#he's a lot quieter and somewhat like Verge for a while

[fawnydoe]

So far I haven't seen anyone talk about Vanya watching Pogo die. I'm curious to hear your thoughts on that scene

holy shit holy smokes I have SO many thoughts thank you so much Anon because there’s a lot of subtext and so many interesting dialogue choices, blocking choices, and musical choices that add so much to the scene. Major fucking props to Elliot Page for his stellar acting and major props to the CGI team for the subtle emotions on Pogo’s face, as well as Adam Godley for a heart-wrenching voice performance.

you know its a big deal when i actually rewatch the scene instead of going off my shitty memory

I’m gonna try and break it down so let’s actually start by establishing the vibe between these two before this scene. 

Episode 1 established that Vanya does love Pogo or at least to some degree she does, she is someone that she trusts. He’s the one who tells her that the mansion will always be her home, he’s the one who tries to assure her her father did love her (that’s fucked up Pogo, come on man), and he’s concerned about her safety (offering to call her a cab). Vanya’s defenses are still there but they aren’t as raised as they are with Diego or Allison, there is some level of trust in their relationship (she opens up about the sandwiches in an attempt to make small talk, she does not actively make an attempt with her other family members).  If she was stuck in the house while her siblings were out, no doubt she probably latched onto this old chimpanzee as a pseudo-father figure.

She trusts Pogo, she is not aware of his complacency in her abuse. Pogo holds affections to all of them but I do think there was a bond between Vanya and him that’s being alluded to here. 

Let’s fast forward to the scene now that we’ve established there is a bond, because we have set-up so let’s have some pay-off:

Vanya tearing down the mansion is a fucking treat to watch, there’s no denying that. However, the events leading up to it are sad, distressing, she should never have reached this point of destruction. She was betrayed by the people she loved (Allison with the rumor, Leonard with the journal, and her siblings by locking her in a cage and walking away and leaving her there). She’s breaking down mentally and she’s taking the house down with her - she is both tearing down her cage and herself.

Look at how calmly she’s walking, she’s done. 

So when she gets to the living room (is that what it’s called?) and she has the flashback of Reginald telling at her to be quiet, yeah she’s fucking pissed. He tore apart her life, he told her time and time again to be quiet, continuously muted her (physically with the cage, mentally with reinforcing the rumor). She is done with Reginald, she’s done with it all. Except-

(We’re going line by line now)

“Miss Vanya, that’s quite enough!” Pogo talks to her like a child throwing a tantrum and in some ways, she is. He talks to all of the Hargreeves if they were children and in many ways, they really all are. They’ve never grown up, Vanya never got the chance to grow up. When was the last time she was in touch with her emotions, before they were strangled by her pills? When she was four years old. Of course everything is overwhelming, she’s been sedated for years now. 

“Miss Vanya, I under how upset you are. But I can assure that none of your siblings bear any of the responsibility for what happened to you as a child.” Pogo is trying to defend the other Hargreeves and to some extent, what he’s saying is true. But the thing is...what happened to her as a child is continuing into her adulthood and destroying her life. She has lived sedated and under the influence of a poorly thought out rumor. She’s struggling physically and mentally. What happened to her as a child is still clearly fucking her life up and the other Hargreeve siblings contributed to it, unknowingly or not.

And when she turns to them, her eyes turn brown again. She is herself and she needs to be to hear his answer. This is someone she trusts, this is someone she has turned to for comfort time and again throughout her childhood and when she moves towards him, pretending to be lax and casual, you can tell there’s a storm brewing. She doesn’t want him to be a part of this, she doesn’t want to believe that another person she thought could trust is complicit in this fucked up conspiracy of her life.

She asks anyways: “Did you know?”

Listen to her, she’s on the verge of tears and she so desperately wants Pogo to say no, she wants to spare him but only if he admits that he still cares, that he wasn’t a betrayer. This is an opportunity for him to escape, to lie, and Pogo, who has been so wrapped up in keeping secrets throughout the season, now knows that lying will only make things worse. He tells the truth but he does it in a way that let’s us know what we’ve always known: Pogo’s loyalties have always lied with Reginald, never with the children.

“Your father discovered...that you were capable of great things. Much like your brothers and sister. But your powers were...too great. He only wanted to protect you from yourself as well as your siblings.” Vanya has been told she’s ordinary, that she is not worth much because of that. Now she’s being told she was too great? Pogo pretty much just said: You will never be good enough.

Then the last line...fuck he has shifted the blame onto her, that her father was only doing what was best, that she was too dangerous. Pogo, what the fuck.

Vanya asks again, she needs to hear him say it, and there is no triumph in this scene, this is another betrayal of someone she thought she was close to, someone she could trust. All he’s done is say you’re not enough and you’re too dangerous. 

Major fucking props to the CGI on this part where Pogo is silent, he is thinking this over. He has spent years fanning the flames of this lie and if he lied again, if he said, Vanya would not have killed him. But Pogo knows the time for lies is over, that Vanya, who is a little girl that is hurting from years worth of abuse and lies, deserves the truth: “Yes, Miss Vanya. I knew.”

There is no one left that has not betrayed her in some way or another, Pogo has just admitted it. Vanya hangs her head, her face grows shadowed and both the gears in the audience’s head and Pogo’s head are turning: what will she do? Then she looks up and her eyes are silver. Vanya is letting go of any sliver of hope she once had for her family, she’s done. She thought had a bond with Pogo, a level of trust from a bond forged in childhood to one quieter in adulthood but still there. It’s gone and he’s said as much.

She lifts him in the air and keeps him there, lets him writhe in agony in a similar way to Leonard. Both of them have betrayed her, both of them are going to pay for it.

Look at where she flings him! The symbolism is SO fucking blatant here: He is impaled on antlers underneath Reginald’s portrait. The show has shown us these taxidermied animals (she’s turned Pogo into one) and how Reginald’s portrait looms over them. She knows where his loyalties die now and in some ways, it reads to me as Vanya saying: “You will die like a dog by your master’s side.”

She’s watching someone she thought she could trust die, she did that to him. She’s not enjoying his suffering, she didn’t relish in the act of impaling him, but she did because that is what she believe needs to be done (the parallels between this and Leonard’s death...fuck man). She needs to be sure he dies, she’s not taking any chances While he dies, he is being forced to look into the eyes of his killer, the killer he helped create.

The music is sorrowful as Pogo gasps for air, blood dribbling down his mouth. As with any Vanya soundtracks, there is a heavy use of strings, strings are Vanya’s instrument. It’s grieving, Vanya is grieving for what she has lost and for what she never had to begin with.

Thank you so much for the question, it was a real treat to go through the scene again and just dig into how phenomenal it is. I hope this somewhat answered your question, even if I did go a bit overboard!

[allaboutthebooz]

Still Learning Pt. Two

Summary: After having everything stolen from her, the reader meets Bucky and they form a relationship, that works for the both of them. She needs money and he needs the company. There are rules that need to be followed. What will happen when the rules are broken?

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: drinking, unwanted attention

A/N: Happy Easter, y'all! I hope you enjoy my gift to you! You can catch up here!

“I don’t need to get out more, Sam. I get out enough.” Bucky gripes to his teammate as they step off the plane after they land.”

“Going out on missions and to the restaurants by your apartment, isn’t considered going out man.” Sam explains.

“I had a date a few weeks ago.”

“Yeah, which you literally ran out on.”

“Well-“

“No, no more excuses. We’re going out tonight. After this long ass week, we could both use some down time. We’re going, end of story.” Sam solidifies with a smile n his face, but sternness in his voice.”

“You’re a real pain in my ass.” Bucky tells him.

“Someone’s got to be.” Sam claps him on the shoulder, before walking away. “I’ll meet you outside of your apartment at eight!” he shouts over his shoulder.

“Eight?! Can’t it be sooner?”

Sam turns back towards him but keeps walking. “Just because you’re 106, doesn’t mean you have to act like it! Eight! Be ready1” He turns the corner for the airstrip entrance and then he’s gone.

“I’m too old for this.” Bucky says, hanging his head.

A month after everything was taken from you, thanks to your good for nothing, asshole of an ex-boyfriend, you find yourself sitting in a packed bar with the girls.

You didn’t have the money to do anything, saving what you can, which isn’t much. You were still trying to get your life back together. Your credit was ruined, but was on its way back to normal, somewhat. That would take a long time though. The police were supposed to be looking for Matt, but he was on the bottom of the list of criminals.

The bank told you that there wasn’t anything that they could do about the money that was taken from your account, since Matt was given authorization to the account, in case something happened to you. They simply said that since is name was on the account, the money was his too. You were currently trying to get that overrules, but you don’t know how long that would take.

On top of everything else, your job has been outsourcing your shoots to temporary photographers and using you less. It was cheaper apparently. That meant that your steady income, has dwindled by half. You were having a hard time paying your bills and knew that you were on the verge of being evicted from your apartment. Even though you had explained to your landlord what happened, there was only so much he could do to help.

Deanna and Lexie have been wanting to go out, to help take your mind off of things, but going out just reminded you that you have no money to spend. When you told them that, they just told you not to worry about it. They made you get dressed and dragged you out of your apartment. Now, you sat at the bar, while both of them danced for a bit. Dwelling on your thoughts while you sipped on your whiskey sour.

Bucky walked into the crowded bar behind Sam, following him to the bar top to order drinks. Both men nodding to the bartender when he holds up two fingers, signaling that he would be with them soon.

“You know we could have gotten drinks at a quieter place, right?” Bucky nags.

“What fun is that? Besides, there are plenty of ladies to choose from.”

“Ladies to choose from?” Bucky questions. “You’re better than that, Sam. Show some respect.”

“True, but you know what I’m talking about. It’ll be good to mingle.” Sam tells him.

“I don’t need to ‘mingle.’ I don’t have time.”

Truthfully, Bucky did have the time. What he didn’t tell Sam was that he had his own means of finding a companion. He has more money than he will ever need. When Tony died, he left them all with a good chunk of cash.

Along the way during his recovery, he learned a lot about what he could do with the money. He invested a lot of it in companies that he believed would be successful and he was right. He had an accountant to help him keep track of everything and he was the only person who knew about his “companions.”

It’s not that Bucky didn’t trust Sam to understand how he spent his money or how he got laid on a normal basis. He just knew he would never hear the end of it. From what he learned; society wasn’t too fond of those types of relationships. The kind of relationships where you paid someone to go out with you and spend time with them. People looked at it as a “sugar” relationship. Bucky just called it having someone on his payroll to be his friend outside of the chaotic world he lived in.

Lame, he knows, but with his past he found it hard for anyone to want to be his friend. He rarely saw anyone outside of work, which was why Same dragged him out tonight. They talked for a bit, before Sam caught sight of someone more interested and excused himself.

He leaned his side against the bar, take a pull from the beer in his hand. He looks around the crowded room, observing those around him. He notices a few women glancing at him, trying to be coy and slyly get his attention. He easily looked past them, his eyes continuing their scan. They land on another woman. This time she wasn’t trying to get his attention.

She looked like she would rather be anywhere but here. She kept her gaze on the bar in front of her. Whatever she was drinking, resting in the glass that was gently grasped between her hands. She was beautiful. She was only a few stools away from where he was standing. He could see a guy on her right, trying to make conversation and even though she wasn’t looking at him, Bucky could see her nod or shake her head and her lips move every now and then.

Bucky wasn’t sure if they were together, not until he saw her shrink in on herself and try to lean away from the guy. She was trying to get away from him but didn’t want to be rude. Pushing himself off the bar and leaving his drink behind, he made the choice to try and help her.

Sliding next to her on her other side, he makes himself know. “Hey, babe. Sorry I’m late. Traffic was brutal.”

The woman turns her gaze towards him, and his heart stutters. Her eyes growing a little wide, in wonder.

“Who are you?” The guy on her right asks.

“Her boyfriend. Who the hell are you?” bucky counters, narrowing his eyes at the dude.

“Adam. I was just keeping her company. She looked lonely.”

“Well Adam, I’m here now. So, you can go bug someone else.” Bucky gently puts a hand on the junction where her shoulder and neck meet, keeping his hand on her jean jacket, but making it look intimate enough.

The douchebag looks from Bucky to the woman. “He really with you?”

She brings her hand up to grasp Bucky’s and his skin burns from her touch. “Of course, he is. Why would some random guy, pose as my boyfriend?” She asks. Her voice even, leveling her gaze at Adam.

“Whatever. Thanks for wasting my time.” The guy huffs before walking away to find his next victim.

The woman turns back to Bucky. “Thanks. I kept trying to not show him any interest, but I guess he couldn’t take the hint.”

“Yeah, I could tell. Thought you could use some help.” Bucky says, dropping his hand and missing her touch already.

“I’m Y/N.” She tells him.

“Bucky.”

“Nice to meet you. Bucky.” She smiles at him.

“You too, Y/N.” He likes how her name sounds rolling off his tongue. “Well, I’ll leave you to enjoy your alone time.”

“Or you could let me buy you a drink as my way of thanking you.”

“Or I could buy YOU a drink?”

“Or you could buy me a drink. That works too.”

Bucky smiles at her and waves to the bartender.

TAGS:

Marvel- @shreddedparchment

Forevers- @jamielea81 @dnnwnchstr22 @also-fangirlinsweden

*If you would like to added to the tag list, please send me an ask. I am able to keep up with them better that way!

[21burritoseavey]

Chapter 6 - Slow Down

a/n: this one’s quite long so i’m sorry but I really hope you read it all and enjoy it! let me know what you think:)

Summary:  Daniel and Y/n are best friends, but like every clique love story lol, Daniel fell for Y/n, though he’s never admitted his feelings because Y/n has a boyfriend. After their exams, the group of friends decide to go on a “California-cation” (see what I did there haha) but Y/n’s boyfriend also tags along. It gets a little interesting and I guess you’ll just have to see how things go…

“What’s wrong?” Corbyn urged seriously from his seat. The back of the van had finally fallen silent due to Jonah’s sudden stop and almost everyone's gazes were fixated on the driver’s seat. 

 “This van’s a twenty-year-old piece of crap is what’s wrong” Jonah huffed, slouching down in his seat tiredly

 “Ugh, why does everything go wrong when I’m with you guys?” Y/n groaned, habitually fidgeting with the strings of her hoodie. 

 “Hey!” The rest of the boys snapped, glaring at her. She only giggled lightly. 

 Daniel, who slumped drowsily in his seat with his cheek leaning on his palm, muttered “Hey, okay, don’t worry. We’ll figure this out.” He sat up, straightening his back before continuing, “come on guys.” Daniel said, getting out of the car while gesturing to the others to do so too. 

“I’m too tired to get out” Y/n remarked light-heartedly. She lounged back in her seat, brought her arms up to rest behind her head and her eyes focused on Grayson beside her, who sat quietly doing who knows what on his phone again. 

 “Grayson…” She breathed, lifting her soft hand to rest under his chin. Grayson glanced at her swiftly. “Go help him out.” She said tenderly, a gentle smile forming on her lips. 

 Before Grayson could even speak a word, Y/n’s other hand crawled slyly up his back to his neck, and she pushed her lips on his. His strong figure melted easily against her comforting touch, but she pulled back almost immediately when she heard Jonah. 

 “Ewww. I don’t need to see that” Jonah called as he was getting out of the front seat, biting back a cheeky smile. 

 “Love you.” Y/n said sweetly as she shifted back into her seat and watched him close the car door. 

 Grayson hid his eye roll and replied with a quiet ‘love you’ before approaching the rest of the boys. Their slightly clueless faces twisted in confusion had Grayson biting back a smirk and he slowly wiggled his way into the huddle of boys to get a better look. With a furrowed brow and pursued lips, he inspected the exposed hood of the car almost silently, and after a couple awkward minutes of the guys whispering their own conclusions to each other, Grayson broke the silence. “We should just push the car.” He deduced simply, pushing the hood back down and dusting his hands free of grease and grime. The boys nodded casually as if they thought the same and followed him to the back of the car. 

 “I could’ve figured that out easily” Jack scoffed quietly to Daniel, earning a gentle chuckle from the boy beside him. Jonah got back into the driver’s seat again, looking back to meet Y/n’s eyes. 

 “Your boyfriend really seems to know a bit about cars.” He said truthfully as he looked back at Y/n, signalling to Grayson behind the car. Y/n smiled proudly, sneaking a glance at her boyfriend before turning back to Jonah.

 “Yeah, he does.” Y/n paused with a grin, “I’m glad he’s here, you know? Like...with all of you guys so you can get to know him better. He’s such a great guy and-” Y/n caught herself beginning to ramble and she quieted down bashfully. “He’s great.” She finished simply. 

 Jonah chucked faintly. “I’m sure of it.” He said, despite remembering the negative conversations he had with Daniel about Grayson. 

 “Okay Jonah,” Grayson called from behind the car. “What you’re going to do now is turn the ignition on, hold down on the pedal and put the van into second gear.” After a few seconds, Jonah nodded when he was ready. 

 “Stupid bugs!” Daniel groaned, wiggling his arms haphazardly to swat them away. Y/n giggled cheekily, shifting in her seat to look over at the five boys ready to push the car - completely sheltered from the bugs that had been bothering Daniel so much. Until that point, she was completely unaware that he had taken off his shirt and she felt her cheeks warming up at the sight of his glistening, toned body. She guiltily snapped out of her trance and looked forward again. 

 After a few attempts and a few funny complaints from the boys, the rusty old van was able to work again, hopefully for the remaining duration of their drive and the group were back on the road. 

Corbyn had opened the sunroof which sent a cool breeze blowing in the car and  music played from the crackling speakers quietly. It was significantly quieter though, everyone was either on the verge of sleep or busying themselves with their phones. Daniel kept his blue eyes out the window, feeling the gentle rise and fall of the van as his brain explored thoughts of Y/n and Grayson. 

 Maybe he’s not so bad after all? He thought. 

---

The cool summer night was reaching eight o’clock when the weary van finally came to an official halt, belching and rumbling as Jonah parked it in the lot. Y/n’s stomach was tickling with excitement and she was so overcome with joy that she nearly shoved Grayson out of his seat, ushering him out with “Come on! Come on! Let’s go!” He merely stared wide eyed at her, gradually stepping out of the van just to get on her nerves. “Oh. My. God. Gray. I literally hate you.” Y/n grumbled, making Daniel and Grayson burst into genuine laughter and they exchanged small, tight smiles. 

The guys briefly looked around noticing scraggly trees and bushes interspersed along the campsite, swaying and creaking and they heard the faint sounds of people’s voices that drifted with the light breeze.

 “Oh my god! You have no idea how much I just wanna sleep right now!” Zach yawned, stretching his arms tiredly as he stepped out of the van, shutting the rigid door behind him. 

“Okay well, if we just get the tents built quickly, we should be able to just chill out and vibe real soon.” Daniel said, as he began to unload the trunk. He passed around the backpacks and sleeping bags to everyone, and they all started walking ahead. “It should just be down there.” Daniel called out kindly, pointing to the wooden benches and public toilets in the distance. 

 “Hey,” Y/n greeted, casually resting her hands on each of Daniel’s shoulders from behind. He flinched in momentary fear but his expression faltered at the comforting sight of Y/n. Her gentle eyes and dewy skin shimmered with ease even when the natural light was dwindling, and Daniel couldn’t help but go weak in the knees as her eyes caught his lingering gaze. 

