as anyone could.

“I’m grateful for any assistance I can get, and with Henry’s aid I’m confident I can get something passable conjured in no time.”

Emma’s mind faltered on the choice of wording. ‘Conjuring’ was often magically associated, at least in her experience, and she gave one last look at Killian, searching for some kind of sign. She wasn’t stupid after all, and there was a risk that even though she’d tried to keep her more magical inclinations in check that he might have noticed her or something else in town, but there was nothing behind his eyes other than an easy affection and this hint that underneath the gentlemanly neighborliness was a fire she wanted to embrace like nothing else.

“Well alright then. I’ll be inside if you guys need me, okay?”

Both Killian and Henry agreed and Emma moved back to the house, only stealing one more glance at the two of them as she hovered on the back porch. They’d already dived right into things, and Henry was dishing out instructions that Emma could hear but barely. And even though she still had that niggling voice of doubt in the back of her mind that this was a bad idea, Emma couldn’t help but smile. The two of them looked good out there together figuring out a problem, and maybe if things were different Emma would be out there with them too, enjoying the sunlight and the crisp fall air as they were.

Instead Emma decided to distract herself as best as she could. She started with getting some cleaning done and only after noticing the date on the calendar in the kitchen did she realize she was due for some magical cleanup too. She wasn’t particularly worried about spirits or ghosts like people were in the movies, but there were some things she could do to keep the aura in here as light and positive as she wanted. Emma went through the steps of burning incense in each room and marking them the way she needed with care and delicacy.

In all her years in Storybrooke, Emma couldn’t recall ever doing this so quietly, but she was hyperaware of the fact that this wasn’t strictly normal given the closeness of her magically-unaware neighbor. Maybe she could play it off as a new-age fad if Killian ended up seeing her but if he was smart it would raise suspicions, and Emma had to believe that he was smart after the past week of getting to know him a little more each day.

For one thing he always had a book in hand and it was a different one each time she saw him. Emma had also noticed that he got not one, but four national papers delivered to his house each day, and Emma honestly hadn’t realized that was even a possibility this far away from the city. They got the Storybrooke Gazette when it came once a month (because every resident got a copy, no matter if they wanted to or now), but Killian was aware of the world outside in a way Emma wasn’t. She was informed, sure, but her life was here, and Storybrooke was where she liked to focus her energy and thoughts since it had been the one place she’d ever been that provided her with a sense of safety and belonging.

But there was more to Killian that she’d gathered too. Like how he’d been sharp enough to pick up on some town dynamics in under a week. Emma had seen him give deference where it needed to be given (particularly to the old ladies in town who fancied themselves unofficial guardians of Storybrooke) and which people represented potential pitfalls (like the gossipy guys who frequented Granny’s diner and the few families who always had some feud or other going). Killian was clearly very aware, and that wit and charm she’d witnessed first hand were thrown around town in spades, but Emma couldn’t help but feel like it was different when it was directed at her.

There was just something about the way his voice dipped slightly lower when his attention was fixed her way, and how Killian looked at her as if he could read the thoughts she worked so hard to keep covert. It was a sensation she’d expected to lessen over time, but it had been quite the opposite and instead Emma felt more and more on display to her new neighbor as the days wore on. He was getting closer and at the same time he was proving himself to be genuinely kind and caring. He was good with Henry and patient towards her continuously meddling friends, but could she trust him?

The sudden blaring ring of the telephone almost gave Emma a heart attack and she physically jumped at the sound at the same time that a light bulb in the room shattered. Shit! Her magic was too close to the surface recently, and now a harmless ringing was enough to set her off. This was not good.

Ignoring the shattered glass for a second, Emma ran to the kitchen to grab the phone. She didn’t bother to hide her distraction as she answered though, and her eyes moved automatically through the window where in the distance she could still see Killian and Henry working.

“Hello?”

“Emma it’s me.” The ‘me’ in question was Mary Margaret, but Emma didn’t even have time to truly greet her friend before she launched into why she’d called. “I need your help. David’s almost out of the antidote he has for foxglove poisoning and there have already been a few dogs in today with symptoms. We have enough for now but if any more come in we won’t be able to treat them.”

