#he's ten years older than me and i only found out what mewing was a couple days ago because my nephews were doing it

[gahtheone]

Posting this on my profile so I can watch it forever 😊

[baby-grayson]

Threesome With Grayson & His Wife

Summary: Grayson and his wife celebrate their 10 year anniversary with a romantic getaway in the mountains. While celebrating their love, they met you and things get steamy.

tw: smut. 

Grayson and Sophia had been looking forward to their ten-year anniversary for a long time, since before their 9th anniversary. With two bustling careers and three kids, they often forget to dedicate time to appreciate their marriage. They were enthusiastic to retreat in the White Mountains for a week, by themselves.  They left their kids with Lisa, in New Jersey, and went on their merry way to celebrate their 10th anniversary.

Grayson had wanted to pitch a tent and live off of the land. Sophia denied that request, asking for a hotel because it was safer. She wanted to be within cell service in case something happened to the kids while they were away. When they checked in, they both silently noticed a pretty young girl at the front desk. She was no older than they were when they met, maybe 22 maximum.

At this point, Grayson had aged into a dashingly handsome businessman. Sophia was as beautiful as ever, shining from the inside out. Children and time only made each of them more refined versions of themselves.

They spent the greater part of the week hiking, swimming in natural hot springs, and congratulating each other on 10 wonderful years of marriage and 3 beautiful children. They felt like newlyweds again, decorating each other in kisses and compliments. They would come back home at the end of the night, say hi to cute reception girl, and then make love all over their hotel room like it was their first time all over again.

They felt at peace with the world and in bliss with each other. There was one thing missing though. When they were truly newlyweds, they had a clandestine obsession with each other’s pleasure. Sophia’s more traditional bedroom techniques had given way to Grayson’s predilection for exploration.

It was Sophia who brought it up first. The night before their last in White Mountains, she was holding Grayson’s naked body and stroking his hair when suggested. Whether it be from nerves or humor, she initially said the idea out loud, as a joke. She expected Grayson to laugh. But something inside of her shifted when her husband of 10 years looked up at her, complete seriousness in his eyes and told her that they should do it.

It was their last night of vacation. And despite their infinite love for their family, Grayson and Sophia did not get much time to themselves.

Sophia asked Grayson to make the move. He was the one with the prior experience in multiple partners after all. They were walking in the lobby after a serene day of nature walks and hikes. Sophia waited by the elevator for her husband while she watched Grayson stroll over to your desk and strike up a conversation.

She eyed Grayson. Time had only done her husband well. He was every bit as tall, dark, and handsome as when she met him. The years had given a more mature look, something distinguished about the heart throb turned powerful entrepreneur.

Her thoughts were confirmed when she saw you flash Grayson a smile and blush. Grayson felt a pang of confidence run through his body when he told you to meet him and Sophia at their room when your shift was over.

Grayson walked back to his wife with a new swagger in his stride. Sophia looked up at him and asked how it went. They stepped into the elevator. He responded by taking Sophia’s face in his hands once the doors closed and slowly sucking on her lips with a feverish, sexual kiss.

They would usually have sex the moment they got back to their room, rinse each other off in the shower, eat dinner, and then have sex again. That day, however, they decided to save every ounce of their sexual energy for their anxiously awaited threesome.

Sophia was looking through her lingerie bag when someone knocked on the door. She had packed more than a few pieces in anticipation of the celebrations of their anniversary. She eyed what she had brought along, wondering what was best suited for her husband and a much younger woman. She had the thought to ask Grayson, since he had much more expertise in this area than she. She was dressed in nothing but a short, silk robe when you knocked.

Grayson was in the shower when this happened. The hotel bathroom was filled with a thick, steam. He hadn’t had a threesome since he was your age, probably even younger. He had to actively try to contain his excitement. He threw a towel around his waist and went to leave the bathroom, hoping to find his wife getting ready.