 Catching himself in his persistent and rather embarrassingly long trance, he offered her the smallest backpack with a grin while he carried three big duffle bags and sleeping bags on his broad shoulders. They began walking towards the campgrounds, already significantly behind the rest of the group yet strolling slowly. The sounds of the gravel crunching beneath their feet floated with the light breeze and Daniel broke the serene quietness with a question. 

 “You and Grayson okay now?” He asked. 

 “Yeah.” Y/n made sure to grin widely at him before continuing “I just wanna say thank you again.”

“It’s really okay it-.”

 “Not just for that, but for everything Dani. I appreciate you so much.” Y/n said honestly. She even stopped in her tracks as if to signal how serious she was. 

 “I appreciate you too, Y/n. I love you…. more than you will ever know.”  Daniel didn’t even realise he said the last six words out loud and he tried to break nervousness quickly. He shifted the weight on his back and a slight grunt escaped from his lips. 

 “Do you need some help?” Y/n said shyly, desperately trying to hold in her laughter as she watched Daniel trudge forwards, a new layer of sweat dampening his forehead. 

 Daniel took a deep breath before replying, swallowing back his slight awkwardness. “No, no, I’m fine,” he said quickly. 

 “If you say so…. doof” Y/n ran off cheekily as she giggled, turning back when she heard Daniel again. 

 “Hey! You’re a doof!” He yelled back with a small chuckle.  

 By the time Daniel finally caught up with the rest of the gang, he was clawing for a breath, dropping the bags on his back ungracefully with a loud thump and sat down quickly on a wooden picnic bench near him. 

 Like usual, Daniel’s eyes wandered the new place from the tall trees with brittle, dry leaves to the burbling shallow creek in the distance to Y/n. She was resting on a nearby bench with Grayson, cuddled up into his side comfortably. He cleared his throat nervously and got up from the bench, trudging back over to his bandmates right past the young, mingling couple. He saw Y/n snake out of Grayson’s arms from the corner of his eye and he heard the faint whispers between them before he felt the cold sensation of Grayson’s hand on the back of his shoulder. He turned around to be met with a somewhat friendly smile and he returned it. 

 “Do you need any help setting up your tent?” He asked, gesturing to the unopened tent on the ground behind him. Daniel nodded,

“Yeah, thanks.” He replied, walking towards the flat grassy area Jack, Corbyn and Zach where at. Grayson followed behind casually, placing his backpack down. He kneeled on the ground, opening up the drawstring bag. Daniel came closer and crouched down as well and started to pull out the parts. 

The sky had melted into a rich navy with stars adorned everywhere yet the two boys had finally achieved their goal after an exhausting and slightly awkward hour. The exterior was wrinkled, wobbly and a little broken but both boys were too exhausted to even care and lay sprawled out inside the tent. 

 Surprisingly, despite Daniel's initial dislike of Grayson, he couldn’t deny that he was charismatic and incredibly easy to get along with. He figured that’s how he was able to get an amazing girl like Y/n, charming her off her feet onto the dancefloor and then into his car that first night they met at his twin brother’s party. 

“Hey, uhh do you have a flashlight?” Daniel asked as he shifted slowly. 

“Yeah, there should be one in my backpack. The biggest pocket.” 

“Thanks man,” Daniel said gently as he zipped open the tent and crawled out slowly, trying not to break the fragile structure. He crouched down in front of Grayson’s black backpack and zipped open the biggest pocket as instructed. He carefully weeded through the plentiful cans bug spray and sunscreen. Underneath an extra shirt was a small gift bag, pink in colour and drowned in glitter. Daniel could only make out the blush-coloured tissue paper that peeked out of the bag in the darkness. He froze in thought, plentiful ideas hazed in his mind, flashing in and out of existence quickly. 

Pink and glitter? It’s not a holiday. It’s not anyone’s- 

 “Daniel! Grayson!” Y/n yelled out. “Come on!” 

Daniel’s thoughts were interrupted but he quickly pulled out the flashlight and zipped the backpack up again, meeting Grayson’s gaze just in time when he emerged from the tent behind him. 

[spicycreativity]

Intertwined- Chapter 3

Chapter: 3/9

Additional Notes: I have up to chapter 5 posted on my AO3, WizardGlick, if you're impatient. Some vocab, in case you were curious: A glossectomy is surgery to remove part or all of the tongue. A scold's bridle is sort of human muzzle with a spike to press the tongue down.

Chapter Content Warnings: It's hanahaki time, babey. That entails respiratory distress and coughing up flowers. No blood. Yet.

Excerpt: “Poof,” said Remus. “Abraca-douchebag. I heal thee. C’mere, Snakey, let me lay my hands on you.”

Janus sighed but obliged, and let Remus touch him with his hand curled in the sign of benediction, then in the shocker. “Gross.”

"Um, Janus?" Patton asked, slowing their pace a little. At Janus' inquiring look, he continued in an almost timid voice, "Where are we going?"

"To my dungeon of depraved delights, obviously," Janus said with a roll of his eyes. He regretted it instantly; he'd lashed out instinctively, assuming that the hesitance in Patton's voice had been calculated, but of course it wasn't. Patton didn't work like that. "Somewhere we can talk."

"Is Re--" Patton stopped himself. "Is anyone else going to be there?'

"No," said Janus, deep in thought. He was working on constructing someplace entirely new, a den of his own design where they could talk without worrying about Virgil lurking or Remus popping up to make things awkward.

He worked it out while they walked, trusting the halls to lengthen while he constructed a brand new parlor entirely from his own imagination.

The final product was shiny with brass and black lacquer on the wooden bar and cabinets, all unnecessary flourishes and overlapping lines. It was a shadowy space in Janus' mind, sequestered and private and dimly lit with Edison bulbs. He only realized he'd leaned too hard into the ‘hidden’ aspect when they reached a plain brass ring set into the carpeting.

"What's that?" Patton asked, stopping well short of it.

"I'll show you." Janus stepped forward, wishing he could lead Patton by the hand. He hooked one finger on the ring and pulled. It rotated on hidden hinges, revealing itself as a trapdoor. Janus forced himself to smile as though this was normal, and gave a little flourish with his free hand.

"Oh," said Patton in a thin voice. "A dark, shadowy staircase. Um…" He shuffled backwards. "Are there gonna be spiders?"

"Yes, this was all part of my elaborate plan to lead you to a torture chamber." Janus said, smiling gently so Patton would know he was only teasing.

"So no spiders?" Janus shook his head, lifting his eyebrows expectantly. Patton nodded, his eyes lingering on Janus' for a second, and stepped onto the staircase.

"There's a handrail," Janus said, awkwardly attempting to walk to the stairs without letting the trapdoor fall shut. He managed it eventually and followed Patton down the stairs, barely resisting the childish urge to grab onto the back of Patton's shirt.

" This is your living room?" Patton asked once they'd reached the bottom of the stairs.

"No, it's the bathroom," Janus said. Before he could stop himself, he added, "Do you like it?" Oh, pathetic. He crossed his arms to keep from dragging his hands down his face. Anything for that sweet rush of endorphins when Patton deigned to smile on him. He was doomed.

Patton nodded, spinning in a circle as he looked around. "It's like a… One of those…" He looked at Janus, squinting in the low light, and snapped his fingers a few times. "You know, with a password and all that."

"A speakeasy," Janus said, smiling a little at the irony.

Patton seemed to grasp it, too, because he laughed and said, "Easy for me to say."

"So to speak," Janus agreed.

Patton seemed to forget his woes for one breathtaking moment; he smiled radiantly at Janus. All the lights burned a little brighter until Janus caught himself smiling back. He made a pretense of shifting his weight, making an excuse to hide his traitorous mouth behind his hand while he personally executed every last butterfly in his stomach.

"What was it you wanted to talk to me about?" Janus asked, beckoning Patton over to a pair of wingback armchairs by the fire. Janus studied it for a moment while he waited for Patton to answer. This space was all his own, and though the pervading chill of Roman’s melancholy dampened the effect of the roaring fire somewhat, it was still comfortable.

"Um," said Patton. Janus watched him fidget with one of the studs on the armchair. "I just… I don't want to sound rude."

Anticipatory dread pooled in Janus' stomach. Great. So Patton was here to offer up some criticism, was he? Let him try. "Well, don't keep me waiting."

"It's just…" Patton looked up at him, his glasses reflecting the light from the fire and the Edison bulbs. "Do you want something from me?”

Panic whited out Janus’ vision for a split second before he got ahold of himself. He was a better liar than that. “What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s like you said to Virgil…” Patton shifted in his chair and wouldn’t look at Janus. “Quid pro quo. And you gave me-- You’ve been so nice to me. And everybody else seems to want something from me, so I just thought…”

“Oh,” said Janus, thinking back to the conference room. Logan and Roman hadn’t thought twice before calling on Patton to take up their burdens, and of course Patton hadn’t advocated for himself. “There are things I want from you, alright.” He waited for Patton to look up before continuing, “I want you to prioritize yourself for once. I want you to protect that bleeding heart of yours. You can’t keep going like this, Patton. You’re bound to collapse again, and I don’t want to see that happen.”

Patton swallowed hard, sniffled. “You made that truce with Virgil. Why?”

"For you , of course," Janus said, dressing the truth in the extravagant trappings of sarcasm and parading it in plain sight. Mocking himself. "All for you, Patton." Quieter, to himself, he said, "For Thomas." A reminder.

Patton nodded. "I didn't mean to imply-- Of course you'd think that of me. I swear I-- I never wanted it to be like this."

Confused and determined not to show it, Janus said, “I really do want to help you. It’s like I said earlier, I…” And maybe this was giving a little too much of himself away, so far from the strange liminality of last night, but how could he help it? “I respect you. I understand you a little better now.” Half of him, the stupid half, the idiotic , saccharine, unbearably-sickeningly-obscenely desperate half wanted to kneel at Patton's feet and swear to fix it for him. Janus could take the burden of leadership, Janus could bear the scorn of Patton's friends on his behalf. Janus would take the pressure, and all he would ask in return was Patton's devotion. He almost scoffed aloud at himself. That wasn’t how this worked. Shifting the weight wouldn’t make Patton any less self-effacing, and he didn’t want Patton in his debt. All he could do was provide support, and burn quietly and not let the smoke sting anyone’s eyes.

“You’re so sweet sometimes,” Patton said sadly. “I wish I’d known.”

Janus didn’t miss that ‘ sometimes,’ the pointed reminder that his heart was guarded, his defenses sharp. The gates were either open or closed, and he couldn’t let anyone else in. It was hard enough letting Remus know that he was capable of anything other than snide remarks and cutting words. He had let Roman and Logan see inside when he had made himself vulnerable to Thomas, and look where that had gotten him. Roman had struck for the heart. “I have a lot to offer,” Janus said, gently trying to steer the topic back to safer territory. “But so do you, Patton. You’re far stronger than I gave you credit for, and I want-- I want you to take care of yourself.”

“Them first,” Patton said, and Janus had to fight to keep his frustration from showing on his face. Suddenly it was all too much, the proximity to Patton and his maddening refusal to look after himself. Janus felt himself on the verge of yelling or lunging forward and kissing Patton hard on the mouth. Instead, he pressed his fingers to his forehead like he’d just remembered something. “Oh.”

“Oh?” Patton leaned forward, cocked his head.

“I almost forgot; Remus had asked me for help with something.”

“You’re friends?” Patton asked.

“That, dear Patton, is a conversation for another day.” Janus stood and motioned for Patton to walk to the stairs. “After you.” The pain of unfulfilled desire sat tight and heavy in his chest; he could make Patton feel alright. But that wasn’t what either of them needed; no temporary pleasure could mend these wounds.

“I think you’re right.” Patton got up and mounted the stairs. “But thank you, Janus.” He paused, one hand on the trapdoor, and turned. “Really. It helps knowing that…”

“That I've got your back,” Janus said. “And I hope you can believe me when I say that.”

Here in the dark, where the dim light from the Edison bulbs didn’t quite reach, Janus could only guess at the look on Patton’s face. “I do,” he said, nearly in a whisper.

Then light flooded in and Janus blinked and steadied himself against the railing, and when his eyes had adjusted, Patton was gone.

Well, then. Off to Remus.

Janus’ breaths burned his lungs as he walked, coming shallower and shallower, until he had to pause, disgusted with himself. But the panic attack never came, and the burn in his lungs retreated, and he kept walking.

He was out of breath again by the time the halls brought him to Remus, who had constructed a blood-spattered laboratory for himself. Doll bodies decorated the counters and exam tables, interspersed with scissors and scalpels and pliers.

"Did you run here or what?" Remus asked, nonchalantly tossing a Barbie head into a red biohazard bin.

"Sprinted," Janus wheezed, falling against the counter. A few limbless torsos fell and clattered onto the linoleum.

Remus bent over to pick them up before Janus could so much as roll his eyes. "You gotta stop smoking, Jan." Janus nodded, too winded to even go along with the joke. He forced himself to stand up straighter and take deep breaths, which seemed to help a little. It still hurt to inhale. Remus frowned at him. "Seriously, did you convince yourself you have asthma, or what?"

"I'm just tired out after running from my hordes of admirers," Janus said, waving a hand to dismiss the topic. Whatever it was, he could think himself out of it later.

“Oho.” Remus picked up a hot glue gun and aimed it at a small leg that looked like it had come from a Polly Pocket doll. “Have another rendezvous with the Loveland Frogman?”

“Nothing like that,” Janus said, distracted. His lungs seemed to itch , somehow. He swallowed experimentally, but it definitely wasn’t his throat causing the discomfort. Forgetting Remus altogether, he coughed into his fist. That helped a little, though a residual burn made him dig at his ribs with his fingertips.

“We did Chestbursters last Halloween,” Remus said. “Hold this.” He thrust the glue-covered leg at Janus, who quickly swapped his nice gloves for blue nitrile, throwing on a lab coat as an afterthought. “ Did anything interesting happen?”

“Oh, you know, apart from the orgy, not much,” Janus said, finally examining Remus’ handiwork. Before them on the table sat a torso. It had no limbs attached except for the right shoulder, which was a mess of tiny Polly Pocket arms and legs, all sticking out like the ribs of a hand fan. “That’s unsettling.”

“Aw, only unsettling?” Remus took the leg back from Janus and added it to the shoulder socket. “I was going for ‘skin-crawling.’”

Another itch flared up in Janus’ lungs and he clawed at himself again, only noticing when it started to hurt. The nitrile was not as thick as his usual gloves and did less to disperse the pressure from his fingertips. He turned away and coughed again until the itch went away. “‘Skin-crawling’ is also apt,” he said, turning back like nothing had happened.

“Did you inhale some doll hair?” Remus asked, holding up a pair of scissors with a guilty expression.

“Must have,” Janus said, forcing himself to believe it. He had no other explanation. He flinched at the sudden weight of a particulate respirator against his face, glanced up to see that Remus was also wearing one.

“There,” Remus said, his voice muffled. “Only the best for my trusted assistant. Now hand me the pliers; we have corpses to deface.”

--

Much to his annoyance, Janus’ cough only got worse throughout the day, dragging a scratchy throat and sore ribs in its wake. He ended up going to bed early out of desperation, thinking it was some sort of exhaustion-related malady, not that he’d stretched himself so thin lately. One night of sleep deprivation should barely have touched him.

He was tired, though, and his thoughts drifted as he brushed his teeth. (This, strictly speaking, was not necessary. But he was Self-Care; he had to set an example). He imagined standing elbow-to-elbow with Patton at the bathroom counter, brushing his teeth while Patton… Did whatever he did before bed, washed his face or something. Just something domestic and sweet for his brain to hold onto, like hard candy. But it didn’t keep the horrible, roaring desire at bay, nor the aching loneliness that had never troubled him before. He wanted, he wanted, he wanted , and here in the solitude and silence, there was nothing to drown it out.

Nothing except for that godforsaken itch in his lungs. Janus doubled over at the sink, spitting out toothpaste foam as his diaphragm spasmed almost of its own accord. He focused as hard as he could on the idea that he was fine, but the coughing refused to abate. Panting slightly, he rinsed his toothbrush and let it skitter across the tiled countertop. If he wasn’t better by tomorrow, Remus would offer to help, and Janus would most certainly take him up on that.

He slept fitfully because of course he did. Nothing was ever easy, was it? The cough troubled him only a little, drowned out in a sea of half-dreams. Visions of Patton or Roman or Virgil, screaming fights, dirty make-outs, displays of violent passion he held himself above, all whirled in his drifting mind like a carousel. It was a vision of Roman that finally woke him up, screaming in his face and driving fist after fist into his solar plexus. "It should be you, it should be you, it should be you! Why can't you just leave us the fuck alone?"

He woke up coughing, disoriented, and rolled over to curl up on his side. It felt for all the world like his body was trying to expel something, something soft and damp that clung to the side of his throat and would not be moved no matter how deeply he coughed.

When he realized he wasn't suffocating, he rolled over to switch on his bedside lamp (bright incandescent bulb, white laboratory lighting, no shadows) and jammed his fingers in his mouth. Sure enough, something velvet soft and wet with saliva slid along the edge of his mouth. He found the edge of it and held it tight between his fingertips, pulled it out of his mouth to examine it.

Reflexive delight flared up before horror and confusion took its place; it was a flower petal. Bright orange and fan-shaped, Janus recognized the familiar hue of a California poppy. He wasn't sentimental enough to have a favorite flower, but the sight of California poppies decorating a green West Coast hillside always made him smile. Bright and summery, they grew in unassuming places and transformed the landscape into art.

So what was a singular California poppy petal doing in his throat? A terrifying thought crossed his mind; he doubled up on the mattress, supporting himself on three arms, and forced himself to cough until he felt that his throat might tear open. Not thinking, he spat into his hand and was rewarded with the sight of shreds of orange and green. Petals and leaves.

Not his throat, then. His lungs. Denial lunged at the first sign of panic, Janus' function kicking in. It was probably nothing, probably some prank of Remus' that he hadn't fully thought through. It was nothing to worry about. Janus was only in minor discomfort and half of that was his own doing, from coughing so hard. He put his extra arms away and lay back on the pillows. He could ask Remus about it in the morning.

Despite the sweet haze of denial telling him not to worry, Janus marched straight to Remus’ room as soon as he awoke. He didn’t even bother to change out of his pajamas. He was angry, he decided on the way over, and not in the fun way. The ghosts of his nightmares trailed behind him, mocking him, and only stopped when he realized he was working himself up into a defensive rage. Remus didn’t deserve that, even if this was all his fault. Which it was. It had to be.

Still, Janus opened the door without knocking, steeling himself against the inevitable horrorshow within. He was greeted with the sight of Remus asleep, all his walls broadcasting scenes from Janus’ most intimate nightmares: mouths sewn shut with leather, pierced shut with metal; spiked muzzles and scold’s bridles; crude glossectomies-in-progress. He steadied his breathing, despite the pain it caused him, and forced the images to fade into bare white walls.

“Rise and shine,” he said, striding toward the bed.

“Fuck off,” said Remus, not moving.

“I need your help,” Janus said, counting on the plea to catch Remus’ attention. Janus never asked for help; he never asked for anything. It was one of the unspoken rules that governed his conduct and kept him safe from debts.

Remus sat up, the covers falling from his bare chest. He blinked at Janus and rubbed his eyes, smearing purple eyeshadow down his cheeks and and just below his temples. “Are you dying?”

“I might be, if you don’t get rid of these damned flowers.”

“Flowers?” Remus looked Janus up and down, nose wrinkled in obvious confusion. “What flowers?”