“Any idea how they came in contact?” Emma asked, not liking the idea of any animal getting sick, and hoping she could find a way to help as she cleaned up the last of the broken bulb and discarded it in the trash.

“There was some in the dog park. We got rid of it all when the first case came in, but since the park staff had the last few weeks off, no one noticed.”

Well that was a relief at least, but Emma was still slightly confused as to why Mary Margaret was asking her. Usually when it came to healing through a potion or otherwise the first person any of them went to was Elsa. That was her surest gift with people and with animals, and while Emma could hold her own, it would never be second nature like it was to her friend.

“Did you try Els?” Emma asked, even as she moved to one of the shelves and pulled down one of her spell books that she’d written up on her own years ago with the help of her friends and some of the other magically inclined people in town.

“She’s down in Boston for that conference.”

“Oh right,” Emma said, flipping to a page with something she thought would help. It was a magical antitoxin so to speak, and though she’d never had cause to make this draught before, it should work well if she got all the ingredients she needed. “Well I’ll get right on it. Shouldn’t take too long. Maybe a half an hour?”

“You’re a life saver, Emma. Literally.”

Emma shook her head even as she smiled, and then she said goodbye to Mary Margaret and promised to get there soon. When the call was ended, Emma gathered everything she needed from her special non-food related pantry on the counter and looked out the far window again to make sure that Killian and Henry were right where they’d left them. They were, thankfully, and Emma dove in, reading through the instructions and taking care to follow every step precisely as she mixed them together. Magic required a lot of concentration and following exact steps and Emma had always been good at that, shutting out her surroundings to give herself totally the process when the time called for it.

However, right before she was about to add the final ingredient ten minutes later, Henry’s laugh wafted through the window and caught Emma’s attention. She looked outside and noticed that he and Killian were far closer than they’d just been, and headed this way. Not only that but from this distance, Emma had a far better look at how hard Killian had actually been working, and when he moved to wipe his face clean of any sweat and dirt with the bottom of his shirt, Emma froze totally caught by the sight of the body that was underneath that t-shirt all day.

“Holy -,” Before Emma could finish that thought a loud boom sounded and a giant puff of billowing silvery-blue smoke billowed out of the pot she’d been using. She’d intended to use a soundproofing spell to keep anyone from hearing that, but she’d gotten so distracted and now the whole neighborhood had probably heard. “Crap!”

“Mom?!” Henry yelled, clearly hearing the loud, unexplained bang at the same time Killian called out, “Emma!”

Shit!

…………..

The feeling racking Killian’s body at the moment when he heard the loud booming sound from Emma’s house was nothing short of immense panic, and his first instinct was to get to her. A sound that loud couldn’t be good and Emma was still in that house, potentially at risk or hurt or worse. His second instinct overtook him, however, and he grabbed Henry before the lad could sprint into a potentially dangerous situation.

“Henry, wait! I’ve got her, but you need to stay right here. You got it?”

Henry looked worried and like he might run to save his Mom regardless of the instructions, but he stopped and gave a shaky nod and Killian nodded back before sprinting towards the back door that Emma stepped out coughing. They ran right into each other, and though Killian could have stepped back from her, he didn’t enjoying the feeling that Emma was in his arms, and rejoicing in the fact that she was okay.

“Emma, are you alright?”

His voice was charged with emotion and came out sounding more like a brogue than it usually did, but it couldn’t be helped. He was dueling too incredibly strong currents of feeling. On the one hand he was still coming down from that peak of fear that Emma was in danger, but on the other he felt more alive than ever before. Holding her like this, having his hands on her even if the situation was unusual was a godsend.

He’d felt this same zap of an electrifying current when he reached for her hand this morning in the garden, but right now, with her flush against him and her chest heaving for breath as her body gave a slight shiver at the contact, Killian was in a daze. This sensation was heady and intoxicating and he never wanted to move away from it. Emma took up every bit of his senses, and he took in the hint of lavender and vanilla that clung to her right now, surprised that she could smell this sweet when he’d expected some kind of fire or explosion inside the house. When she bit her lip, Killian had a want to do that too and then kiss it better, but he held back, needing more than anything to know she was okay.