His jaw nearly dropped when he opened the bathroom door. He stared at his beautiful wife, with her long dark hair cascading over her shoulders and silk robe untied, sitting on their hotel bed with her legs open as a much younger woman, completely naked, kneeled between them and danced her tongue around her wife’s pussy.

Sophia threw her head back and released a breathy cuss word, not noticing Grayson come out of the shower.

He stood there, stunned for a moment. He needed to commit this image to memory. His erection stood tall, slipping his towel to the floor.

He found enough of his mind to walk forward into the bedroom. Sophia looked up when he placed a hand on her shoulder, she was still letting out mews as you sucked gently on her clit. Grayson pumped his length with one hand and let out a breath. He put his hand on the back of Sophia’s head, tangling his fingers in her hair and brought her forward to meet his throbbing cock.

Sophia’s lips wrapped around his length while her tongue slowly slid him down her throat. He loved this sight, seeing her take his entire length. Her lips bloomed around the edge of his cock. “Fuck,” his voice was raspy. He looked down; intently eyeing your tongue the bottom of Sophia’s pussy before slipping her tongue inside of his wife’s core. Sophia’s pussy dropped onto your face with wetness. Grayson’s eyes shifted slightly and found his wife bobbing her head on his cock, covering him in saliva, and wrapping her warm mouth around his sensitive tip.

You pulled her mouth off Sophia’s dripping center to gently thumb her clit before inserting a finger inside of her. Sophia approved of this, as she moaned onto Grayson’s cock. You took this opportunity to move her mouth to Grayson’s balls, assisting Sophia in giving him oral.

Grayson’s core shook, he looked down to find two sets of pleading eyes below him, each with part of his sex in their mouths. Sophia expertly sucked him, letting him leave her mouth for a few seconds to decorate him in spit before she kept going. Your tongue glazed over his balls, taking the left one in your mouth to suck gently.

His entire face scrunched up and he put his head back, in another kind of heaven. In an act that seemed selfless, but was really an attempt to stop himself from cumming too quickly,

 Grayson laid on his back. His erection stood tall from where he rested. You eyed his cock like a present on Christmas morning, licking your lips. Sophia giggled, feeling Grayson’s ego grow from where she knelt. She nodded at you, as if giving you permission to make the first move on it.

You moved on top of him, bringing your tits to rest against his chest. Grayson made a quick move of flipping you over, so your back laid against his chest. Grayson swiped your hair out of the way. He reached forward and gently rubbed circles into your clit. Sophia sat at the edge of the bed, letting every one of her desires succumb to watching her husband with a much younger woman.

“How are you with anal?” he asked roughly as the very tip of his cock teased your little asshole by swiping over it.

You blushed and bit your lip, not wanting to admit you were an anal virgin. “I’m open to it.”

It didn’t take long before Grayson inserted his cock in your tight asshole, while Sophia laid over them, her tongue furiously fucking your pretty pink pussy. She nibbled at your clit while Grayson slowly moved his cock in and out of your ass. From between the two of them, you nearly convulsed in pleasure: feeling your asshole stretch to accommodate Grayson’s cock while Sophia snaked her tongue around your folds. Sophia spit on the your pussy, some of it dripped down to decorate Grayson’s cock as it moved with expert precision, filling your ass.

Sophia looked up at you while eating you out, meeting both your eyes and Grayson, who was loving every second of watching his precious wife slobber on another woman’s soaking cunt. Your legs started to shake under the pleasure. Sophia took her mouth from your pussy, blowing softly and enjoying the yelp that left your lips when the cool air touched your flaming folds. Sophia pulled herself up to kiss you with a wide tongue, hoping to let you taste your own wetness.

Sophia’s hands trailed up your body, fingering curves and grabbing perky tits while Grayson continued to fill you asshole. Sophia chuckled lowly and looked up at you, “Need a break?” You were in a state of physical nirvana and could do nothing but nod and whimper.