“Oh, come on, Remus,” Janus said. Begged. It had to be Remus causing this. He tapped either side of his abdomen with his pointer fingers. “In my lungs.” As though to illustrate his point, the cough flared up. He buried his face in the crook of his elbow, his throat already protesting the violent treatment.

Remus crawled forward, peering closely at him, then pressed one sticky hand to Janus' face. “Are you sick?”

Janus didn’t answer, instead clearing his throat as he shook Remus off. While they lacked Thomas’ human response to viruses and bacteria, it wasn’t unheard of for a Side to fall ill. Usually it was due to some sort of psychological turmoil related to their function, but Janus was fine. Better than fine, he was accepted. With one final, barking cough, he forced a flower petal into his mouth, and rather than touch it, stuck out his tongue so Remus could see.

Remus took it and Janus shuddered despite himself, grateful that they weren’t susceptible to germs. “Flower petals, hm?” Remus said, “That’s not really my area. If I was going to make you cough something up, it would be, like, bugs or something!” Images flashed on the walls and floor of that very thing, until Janus banished them with a very definitive stamp of his foot. “Anyway,” Remus continued, apparently unphased, “That’s more Don Romano's bag.”

“Well, as you can imagine, it’s very pleasant,” Janus said, crossing his arms. “I don’t suppose you can make it go away?”

“Poof,” said Remus. “Abraca-douchebag. I heal thee. C’mere, Snakey, let me lay my hands on you.”

Janus sighed but obliged, and let Remus touch him with his hand curled in the sign of benediction, then in the shocker. “Gross.”

“Do you feel any better?” Remus asked.

Janus thought about it. No discomfort flared up in his lungs, but he was just standing there. “I’ll get back to you.”

“Great,” said Remus, flopping spread-eagle onto his mattress. “I’m going back to sleep.”

“Sweet dreams,” said Janus, a little parting shot. But he was gentle when he closed the door behind him, and walked quietly until he was out of earshot of Remus’ room. What was he supposed to do now?

[nymphigeon]

From me, to you || 05

♤ Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

♤ Genre: fluff, angst, romance, hybrid au, hybrid!Taehyung, detective!reader

♤ Words: 2.3k

♤ Rating: PG-13

♤ Warnings (for this chapter): swearing, mentions of blood, mentions of hybrid abuse, mention of decomposition, mentions of murder (stabbing), mentions of gambling, mention of a sex club.

♤ A/N: Not super proud of this chapter, but I didn’t know any way to make it better. Hope you enjoy anyways!

Synopsis: A story in which he has never known love, so you’ll give it to him.

Series masterlist

04 05 06

It takes a solid 15 minutes before Taehyung has completely calmed down. All this time I’ve been holding him close, waiting for his sobs to die down. Despite Taehyung visibly relaxing more as time went by, his ears still lay somewhat flat atop his head.

“Feeling better?” There is no response for a while, but I know he heard me. Eventually he nods, just a tiny tilt of his head, but a nod nonetheless. He makes no move to sit up though, still leaning against my frame. If it wasn’t for him sniffing now and then, I would’ve thought he fell asleep.

So long he doesn’t want me to go I won’t. Thus I keep holding him, expecting him to push me away on his own when he doesn’t need my embrace anymore. I don’t mind holding him like this, I just want the bad memories to be forgotten about. Best case scenario would be his past disappearing from existing. Though, sadly, this is no fairy tale.

Not everything will be okay in the end. The damage his heart and mind sustained will never be fully repaired. All I can do is glue the remaining pieces back together, searching for the lost bits as I go. Some may be lost forever, stomped into the ground, buried by layers of dead leaves and decomposing insects. Then I’ll make sure he creates his own, new pieces to replace the ones missing. He doesn’t need whatever other trampled over.

“Lee Ji-hyun.” It’s a soft whisper. If the room hadn’t been dead silent as it was, I would’ve missed it. I don’t respond, letting him talk as he wants. Giving him space to open up and expose himself.

“My owner, Lee Ji-hyun.” His voice contains a bit more confidence this time. I can’t say I’m not surprised at his words, I didn’t think I was going to get a name today after all. The movement of my hand rubbing his back stills for a second, resuming just as fast. It was only for a second, yet he must’ve still noticed it, as he gives me a sad chuckle.

“I was never the pet he wanted. I wasn’t like the brutal animals he heard about on tv. I’m not like the first tiger hybrid who killed his owner trying to escape.” He takes in a deep breath, almost like he’s trying to keep his hatred for the man that hurt him in check. Or maybe he’s on the verge of breaking down again.

“I don’t want to fight underground for illegally obtained money. I don’t want to walk two blocks to threaten your drug dealer for free cocaine. I don’t want to sleep with others just so you can throw money at the strippers you care so little about.” If he was truly trying to keep his hatred at bay, it failed. Years of bottled up anger spilling out, breaking the dam he built high himself.

“And if I refused I’d get hit, stomped on, tased, or if I was lucky I wouldn’t get food instead. I should’ve wanted to harm him. Why was he never scared he would be the receiver of my anger?” Taehyung’s hands tighten around my arms, trying to find a way to hold on to the strong front he has been putting up all this time. His voice has drastically raised in volume since he first started talking, close to shouting out all the words he kept to himself.

“He wanted to see me struggle against my chains, trying to rip him to shreds, growling with my eyes blown out. He would’ve laughed in my face as I try to kill him with my own bare hands, purposefully getting the whip out, making me so scared I’d lose all of my humanity.”

All of a sudden he sits up in my hold, not slipping away from my arms, but also not snuggling into me as much anymore. Once again I should’ve been scared of him, ripping myself away from him and running out the door to safety. I don’t. His irises show the well-known gold colour of the predator’s eyes, his canines having grown longer in size. On the edge of shifting, but all I can see is the broken boy inside. The one that just wants to get away.

“I couldn’t do it at the time. I laid still on the ground as the leather came down again and again. It hurt so much and I still didn’t try to attack him.” His eyes are full of unshed tears. Did he mean to tell me this? Did he finally have enough? Perhaps this was all a mistake, led by emotions he was never able to reveal. Whatever it is, he doesn’t stop. Sometimes silence is suffocating, uncertainty hanging in the air as the other does not respond. However, now my silence is encouraging him, filling the quietness with his rants.

“Despite having always been taught to be a pleasing puppet, I started disobeying him more and more.” This particular memory was still fresh, it hurt more than the others. His eyes cast downwards for a second, swallowing a lump in his throat, before finding mine again. I think he was debating on whether to continue. Do I look shocked? Indifferent? Sad?

I’ve heard confessions of crimes for years, probably seen ten times more emotional outbursts than most humans. I’ve learned not to get affected by them, only looking at the facts presented in the story being told. I have played the role of a supportive law enforcement worker more times than I can count, slowly manipulating the answer out of those who belong behind bars. Though I would never use that tactic on traumatized witnesses.

This time should be no different, but it is. I wonder if it’s because I’ve had more time to connect to him. Getting to know the person underneath all the insecurities. Possibly it could be the way hybrids have been tortured for years and now they can finally break free. Humans sympathize, I’m no different.

“He didn’t have the money for basic human necessities anymore as I was his only source of income at that point. He was the self-proclaimed kind of gambling, yet he lost the mountain of money he had to that exact same game.” Stopping myself from sinking further into my pity for him, I start connecting the strings while he talks. A gambling addict bought an expensive hybrid who didn’t do as he liked, so he sold him. Or at least tried to, but killed the client for whatever reason.

“One day he called up this hybrid auction place. After hearing he had a tiger hybrid the owner himself offered a ton of money.” Taehyung’s hands start to shake. A picture starts to form itself in my head, pieces falling together. I know what’s coming, but I don’t want to hear it. As soon as I do so my suspension will be confirmed, no room for doubt. As long as he doesn’t tell me, I can still pretend it never happened.

“He wanted to meet up with us. Somewhere where there would be no traces of hybrid dealing left behind, as it is obviously illegal. You should know.” I slowly nod at his words, I do know. “We met up at The Pink Collar, the club you…” He trails off, the confidence in his voice gone when he mentions the sex club.

After the incident, the police shut the business down. Not only was the club completely illegal, having no licences whatsoever, it just so happened that a lot of illegal dealings went on inside it as well. It was a popular meeting place for those who wanted some dirty money. If mister Lee really is a gambling addict, he most likely went there more than once.

“David, I think my owner called him, ended up bringing a lot less money than he initially offered. My owner got mad and…. Well, stabbed him.” The last part gets said a lot quieter than the rest of the sentence. A tear rolls down Taehyung’s cheek as he recalls the moment. Something in me stirs. I haven’t talked the entire time. Now that everything is falling into place though, I need to know the full story.

“What about the girl?” My voice is soft, I don’t want to upset him more. Taehyung hesitates for a moment, before answering. “She heard everything. She was so so scared, thrashing around in her restraints and screaming as best as she could with the gag. He couldn’t leave witnesses so he.. he did the same to her.”

I want to ask more, though I’m not sure if I should. I’m not like my supervisor who forces answers out. I’m diving into dangerous territory here.

As if he can read my mind, Taehyung nods, giving me a small smile. “It’s okay, ask me.” He wipes his eyes dry and nods once again, encouraging me to continue.

“What about you? Why did you do?” I didn’t mean to sound accusing. Luckily, Taehyung doesn’t really catch on to the underlying question, answering before I can explain myself.

“Barely anything. When I did as much as try to get out my restraints he threatened to kill me too.” So he was tied up at the time too? I think back to the day I found him. He looks better now than he did before, although he still has a long way to go. I can imagine there was not much he could do, weak and terrified.

“And right after that you two left right?” Taehyung sits up completely now, letting my arms go and propping himself up against the wall. A few deep breaths and his eyes return to their normal brown colour, going back to looking exhausted rather than angry. “Yeah.”

If that’s all then why was Taehyung drenched in blood that day? Why was he alone at that playground? Thinking for a moment, I try to find the answer to it myself first, but nothing clicks. Taehyung tilts his head, silently questioning what caused the confusion displayed on my face.

“What happened after that?”

His head drops, hands clenching and unclenching against the fabric of his pants. “He took the money from David and left with me. Somewhere along our way back I had enough, I-” Scared that he’ll break through his own skin if he keeps his fists tightly closed, I am quick to put my hands on top of his. They don’t open up, but at least they relax a little. Hybrids are known to shift when in emotional distress. If his claws were to come out in this position then he-

“I jumped him from behind. Sunk my nails into his back and broke my leash in the process.” -he might scratch himself. It wasn’t him who got hurt at the time, but he who hurt. I’ve never believed in revenge being the answer, but Lee had that one coming. He was the one who wanted to create a rage filled tiger in the first place, well there he goes, wish fulfilled.

“Then you ran off?” Taehyung nods, pulling his hands away from under mine so he can wrap his arms around himself. His tail joins in the party, snugly held against his waist. This time it’s his ears that remain in their neutral position, listening to anything else I have to say.

“Will I get punished now?” The way he says it, is like he’s trying to sound unaffected, but in reality the idea scares him. For years that’s all he’s known, punishment after punishment. I want to be able to reassure him, to say that it’s all fine, but there is always the possibility of things not being fine. What will I do when that happens? Feel guilty, helpless?

So I tell him the truth. “If we can confirm that he really did abuse you with either a confession from your owner, verbal evidence of other witnesses, or stuff inside his home, you’ll most likely be fine. It depends on if the judge agrees with hybrid laws a lot of the time, though I’ll take care of that.” Just with a softer edge. I gave him the harsh reality wrapped in a pink fluffy blanket.

“You won’t be fired now right?”

I completely forgot about that. When my supervisor lashed out at me I had accepted her words, not thinking about the consequences a whole lot. “Well yeah, I guess not.”

I wonder if he was scared that I would get fired, if that’s the reason why he opened up. Selfishly, I want to believe that he told me because he trusts me more. Greedy, I am aware. No one has to know though, I won’t tell.

“C’mon, let’s get you back.” I stand, stretching out when I’m fully up. I regret not paying any attention to the position we were in, as my back is heavily complaining now that I’m back on my feet. Letting out a groan of satisfaction, I open my eyes, of which I didn’t know that I had them closed, and move to give Taehyung a hand. When I look at the ground however, he is no longer there. Instead, he already passed me on his way to the door, looking back to see if I was following. I smile sheepishly and take a quick few steps towards the door.

Remembering nothing can be left behind, I look around the room. Two chairs and a table, that’s it. Grey brick walls nobody wanted to paint line the sides, with a huge one way mirror at one side. All you can see is yourself and whoever came with you. Trapped, stuck with a grimacing police officer who doesn’t want to be there either. Thinking about it, this place is almost scarier than prison itself.

Looking closer at the table, I notice a blinking light. A small rectangular device being the only thing on the table, filling the palm of my hand nicely. Something my supervisor must have forgotten in her haste to get out of here, an audio recorder, still left recording.

Taglist

@suhappysuho @intellectualxprincess @sana-b @littlewolfieposts @nellaphine @daisychwe @deathkat657

[virgil-patton-roman-and-logan]

Nightmare AU

Based off of @jessibbb‘s nightmare from a while back. It took me a long time, but I did write something for it!

“That was the last truly nice moment Logan could remember. As soon as the cameras clicked off, everything went dark.”

Content warnings: Major character death, grief, drowning, being crushed, falling, decapitation, hypothermia, pornography mention, suicidal ideation, let me know if I missed anything because this fic was a lot

Tagging people who seemed interested in a fic on the original post: @izzynuggets @whizzie72 @stopitanxiety @mr-scandalous @kawaiikat54 @phantom-moonfire @ocforeverything @pricklyfish777 @arya-skywalker @averykedavra

Logan couldn’t think of why the videos stopped being normal. The one it started with felt normal the whole way through. The sides were trying to find ways to add something fresh to Thomas’s career, and for once everyone was present. Of course, some people were more helpful than others—Remus wouldn’t shut up about making a pornography account—but things were normal, and they were good.

That was the last truly nice moment Logan could remember. As soon as the cameras clicked off, everything went dark.

When he opened his eyes, there was a glass wall in front of him, bordering a giant tank, meticulously aquascaped to look like the bottom of the ocean. Most of the other sides were next to him, rubbing their eyes and looking around. Remus was inside the tank, doggy paddling and trying to catch his bearings.

Suddenly, tentacles surged from the bottom of the tank and caught on to Remus’s ankles, dragging him down. Remus struggled, desperately trying to break away, but he just got tugged further and further down.

“No!” Roman banged on the glass, but nothing happened. Janus ran over and touched the tank, muttering “please” repeatedly under his breath as he watched Remus with wide, terrified eyes. Logan’s chest was constricted and cold. This couldn’t really be happening. Everything was so surreal. The sound of Roman pounding on the glass tore through his skull, making his head ache.

Remus bucked and clawed at the water. For a moment, he managed to pull one ankle away, but it was quickly grabbed again as he kicked at the tentacles wrapped around the other. Slowly, Remus stopped fighting, eyes becoming glassy, gasping and reaching for the surface as the tentacles dragged him to the bottom.

Roman charged the glass, ramming it with the force of his shoulder. He collapsed to the ground, crying in frustration. The glass remained unmarked. Patton slowly made his way over to Roman, wrapping his arms over the side’s shoulders and whispering softly in his ear despite the terror brimming in his own eyes.

Logan looked back at the tank. Remus had gone completely limp. The tentacles slowly released their hold, but Remus’s body sank to the bottom.

XXX

Logan woke up in bed and breathed a sigh of relief. Thank god, it must have been a surreal nightmare. The worst nightmare he had ever experienced in his life, but a nightmare nonetheless.

It took him a moment to realize he was still wearing his clothes and his shoes were still on his feet. And the light was on. And the bed was perfectly made under him.

He sat up, a cold knot forming in his stomach. It hadn’t happened, he told himself as he stepped out of bed. There was no way it had. So why was he so afraid to go outside and see? And why could he hear crying?

He took a few deep breaths and stepped into the hall, leaden limbs weighing him down. Roman sat hunched and crying in front of Remus’s door. Logan’s heart dropped.

He walked over, time feeling like it was passing in slow motion.

“Was it real?”

Roman nodded without looking up. Logan exhaled shakily, sinking to the four next to him.

“He isn’t in there, is he?” 

Logan barely heard himself ask it, yet he clearly heard Roman sob harder in response.

XXX

Logan sat at the table, staring into his cereal. He poked and stirred it around with his spoon, but couldn’t bring himself to eat. He just wasn’t hungry, and he was sick of trying to shovel food past the lump in his throat. 

Virgil sat heavily a couple seats away, hair and makeup messy. Logan didn’t bother talking to him. Virgil didn’t seem to want to talk to anyone. He got angry when anyone tried. After a couple of silent, long, minutes, Virgil spoke first.

“Where’s Roman?”

“Remus’ room.” Logan said quietly, trying to ignore the spike of hurt that went through him at saying Remus’ name. Roman had been spending every night and most of the day there in the weeks since Remus’ death, wanting to feel close to his lost brother. Logan wanted to reach out to him, but had no idea what to say. What do you even say to someone who recently lost his second half? Besides, it was hard enough for Logan already.

Virgil nodded tiredly, sighing. He put his headphones on and laid his head on the table. Logan thought he heard him softly crying, barely audible.

Patton came downstairs, walking like he was carrying a heavy weight. When he saw Logan and Virgil, he gave them a clearly forced smile. Logan saw the tears glimmering in his eyes.

“Hey, kiddos.” Patton’s voice wavered. Logan nodded softly in return. Virgil didn’t respond at all. “How are you?”

Logan shrugged half-heartedly, putting his spoon down. “Is Janus awake?”

“I don’t know. He’s still in his room.” Patton’s smile faded. “I just wish I could help. He won’t speak to anyone. Roman avoids me most of the time too. I just want to help.” Patton took a hitched breath, tears falling down his face. He immediately tried to gather himself, wiping his tears.

Virgil stood fast enough to knock over the chair and threw his headphones on the table. “It’s not fair!”

“Kiddo—” Patton’s voice broke.

“It isn’t fair! He was fine before! We were fine…” Virgil broke into angry tears, crossing his arms around his chest. 

Patton walked over, putting his arms around Virgil and rubbing his back. “Shh, shh, it’s going to be okay…”

Logan didn’t think Patton sounded like he believed what he was saying. He ran his spoon through the now-soggy cereal again, blinking away the tears that came to his eyes. What had happened? Sometimes he felt like everyone was looking to him for answers. He felt even more like that now. But he had none. He had no idea why or how this had occurred.

He just hoped it wouldn’t happen again.

XXX

The next video came far too soon. None of them were ready for it. Logan showed up in sweatpants, with messy hair and tired eyes. He couldn’t think of a time he had shown up looking more disorganized. And he wasn’t the only one. Roman had clearly just rolled out of bed, his eyes rimmed with red and bloodshot. Patton was trying to force a cheery demeanor, but Logan doubted anyone would be buying it anytime soon. Virgil seemed quieter, no longer eager to make sarcastic comments.

Logan envied Janus. He wished Thomas hadn’t called him up, either. Still, he tried to provide useful information even if his chest ached and his eyes watered. Watching Roman wasn’t doing any favors, either. The surviving twin was clearly trying to take Remus’s place by suggesting darker ideas than usual, his nose wrinkling at his own words.

Virgil sat on the bottom step, wearing his headphones and glaring at the floor. He seemed determined to participate as little as possible. Thomas shifted his weight nervously. “Virgil, what do you think?” Virgil took one side of the headphones off, scowling at everyone else. “I think we should stop pretending like everything is normal.”