“Yeah, sorry. I was… trying a new recipe and somehow managed to mess it up. Sorry for all the noise though. Everything’s fine.”

Killian didn’t know how he was so certain, but he felt like Emma was speaking in half-truths right now. She hadn’t flat out lied, but there was more to the story, and though he didn’t want to look away from those beautiful green eyes of hers, he did, seeing what looked like some lingering smoke through the kitchen window. He couldn’t really tell since the lights were off inside but it seemed to be a strange color, and then just as soon as it was there it was gone, and Killian was left wondering what was real and what was a figment of his imagination.

“Killian?” Emma said quietly, bringing his eyes back to hers, and finally he felt like he could breathe again. She was actually all right, and whatever had happened, that was the most important thing. “I’m fine, really.”

The tremble in Emma’s voice pierced through everything else in this moment, and he didn’t know what had caused it. Maybe she’d been frightened when the sound went off, or maybe, as he was guessing from the look in her eyes, she was a little scared of him. He felt like he was getting close to something, or some things really, things that hadn’t added up as the week went on, but whatever Emma was hiding, Killian didn’t care. The only thing he could think was that he wanted to comfort her, and that he wanted that light in her eyes that he’d seen this morning when they were joking together back.

“Forgive me, love,” he said, his hand coming up so his thumb could brush away a slight smudge on her cheek. “I just didn’t realize I was living next to a mad scientist. Are you given to such experiments in the kitchen very often?” Emma smiled at that, and shook her head, the tension in her shoulders lessening as she did.

“Not exactly,” Emma replied, causing Killian to smile too as the sound of smaller footsteps up the porch steps sounded out around them. Immediately Killian moved back, not wanting to crowd Emma when her son was in need of her, or to upset Henry who would no doubt need consolation.

“Mom?” Henry asked, running up the porch and glomming onto her with a huge hug. It was heart warming to see, a reuniting between mother and son, even if it had been a false alarm, and Killian noticed the way Emma’s eyes got a little misty at Henry’s intensity. She clearly didn’t like that she’d worried him, and that protective instinct that she carried with her rushed to the surface as she ran her hand through his hair soothingly.

“Hey kid, sorry I scared you.”

“That’s okay. Killian helped a lot,” Henry said as he pulled back from the hug and smiled at Killian. “He was super brave.”

“Is that right?” Emma asked, looking back at Killian with a bit of humor in her jade colored eyes that shot straight to Killian’s core. He’d be whatever the heck Emma Swan wanted, as long as he could be on the receiving end of that look forever.

“Yup. I think we should invite him to dinner to say thank you,” Henry insisted.

Wow that kid was smooth, and if Killian wasn’t so busy trying to play it cool and not give away just how excited he was at the prospect of a dinner with Emma and her son, he would have applauded him. As it was, Henry had spent most of the past few hours not only talking to Killian about Storybrooke and his life with school and his friends, but about Emma too.

Killian had learned a lot, and he’d grown more secure in the little bit of attempted matchmaking on Henry’s part. The lad might be young, but his plan was relatively clear: he wanted his Mum to have her chance at love, and for whatever reason he seemed to think Killian a good candidate for that role. Not that Killian resented that. In fact he was all too eager to take on the part despite knowing Emma for so short a time.

Killian saw the slight bit of hesitation on Emma’s part, but he had this real and true need for her not to deflect from this proposition. Perhaps it was selfish, but he didn’t want his time to be over with Emma or her son today. In fact, this had been the best weekend he’d had in a very long time simply because of how much time he’d gotten to be with them. He could only imagine how good it would feel to have more time in an even more tangible way.

“Actually lad, I was hoping to invite you two to my house tonight. See I haven’t gotten the chance to invite anyone over yet, and I think Luna’s a bit lonely.”