Sophia gave Grayson a knowing look, making him slowly slide his cock out. Sophia pushed some hair from your face, noting the relief that washed over you to be free of Grayson’s large dick. “I know he’s a lot to handle,” Sophia cooed, “Took me a while too.” You panted from between them. Grayson said nothing but smirked smugly. “Watch me do it,” when the line left Sophia’s lips, Grayson realized that you were the only other person on the Earth who got to watch is loving, doting, graceful wife become a dark, sensual, and obsessive lover.

Sophia quickly lifted off of you and onto the other side of the bed, where she got on all fours and lifted her ass up for Grayson. You shifted off of Grayson while he got up and walked around the bed. Grayson was slow with your ass, but Sophia’s soaking cunt was as familiar to him as the back of his hand. He made quick work of inserting himself in his wife and pounding her as hard as he could. He tightly gripped her hips to use as leverage while he roughly thrusted his entire length into her. Sophia moaned loudly, biting her lip and turning back to face him. Grayson pumped himself inside of her, rolling his eyes back in his head when he felt her clench her walls around him. Sophia continued to yelp and moan under him when she eyed you, who was sitting at the end of he bed and playing with your own pussy while this scene played out in front of you. You used two fingers to rub circles in your aching pussy, going wide eyed at the sight of a naked Grayson Dolan pounding his gorgeous wife from behind.

Sophia swallowed a moan down when said, “He’s so good, isn’t it?” You could do nothing but not and lick her lips, bringing her free had to play with her own nipple.

Sophia threw her head back before looking at you again, “He’s the—fuck---he’s the best.” Grayson smirked, taking a moment to spank his wife, grabbing her ass. Although this was already hot, he got off even more at seeing Sophia act like this.

“Do you—oh fuck—” Sophia out a breathy moan, “Do you wanna try him?” You nodded furiously, licking your lips. Grayson slowly pulled out of his wife, staring wantonly at her soaking, open center. Grayson took in a few breaths to ground himself before slipping into your tiny, pink pussy. He reached down to grab one of your perky tits while he started the thrust. It had been over a decade since he was inside of someone who wasn’t his wife. It was good. It wasn’t as fucking fantastic as his wife. But it was fucking good.

You immediately started to whimper loudly as Grayson stretched out your tiny pussy, only growing your wetness. You reached down to grip the sheets in your hands and Grayson bounced your entire body up and down the bed with each thrust. Sophia licked her lips, her eyes going wide at the sight. She slinked over to you and hovered her own wet pussy in your face, “This will help you be quiet.”

Sophia’s pussy muffled your screams of pleasure. Sophia held onto the headboard while your mouth sucked, tickled, and fucked her pussy. Sophia threw her head back and groaned. This sight only made Grayson work harder, his testosterone erupted at the fact idea of his wife being aroused as a petite, twenty-something mouthed her pussy.

Grayson grabbed onto your hips and started to slam himself inside of you, using every bit of energy he had. You, in turn, moaned onto Sophia’s pussy. You bit on Sophia’s swollen clit, licking down her pussy in long strokes as your tongue invaded her center. Her wetness dripped onto your face, creating a mask of pussy juice all over your lips and chin. Grayson instantly recognized his wife’s orgasm face, reveling when her eyes floated back in her head as the side of her mouth twitched. Sophia’s pussy convalesced on top of your mouth, while you never stopped licking.  

Grayson decided to reward this feat by making you cum. He took an expert hand to your clit and began drawing circles. Your nails were nearly making holes in the sheets as you held on tight. It only took a few well-placed thrusts to trigger an orgasm, making you scream out from under Sophia.

That only left Grayson, who was a firm believe in only cumming for his wife. Sophia, inherently aware of this fact, bent down from where she hovered over your mouth. Sophia shook her ass gently, a signal that you should not stop tongue fucking her, despite their previous orgasms. Sophia licked her lips and looked up at Grayson, her mouth now incredibly close to his cock.