“What—”

Virgil sunk out without another word. The video continued without him. When it ended, everything went dark.

XXX

Logan opened his eyes. He was behind a glass wall again. Virgil was on the other side of it, facing him and the other sides. A giant rock rested on a ledge several feet above Virgil. Logan’s heart shot into his throat. No. Not again.

Virgil’s mouth opened into a frightened “o” shape, and he turned around just as the ledge broke and the rock fell.

Patton screamed.

Blood seeped out from under the rock. Virgil’s legs were all that were left, bloody and crooked jeans barely visible, black sneakers unmoving. Logan’s breath came fast and shaky, and blood rushed in his ears. He could vaguely hear the others talking frantically, but he couldn’t understand what they were saying. He felt like he was going to faint.

He woke up in his room again. 

He lay where he was, not wanting to get up. Logan’s chest was hollow and sluggish. He knew it was real this time. He had lost another friend.

XXX

A couple of days later, Patton ran downstairs, agitated. “Virgil had a spider!”

Logan snapped to alertness, sitting up from where he had been staring at the ceiling for the past couple of hours. “What?”

“He had a pet spider, and I don’t want it to die too, it would have mattered to him.” Patton’s lower lip wobbled. Logan felt a pang in his chest. “But I can’t take care of it, I’m still afraid of spiders. I don’t know what to do with it.”

“I’ll take it.” Logan responded without thinking about it.

“Really? Are you sure? Do you know how to take care of them?”

Logan shrugged. “No, but I can figure it out. I have the internet. It would… provide a suitable distraction.” He forced a smile.

They walked into Virgil’s room together. It was exactly how Logan had remembered it, except somewhat messier. Clothes strewn on the floor, fake spiderwebs stretched across the corners, Tim Burton posters on the walls. All reminiscent of someone who would never enter any room again. Tears blurred Logan’s vision. 

“Well, here it is.” Patton said quietly. On the desk, there was a cage with a small, fuzzy tarantula inside. Logan smiled slightly at the sight of her. Maybe taking care of a creature would be good for him. It would give him something to think about besides Remus and Virgil.

“I’ll take her. Do you know what she’s called?”

Patton shook his head. “No. Verge never told me about her, either. I just found her in here today.”

Logan looked at Patton’s face, trying to read his expression. How much time had he spent in the room of a dead friend? “You miss him, don’t you?”

Patton nodded, breath hitching. “So much.”

Logan nodded sympathetically. It had been hard for everyone to lose two good friends in such a short time. “Can…” Logan cleared his throat and tried again, louder. “Can you help me get the cage into my room?”

Patton took a deep breath. “Okay.”

They carried the cage into Logan’s room together and placed it gently on his desk. Logan wished he knew what Virgil had called her. He felt bad renaming her.

But he was already starting to call her Nova in his head.

XXX

During the next video, Logan couldn’t get himself to untense. He knew something terrible was coming, like it had been for the last two videos. Yet he still tried to give his input as best as he could, all while casting worried glances at the three other sides. Janus seemed just as nervous as he was. Patton was shifting his weight back and forth. Roman just stared at the ground, despondent.

“Roman? Do you have any ideas?”

Roman shook his head slightly. Logan stared, worried. He wasn’t sure, but he thought that not participating helpfully in the discussions seemed like a common factor between the deaths. Would Roman be next? 

Roman didn’t seem to notice Logan’s silent prodding. For the rest of the video, he spoke in one word sentences and kept his eyes on the ground, avoiding Logan’s frightened gaze.

XXX

Logan woke up behind a glass wall. On the other side was a grassy plain with a gargantuan tree in the middle. The tree must have towered well above 25 stories, and it kept growing larger, new branches growing off of the old ones, leaves stretching towards the sun. Logan vaguely saw a figure standing one one of the higher branches, clinging to the trunk for dear life.

He glanced to either side of him. Patton stood biting his nails, and Janus had a hand clasped over his mouth. The figure must have been Roman. He rested a palm against the glass, looking around. As hard as he tried, he couldn’t come up with anything he could do. Even if he somehow managed to break the glass, he didn’t know how to stop the tree from growing or get Roman down from the tree.

He looked up. The tree reached so high Logan could barely see the top. In another situation, he would have found it beautiful. But right now he felt like he was going to cry. One of his few remaining friends was about to die horribly and there was nothing he could do.

When Roman fell, he went faster than Logan expected. He would never forget the sickening crunch of Roman hitting the ground.

Blood pooled under the body. Roman’s neck lay at an unnatural angle, and part of his head was completely crushed. One of his eyes was still visible, wide and glazed over. Logan gagged at the sight, staring into the eye, unable to pull himself away. 

Patton hesitantly placed a hand on his shoulder. Logan flinched back from it, feeling a pang of guilt when Patton whimpered slightly in response. He finally looked away from the mangled corpse. Roman wasn’t coming back no matter how long he stared, and the others needed him to be there for them. Patton looked back at him, eyes filled with tears. Logan noticed that his hands were shaking.

He looked the other way. Who had he been kidding? He couldn’t be there for them. He was just as devastated and terrified as they were. Janus knelt on the floor, hand still clasped to his mouth, sobbing quietly. Logan silently knelt next to Janus. He had no words to encompass what had just happened, but he didn’t want to feel alone. Patton joined them a few seconds later. Together, they stared at the body and waited to wake up.

None of them had anything to say.

XXX

Logan sat at his desk, reading articles on Ranker and forums on Reddit. He wanted to know what their last moments felt like. Virgil’s death sounded the most pleasant. He most likely felt no pain at all, a moment of it at most. He died before his mind could have registered any of it. Roman’s death didn’t sound too bad either. He might have momentarily felt the impact, but he also might have died instantly or went unconscious mid-fall. Of course, he still must have had the terror of knowing he would never get down safely, and the gut-wrenching sensation of falling to his death.

Remus’s death, on the other hand, sounded awful. He was likely in agony when he died. It is impossible to go unconscious before instinctively taking a forced breath, the sensation of inhaling water much worse than the sensation of inhaling nothing at all. He presumably was panicking, lungs feeling like they were being filled with lava, until he gradually faded away.

A knock on the door jolted him out of his thoughts. “Kiddo?” Patton’s voice was choked up. Logan felt bad ignoring it, but he didn’t want to speak to anyone. “We’ve barely seen you for days…” There was another stretch of silence. “What are you even doing in there?”

“Researching.” Logan kept his answer curt and to the point. No use worrying Patton with the topics of his research.

“I don’t want you to be alone in there.”

“I’m not.” He glanced at Nova’s cage. At least she wasn’t a side. She wasn’t about to die. But him, Patton, or Janus likely was, just like Remus and Virgil and Roman had. It was best to try to stop being attached to other people. 

“You mean the spider?” Logan almost said yes, but held his tongue. He didn’t want Patton to expect him to say anything else. This was best for both of them. After a stretch of Logan not responding, Patton just kept going. “Well, we still need you. We miss you.”

Part of Logan desperately wanted to open the door, to cry on Patton’s shoulder, to relieve the intense loneliness he felt. But that wouldn’t fix things. It would only make them hurt more, later. After a minute of quiet, Logan heard Patton sniffle and walk away.

The next video started under five minutes later.

XXX

Logan almost didn’t want to participate during that video. He suspected not participating was what was causing the deaths, and if one person had to die each time, he didn’t want to go through watching someone else die again. But he felt drawn to give his opinions given how quickly and easily they popped into his head. Hopefully if he made his contributions as short and unhelpful as possible, everyone else would surpass him.

His hopes were quickly crushed when Patton couldn’t quite seem to pull himself together enough to speak clearly. He could barely get more than a couple words out before bursting into tears so intense that he couldn’t say anything else. For the whole episode, Janus stood next to him and tried to decipher what he was saying for Thomas. Logan’s heart sank watching them. Either Janus or Patton would likely be next to die because of his curt behavior with Patton. And he had no way of knowing which.

XXX

When Logan opened his eyes he was on the same side of the glass wall as Janus. On the other side, there was a beige room, empty except for a guillotine in the center. Patton spun around, eyes widening at the guillotine. “No… no!” He backed away, eyes darting around the room in abject terror.

Shadows spread from the guillotine, grabbing Patton’s arms and pulling him towards it. He screamed and sobbed, trying to tug free. The shadows held tight, slowly dragging him closer and closer to his death. Logan’s breath hitched in his throat. He didn’t want to watch this. But he was unable to turn away, forced to see every shriek, every struggle, as Patton’s end drew nearer and nearer.

This was Logan’s fault, he was sure of it.

Patton squeezed his eyes shut as he got closer, chest heaving with sobs. The shadows forced him on the guillotine, holding him in place.

He stopped wailing and opened his eyes, face numb and expressionless. He glanced around the room, eventually locking eyes with Logan and Janus.

With his last tears running down his face, he smiled.

The knife fell.

XXX

A couple moments later, Logan woke up in his bed. For a moment, he felt nothing. He sat up and blinked, looking around his room. Then the weight of it hit him and he started crying out of nowhere. Logan grabbed the pillow and hugged it to his chest, sobbing. His fault. His fault. His fault. If he’d just talked to Patton, this wouldn’t have happened.

Janus knocked on the door softly, but Logan was too overwhelmed to answer. What could he say? What could he do? The door creaked open softly. “Logan?” His voice was hollow. Logan tried to take some deep breaths to calm down enough to respond. Janus sat next to him on the bed, hunching over a little. His eyes looked tired and empty. Logan finally calmed down enough to speak.

“It’s just us now.”

Janus nodded quietly. They sat together in pained silence.

Logan looked away from Janus. “It’s my fault.”

“What?”

“Patton… came to me. Before the video. I ignored him.” Logan's throat closed up with barely contained sobs again. 

Janus spoke softly. “So you think that’s why he broke down?” Logan nodded once. “Oh, Logan… it’s not your fault.”

“But I—”

“Ignored him? Yeah, I know. But you didn’t mean for this to happen. Maybe it wasn’t the nicest thing, but you couldn’t have known.” Janus’s voice hitched at the end. He wiped some dampness from the corners of his eyes, only to start crying in earnest. “I’m sorry, it’s just—”

“I know.”

They sat in silence together. The world still felt like hell, but it was more livable with Janus crying next to him.

XXX

Logan was at his computer early in the morning. Researching Patton’s death. No one seemed a hundred percent sure what it was like to die in a guillotine. Most people said it was painless, but other people said that there were a few moments of pain and awareness before a person died. Naturally, the darker explanations were the ones Logan was fixated on.

At least either way, Patton definitely wasn’t in pain anymore.

Logan squeezed his eyes shut, trying desperately to not remember how Patton had screamed and cried. How he had suddenly stopped and smiled at the last minute. How—

He tried and failed to stop his mind from going to the ensuing bloody mess. Graphic memories of dead bodies flashed through his thoughts, showing no sign of stopping. Logan squeezed his eyes shut and gripped the armrests of his chair, trying desperately to ground himself.

He dimly heard Janus speaking. “Logan?” He tried to focus on the voice. “Logan, you’re here. It’s okay. Take a deep breath for me.” Logan tried, managing a shaky gasp. He tried a second time and managed to draw in a deep breath of air. That worked a little more. He took a third breath. Before long, he was grounded, albeit shaky. 

Logan swiveled slightly to face Janus. “Thank you.” 

Janus nodded. “No problem…I saw you were up early. I brought you this.” He gestured to the desk, where there was a mug of coffee and some toast with jam. Logan took a slice and nibbled the edge. It was his favorite flavor. He smiled a little. “Thank you,” he said again. He hoped they’d have a lot of time left together before the next video.

The world gave them a week.

XXX

Logan thought the video had gone well, with both of them making an attempt to contribute equally. So why was he behind the glass wall again? On the other side, a blizzard raged. Janus stood in shin-deep snow, eyes glinting with alarm and shivering violently. Logan locked eyes with the other side. He took a shuddering breath as Janus started to stumble over to the glass, cape wrapped as tightly around himself as he could manage. Already, purple was tinting his lips.

Janus fell against the wall, sliding to a sitting position. He put a pale hand to the glass, looking up expectantly at Logan. Logan breathed in deeply, sitting next to him on the other side of the glass.

Logan hunched over, starting to cry. He was going to be all alone. Janus watched with wide eyes, pressing his hand to the glass as firmly as he could manage. Logan raised his voice so Janus could hear. “I’m the last one.”

“You’ll be fine.” Janus’ voice wavered from the cold.

Logan glanced at him. “Don’t worry about it, I don’t want your last minutes to be wasted worrying about me.”

“We’re in this together now, Lo.” Janus laughed dryly. “Besides, of course you’re sad. I wouldn’t have wanted to be the last one either.”

“Is this better for you?” Logan’s voice lifted with a strange kind of hope.

“I think it is, possibly.”

Logan took a shaky breath. “That makes this a little easier, then.”

“Good.” Janus looked at Logan through the corner of his eye. “You’re going to be okay.”

“Do you honestly think I’ll believe—”

“You have to.” Logan turned to look at his face. His eyelashes were coated in ice, and his lips and nose were purple. “It’s the only way it will come true. I’ll see you soon enough.”

Logan nodded. He’d be next, after all. “I’ll be here with you when you go.”

XXX

Logan stayed with Janus until he stopped shivering from sheer exhaustion. Until he started shifting around in the snow, looking around in clear confusion. Until he couldn’t stay awake any longer. Until the scene ended and Logan sat up in his bed, feeling a deeper loneliness than he had ever experienced in his life.

XXX

Logan sat at his desk, watching Nova scuttle around in her cage. “It’s just us now. You’re all I have left.” His voice cracked, and he wiped a stray tear away. “Janus is gone. I...I watched him die. I watched them all die.” His words dissolved into nothingness at the end of his sentence, and he let himself have a moment to cry. He buried his head in his hands.

Dimly, he remembered group brunches with food they had all helped to cook: Patton’s heavily burned pancakes, Remus’s ketchup spaghetti, his own dry eggs... none of the food was very good. But he still enjoyed the time spent talking and laughing with friends. He missed them.

He looked back at Nova, who had now settled in a corner. “I’ll probably be gone soon too, after the next video. I should figure out something to do about you beforehand, so you don’t starve in there.” Logan rested his chin on his hand. A melancholy tiredness seeped through to his bones. The next video felt eons away. He just wanted it to be over. He just wanted to see them again, even if it was in another life.

A glimpse of white from the periphery of Logan’s vision caught his attention. A crisply folded paper was tucked under the corner of Nova’s cage. He picked it up, carefully unfolding it and smoothing it out on the table. Printed text sat in the middle of the page, bold and undeniable.

GAME OVER

you won

Logan couldn’t hold back his sobs anymore.

[glow-worm]

Powerless - Ch 2/4

(Read the rest on tumblr or on AO3)

It took nearly an hour, but they made it.

As soon as they were back on the ship, however, the captain collapsed to his hands and knees.

“Woah—Davenport?” Lucretia exclaimed, lowering herself down next to him. “Captain?”

There was a sizable arcane scorch mark, a hole with singed edges on the back of his IPRE jacket—how had they not noticed? It took up about half of their captain’s back. His eyes were closed in pain, his forehead beaded with sweat.

“Shit—Lup, I need to—” Barry stammered.

Lup stepped away from him and was able to get herself over to a couch.

He crouched down next to Davenport and examined the wound, a hand placed gently on his shoulder.

“Holy shit, Cap’n,” Barry mused. It was a severe burn that had scalded Davenport’s skin, and the magical factor of it seemed to have siphoned away his energy. “One more hit and you’d have been done.”

“I know,” he muttered, sucking in a breath at the pain. “That’s why—I knew we had to get out of there.”

“Where’s that potion?” Lucretia asked, reaching for Davenport’s bag.

“No—I just need to sleep,” he said.

“No way, Dav,” Barry countered. “It’s some kind of curse. This is gonna keep draining you if we don’t heal it. It’s necrotic, it could kill you.”

Almost on cue, something about the wound changed—it throbbed once and stretched out.

And with that, Davenport fell forward, unconscious.

Barry caught him before his head hit the ground, and held him so he was sitting half way up while Lucretia found and uncorked the potion.

“It’s alright, Cap’n,” he assured. “You did a good job today. We’re safe now.”

Lucretia gently poured the potion between Davenport’s lips, and Barry felt the captain’s charred skin change under his hand. The cursed wound was no longer actively dealing damage; it began to scab over.

“Do you think he needs another one?” Lucretia questioned.

“Hmm...not sure. Let me clean this out and get some ointment and bandages on it and then we’ll see,” Barry decided.

He scooped the captain up in his arms—something Davenport would absolutely loathe, a perceived blow to his dignity—but what else could Barry do? Leave him on the floor?

He carried him to his quarters, Lucretia following behind and making a pit stop in the medical bay to grab bandages and ointments.

Barry laid him out on his bed, back facing up. He took the supplies from Lucretia and began to dress Davenport’s wounds.

“I’m going to help Lup,” Lucretia said, picking up a salve and roll of bandages and hurrying out of the room.

“Don’t forget about yourself!” Barry called in response as she rushed down the hall.

Magic bloomed around the captain’s injuries, which grew shallower by the minute. Salves and potions were only going to get this one so far—he needed a real healer, but that was impossible here. Davenport was likely going to be physically damaged for the rest of the cycle.

He began to stir.

“Hey, Cap’nport,” Barry addressed quietly. “Still in pain?”

“N-no,” he lied. “Sorry. I tried to hold on, but—”

“No, no, you did a great job, Dav,” Barry assured. “Must have taken a lot of willpower to walk all the way back here. But you got us all home safe.”

“Not all of us,” Davenport grumbled in response, burying his face in his pillow.

Barry exhaled, and worked more ointment into the injury as gently as he could. Davenport cringed at his touch.

“You couldn’t have done anything for Taako,” he replied. “Given the circumstances, I think getting four of us out of there was the best possible outcome. Without your illusion, that would have been a lot worse. Remember that.”

Davenport made a quiet sound of disagreement that was weak enough to let Barry know he was drifting off.

“Get some sleep, buddy,” Barry said.

“Make sure you...” Davenport started, his eyelids falling shut, his words slurred together and nearly inaudible. “Don’t have a...concussion...”

Barry’s eyes narrowed as he strained to make out what he meant, but a throbbing pain in the back of his head beat the reminder into him. Fuck—he was in pain, too.

“I’ll take care of it,” Barry promised softly. He gently ruffled Davenport’s hair. “You just focus on recovering. Sleep.”

Barry continued dressing the captain’s wounds as he eased into the soft measured breaths of sleep.

When he finished, he cleaned up and left the room, flicking off the light and soundlessly closing the door behind him.

He rubbed at the back of his head and hissed when he hit a tender spot. What could he even do for a concussion without a cleric? Potions were his only option, but while they weren’t exactly in short supply this cycle, they were only about half way through and getting more was not going to be a cakewalk.

He made his way back to the common area, and saw Lucretia dressing her own injury next to Lup, who was lying still with her eyes closed on the couch, tearstains on her cheeks.

“Is Lup—” Barry began.

“Trancing,” Lup whispered without opening her eyes, cutting him off.

He breathed a sigh of relief and moved closer to Lucretia.

“How’s our captain?” Lucretia asked in hushed tones as she wrapped up her shoulder.

“Really, really bad,” Barry admitted regrettably. “He’ll pull through but he’s gonna have permanent damage—well, I mean, he’s not going to heal right and his back is gonna be screwed up until the reset.”