Luna was the name of his new feline companion and her celestially inspired moniker was courtesy of Henry’s insistence. After a few days of just speaking at the little fur ball casually instead of giving her a real name, Killian asked for some advice and Henry had gone on and on about moon cycles and the lunar calendar having all sorts of power. Then when he saw Killian’s genuine curiosity at his knowing so much about the moon, Henry ended his factual monologue with a final Harry Potter endorsement and Killian was sold. It was of no real matter to him in the end, after all, but to Henry that gesture had been huge and very well received.

“Can we go Mom? Please?” Henry asked, and both Henry and Killian looked to Emma who was considering the prospect of a night with him.

“You sure we wouldn’t be putting you out?” Emma asked and Killian shook his head immediately.

“I can think of few things I’d rather do than share a meal with the Swans, love. Seems a guarantee for a night well spent.”

At his words Emma’s cheeks turned a little pink, and though he tried to hide his body’s natural response to that, it was hard. Killian loved the way her creamy skin sometimes gave her thoughts away like that, and he wanted to see that blush deeper and further across her skin. Yet now was neither the time nor place to explore those wishes, and Killian was aware that he still had a ways to go in convincing the entrancing woman next door that he was worth putting her trust in.

“Then yes, we’d love to come,” Emma said, sending Henry into an excited tizzy as he came to high five Killian. “But...” Emma said to Henry in particular. “I have to get something over to Mary Margaret and David and then stop by the café right now, so why don’t you get cleaned up and then we’ll head out to do that?”

Henry didn’t waste any time in running inside to adhere to his mother’s wishes, and Killian and Emma both watched him go. Killian had to smile at the boy’s enthusiasm, and he only hoped he could manage to make a night fun enough to actually keep Henry entertained. Come to think of it, he had a number of things to do seeing as he wasn’t really a chef by any stretch of the imagination, and that he still had quite a few furnishings missing from his humble abode.

“So we’ll see you tonight then?” Emma asked, pulling Killian back from the new worries that had sprung from his possibly over eager invitation, and when his eyes came back to see a hopeful looking Emma he was calmed once more. Whatever he had to do to get his affairs in order for this evening he would gladly do to make sure it was a good night for all of them.

“See you tonight, Swan.”

Watching Emma head back into her house, Killian lingered for just a moment before returning home once more. The last of the gardening supplies were still outside, and he tried to get them all put away as quickly as he could so as to get on to what really needed doing. He had a new mission to pursue and it involved getting this place (and himself) ready for the dinner he’d just offered to host with little to no time in advance.

Hours, five or six at most, were all that he had to get this right, but despite the time crunch Killian felt good about this. It was a similar high to the ones he had caught in the early days of his writing, when there were deadlines to get to and serious cases that needed solving. Back in New York he’d worked oftentimes with the police, scouting sources and cultivating people who knew those streets and the big players in every neighborhood and borough, and the best cases were the ones where he actually helped. If the bad guys went away for what they did and the victims and their families of a crime got some kind of justice that was all Killian could ask for. Yet it had been a long time since he got any kind of thrill out of what he did. A sense of completing his duty, yes, but the passion he’d once held dear had faded a long time ago.

Having it back now and in such a different set of circumstances might have worried a less convinced man, but Killian was certain that this path he was on, the one that led to Emma and Henry, was the one he was meant to find. The only question was what lay underneath the surface. For there was something going on there, and something going on in the town of Storybrooke over all that Killian had yet to put his finger on but was getting closer to every day.

The search for those answers was one Killian had taken on with vigor almost since the moment he arrived in town. Having little else to do other than try his hand at a novel or reading, some of Killian’s older instincts returned and he was starting to take note of everything around him. They might seem like minor occurrences to anyone else, but for Killian it was all just a little too out of the ordinary. He had a little notebook dedicated to those moments too, with bullets listed about strangely ever present blue birds, strange riddles some of the townspeople spoke in, and weather trends that sparked at strange intervals and didn’t turn up on Doppler radars for no apparent reason.

None of what he’d seen so far, however, scared him (not even the moment he swore he saw a black wolf, or at very least a very large dog at the tree line of the Storybrooke forest a few nights ago), but Killian wanted some kind of answer. He hated to feel he was going mad or seeing things that weren’t happening, so he’d snooped a little more in the hopes of validating his intuitive feelings.