A few well-timed strokes gave Grayson the build up he needed to pull out of you and leave his cock at the edge of Sophia’s lips, where she expertly swallowed all of his sex while he called out into the night. Sophia looked up at him adoringly while she softly wiped her lip of any remaining fluid.

She lifted off of you, who’s face was still covered Sophia’s juices. You looked like she had just been through your first threesome: your hair clinging to the juices on your face, your cheeks flush, your nipples swollen, and your throbbing pussy covered in wetness. Sophia smiled softly and removed some of the stuck hair from your face, “You were good.” You panted slightly, still coming down from the high of your orgasm under Grayson. Your chest rose and fell, “You two were better.”

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans Are Space Orcs “Siege.”

Hope you guys enjoy this. I introduce some big implications for the universe, and some other exciting things :) 

Adam’s hands trembled against the bars. Inside his head his heart pounded sending waves of anger like red-hot heat down his back and pulsing all over his body. Inside the cage Vicky’s piteous cries echoed inside his head as she pressed herself up against the bars with a soft moan. Other than her muffled cries, all he could hear was the constant ringing that had risen up inside his head.

A buzzing against his left arm went almost unnoticed. 

Words echoed from the implant by his ear: SOS activated.

He couldn’t have spoken at that moment even if he wanted to. He was so anger that his high brain function had almost completely shut off.

He stepped back for the cage staring at the mechanized lock that kept the cage shut.

This was going to be loud, but he didn’t care. He was already here anyway, and they could just try to stop him.

He paced back one more step before racing forward and slamming the heel of his prosthetic leg into the metal casing of the mechanical lock. 

The augmented limb whirred with mechanical power, and a loud bang erupted around the room as the lock shattered. He grabbed the door with one hand and wrenched it back in anger making his body into a machine.

The door was nearly ripped off its hinges, but he ignored it kneeling down and reaching out. Vicky crawled into his arms resting her strange alien head on his shoulder.

“It’s alright, you’re safe now.”

She mewed and he stepped back turning on the spot. Vicky stuck to his heels as he marched out towards the nearest door. The repurposed steel-eye prosthetic, sensing his elevated heart rate, whirred with power as he stored up the waiting energy.

Overhead sirens began to blare, and red lights flashed causing his skin to pulse with a hellish cast. 

The door before him was thrown open and the two Tesraki from earlier ran into the room followed closely by Sunny despite the attempts to keep her at bay.

“What are you doing!”

“You can’t be in here!”

He ignored their warnings, grabbing one by scarf he wore, clasping the other around the throat and hoisting them into the air choking and sputtering. At their backs Sunny’s eyes were wide in surprise. She scanned the room quickly eyes falling on Vicky.

Her eyes widened.

Adam snarled and hurled the two Tesraki back with the strength and power of a creature twice his size. They hit the ground hard one of them rolling to slam into a wall . The guards that accompanied them lifted their weapons, Adam darted forward grabbing the barrel of one of their weapons, and violently bending it until the barrel was a twisted mass of unusable metal. 

He kicked another one to the side and hurled the next one against the nearby cage.

Sunny grabbed the last one who was just beginning to respond and hurled it across the room with one of her powerful arms. 

Adam kicked open the next door. It wasn’t quite necessary as it ripped the doors nearly off their hinges as he charged into the room. All around them a chattering rose up from massive cages all around the room.

He paused in the opening looking around with wide eyes at the strange scene before him, at all the strange and unusual creatures that he saw. He stopped by the nearest cage eyes scanning over the label as the creature stared at him from the inside. He recognized the face of an Iotin, but the body was covered in a thick layer of fur like the Tesraki. The creature tilted it’s head at hi in curiosity and confusion.

“Adam, what are…. What?

He drew back and with one fist he punched the lock open. It shorted out with sparks, and he opened the cage allowing the confused creature out onto the floor. It looked up at him with confused wide eyes before rubbing it’s head against his arms and then confusedly wandering away.