“Shit,” Lucretia breathed, shaking her head. “I can’t believe we didn’t notice. He seemed so in control, it didn’t even cross my mind that he’d been injured.”

“I know,” he replied as he sat on the couch in between the two of them. “But...we were distracted. Don’t beat yourself up. How are you feeling?”

“Alright,” she said. “I was able to shield myself from the worst spells...once Taako went down I knew not to mess around.”

Her eyes flashed to Lup, who looked grim in her trance.

“How about you?” she continued. “You got knocked out for a minute. Are you alright?”

Barry took a second to assess. He was definitely a little dizzy, and more than a little sore. His whole chest ached from the spell that had sent him flying. He ran a hand over the impact site, only barely touching it through the fabric of his t-shirt. It stung a lot, but he didn’t feel any open wounds.

“I think I’m alri—oh!” Barry was cut off by Lup, who was now propped up and lifting up his shirt. “Ah! L-Lup?!”

“Hold still,” she demanded.

He tried not to focus on the sensation of her hands on his stomach, but couldn’t help but notice she was shaking like a leaf.

“Lup,” he repeated, quieter.

Her face changed from stoic to afraid as she examined his chest, and Lucretia grimaced as she got sight of it as well.

“Can you breathe alright, Barry?” Lucretia asked.

“Huh? Y-yeah, why?”

Lup hesitated before grazing her fingertips over his chest. It sent an electric shock through him, but not quite the way he thought it would.

It hurt.

It hurt and a wave of something swept over him, making him feel faint. Darkness shot over his field over vision, but he fought at it until it cleared.

And his face must have betrayed his attempt to keep his cool, because Lup looked horrified and Lucretia instantaneously jumped up and grabbed a healing potion from the table behind her.

“I—I really don’t think I need—”

“It’s like what Davenport has,” Lucretia described, her brow pulled together in concern. “A little different.”

“Nastiest bruise I’ve ever seen,” Lup noted quietly. “Surprised your ribs aren’t broken.”

Lucretia opened the vial and handed it to him.

He was unconvinced, but Lup looked like she was on the verge of tears again. So he chose not to argue.

He drank the potion down without further protest. It had notes of juniper and lime, and overall tasted much better than healing potions tended to. Its saccharine flavor lingered on his tongue as he felt its magic work itself through his body.

The throbbing at the back of his head and neck faded away, the intense burning on his chest cooled down.

The two women before him seemed to relax somewhat, and Lup’s trembling hand pulled his shirt back down. She didn’t, however, release the fabric. She clung to his t-shirt, staring down at his stomach but really just dissociating. He started to reach out to her, but Lucretia spoke.

“You should be fine so long as you get a good night’s sleep,” she said. “Make sure you do that. You too, Lup—I know it’s hard, but get some rest.”

“Huh? Oh...sure.”

Lucretia stood up, and Barry noticed she seemed unstable.

“I’m sorry,” she admitted with regret. “I want to be with you right now but one of their spells had an exhaustion effect and…I’m going to pass out if I stay awake.”

“Are you alright?” Barry asked again, mildly alarmed.

“I’m fine,” she reassured. “But I do...need to sleep. Right now. I’m sorry. Please...hang in there, Lup.”

“Go to bed, Cretia,” Lup bid without looking at her. “Love you.”

Lucretia blinked in surprise before giving a sad smile, tears in her eyes.

“I love you too. We’re gonna get you through this.”

She wiped her eyes and went off towards her room without another word.

Barry brought his attention back to Lup, who still had a death grip on his shirt.

He reached out and held the back of her head with one hand and placed the other on her shoulder.

“Lup?” he prompted gently.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “Everyone got hurt while I was...I shouldn’t have let myself fall apart there. You and Dav could have been killed too.”

On the “too”, her voice cracked. Her face crumpled as she fought back tears.

“It’s okay, Lup,” he said. “It’s not your fault. They were just too strong for us.”

“If I had kept it together, I could have—”

“No, it was too much. It would have been too much for anyone. Really, Lup, it’s okay.”

“I have to get stronger,” she said through a clenched jaw. “Gods, I still have most of my spell slots. I could have done something. Anything. I could have protected him. I can’t believe he...right in front of me. Gods. Taako.”

There was no reasoning with her at this point. He rubbed her back and pulled her a little closer.

“Let it out, Lup,” he encouraged, caressing her face. “It’s okay.”

She broke. She buried her face in his chest and he heard her draw a watery, ragged breath. She released her grip on the hem of his shirt and brought her arms so that they were pressed between their bodies, folded up against her chest as if to keep her emotions from pouring out of her heart too quickly.

Lup sobbed against Barry’s chest, and he held her close while softly stroking her hair.

It was the least he could do. After all, Lup had comforted him many times.

“I didn’t...I didn’t get to help him at all,” she stammered through tears. “Or, or...the first time I died he held me, he stayed with me. He was there for me. I thought...I thought it would be the same. I knew it was gonna happen eventually. We’re caught in these cycles—I just thought—it all happened so fast, I couldn’t—”

“Breathe,” Barry soothed, his voice low. “I know. It was really fast. But...that’s a good thing, Lup. He probably didn’t feel anything. I bet when the Light brings him back next cycle, it’s gonna be just like the last time you two died and he’s not even going to know he was gone. He’s gonna pop back into reality, look around and wonder how the hell he got back on the ship. And you’re gonna be there right next to him to welcome him back.”

Lup sniffled and nodded her head against him.

They stayed like that for hours, with Barry occasionally getting up to get water or offer her some fruit, which she turned down. He left twice to check on Davenport, who showed no change. But every time he came back to the couch, Lup nestled in close to him.

She was inconsolable. Barry wasn’t sure what to do. He had to let her grieve, but she also desperately needed to rest—which was going to be difficult to do while she was sobbing.

Taako would know what to do.

And now Barry was crying again too, though he tried to hide it from her.

All he could do was hold her as she cried it out, and hope that eventually she would tire herself out and fall into a trance.

And he could listen to her, when she occasionally broke through her tears to ramble about something that wasn’t her fault.

Unlike Taako, Lup did not keep her true feelings hidden. She spoke about her emotions openly and honestly. She was unafraid to be vulnerable—at least in front of Barry, it seemed.

The sun set, and hours went by.

“It’s getting late,” Lup pointed out. “You should probably go to sleep.”

Barry frowned, disinclined.

“I’ll stay up with you,” he offered. “Honestly I don’t think I could sleep after all that anyway. Unless you, uh...unless you want some space. I mean—do you want me to go?”

“No,” Lup said. “Please. Don’t go.”

Barry fought to keep his composure.

“I just mean...you can sleep here if you want to,” she said. "With me."

Barry lost the fight to keep his composure.

Lup ignored his bright red cheeks and continued, “I’m sorry, I’m gonna try to trance, I...I’m tired.”

Utter defeat weighed heavy in her voice, and Barry swallowed his nerves to comfort her.

“You had an unfathomably rough day,” he said softly. “Rest. It’s okay.”

“You’ll stay?” She asked quietly, not looking at him.

“...Y-yeah. ‘Course.”

Barry stretched his arm over and reached to switch off the light, then settled back onto the couch. He awkwardly slid down so that he was lying with his arms around Lup.

She laid her head against his chest and allowed the quiet rhythm of his heartbeat to guide her into meditation.

If circumstances were different, Barry would be over the moon.

But now that Lup was silent, and the rest of the ship was at a tranquil lull, the disturbing scene of that day’s battle played out in his head again. He swallowed hard, sucking in a quivering breath as he tried to push away the image of Taako’s lightless eyes.

He closed his eyes in hopes of quelling his emotions. He didn’t want to start crying again and disturb Lup, who desperately needed to rest.

He didn’t intend to fall asleep—in fact, he tried to fight it. But the fact was his body needed to recover, whether he liked it or not.

The first rays of daylight shined through the common area windows.

To Barry’s surprise, Lup was still curled up against him. Her eyes were open, however, staring out with a faraway look.

Whenever Barry had fallen asleep in the same area where Lup or Taako tranced, they almost invariably were out and about by the time he woke up. This time, it seemed as if Lup hadn’t moved all night.

“You must have been exhausted,” Barry noted softly.

“I didn’t trance much,” Lup muttered.

She reached up and cupped Barry’s cheek in her hand. He held his breath, and she wiped a tear away with her thumb. He blinked in surprise. He didn’t realize he had been crying—but he felt so heavy, it made sense.

“You were crying all night,” Lup said quietly.

“Oh—gee, I’m sorry,” Barry stammered in response. The absolute last thing he wanted was to make Lup console him when she herself was stricken with grief. “Did I keep you up?”

“No, babe, don’t apologize,” she answered. “I was just...you know. But I got some rest. And...it was nice. Having you here.”

Gods, he loved her so much. He swallowed hard and wished the circumstances were different.

“Any time,” he said, hushed.

She put her head back on his chest, then drew in a long, shaky breath and let it out slowly.

They stayed there for a while. Barry  smoothed her hair while going over the previous day yet again in his mind. If he had acted a little faster, been more aware of his surroundings—if they had just run—things would have gone differently.

If Merle hadn’t been killed, Magnus and Taako would both still be here.

“Babe,” Lup began cautiously. “I’m gonna go back to my room. Lucretia’s gonna wake up soon.”

Barry nodded, and understood the subtext—don’t want anyone getting the wrong idea.

“Okay,” he replied. “Try to actually rest?”

She hesitated for a moment, her fingers still intertwined with his.

“You can come with me. If you want,” she offered.

He just about died, and wondered if he could handle platonically (or otherwise, he dare not even imagine) cuddling with Lup on her bed.

He looked into her tired, swollen eyes, then remembered her bandaged arms and bruised body. She really needed to rest. And whether Barry’s crying had kept her up all night or not, he could bet it wasn’t particularly easy to meditate or restful for her body to be scrunched up with him all night.

And in terms of Capn’port and Lucretia, the implications of Barry coming out of Lup’s room later on would be much worse than finding them together on the couch.

“I, uh—” he started reluctantly. “You’re still pretty beat up, Lup. Why don’t you get a real meditation in, and I’ll come check on you later?”

Luckily, Lup didn’t seem too dejected. She nodded and unlocked her fingers from his. As she sat up, her spine popped—proving Barry’s theory.

“Oof,” she groaned, stretching out.

“Yeah,” he half laughed. “That’s what I was afraid of. Y’alright?”

“Yeah, I’m—” she winced and sucked in a short gasp, her hand shooting to the injury on her side.

His smile dropped and he sat up, concerned.

“M’fine,” she assured, taking a second to breathe. “I just...forgot that was there.”

“I’ll walk you back to your room,” Barry decided.

“I’m okay,” she insisted.

Still, Barry followed her once she stood up and began walking towards her cabin. She avoided looking at the kitchen, and once she passed Taako’s room, she folded her arms across her chest.

“Man,” she said, teary-eyed. “This...heh, this sucks. Can’t believe I—we—have to go through the rest of the cycle without him.”

He wrapped one arm around her and gave a gentle squeeze.

“We’ll get you through this,” Barry promised. “And he’ll be back before you know it.”

“Yeah,” she sniffed. “Thanks, Barry. See you later.”

“Goodnight,” he bid softly.

“It’s morning,” she corrected. “But, yeah. Later.”

She stepped into her room and slowly closed the door behind her.

[grimey--gal]

Can you make a mini story where Andy is down and Chucky consoles him?

Here ya go

Chucky knows a lot of things, although he doesn’t always show it. He knows how to fix leaks in drains and what season Ursa Major and Ursa Minor will be at their brightest; he knows how to cut and sew cloth at just the right angles to make trim for Christmas or other decorations, and he knows how to distinguish the brown recluse from the harmless barn funnel weaver. He knows what time the mail comes in every day, and what time the trash needs to be taken out. He knows how to separate clothes in the wash, and how to blow glass, and how to play piano – even though his hands are a little small for him to brave Rachmaninoff (who loved to use octaves, and he knows about those too).

There’s also a lot of things he knows about Andy Barclay, whom he keeps a special eye on – although he won’t show that all the time either. He studies and memorizes Andy in the same way he does anything else, except with a little more care and attention, but just enough so that it goes unnoticeable to anyone but himself, which is the way he likes it to be. He knows that Andy can sing when he puts his heart into it, and writes poems in dactylic meter (Accented syllable, two unaccented syllables, accented syllables, two unaccented syllables, and so on, and so on). He knows that Andy is quiet and likes to be alone, but not too alone (or he becomes overwhelmed and frightened of himself), and tires quickly of small talk and social excursions (where as he can stay on and on for hours on end, bantering and chattering if allowed). He knows that Andy has a weakness for sweet drinks and sweet talk, and can be conned into just about anything if either of those are used for bargaining. He knows when Andy gets up for work, and he knows when Andy comes home again, traipsing up the stairs and wearily tumbling into the apartment just above the shop he owns. The shop where he sells guns and their ammo, although Andy is not really the type to fight. He knows that Andy is docile by nature, eager to please and easily made anxious or stressed, should things turn sour.

He knows that Andy is most definitely home too early today, and that settles strangely inside him.

Firstly, the way he tumbles in is different from most days. Andy is tired every day, but today, it is a different sort of tired. The kind that makes the hands shake and the head ache and the heart quake. He’s a good three or four hours early, and he comes in with a rush, almost as if he could not wait to escape. He knows that Andy finds work overwhelming sometimes, but never enough so that he should hate it, at least not with the intensity he seems to hate it right about now.

He turns his head from the television, where he had been (ashamedly, he usually changes the channel before the normal time Andy returns) watching the Food Network because this particular recipe for twice-baked potatoes has caught his eye, and he had wanted to try it for himself (because he was bored, and it isn’t as if he has anything else to do, anyways). The more he indulges himself in this sort of hobby, the less he indulges himself in less favorable ones, and he is finding that wielding knives in the kitchen has a much more satisfying result.

Secondly, Andy’s eyes are different from most days. Andy smiles more now, but there is still a consistent, lingering sadness in them, one that he knows he had a part in putting there, and is determined to find a way to erase and erase and erase. But today, the sadness is intense, almost on the verge of combustion, he can see it from how the light seems to reflect so much brighter from them than usual.

He knows that Tiffany would never let him forget it if he ever told her he could judge Andy’s emotions just from the way his eyes reflected. So he knows to never tell her.

Thirdly, Andy is quieter than he usually is. While, in public, amongst a crowd or even two or three friends, he doesn’t say too much, when he is home, he talks quite a bit. Even now, just coming in the door, he would usually call out a greeting, followed by a slew of examples of how work went, ended with the question of how his day was. This time, Andy says nothing, and, almost as if he were avoiding him, makes his way for his room, rather than stopping at the couch. Chucky is momentarily grateful – now he has enough time to change the channel before being caught at falling into a traditional housewife persona. But then the uneasiness resettles in his stomach, and he follows Andy with his eyes, curious and concerned.

You’re home early, he wants to say. But he knows that Andy is clearly upset, and he knows that this will only upset him more. So instead, he asks, “Was work bad today?” and leaves it at that; no sarcasm, no mocking words, no underlying condescension, the way he usually would. He knows that now is not the time nor the place.

Andy stops in his tracks, which is coincidentally just after the couch’s arm. If he noticed the previous channel Chucky had been on, he does not say. Chucky knows that his mind is probably very far away presently.

“A bit,” Andy says, but he doesn’t say much else, and it is evident that there are things that he is not saying that he should.

Chucky could very well leave it. With his sharp demeanor, there is no doubt that he could botch this up very much and very quickly. But he sees Andy’s hands shaking just before they’re hidden in his pockets, and he knows that now is not the time for his fear nor his pride – although he very seldom makes decisions without consulting one (or both) of these aspects.

Very quickly, he takes Andy’s still exposed wrist in a small but firm grip. Quickly enough so that he doesn’t lose his nerve. He knows it takes him less than three seconds to find himself disgusted at how soft he’s become for the man in front of him, and so he gives himself only a second before he makes his move. Before he can even think to lose himself.

“Sit down,” is what he says, and Andy, surprisingly, obeys. He isn’t quite sure if it is the tone of voice that he took, or if Andy is just overwhelmingly exhausted. He assumes the latter. He keeps his grip on Andy, although the hand is now fully out in the open, and he can catch Andy’s fingers in between his, if even just to steady them a little bit.

Chucky knows that Andy is not one to cry much. Neither is he. They relate on this subject, at the very least. They would both rather sleep it away, or push it down so deep that it’s akin to a hidden spring, one you’d find in a deep cave while exploring. It’s dangerous because it only eventually comes puffing up one day in the way a geyser does, suddenly and with enormous power.

Now does not seem like a geyser is on the rise. Andy looks away, not mentioning the way their hands are so close, closer than they usually are, and the way their pulses are connected, even though one beats at a much more rapid pace. Chucky can feel the way Andy wants to leave; he’s frightened of the consequences of being vulnerable, and he can’t blame him. Were he Andy, he would not want to be exposed to someone like himself either.

Andy fidgets, kicking his foot around against the rug (which is old and torn, and Chucky is sure Andy has scuffed it under his shoes plenty of times before), when he finally decides to speak again.

“What do you need?”

He can hardly recognize his own voice, really. The last time he had been so gentle was when he had tried to woo Tiffany back, and it had failed. In his defense (and in hers), it had been after they’d tried and failed several times to find love in each other again. It’s almost a whisper, because he’s afraid of his own voice, he’s afraid that he’ll sound too rough, too jagged, and that he’ll scare Andy away, and all of this will be for nothing.

All of this being him holding Andy’s hand. But for him, it is a very big step indeed. He’s almost shaking himself, from the sheer amount of humility and selflessness it took. He is reminded, once again, of how much more Andy deserves than him, and tries to steel himself against another long trip through guilt and self-depreciation.

“I…” Andy is struggling himself, he can hear it in his voice, in the way it shakes. He can feel the way his heart stutters, the way his fingers still quake in his hand. There is already a hidden guilt of his own creeping its way across his cheekbones, and Chucky wants to push him, wants to ask what could be so embarrassing, but if he were in Andy’s place, he would want no pushing involved. So he waits instead, until Andy finally finishes what he had started to say, slowly and quietly, voice trembling:

“It’s stupid. But I had to leave. I couldn’t…” Chucky believes for a moment that he will finish, unprompted. But Andy just stops talking, and stares at the television, eyes bright. A little too bright.

Chucky faces the television too, but only because he can’t stand to look at Andy when he squeezes his hand. He can’t see Andy’s reaction to his silent comfort, because it will be too much.

“I won’t think it’s stupid,” he says, although he’s sure he might. But he wouldn’t tell Andy that it was. There are things that are not menial to him but he is sure they are to Andy, and Andy never complains. He recalls more than one embarrassing moment where he’d lost himself, despite his greatest efforts to not do so, and the way Andy would always, always, calmly come through for him.

Andy takes a deep breath, and Chucky feels himself doing the same. Then, there’s a soft sigh, and Andy says, “I wanted to come home.”

Chucky snorts before he realizes that he’s done exactly what Andy thought he would.

“I told you you’d think it’s stupid.”

“I don’t think it’s stupid,” he responds, but Andy is eyeing him reproachfully.

“You just laughed at me,” he says, hurt but not hurt enough that Chucky feels bad. He knows that Andy finds it somewhat humorous that he had laughed just after he had said he would not be demeaning. He can feel it in the way that Andy’s hand has already stopped shaking, the endless quivering faded away to a steady tremor of his heart.

“Everyone wants to go home from work, Andy,” he says. He knows that Andy’s explanation was not the full one. He knows that he is right when the color on Andy’s cheeks only heightens.