That was how he’d found himself a few days back in the archives of the small town hall at the center of Storybrooke, looking up old records and copies of the Storybrooke Gazette. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was looking for, but what he’d found was interesting. There were a number of stories that in any other town would have seemed fantastical or amazing. Over the last few decades there were more than a few accidents listed that never seemed to result in serious injury, and natural disasters that the town always weathered or avoided completely, even when surrounding areas had been hit hard with flooding or wind damage. But even more curious was the fact that the people writing these stories never dug any deeper. No one ever asked the survivors or witnesses throughout the years for details on their amazing escapes or the good fortune of this town on the whole, or if they had, nothing ever seemed to make its way to print.

Eventually Killian had found something else to draw his attention though – the town charter. Now, Killian wasn’t a local historian, and perhaps there was a chance that many towns from this part of the world and established at around the same time had professed similar goals when creating their little hamlets, but the terms and the wording, even given the style hundreds of years ago was curious. The founders talked about Storybrooke being a ‘sacred haven’ and there were many mention of ‘gifts,’ all of which were welcome. There was no mention of occupations or ideologies, but talents and skills and ‘forces’ Killian didn’t really get were listed a plenty. It was strange to Killian, but also not a bad ideal to build a community on. Really, when he thought about it, it was a totally inclusive piece of paper, and something, arguably for the whole town to be proud of despite the peculiar way it was stated.

“So I hear you’ve got company coming over tonight. My invite must have gotten lost in the mail.”

The teasing words came Killian’s way as he stepped onto the main road en route to the store, and Killian knew even before he looked up to meet the speaker’s eye that it was David. Killian had run into the man a number of times so far this week, and each encounter had been a pleasant one. Based on the jest in the man’s voice, Killian also believed there was a chance they might one day be actual friends. Now Killian just had to figure out how to tell him in a kind way that there wasn’t a chance in hell he was inviting him. This was a dinner he’d wanted for a while, and adding more people to the party would just give Emma the chance to hide from him more, which he didn’t want in the slightest.

“Don’t worry, I already got an earful from Henry when I made that joke. It’s Swans only tonight.”

Killian knew what David meant, that just Emma and Henry would be his guests this evening, but for some reason his heart and mind jumped on the idea that whatever their last name, the three of them might be a unit. It was probably mental, and more than a little early for him to be thinking that way, but he couldn’t help it. All Killian could do was keep that little tidbit to himself and try to respond to David as best he could.

“You seem awfully interested in my house guests, mate.”

“Oh I am. Mary Margaret’s in the best mood because of it, and when my wife is happy, I’m happy.”

Happy was one word for it but smug was another. David was downright delighted at this turn of events (no doubt because he’d been bringing up Killian asking Emma out for days now) and when Killian moved to scratch his ear in an old nervous habit, David noticed it, laughing aloud with nothing but good humor coming through in the sound.

“There’s just one thing I can’t quite figure out,” David quipped.

“And what’s that?” Killian asked, expecting some more thinly veiled interrogation about his intentions with Emma.

“Aren’t you the same guy that told me not two days ago you don’t know how to cook?”

“Aye. So it should be an interesting night to say the least.”

The confession on Killian’s part set David to chuckling again and eventually Killian joined in. After all, if he couldn’t laugh at himself, what kind of man was he? He wasn’t too proud to admit he might have bitten off a bit more than he could chew with this, but he fully intended to rise to the challenge and he’d brought the cookbook Liam purchased for him years ago that he never opened as a guide. Hopefully somewhere in here he’d find something to make that was edible for this evening.

“Should be. Well I’ll let you get to it then,” David said, nodding as a means of goodbye and turning around, but before he could get to far Killian called out to him again.

“Hey Dave?” David turned around still smiling, but he sobered some when he saw Killian, no doubt picking up on the loaded nature of what he was about to say.

“Yeah?”

“You mentioned there being a time when I’d have some uh… questions about Storybrooke.” Well that was clunky, but it was also as delicate as Killian could be. Instantly recognition colored David’s expression and he nodded.