“Chucky,” Andy says, and his voice is so soft, and so vulnerable, and Chucky does not know what to do in these kinds of situations, and so he keeps quiet.  

He does know what to do. He just doesn’t think he can do it. He keeps ahold on Andy’s hand, and focuses on the television, and he waits for Andy to open up again, slow and in his own time.

“I wish I knew why – I just got so overwhelmed.”

Chucky knows what a panic attack is. He has suffered them before, and has suffered them alone before. He’s also fallen prey to them back in the times when it was just he and Tiffany and Eddie, three vagabonds running wild in the night, committing petty crimes and eventually worse. He knows how the air seems to fall out of your lungs, and how you just cannot seem to breathe fast enough, and the brain short-circuits because nothing is connecting or working as it should be, and he knows how all that can just make things worse. He knows the cycle has to be broken.

He knows Andy has had them too, late at night, waking up panting and running to the kitchen to drink and to groan in misery. He knows Andy must have had one just now, and he is still waving off the side effects. He is surprised that Andy is not resorting to a drink now.

“Do you need a drink?” he asks, gesturing towards the beer on the coffee table. He had just cracked it open, so he knows it should still be cold, and full enough to at least bring Andy’s panicking to a pause. He is again taken aback when Andy does not take the offer, and shakes his head instead.

“No, I…” Andy stops. But his body wavers, and leans Chucky’s direction, and he doesn’t need to say it, because Chucky knows. He knows what Andy needs. He also knows he has two choices. He can either just give Andy what he needs with no trouble, and they can move on, or he can make a fuss because he feels embarrassed about it, and cause a commotion.

Andy whimpers, and he makes his choice. He leans back against the couch arm, tugging at Andy’s arm. “Well, c’mere then,” he murmurs, looking towards the television, face heating. He knows he shouldn’t be ashamed, but he is. Andy shivers at his touch, still wavering, as if he is unsure. He pulls harder until Andy finally falls on top of him, heavy and weary. Chucky can feel himself sinking into the couch, but he does not dare move. The television blares on. He wishes he had not left the volume so high up. It is as if he can feel Andy’s anxiety coursing inside himself.

Andy adjusts his head slightly, and he now has learned something new: he now knows that Andy’s head under his chin is one of the best feelings he has ever felt. He can feel Andy’s heartbeat slowly settling against him, his breath evening and deepening, almost as if he were falling asleep. The only giveaway that he is awake is that his eyes are still open, mindlessly watching the colors that cross the screen.      

Chucky knows about oxytocin, and how it slips inside the bloodstream and how it comes from the pituitary gland. He knows how it’s used for different purposes, and he knows that it is released during moments of closeness, such as right now, as he wraps his arms around Andy, who has settled on top of him.  He knows that he and Andy both are more than likely releasing it now. He knows that it can calm and soothe, and he doesn’t like to think too highly of himself when it comes to his importance to Andy, but he cannot help but think that maybe he is this very stimulation for Andy. Calming, soothing, even though he is anything but by nature; he is wild and chaotic and all the things that should leave Andy running for the hills, and yet it is he that Andy chooses to rest his head on, close his eyes, and breathe until it is not such a difficult thing to do anymore.

And he knows that that is the nicest thing of all to know.

[cleverbroadwayurl]

Santa Monica Dream (Jeremy Heere x Reader Pt 3)

Song: Santa Monica Dream by Angus and Julia Stone (Life is Strange still owns me)

Need to Catch Up? PART 1 PART 2

Want More? PART 4 PART 5 PART 6 PART 7 PART 8 PART 9 PART 10 PART 11 PART 12 PART 13 PART 14 PART 15 PART 16  PART 17 PART 18  PART 19

Word Count: 2002

A/N: Alright Part 3! I still love hearing the feedback I’m getting; it always makes me smile!! I often look at my notifications at work, and they always make me really happy, even if I’d had a rough day, so thank you for that!! I might make a tag list, so please let me know if you’d like to be on it, so that you’re notified when an update is made! 

Trigger Warnings: panic attack, mediocre boyfriend, Jeremy being his caring self

The two of you boarded the boat and Jeremy started watching you check your phone. He slowed his pace to keep up with you. He eyed the fact that you locked your phone, hands shaking slightly. Oh shit oh shit oh shit. Jeremy noticed your breathing start to get shallow and knew that he was powerless in this situation. You were spiraling; he needed to find a way to help, and fast.

He hadn’t felt this panicked since the whole cast of the play was SQUIP-ed. That was his fault, he was so weak, similar to how he felt now. But then Michael—Wait. MICHAEL! He might actually know what to do! Thank goodness the slushie enthusiast kept close to the two of them. It did, of course, occur to Jeremy that he probably would’ve benefitted from the girls telling him what to do so he wouldn’t cross a boundary, but he didn’t have them here, so Michael would have to do.

Jeremy whipped his head around so fast, observers would think he got whiplash from it. Michael knew this look well, it was Jeremy’s “I need your help right now, I have no idea what to do” look. “What’s wrong?” Michael mouthed.

“They’re panicking.” Jeremy mouthed back, hoping that you didn’t notice.

He took a glance at Jeremy, then at you, then back to Jeremy. He didn’t notice anything off until he saw a particularly deep breath. Doing a double take, he understood the worry in Jeremy’s eyes. There was no doubt about it that you were in the verge of breaking down. One wrong move, and this whole idea of helping you would disappear. He decided to take matters into his own hands. If you didn’t talk to him ever again because he crossed one of your boundaries, Michael could deal. Jeremy, on the other hand could not.

“Hey do you need help?” Michael asked, praying that you still had the ability to speak.

“Yeah, actually,” oh thank god, you could still communicate somewhat effectively so they could help you. “I’m looking for my best friend.”

Jeremy had no idea who that was, always seeing you with the same group of friends and your boyfriend. Michael, however, knew exactly who you were talking about. He was acquaintances with the person; the two of them only sharing a few classes. As Jeremy’s face paled, Michael recalled seeing your best friend board the boat just minutes before Jeremy helped you not get lost.

“I think I saw them walk up to the top deck,” Michael stated, pushing his glasses up further onto his face. “I’m going to stay here and wait for the rest of our squad. Jeremy, why don’t you walk them up to the top deck and wait for their best friend?”

Almost immediately, Jeremy’s palms started sweating. Alone. With you?! Was Michael insane? He could barely get two words out around you, but when he did a double take of your much more anxious self, he relaxed a little bit. This wasn’t about him. It was about you. You needed his help, he needed to be a hero for just once in his life.

So, Jeremy offered his arm, knowing that holding hands would cause gossip for weeks, to help guide you up the stairs. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe that you weren’t strong or anything, he just didn’t want you to get lost and he wanted you to have the support you needed without being too forward. He knew that his eyes were dripping with concern, but it was better than having you panic in the bathroom of the ship by yourself. Hell, anything would be better than that.

As soon as the two of you got to the top deck, Jeremy sat with you on some uncomfortable plastic chairs. He didn’t care that the chairs were cheap plastic chairs from some hardware store, but he did care about finding your friend. You were seated on the edge of your seat, eyes scanning the crowd over and over again, looking for any of your best friend’s traits.

Jeremy’s phone vibrated, signaling a text from Michael. He described what your best friend looked like so Jeremy could actually help you instead of being helpless like he felt. Out of the corner of his eye, Jeremy caught you texting someone and he hoped that you weren’t texting your boyfriend. If he was caught with you, alone, he might get the wrong idea and then Jeremy would die. Whether of embarrassment or at the hands of your boyfriend, he couldn’t tell.

Luckily, your best friend appeared before Jeremy’s thoughts of his inevitable death got really bad. Your best friend smiled at you with almost as much admiration as Michael did with Jeremy. As soon as they sat down, you turned to Jeremy, a small smile on your face. “Thank you for waiting with me. You didn’t have to, but I’m glad you did.”

“It’s no problem,” Jeremy smiled back, his ears turning hot. God he wished every day you’d smile at him like that. It was that true smile, not the fake one you’d mastered the art of pulling out of your back pocket. It was the smile where you were genuinely yourself, the one that was a little crooked and the one where your eyes shined almost as brightly as a blue stars hundreds of light years away. It didn’t matter the circumstance, even this small one you’d managed to make, your smile at him was real, and Jeremy couldn’t help but return the same expression with a level of admiration he couldn’t describe.

You looked away before he could stare any longer.  Your best friend walked up and sat next you. They looked at you seriously for a second and you met eyes with them almost immediately. “Are you okay?” they asked quietly, eyes flickering at Jeremy for a split second.

He immediately looked towards the ocean, not wanting to be too intrusive of your conversation with your best friend. Because he wasn’t paying full attention to the conversation that you were having, not wanting to invade your privacy. The only coherent phrase that he could pick up was “let’s have some fun on this trip, yeah?”

Even that phrase to Jeremy was pretty cryptic. Although, by putting some basic clues together, he could tell that a text fight wasn’t fun, and therefore, by stopping the conversation with your boyfriend, you could have fun. But the way that your best friend talked about the events that had happened, it seemed like maybe this wasn’t the first trip that was ruined by a fight like this. Was that what you did often in class? Were fights like this common between the two of you? Is he—

Michael: Did you find their friend?

Jeremy: Yeah dude, they’re just getting settled.

Michael: Are they okay?

Jeremy: I think so? I don’t know, their best friend handled it really well.

He glanced at you, noticing that you were trying to keep yourself calm while being discreet. Of course panicking and being discreet don’t really go together. However, Jeremy did want to embarrass you or make you uncomfortable, so he kept his mouth shut and pretended to not notice the deep breaths and shakiness from you. Instead, he decided to text Michael and act like everything was fine for a moment.

Jeremy: They’re still a little shaky, but I’m glad we found their friend. I’ll be down in a second.

Michael: Take your time, dude.

Jeremy turned to you, a small and nervous smile on his face. You looked up a him, returned the small and nervous smile before thanking him again. His heart fluttered when you blushed as your gaze shifted downwards again.

“You okay here with your friend?” he asked.

“Yeah. You can go to your friends if you want. I know they’re probably waiting for you.”

“Alright,” he said, getting up slowly and putting his phone in his pocket. “Text me if you need anything.”

You blushed at his sweet gesture (it was so cute Michael was definitely hearing about this later), and said a much quieter “thank you, I will.” He turned to walk away, but not before catching your best friend giving him a look of gratitude.

When Jeremy went down the steps, he felt lighter than before. Not only because you’d smiled at him three times and blushed wowser, but because he knew he had done a good thing. Michael and the rest of the SQUIP Squad were waiting for him, the entire group giving him a knowing smile.

“How’d it go?” Michael asked, nudging Jeremy lightly.

“Well. They’ve calmed down a lot.”

“I’m glad you helped,” Michael said, purposely leaving himself out of the efforts of helping you.

The group hung out on one of the lower decks, each person taking their time to talk to Jeremy about his encounter with you. Of course, there was teasing, but Jeremy wouldn’t have changed anything if he could do it again. If he was Max Caulfield, there would be no rewinds used when helping you.

His phone vibrated a few minutes later with a text from your best friend: “I got your number from (Y/N), and I just wanted to say thank you for helping them out. They really needed it. –(Y/F/N)”.

The SQUIP Squad decided to move a little bit later, as the food was downstairs and the group was pretty hungry. As soon as they got to the first level, though, Jeremy saw your boyfriend, phone in hand, and texting frantically. He saw a little bit of you in him, but Jeremy could tell that this wasn’t the desperate and innocent texting you’d done in class, no there was something…different about this version of spamming his key board that made him unsettled.

He could also picture you on the top deck, trip ruined, typing faster and faster with each text. He could almost see the concern and upset expression on your face that would match the one that he’d seen just hours ago.

Jeremy didn’t realize that he was staring until your boyfriend met eyes with him. If Jeremy felt uncomfortable before, he wasn’t sure what to call this. It was like he was near a panic attack. Brooke, who was standing next to him, followed Jeremy’s gaze and saw your boyfriend glaring at Jeremy, as if the boy had killed his dog. So, Brooke suggested that the group move for the sake of Jeremy and the group’s comfort and safety. When they did, Jeremy couldn’t get your boyfriend’s glare out of his head, his eyes lingering in his head for way longer than they probably needed to be. And the more Jeremy thought about it, the more anxious he got.

A week later, he received a text from you, thanking him for his help on the cruise. And while you’d said thank you already, it was nice to hear from you and know that you were doing alright. Thank god that Michael was there to help Jeremy make coherent conversation with you without taking ten minutes to respond to each text. It actually went quite smoothly, and Jeremy was so surprised at how easy it was to talk to you. Given, he was a sweaty mess, but text was easy, you couldn’t see the intense thought and determination each text took.

He wasn’t sure how he’d done it, but you two actually ended up talking for an hour or so. Jeremy double checked that everything was okay with you, and asked about how you’d been since graduation. You replied rather quickly, almost putting his poor response time (due to double checking with Michael on each response) to shame. You also often mirrored his responses, putting one word answers followed by questions in an attempt to keep the conversation going. Jeremy was grateful and shocked that you even wanted to talk to him. He got nervous as the hour went on, however. Your responses kept getting spacier and spacier until you finally said you had to go. You apologized for the way you were acting before saying goodbye to him, and Jeremy was very confused. It was almost like you were trying to be over polite. He pushed the thought away as he gave Michael a high five. This was an accomplishment; Jeremy finally talked to you without stuttering and making a fool of himself.

[annemayfair]

Speak When Spoken To

A smol fic

Word count: 2, 315

Early in the morning, Milliara massaged her temples and inhaled the smell of her coffee as she watched servants hurry all over the place, pots of hot water and bandages in their hands. She watched them, impassionate, her feet dangling off the sofa, and she wondered if the Queen fell off her bed and split her head open.

As she searched around in her bowl for cashews among almonds and walnuts, Milliara saw Leliana, dressed in her usual armor, hurry past her with a worried look in her eyes. Millie caught her by the hand, almost flying off her seat as the woman didn’t stop or even react. Eventually, Leliana froze, looking down on the sleepy elf.

“What’s the buzz all about?” She asked, letting go of Leliana’s hand. She grabbed her coffee and took a sip. “Did  Her Majesty stub her toe and demand every single servant at this estate…”

“Nathy is back,” Leliana interrupted her shortly.

Milliara’s eyes widened and ears perked up as she slowly put down her hot drink. She opened and closed her mouth.

“She’s not?” The word “dead” didn’t come out no matter how hard the elf tried.

“No,” the archer replied, biting her bottom lip. “But she’s bad. That’s what the buzz is about.”

Milliara melted into the sofa in disbelief. She did not expect the woman to survive, not after she slammed the door on them, locking herself in a hall where she was outnumbered fifty to one. Or after they heard she was taken to Fort Drakon where she was “in care” of Loghain and his men.

Servants covered the blue and purple carpet with rough linen to avoid stains from bloody water. Even sunlight brought an ominous mood instead of its relief. One of the girls asked Leliana to step aside so she could cover the section where the bard stood. Not knowing what else to do, the woman sat by Milliara’s side, shaking, twiddling her thumbs.

Millie kept the silence, too. She felt somewhat guilty for assuming Nathyara would be dead by now and now the woman was back. She always came back. That quality of hers became annoying a long time ago.

“Zev and Ry went to storm Fort Drakon again last night,” Leliana said a full minute later, eyes fixed on Milliara’s cup as if it were the core of all creation. “They planned to play dress-up and find out where they kept her. But they barely passed the front hall when they found Nathy in a guardsman armor slowly dragging herself to freedom.”

“She’s always been impossibly stubborn,” Milliara leaned back on the sofa. “I’m… I’m relieved that she is safe now.”

“Me too,” Leliana agreed weakly. “I only wish she didn’t have the worst of it with Loghain. Maker knows that men like him never stop before it’s too late.”

Her heart began to pound in her chest as Milliara thought of her own time, locked away and alone, at mercy of others. She downed the rest of her coffee, burning her tongue and the roof of her mouth, as her mind wandered in thought. She felt Leliana’s grim fidgeting and knew that the bard did the same. The elf tucked her legs underneath her, staring into nothingness.

“How is she?” She asked again as if the answer would change.

“Bad,” Leliana gave her the same reply.

 In the bedroom, Nathyara fought the hands that tried to touch and hold her, only to find them kind and soft and caressing. She cried and felt blood stream down her back and stomach as she was rolled over. Each touch felt on her skin like white-hot iron, more of a reaction than actual sensation. Wynne’s magic brought relief before her throat went dry and scratchy from screaming.

“One more, mi amor,” Zevran whispered into her ear as he firmly grasped her forearm.

“No,” the doglord whimpered. “No, please, I can’t-”

With a loud “pop”, Zevran pulled and rotated her forearm, freeing the joint of an elbow and putting it in the right place. Kisses rained on her face and neck immediately afterwards, Nathy moaning and whining like a puppy through tightly pressed lips with a wrinkle between her brows.

“One more,” Zevran moved up to her shoulder and tears rolled down Nathyara’s cheeks.

“Please, stop,” she pleaded into his kiss, feeling the cold on the elbow as Wynne healed her.

“One more, amor.”

She felt a folded belt being shoved between her teeth. Crying and pleading, she bit into it, her eyes widening and vision blurring as soon as Zevran began applying pressure on her broken shoulder.

Milliara stood outside, listening to the screams and yells, hearing the pleasant shushing of magic that undoubtedly was Wynne. She heard Zevran muttering in Antivan, calming Nathy. She quietly slid into the bedroom, immediately hot from the fire burning in the fireplace, multiplied by flames of braziers in the corners of the room. Wynne stood by the bedside, spellcasting and chugging lyrium as if her life depended on it. Zevran moved around Nathy, shushing her and popping dislodged joints into place, breaking badly mended bones before Wynne fixed them again.

Maker fuck it, Nathy looked better after they all emerged from the Dead Trenches. Milliara’s eyes took in the sight of the woman’s back, whole chunks of meat missing and bones, white bones protruding here and there. Her left leg wasn’t a leg but a bloodied crushed stump. Several of Nathyara’s fingers had no nails or skin.

“Millie,” Zevan called out to her. Snapping out of this mesmerizing and terrifying sight, Milliara nodded at him in acknowledgement. “I’m going to take Wynne to rest.”

The old mage looked like she might collapse and was holding tightly onto Zevran’s supportive hug around her shoulders. The assassin seemed to have aged ten years within past hour.

“Yes,” Milliara agreed to a request that wasn’t sounded. “I’ll be here.”

Zevran thanked her and shot a long glance at moaning Nathyara on the bed where linen colored red underneath her. She seemed to be either on the verge of falling asleep or unconsciousness, either way quieting down by the minute. With another short nod to Millie, he took Wynne outside, carefully closing the door behind them.

Crawling into the seat at the foot of the bed, Milliara prepared to keep a long watch. She stayed quiet, too. She didn’t know what to say. Later, when all had been okay for a while, Millie started to drift into a slumber.

“Does this make you feel better?” Nathyara suddenly asked in a weak voice.

Perking up, Milliara scoffed. “Why would it?”

Nathyara shifted to lie on her side, her movements slow and accompanied by soft groans. She tried to wrap her hands around herself but got stuck halfway, the pain becoming too much to bear.

“Because I finally get to taste what I’d done to you,” she whispered.

“Are you fucking dumb?” Milliara’s laughter was short and dry. “This doesn’t come close to what Fred did, don’t flatter yourself, Nathy. Rest and get back to work.”

“Of course it doesn’t,” Nathy huffed into her pillow. “Of course.”

Months of forced silence and pretending all was well gnawed on Millie from the inside. She knew this wasn’t the time or the place, but Maker’s balls, this woman was insufferable! Was she trying to squeeze out a forgiveness out of torture to which she willingly submitted herself?

“You know what, Nathy?” Millie lifted her hands up in the air. “I give up. I give up on you! I would feel a lot more sympathetic towards you if you didn’t act like there’s a competition between us about who has had it worse. After all, if you really wanted my company or if you cared at all what I felt, you wouldn’t have sent me away to Highever just after a little tease on your dicknose fiancé!”

Nathyara whimpered, her body convulsing from waves of pain that came and went.

“You weren’t there after Teagan left,” Nathyara’s voice sounded dry and teary. “You went to the Alienage.”

“So what?” Milliara settled her elbows on the bed. “Was I supposed to sit there and stroke your hair until you stopped sulking? Would that have presented you stealing my son? Because fuck, I would’ve stricken the shit out of your hair, then!”

“At the luncheon one of the servants spilled stew on my dress. It was hot and it burnt my legs, and it hurt. He smiled as he apologized, and I swallowed the pain to finish the meal.” Nathyara spoke slowly, but clearly, her mind cruelly not slipping into rest. “When I asked the maid to help me undress, she removed my stonicker so well I bled from the pins and needles she told me were needed to take it down. I was angry and I wanted to cry. And then you came to find me.”

Milliara caught Nathyara’s eyes and felt her ears twitch as the bann looked at her. Was she praying and preparing to die? What was going on with her?

“Your sense of humor sucks,” Nathy laughed and her laughter turned into a pained groan. “And your tact is fucking awful. I thought you were the same as others whom I overheard, merry that Teagan was saved from a rash-covered Orlesian whore. And when you spoke up, I… I actually believed that. I believed that you were just like them. It’s not that you didn’t coddle me, Milliara. Nobody did.”

“I have a hard time believing that,” the elf’s eyes narrowed. “The Couslands loved you.”

“Nobody ever asked how I felt or why I felt that way, certainly not you. Nobody but my little sweet Rythlen and Iona.”

The elf bit her tongue, holding back a snarky remark. This was the first time she heard the bann speak of her dead companion, at least to Millie, anyways. She once heard her drop the name to Zevran but other than that, it almost felt like Iona never existed in Nathy’s life.

“You think about her?” Milliara asked. “Often?”

Nathyara shifted on the bed and adjusted herself on the covers, moving as lightly as she can to not disturb her bulging joints.

“And then I hurt you,” she continued, voice even quieter, ignoring Milliara’s question. Again. “I scared you and abused you. I was toxic, Millie, toxic like an Orlesian whore would be. I knew I wouldn’t be good for you, not like that. But Couslands would be. They are honest and kind and they would never fuck up the way I did.”

Silent and somewhat in shock, Milliara listened, feeling the warmth of the room forcing drops of sweat to form above her upper lip. But her insides were cold.

“Nathy, do you know what abuse is?” She asked, tilting her head.

“I suck in explaining what I do,” Nathyara stated quietly. “But I didn’t lie that day when I said you’d be happier if you stayed in Highever. You were.”

Nathyara curled up into a ball as much as she could by now, shaking slightly. Biting her lower lip, Milliara reached out, unsure, and placed her palm on Nathyara’s healthy leg. Well, a healthier one. She felt the woman shiver at her touch and pulled away as she heard laughter mixed with whimpering:

“He hated my fucking cittern. He hates string instruments in general, at least he did when I was there. One time he cut the strings on my cittern and Fred was so, so mad, but I didn’t mind it. Because he liked my singing and he liked stories about his mother.”

Millie’s heart fluttered and her ears drooped as she heard more about her son. Her son with his own likes and dislikes, a mischievous boy who cuts strings on people’s instruments because he doesn’t like the sounds they made. A wet sound came out of her throat as she thought she’d slit Fred’s throat if he ever dared to even scare Nils.

“I just wanted you. I saw how you smiled at children at the hospital at Widow’s Peak. Open, kind, and so, so beautiful. I wanted you to smile that way at me,” Nathyara was breathless and whatever words she spoke were filled with tears. “For years I rehearsed in my head what you’d say and what I’d reply after you stopped hitting me. After I returned Nils to you. I wanted you to smile at me. Just once would have been enough.”

She tensed up, knees pressing onto her chest, wounds on Nathyara’s back starting to bleed again. She bit on her fists to stifle moans and tears that sat inside her throat and lungs. Once again, Milliara reached out to her, the elf’s palm landing on the woman’s thigh. She stroke it gently when she knew it was okay.

“I wanted you so bad,” the bann could barely speak as her mind began to slip. “I told Zev that I only hurt but he didn’t listen. I’m so glad he didn’t.”

Milliara kept stroking Nathyara’s thigh, lost in thought. Absent-mindedly, she started humming that cittern song, even though it hurt, even though it brought memories so vile she tasted deathroot in her mouth. She didn’t know how much time had passed before she felt Nathyara stopped shaking.

“You know, now that you’re calm,” she said softly, standing up and walking to face the lying woman, “I can safely say that you’re just really stupid underneath all that… Nathy?”

The woman was pale and covered in cold sweat, her shivers so short and small Millie didn’t feel them. She trembled over the covers.

“Fuck!” Milliara swore, rushing to kick the door open. She yelled into the empty hallway. “She went into a shock!”

She looked back at the bed, despair appearing in the elf’s chest. “Fucking someone get in here, she’s going into a shock!”

[iownmywiiulegit]

Metroid Prime 4: #1- The Lay of the Land

This is the beginning of documentation representing my journey through the Metroid franchise by Nintendo.  First, a warning: This next little bit is a flashback that leads up to now.  

When Nintendo first mentioned that Metroid Prime 4 was in development I thought man, I really should beat the first Metroid Prime.  Back in the days before the Wii I worked my Metroid Prime all the way up to the Ridley battle and then set it down for a few years.  I got into different games like Soul Calibur II and Tales of Symphonia.  Soul Calibur was a great bro bonding game and I still think it is.  The next few years were spent focusing on college and then I bought a Wii.  I thought the Gamecube was obsolete at this point since my Wii could play Gamecube games, but man was I wrong.  Buying the Wii U proved this to me.  I wanted to play all discs on one system but I couldn’t do that.  I wanted (and still want) purity with my consoles.  This resulted in my going hard into my Gamecube again and getting the hardware peripherals that made it stand on par with the Wii, if not debatably better.  I bought the digital component cable for a wildly discounted price on eBay, and the Gameboy player and disc.  I got super lucky in finding the component cables at the price I found them at and I think the seller was in a pinch because it WAS around the holidays and I was just randomly checking the listings and was like “holy crap.”  No bidding, just buy it now.  Can’t say, won’t say.  It was also around this time that Nintendo announced that they were starting development for Metroid Prime all over from scratch.  Hearing this news felt like hearing a referee pistol.  If Nintendo was going to give me a fair warning that shit was getting real about Metroid Prime 4, then it’s up to me to get on the ball and meet Nintendo and Retro Studios in stride.  My instincts told me to go beat my original Metroid Prime file, finally.  My hardware was excellent and Nintendo sent the official signal; let’s go.

Turning on Metroid Prime for the first time in years with my original save file still intact, I expected to me extremely rusty at the controls and traversing the landscape.  Surprisingly it came back fairly quickly and before I knew it I was blasting different colored Metroids away no problem.  What I didn’t realize was exactly how close I was to actually beating the game.  The final boss was all I had to defeat.  Really?  17 years just for that?  If my memory serves me correctly, I simply just didn’t want the game to end.  I do that.  Leave books unfinished, leave movies before the end, compose music and leave the ending open, and I don’t know why.  I want time to soak into the experience and really savor it.  Perhaps I’m not so much a voracious consumer of entertainment but rather an appreciative connoisseur.  Back in 2004, I remember being at a drummer’s house that I was in drum corps with, and he was a stupid competitive type that turned everything into a pissing contest.  Once he found out that I had gotten all the way up to Ridley or something he set out to beat that game asap.  It was when he was at the final boss that I got my first glimpse of the future 15 years later.  Damn.  

Anyway, I beat Prime but I still have this amazing fully loaded Gamecube that has the OEM digital component cable, and Gameboy Advance player.  My next move was obvious.  I wasn’t done with the original Metroid Prime yet, not by a long shot!  If you’re a fan of Metroid, you love finding secrets and collecting all de tings.  To get the full original Metroid Prime experience, I had to play and beat Metroid Fusion for the Gameboy Advance.  I eBay-ed it up asap.  It’s kinda funny- Fusion showed up in the mail right on the day or day after I beat Prime.  Pretty cool.

Getting into Metroid Fusion was something I wasn’t ready for but always wanted.  It was Super Metroid that turned me into a fan.  The music, the beautiful colors, the crunchy explosions, and the search really got me looking in every nook and cranny in each level.  I wanted more and Fusion was it but I didn’t have a Gameboy Advance and wasn’t going to shell out even more money if I wasn’t going hard into games back then.  At that time I was so into music and rocking harder than life could offer that I just could not afford to allocate money toward a handheld that still was not backlit.  Fuck that.  When I saw pictures of Fusion all I could think was that it was Super Metroid 2.  After playing it, man, was I right about that.

Metroid Fusion is so amazing.  I love 2D Metroid-style games.  Hell, I spent a large part of 2018 playing through the indie game A Robot Named Fight on Steam and currently have a thoroughly played but not beaten Axiom Verge save file on my Wii U.  Again, Nintendo gave the signal and I had to run with it so here we are.  What I love about Fusion is quite a few things.  I love the graphics.  The colors are so vibrant and all the sprites look lively.  Even though the Gameboy Advance’s resolution is apparent on a 480p screen, it still plays amazingly.  The controls are tight and intuitive.  I did get lost a lot and backtracked often to find that random wall that needed to be blown through to progress to the next area.  I love how the security levels kept me from progressing just enough to experience the game unfold before me.  Oh man, I loved hiding from SA-X.  What a cool addition.  I swore a lot at the spider boss because it took me the most tries to defeat.  It was somewhere around that point where I thought that this game wasn’t for amateur platform players.  You really had to have a handle on things to get any further.  The moment Fusion Stole my heart was in chapter 11, at Plant Core X.

In Metroid Other M, there were oftentimes feelings of isolation and maybe even mild claustrophobia.  The same could even go for the final boss in Metroid Prime.  There’s something really gross-but-in-a-cool-way about destroying a slimy bug hive in a dark triple sub basement, especially if you have to spelunking your way to perform the extermination.  In Fusion, it’s sooo different, but the feeling is eerily similar in a way that I absolutely love.  When I first experience Plant Core X, I didn’t think I would be emotionally attached to my character.  I didn’t think I was Samus.  But then I kept getting dragged into the poisonous flower swamp that released deadly spores into the air in a wide horizontal sine wave pattern.  The music was minimal and just a little quieter than the rest of the game.  I kept trying to jump out of the swamp but I couldn’t get out.  It frustrated me because it interrupted my flow.  I felt helpless and that my situation was serious, even over my head.  I was suffocating.  I felt connected to Samus and like I had entered an extremely deadly area.  If Samus is an exterminator, this place was ground zero for the cause of everything in Fusion.  Don’t get me wrong- all the other bosses are vital to making up the game but at Plant Core X, Samus gets into deep shit.  Imagine that you’re stuck in a poisonous swamp or quicksand and you keep trying to jump out but the sludge keeps pulling you back in.  Now imagine all that while the air around you is raining poisonous dandelion seeds.  There’s no way you can’t get hit or sucked into the swamp.  What an amazing experience.  I couldn’t believe what I was feeling.  Here’s a YouTube link to this experience but it’s not me playing.  Whoever played in this video did way better than me but I think you can get an idea of what I’m talking about. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=347poZRrbrQ

Just last week I beat Fusion but didn’t do so well in collecting all the little things in the game. The final boss was cool and well drawn for the time period and hardware imho.  My main goal was to unlock the original NES Metroid in my copy of Metroid Prime on the Gamecube.  Since I have a Gameboy Advance that my dad found on a school bus and no kids claimed, I used it to link up to my cube with the Fusion cart and unlocked Metroid.  

That brings us to the current moment.  Today I figured out how to save my original Metroid game on the Gamecube.  This was a little confusing because the Gamecube controller doesn’t have a select button like the original NES.  Instead it’s the Z button.  To save while you’re playing the game, you need a second controller, just like in the original Legend of Zelda, and while paused push UP and A to initiate the save screen without dying.  

I can’t wait to get into it.  When the original Metroid screen comes up on my HDTV in a somewhat aliased 480p widescreen picture, I am immediately in a time warp.  Since I never played the original Metroid as a kid, my only memories of that game are from looking at strategy guides that didn’t show you everything.  I didn’t think much of it then because Mario was it.  I used to watch the title screen to Zelda II: The Adventure of Link over and over again as a kid and look into the stars on the screen and just wonder endlessly about anything. It cast a spell over me or something; I was captivated.  With Metroid, the original, it is now happening again. The game is brand new to me and I couldn’t give a care to anything modern as far as gaming and technology if I tried.  The stars in the background, the blinking letters of METROID, the fairly quick opening sequence loop-  all of this shows me that I’ve never grown up from being a kid after all.  I’m still the same after all these years.  The world can only help me build character and deep down I’m just the same kid that gets filled with endless wonder when 8 bit Nintendo does it’s thing.  Amazing.

For a current side note, I’d like to add that in Fusion, you can hear sound effects that are similar to those in the Virtual Boy’s Galactic Pinball.  Although the composer for Fusion was not the same as Galactic Pinball, Galactic Pinball’s composer was the same for Super Metroid and Mike Tyson’s Punch Out: Kenji Yamamoto.  You can hear similarities everywhere like Yamamoto was consulted often.  And if you’re not aware, Galactic Pinball does have a miniature Metroid space shooter game as a bonus easter egg on one of the tables. I like to think that only the hardcore Nintendo fans know this.  

Anyway.  I’ll report back as soon as more progress is made with the original Metroid.  In the meantime, here is my most recent Twitter post with a pic documenting where things are at.  

https://twitter.com/VeryBadTim/status/1100219464585490434

[ncfan-1]

Bitter Homecoming

Certain things were difficult to remember, now, but others were all too clear.

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Note: Kalani Nuna is the name I gave to my Exile. I don't follow TOR or the tie-in novel about Revan and the Exile as being canonical to my fics.

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It struck Kalani, more than once, that Citadel Station ought to have been more densely populated than it was. When Lieutenant Grenn and his subordinates were escorting them from the docking bay to the TSF station, when they were being escorted to the apartment where they were held under house arrest, when they were finally let out (if not given the full run of the station; Grenn wanted them close at hand), she noticed it. There should have been more people living here than they were. She’d heard stories about what had happened to Telos, and had gotten an eyeful of those stories when they were approaching the station. She knew that most of the planetary population had been killed in the bombardment. But she also knew that there had been survivors, that there had been Telosians off-world during the attack.

And if nothing else, Kalani thought with a dull, distant stab of disdain—too weak, but stronger than anything she could have managed a month ago; a month ago, it would have been nothing but apathy—there ought to be more scavengers here, feeding off the remains of a dead world, gorging themselves on the desperation of the survivors. Czerka, sometimes well-meaning, more often predatory, had a presence here. So too did the Exchange, though a—somewhat—quieter one. She’d not seen any more. It was a testament either to Grenn’s dedication, or to just how widely regarded a lost cause Citadel Station—and Telos—was.

Over half of the apartments in their residential area, empty. Thin trickles of people in the common areas where there ought to have been crowds. No children anywhere; no parents willing to invest their children’s futures in this place. Solitude, too easily found. Who knew how long she would be able on to this awareness, how long it would be before her awareness narrowed and dimmed to regarding everything beyond herself as dim shadows, but for now, she saw all too clearly. That was how it always was, unaware or too-aware, with no middle ground. There… was some comfort in shutting her eyes and deafening herself. But so long as the Sith hunted her, Kalani knew it to be a comfort she couldn’t seek.

There were some advantages to the station being so sparsely populated. It was less likely that Kalani would be recognized—someone on Peragus had recognized her as General Kalani Nuna, and look what had come of that. With fewer people around, there was less to pick up on through the Force. Using the Force felt like trying to grasp onto the fraying edges of a cloak as wide as the galaxy itself, reaching only threads that slipped away from her soon enough, and she dared not turn her attention to the planet below again. What little she could pick up on from the people here, much more a reading of body language than through the Force, was an almost universal sense of ambient anxiety, verging on desperation. Kalani didn’t want to think about how strong the impression would be if she could still use the Force as she had a little over ten years ago. When she had first turned her mind to the planet, accidentally, the floor had seemed to tilt, and every step for a while felt like trying to keep her footing walking on a nearly vertical slope. It was like Dxun, like Malachor—screaming with its dead. Kalani might be new to the Force again, but one did not have to be skilled to hear screams.

There was also an advantage, a more straightforward advantage, in that the lines in the cafeteria in the Entertainment District weren’t nearly as long as they could have been.

“Look, all I’m saying is that if her Majesty wants to eat, she ought to move her old bones and get her food herself.”

“Kreia said she wanted to meditate on the Ithorians before we go to meet with them tomorrow,” Kalani argued, as she and Atton tried to find an unoccupied table, booth, bench, anywhere that wasn’t too nearby an occupied spot. The cafeteria was the cheapest place to eat in this part of the station, and was probably the only place that could properly be called crowded. Out of habit, Kalani didn’t want to eat too close to anyone who might eavesdrop, and it seemed that this was a habit of Atton’s, too, since he certainly wasn’t complaining now. “I’m just going to stop by one of the take-out places and pick something up for her. I’m not asking you to come with me.”

“Yeah?” Atton raised an eyebrow at her as if he thought she might be lying. “In that case, I’m gonna hit the cantina. I’ll hold onto a chair for you if you get tired of our ‘friend’s’ company.”

Kalani shook her head. “I’ll pass.”

The defensive note was in Atton’s voice, rather than any sense Kalani got of his emotions. The Force was little more than a half-submerged memory to her, but she never could get so good a grasp on him as on the other people here. His body language was oddly muted, almost deliberately flat. “What, you people look down on drinking?”

Truth be told, the Jedi Order had rather looked down upon drunkenness, deriding the loss of control it represented. But Kalani had not been a Jedi for a long time, and it had been even longer since she had been part of the Order proper. “It’s not that.” She spotted a booth on the far side of the cafeteria from the entry point, far from any occupied tables, and started to make her way towards it. “I can understand needing a stiff drink after what happened on Peragus. It just… doesn’t help. It never has.”

“Seriously?” Now it was amusement she was hearing, laced with an undertone of disbelief. “I knew you can build up a tolerance, but you seriously don’t feel anything at all?”

“It’s not that, either.” Kalani’s mouth twitched in something that in some other galaxy, some other lifetime, might have been a smile. It was a short-lived life form, and it probably would have been more effective if she had been facing Atton for him to see it. “It was just… just part of my training, you know? There are some things you can’t really unlearn.” Even if you can be stripped of the Force. “The amount of alcohol it takes to get me drunk is roughly the amount it takes to put me in the hospital.” And drunkenness wasn’t kind enough to eradicate what she longed to forget.

Atton winced as they sat down. “I can see how that’d be a problem.”