“I did, yeah. You ready to ask them yet?” David asked, the query vague but hinting that he didn’t think Killian was a mad man for thinking something was up in this town. That in itself was kind of a relief to be honest.

“I think I might be getting there.”

“Well when you’re sure, call me. We’ll get a drink and I’ll answer what I can.”

“Right. Thanks,” Killian said, feeling like he’d get to that point rather soon if things continued like this much longer.

“Just out of curiosity, what’s your gut telling you?” David asked.

His gut? His gut was telling Killian that this was home or at the very least it was the closest he’d ever come to home since he was a small boy. Despite the signs that something might be different about this town, Killian didn’t feel anything bad about the place. In fact he admired it, feeling a connection to it the more time he spent here. These questions and this research? They were all just his curiosity coming out to play, and it he were truly honest a part of that circled back to Emma. For some reason Killian felt like it was connected, like if he figured out Storybrooke, he might figure out the woman who lived here who was already taking up far too much room in his heart to be normal. But he didn’t expect to find something bad. He just wanted a clearer picture and to know all of Emma no matter what lay beneath the surface.

“To stay, and that whatever it is it’s not bad just...”

“Special?” David filled in, reminding him of their first conversation.

“Aye.”

David grinned at that and tilted his head slightly, signaling to Killian that the man had some private thoughts about that answer, but it was the truth. Killian had no intention of leaving Storybrooke, not when he’d found so many things here to bind him already. And it was a special place, one he wanted a better understanding of so he could appreciate it more and let go of this feeling that he was missing something, which would always be just a tad bit unsettling.

“Good luck on dinner man. And don’t get yourself too worked up. Worst case you go simple and make grilled cheese. Emma loves grilled cheese.”

“Thanks for the tip,” Killian replied as David set off with a wave and moved down the street. And with that, Killian set forth himself, largely letting go of those questions he’d been having and focusing instead on creating the night that he hoped for for two people who he desperately wanted to see happy.

Post-Note: The thing that gets me every time I’m at the start of the story is that it feels like a slow burn even when it isn’t really. Four chapters in and I am already anxiously awaiting some actual quality CS alone time, but they tell me patience is a virtue and I’m choosing to believe them. Anyway, next chapter will be bringing the dinner that Emma and Henry are going to at Killian’s. I anticipate much cuteness and fluff (as per usual). I also managed to come up with some more chapters in this outline and I am happy to announce that there should be at least ten chapters of this fun little story by the end of the road. I hope you guys enjoyed and thank you all so much for reading!

[towhomever]

Long story short, my brother abused me throughout my childhood whenever my parents weren't home. Sexual, physical, emotional, really anything you can think of. Parents always hated me because they said I was unstable because I would self harm and fight back whenever they'd hit me (my parents are big on discipline- My mom once hit me every time my answer was wrong when I was learning multiplication. I now am scarred and sometimes hit myself whenever I fail an exam and I'm alone in my apartment. My dad also hits me for talking back. He once hit my face until the sides of my mouth bled because I talked back to him in the car.) My parents are scared of my now because the last time we almost had a physical confrontation I told them "Oh what? You wanna hit me? Do it, asshole. Fucking do it or do you want me to do it for you?" - to put into context: My dad is a lazy ass who retired at 30 and has my mom working and managing all the businesses and he has the audacity to not do the chores around the house because he is "a man." Fucked up, I know.

Outside the family, I'm a different person. I love my friends to death (I can sometimes get defensive and a little mean towards them too when we fight i.e. when I feel confronted by them or trapped in a corner I run and close myself off from them by muting them online or blocking them - only happened twice so far in my life with my close friends that I've had since grade school. I also always apologize first when it comes to that and make sure they're okay whenever after a fight) I love my boyfriend and he's seen most of my worst side, but I never treat him like that and now it's gotten a lot better than the beginning when I had trust issues and kept running from the relationship. I love him dearly and am hopeful that he might be my endgame (it's been apart 4 years now).

My sister is my only confidant and I love her dearly. I have never gotten mad at her like how I do with my parents or brother. I'm protective of her more than anyone else that I even decided that I'll teach her math so my mom wouldn't hit her anymore like how she used to hit me when we'd get the answer wrong. I fight back with my parents and learned where the lines are and when to react, what not to cross, and what to do when someone crosses it.

Focussing on the main topic here: We were at the dinner table and my dad suddenly reminded me to feed our dogs. He yelled at me because he wants them fed early in the day so we can keep them in their cages until they defecate there (because there's a drain in their cage - it's actually more of a room because it's a pretty big space and on the blueprints for the garage it's actually labelled as their room) and then release them so they're free to roam all over the driveway and garden. They're 3 german Shepherds so their shits are huge and hard to clean.

I told my dad that I had work earlier today (I'm a working student, and I part time for an ad agency at the moment) so I couldn't feed them. He then told me I have a lunch break, to which I said I want to rest and eat lunch then.

Side note: Usually the dogs do eat at night anyway- it's just that the gardener is on leave because of corona so lately my dad's been the one cleaning the driveway. It's his only chore. My mom does the dishes. My sister and I set and clear the table. I share with my mom with cooking, sweeping, and doing the laundry.

Back to the main story:

So my dad started yelling at me because he doesn't want to have to clean the driveway. I was so tired today and didn't want to eat with someone yelling at me so I asked my sister if she wanted my food, and I got up and went to my room. (To put context- I've been living in my parents house since COVID happened because classes are online. Had to give up my apartment by the University because all the food establishments closed down, the laundry place was gone, and the WiFi - so I couldn't attend my classes anymore). My dad then got mad at my sister for trying to defend me because she knew how exhausted I was from work. My dad then asked why she didn't do it and that we wouldn't be living if it weren't for them yada yada yada. So she hid in the bathroom and cried, while I was starving in my room because I wasn't able to eat lunch earlier today either.

My mom then told my sister that I'm unstable and act defensively when I'm proven wrong and that my sister should not defend me. My sister then goes upstairs tells me all of this and says she wishes they were dead. My sister is 15 by the way - and she can already tell how fucked up my parents are. My mom even said that I was a lost cause even in University compared to my brother. My brother dropped out twice and graduated after 9 years. He took the same introductory alegra 7 times before my parents begged the professor to pass him. While on my side: I shifted from industrial engineering to civil engineering and am on my graduating year (a year past the expected date of graduation because of the extra subjects I had to take after shifting degree programs).

When I told my parents about what my brother did to me (the sexual part that is. I've been telling them about the physical part for ages and my mom told me "boy play rough" even though my brother choked me wherein my feet were off the ground over a bowl of fucking cereal), my mom told me to comfort my brother because he thinks he's a monster (which he is) and that I should tell him he's not. My mom also told me "he just asked you for a blowjob." She believes my brother is a saint. My dad said he was sick but he eventually told me to go to therapy and not my brother.

This pandemic is really bringing back a bunch of issues I burried when I got an apartment by my University. I've been going back and forth with the question "should I kill them or myself?" But because I don't want to resort to going against my morale compás I always end up thinking of killing myself. I've tried to explain to them multiple times but it always gets nowhere if not worse, so what to do really- I've gotten so much better since before. I was incredibly happy with my boyfriend and my apartment, I haven't had suicidal thoughts in so long and they're coming back. Help?

P.S. I haven't told my sister about what my brother did because I want her to be 18 and adult so she doesn't do anything rash. I think she's traumatized enough because there was a time where I broke a glass over my forehead and so much blood gushed out and I was taken to the hospital. My dad told me to say it was an accident and not domestic violence, so I did. I held onto the hand of the person injecting me with the anti-tetanus shot, hoping he'd know but of course he didn't. He just tried to calm me down. I don't want to hurt her anymore. I'm trying to be stable for her. And really I'm living for her, because I want her to be happy more than anything. I want her to live a full life. I love her so damn much, I can't even explain why.

TL;DR: My mom thinks my physically and sexually abusive brother is a saint. My dad is abusive towards me and is a lazy ass piece of shit. Both my parents think I'M the problem. I don't know what to do.