She’d drank, during the war. Kalani had liked the feeling of drinking with her men, even if she couldn’t really get drunk with them. Most of the stuff the soldiers drank on the frontlines tasted like something you could use to clean a starship’s engines—Kalani was definitely drinking more for the company than the taste. There had been something she’d liked, some drink with a flavor pleasant enough for her to have more than one glass of it. But she couldn’t remember what it was, or what it had tasted like. She couldn’t remember the people she’d drank with.

Now, what she’d gotten from the cafeteria counter, what that tasted like was another mystery. Kalani frowned lightly down at her meal. It was some sort of meat stew, but she didn’t recognize the ragged blue chunks of meat, or the thick, almost syrupy purplish broth, or whatever it was in there with the broth. It had an almost overpoweringly sweet aroma, and the steam that rose up to hit Kalani’s face made her push back the dark blue scarf she had been wearing loosely draped over her head. Her stomach grumbled in hunger, the sharpest hunger she’d felt in years, but at the same time, it churned so much she felt sick.

“What do you suppose this is?” she wondered aloud, swirling her spoon through the thick broth.

Atton stared at her, his face a study in incredulity. Unlike her, he’d apparently known exactly what he’d ordered, and had had no trouble working up the appetite required to eat it. “You’re kidding, right? You just grabbed something off the counter without even figuring out what it was?”

Kalani stiffened. “The server said everything was safe for human consumption.”

“Yeah, but you could still wind up hating it, and I don’t think those guys do refunds.”

Suddenly, Kalani found herself very much wanting to talk about something else. Instead of addressing that last point, she let her spoon rest against the side of the bowl and fixed Atton in the most focused stare she could manage currently. “Atton? Can I ask you something?”

The ‘focused stare’ was still able to do its job, even if not as well as it might have done in the past. Atton leaned back a bit in his chair, avoiding her gaze. “Well,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck and smiling perhaps a little apprehensively, “you can ask.”

Good enough. “When we were on Peragus, you said something to me. Something about how being a Jedi meant I couldn’t have been married. What did you mean by that?”

Atton’s eyebrows shot up, but at the same time, some strange tension bled out of his shoulders. “I’ve always heard Jedi can’t get married. It’s against your code, or something.”

“That’s not… Who did you hear that from?”

“Nobody in particular. It’s just what everybody says.” His brow furrowed as he drank in the confused look on her face. “But that’s not true for you, is it?”

Kalani shook her head violently, her heart beating erratically against her ribcage. “Before I joined the war, for a Jedi to marry was not as widely-accepted as it was when I was a child, but neither was it forbidden. One of my teachers was the child of two Jedi, and she wasn’t much older than I. I had little contact with the Order once I left to fight in the Mandalorian wars, and none once I was exiled. I…” She stared down at her hands, lying on her lap as they were. They weren’t shaking. That surprised her. “…I suppose a lot can change in twenty years,” Kalani said lamely.

The only real news she had had of the Order during the war came from the new recruits, those who were sent to fight under her command. Of all the things she had ever asked them about, the Order’s evolving stance on marriage wasn’t one of them. But twenty years was a long time. Long enough for the Council to forbid it, long enough for a whole generation to be raised regarding marriage as something forbidden for a Jedi. Long enough for that generation, and their elders, to be slaughtered by the Sith.

It shouldn’t have mattered. She was no Jedi, and hadn’t been for a long time. She had looked at the Council at the end of the war, adversaries and old friends alike, and seen people who had been content to do nothing as the Outer Rim burned. Ten years might have dulled the sharpness, but for a moment, oh, how she had hated them. They would not even cast her out over Malachor V; that, she would have understood. Instead, they cast her out for daring to follow Revan in the first place. They cast her out because they could not reach Revan herself.

If the Order had changed, it shouldn’t have mattered.

(Even then, that moment of hatred had been but fleeting. Hate required more energy than Kalani Nuna was able to expend. What she felt, mostly, was pain. Pain was her closest companion from Malachor V on, pain and that yawning emptiness where the Force should have been.)

It mattered.

“So…” Atton was looking at her almost furtively. “You’re telling me that when you were a Jedi, Jedi could still get married.”

Kalani nodded.

“So were you? Married, I mean?”

What was in his voice went beyond simple curiosity, and it made Kalani feel as though her spine would snap, she sat up so rigidly. “No,” she said shortly. With an edge as keen as mullinine in her voice, she asked, “Were you ever married?”

In that moment, Atton was as accurate a mirror for herself as Kalani had ever needed. He stiffened, his face growing mask-like in how still it was, his eyes gone hard as durasteel. “Can’t say I was,” and his voice was as flat as the table between them.

No, never married. She and Atris, once… But they had both been very young, and Kalani didn’t think Atris’s feelings for her had ever run deep enough for marriage to be a real possibility. Even if they had been, the Masters had been starting to look upon marriage with some disapproval when she and Atris were growing up. Atris would not have gone against the opinions of the Masters. Neither would have Kalani, back when she really thought that excellent performance and close adherence to the Code for long enough might be enough to make them overlook…

There had been love between them, once. But love had died, and Kalani found it difficult to remember now, what it had been like. What it had felt like when they had been in each other’s arms, what the calluses on Atris’s hands had felt like, what she had felt when Atris had smiled at her. Those memories were grown gray and dim, rotting like a corpse. The Atris branded more clearly in Kalani’s memory was the Atris who had sat in judgment of her after the close of the war. That Atris had been as remote as the edge of the galaxy, had spoken to—at her with the chilly voice of a stranger, her heart closed and her back turned.

What would Atris think, if she could see Kalani now? She was not as Atris would have remembered. She was a pale, scrawny thing who could barely eat without growing nauseated, her muscles atrophied, her hands more accustomed to a vibroblade and a Republic Army-issue blaster than a lightsaber. Her eyes were permanently circled by shadows, her long black hair cut just above her shoulders, matted and tangled because she hadn’t brushed it out properly in she couldn’t even remember how long. Her clothes were careworn, would perhaps qualify as rags after another couple of years. Her long shirt, loose over her arms and torso, once pale blue, now closer to gray; her trousers worn thin around the knees; her boots, scuffed, and her scarf beginning to fray around the edges; her old, worn army jacket, tucked away in a bag back in the apartment where no one could see it. And oh, fumbling with the Force like an infant still learning how to crawl. Would Atris pity her? Or would she feel only scorn?

And there was the other. It had not been love that passed between her and him, though they might have been friends; the relationship had been more stress-relief than anything else. They had been fighting on Dxun, and had needed all the distractions from what was happening there that they could get. And yet, Kalani found herself wondering sometimes, the thoughts gnawing on her waking mind, why it was so much easier to remember him dying, dead, than alive. Why she couldn’t remember his laugh, but could the labored gurgles that had been his last breaths. Why she could still smell the reek of his life’s blood mingling with the mud, why she could still feel the rain pounding on her back as she knelt over him, but couldn’t remember what he had looked like when he was happy and whole, couldn’t remember his touch on her skin, couldn’t even remember his name.

She tried not to remember him at all, most days. But something, Atton’s questions, sitting over a dead world whose screams reverberated in her mind, being back in Republic space at all, was bringing him back to her, and all of Dxun, too.

At last, Kalani took an exploratory sip of her soup broth; it wasn’t going to eat itself, and she needed the nourishment, even if she lacked the enthusiasm. She didn’t expect it to have any real, strong taste. Food rarely did, these days; most days, food didn’t taste like anything at all. That, at least, made it easier to force it down.

But instead, Kalani found her mouth filled with the flavor of the broth, clearer than anything she had eaten in years. It was almost overpowering, making her head swim, but wouldn’t anything, after all this time?

All at once, it was like something inside her had broken in two, again.

“Hey…” Atton’s hand hovered around her shoulder, never quite closing the gap. “…Is the soup that bad?”

His face looked warped, barely humanoid, through the tears that swam in her eyes, dribbled slowly down her cheeks. Kalani tried another smile, but all she really managed was to bare her teeth. “No,” she croaked. “It’s good.” The words felt like chewing broken glass, and she clapped her hands over her mouth, her whole body shaking with the howling that had dogged her steps for over ten years.

The anxiety coursing through the veins of the station dwellers. The dead world miles beneath her feet. The decimated Jedi Order. The incredible mess that Revan had left others to clean up when she had left Republic space. Before was almost impossible to envisage, but the now was viciously clear.

Oh, Kalani wasn’t even sure what she could do, but she had been away for far too long.

[unlatinoverde]

Summer is starting to feel like a distant dream. Getting up in the morning is more and more of a chore. Fear not, it may simply be time for a quick break to turbocharge your Autumn/ Winter. Europe offers visitors an exciting array of possible sights, tastes, and experiences. Plus, there’s plenty of great coffee to keep busy travellers perky during their break. 

Venice for Coffee Lovers

The City

The Grand Canal in the winter sunlight, Venice

Cities may style themselves ‘the Venice of the North’ etc. However, there’s only one Venice. Even better, it’s a jewel that really sparkles during the cooler season. As the summer sun fades, watch as the city becomes ephemeral. With the sun hanging low in the sky, its buildings cast their reflections deep into its many canals. Wander through the maze of backstreets and hidden alleys before taking a ferry out to the glass-producing island of Murano. The workshops, cool bars, and restaurants there easily merit a full day of exploration.

Window displays to brighten a winter’s evening

The Coffee 

Coffee and cake at a cost, Caffè Florian

It’s hardly surprising that the Venetians, the quintessential Mediterranean traders, all but introduced coffee to Europe. Caffè Florian in Piazza San Marco is, in fact, the world’s oldest coffee shop. Although it’s not a cheap cup of coffee (€23 with a cake), expect waiters in full suits and service on silver trays. With much of its original decor still intact, patrons will feel as if they’re re-entering the 18th century as they pass through its doors.

The Practicalities 

Venice Marco Polo Airport has links to Italian, European and US airports. Water taxis will take travellers straight to Piazzale Roma. From there they can move on to other places in the city. High-speed trains connect the city to Italian destinations such as Milan, Florence, and Rome. Book in advance on the Trenitalia website. Sadly, costs are higher in the city due to its unique transport system (vaporetti). Also, Venice is a tourist honeypot with clear consequences for the wallet. However, it’s possible to find good accommodation deals on booking.com and Airbnb. Get more ideas for your break in Venice by following this link.

Copenhagen for Coffee Lovers

The City

The colours of Nyhavn in Copenhagen, Denmark

What Copenhagen lacks in light and heat, it more than makes up for in vibrancy and human warmth. ‘Hygge’, broadly translated as ‘cosy’ for English speakers, defines this northern city. Head to the busy port area of Nyhavn to channel your inner Dane before setting off to explore more of Copenhagen. Art lovers shouldn’t miss the Carlsberg Glyptotek and its fine winter garden. It’s a warm place on a cold day. Finally, children of all ages will love the winter wonderland feel of Tivoli around Christmas.

The lights of Tivoli at Christmas, Copenhagen

The Coffee

The Coffee Collective at Jaergersborgade is a legend in coffee. Yes, it’s busy and can feel somewhat commercial. However, there’s a reason for this- the care and attention poured into every cup of coffee. Some customers may prefer more sophisticated drinks using filter methods such as Aeropress or V60. Others will simply want a plain espresso. Regardless, they’ll almost always get a great cup of coffee.

The Practicalities

Copenhagen Airport at Kastrup is on an island just outside the city. It’s a short train ride to the central train station. The metro system covers most of the main areas of Copenhagen. This means that it’s quite easy to get around. Like its Scandinavian neighbours, Denmark isn’t exactly a budget destination. However, Wake Up Copenhagen mostly receives top reviews from travellers. More to the point, it shouldn’t break the bank!

Winter garden at Carlsberg Glyptotek

Paris for Coffee Lovers

The City

The Eiffel Tower from the ground, Paris

If there’s one city in Europe that everyone should visit, it must be Paris. First, savour the old world ambience in the winding streets around Montmartre. Then, brave the tourist mayhem at The Eiffel Tower. Flea markets, palaces, world-famous art museums- Paris has literally got it all. Yet, its greatest joys are often found in those overlooked spots like Parc des Buttes-Chaumont.  To tell the truth, this city needs a lifetime of exploration.

The Coffee 

La Caféthèque led the coffee revolution in Paris

Coffee is a mainstay of French life. Much like Italy, locals pack the local cafés in the morning and down their espressos with gusto. Of course, French people can be conservative about their coffee. Yet, there’s now a burgeoning Third Wave scene. True aficionados shouldn’t miss favourites such La Caféthèque and Café Lomi. Follow this link to learn more about the coffee scene in Paris.

The Practicalities

Most visitors will arrive at one of the city’s three main airports (Charles de Gaulle, Orly or Beauvais). Regular trains and buses transport travellers directly into the city centre. Those coming from London or Brussels have the additional option of taking the Eurostar train to Paris Gare du Nord. In terms of accommodation, travellers should think carefully about the area where they want to stay. Montmartre offers authentic charm while Le Marais is central, lively and bustling. Regyn’s in Montmartre is a good option for budget-conscious travellers.

View across the city from the Eiffel Tower

  London for Coffee Lovers

The City

114 Tottenham Court Road, London

At first sight, it may lack the grandeur of its cross-channel rival. Add in a transport system that seems to be on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Yet, despite its failings, London is an energetic city that showcases up-to-the-minute coolness. Take a walk along the Thames in Southwark. London Bridge is no longer falling down and foodies will adore the hip places to eat and drink in the area.  Also, the district around Tottenham Court Road and Oxford Street is unmissable. Think bookshops, boutiques, Indian restaurants and The British Museum (free). You’ll hardly believe that there can be just so much to see, do and eat. Vibrant, thy name is London!

The Coffee

Food and coffee at 114 Tottenham Court Road

The scent of freshly brewed coffee fills the air while The Rolling Stones’ Hot Rocks album plays in the background. However, the real soundtrack is the whirring of the latest Italian espresso machine, accompanied by the regular beats of the barista’s portafilter from behind the bar. Welcome to 114 Tottenham Court Road. This coffee shop personifies the coffee scene in London. It sells a selection of single estate coffees from far-flung countries like Kenya, Ethiopia and Guatemala. Needless to say, this is a great spot for coffee lovers who want a break from their London adventure.

The Practicalities

After a lifetime of travel in over forty countries, it wasn’t until I visited London in September 2017 that I had this experience. The train from Stansted stopped in the middle of nowhere. Then, a voice announced that there was a delay because ‘someone is removing their cow from the line’. The Germans in the carriage around me laughed cruelly.

Travellers should constantly check the TFL (Transport for London) website. This is particularly true on Sundays when they close busy lines for maintenance. Many may find London’s airports ugly and grubby, but there are quite a few of them to choose from. Here’s looking at you- Heathrow, Gatwick, Stansted, London City and Luton.  London doesn’t have the reputation of being a cheap city. However, budget-conscious travellers should check out the Indian YMCA. This hostel offers great value in a central location.

Milan for Coffee Lovers

The City

View of the roof at Milan Cathedral at sunset

Milan may not possess the immediate appeal of other Italian cities. That being said, it now exhibits a newfound confidence following its recent Expo. Also, the city increasingly packs a punch in terms of its tourist offering. Visiting the roof of Milan Cathedral is an experience that won’t be quickly forgotten. Due to the crowds, book in advance here. Walk through Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II to Piazza della Scala, home to the world-famous opera house. Via Verde, the street running along beside Teatro alla Scala, leads into the Brera district. Once there, explore the warren of streets filled with old world boutiques. Make sure to finish the day at 10 Corso Como, a café meets art shop. It’s the epitome of style. Looking for something quieter? No problem. Click here to take a trip to one of the Italian lakes.

10 Corso Como is a stylish spot

The Coffee 

Located in a verdant residential neighbourhood, Orso Nero is a café for true coffee lovers. The brainchild of a Canadian expat and his Italian wife, its look is sleek and simple. Yet, with products sourced from top Italian roasters, the coffee is often spectacular. Coffee drinkers will go crazy for the fruity African filtered coffees, while those who want to drink Italian-style in Italy won’t be disappointed either. Although its location may be a little challenging to find, it’s worth seeking out Orso Nero on any trip to Milan.

The Practicalities

Malpensa, Linate and Bergamo are the three main airports that serve Milan. Travellers arriving at Malpensa can take direct train services to either Stazione Cadorna or Stazione Centrale. There are buses to the city centre from Linate and to Centrale from Bergamo. The city has invested in its Metro system, which now covers most destinations of interest within the city. A day ticket covering all transport in Milan costs €4.50. As for accommodation, it’s best to avoid the area around the Central Station. Ostello Bello, near the centre of the city, receives good reviews and offers great value rooms.

View towards La Scala in Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II, Milan

Dublin for Coffee Lovers

The City

A corner of central Dublin, Ireland

Dublin has been at the forefront of every change in Ireland over the last forty years. That’s a lot of change! Yes, Dublin can be expensive and exasperating, but it’s rarely dull. Seek out its lesser-known haunts like the gardens of Dublin Castle (free) or the Chester Beatty Library (also free). Regarding the latter, the Lonely Planet describes it as one of Europe’s best museums. Temple Bar is now totally passé. Instead, in-the-know visitors head to the city’s burgeoning Cultural Quarter. For your information, it’s between George’s Street and Grafton Street. Foodies of all ages will love Murphy’s Ice Cream. Meanwhile, the bar in the Central Hotel has a cosy retro feel that even Copenhagen would envy.

Even the cows approve of Murphy’s Ice Cream

Tired of the bustle of the city centre? Dart out to Howth for a walk with views of the city, Dublin Bay, and the mountains. Dublin may be damp at times, but it’s always fun! Indeed, don’t let Irish weather put you off visiting. These ‘Rainy Day Dublin’ recommendations provide solutions to Ireland’s leaky roof problem.

Shabby chic meets Irish ‘hygge‘ at the Central Bar

The Coffee 

Dublin hosted the 2016 World of Coffee Championships. This sums it up! The Irish spoof news website, Waterford Whispers, often mocks the current obsession with coffee. Articles include Coffee Shops to Outnumber People By 2025 or an expletive-filled review of a coffee bought at a petrol station. 3fe fathered the Third Wave tsunami that hit Dublin and it’s a 15-minute walk from Trinity College. Visitors who prefer to stay in the centre should check out the Tasting Menu (book in advance) at Vice in Middle Abbey Street. The award-winning Brother Hubbard North in nearby Capel Street combines coffee and fabulous food. Ireland may soon introduce Scandinavian-style alcohol restrictions. This could be the perfect time to join Dubliners of all races, nationalities, and creeds in their new mania- coffee!

The Practicalities

The transport situation is improving, particularly since the introduction of the tram system (Luas). City destinations along the coast are usually within walking distance of a DART (train) station. However, there’s still progress to be made. Despite years of talking, politicians have yet to build a rail link to the airport. Therefore, travellers arriving by plane reach the city by bus, coach or taxi. One advantage of Dublin is that many of its sights are in the compact city centre.

Unfortunately, it’s not a cheap city, for visitors and locals alike. Travellers should shop around when looking for a place to stay. Book in advance!

Have you any great tips for off-season travel? Is there a coffee shop everyone should know? Leave a comment below or send your story to me by email at Unlatinoverde@gmail.com. 

Next Post: Monday, October 16th, 2017

10 Corso Como is a stylish spot

View towards La Scala in Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II, Milan

Coffee and cake at a cost, Caffè Florian

The coffee lover’s guide to off-season European city breaks Summer is starting to feel like a distant dream. Getting up in the morning is more and more of a chore.