Walking to the next cage, he looked inside only to find a monstrosity staring back at him. The thing had the face of a human, but its body was a horrific amalgamation of too many arms and too many legs. Still, he kicked the cage door open, and the thing came scuttling out onto the floor.

Each cage held a strange and different creature.

A furry Tvek with large ears, a thing with too many tentacles and too many legs, 

Creatures in all shapes and sizes, most of them confused, some of them barely sentient, no more than animals. With every door he kicked open, more alarms went off until he could hear the rattling of feet overhead.

Groups of Tesraki, Burg, and even human bodyguards ran into the room. They came skidding to a  halt as they did eyes wide. Hundreds of eyes turned to look at them. Weapons were raised towards Adam. And then the room erupted as hundreds of shapes moved forward. The attack was a little less than what one might have expected seeing as most of the creatures were young and unsure, but the guards had no time to react as they were covered in a pile of bodies.

As resourceful as humans are, one of them managed to make it through, but was immediately met by Adam’s waiting first.

Adam Hit him so hard that he was knocked unconscious hitting the floor with a muted thud. 

Adam shouldered his way through the next door and onto the factory floor where scientists were already being chased and besieged.

An adaptid with neon green carapace was chasing one of the scientists around the growing tubes. It was no larger than a big dog, and clearly had no idea what it was doing, but the scientist wasn’t to know that and continued to scream at the top of their lungs.

Adam ran across the floor  and shouldered his way through the next door as pandemonium erupted behind him. He found himself in a large hallway with large steel doors, like prison cells.

Peering through the window his eyes widened. The creatures in here were much, much bigger.

He looked at the label on the cage before him Drev/Celzex.

Looking through the window he was met with an absolutely massive eye. He stepped back for the door. The Celzex must have been an upwards of ten feet tall.

He paused  then shrugged turning to punch the security pad until it shorted out and the door opened. His knuckles were bleeding but he ignored it.

The door opened, and he stepped back as the massive fuzzy creature took a tentative step out of the door.

It was just as cute colorful and fuzzy as it’s smaller counterparts, however it absolutely dwarfed both him and Sunny, who stood behind him with a wide-eyed expression on her face.

“Go on, be free.” Adam ordered 

The massive Celzex blinked slowly at him before it’s eyes suddenly narrowed. Adam turned and barely managed to jump to the side as the Celzex went thundering down the hall full tilt towards a group of guards who had just poured into the rear hallway. They screamed and were knocked aside like bowling pins.

Adam moved to the next compartment: human/adaptid .

He was worried what he might find when he looked through the door , and was both surprised and horrified when the creature turned to look at him. It’s face and upper body were that of a child no older than maybe eight or nine years old, but it’s lower half….like a fuzzy spider.

He stepped away in surprise.

A small hand reached out to him, and the face was twisted in to a horrible expression of pain and sadness.

He elbowed the console this time, and the door hissed open.

The creature came scuttling out into the hall with a wide-eyed expression.

When he spoke to it, it only stared at him before scampering away in another direction after a screaming group of guards.

Adam moved to the next cage eyes closed not sure what he expected to see.

This creature looked like a strange dinosaur with two legs, a long tail, and strangely large bat ears tesraki/randi. When he opened the cage, the thing went running out across the floor to join the fray..

They made their way into the last room with Sunny at his back.

The doors to the floor were open here, and they looked out into absolute chaos. The centaur spider was chasing one of the scientists around the floor screaming at the top of its lungs, but as it passed one of the test tubes, it stopped and pressed a tender hand against the glass, “Baby.” It said before turning and pelting off back after the scientist.

The massive Celzex sat in the center of the room as tons of tiny animals surrounded it cuddling against its thick fur.

It would have been cute if he wasn’t so angry.

“Over here.’

He paused in surprise turning his head this way and that trying to find the source of the noise. Sunny paused with him also confused.

“The last door.”

The voice did not appear to be coming from the last door. In fact, he couldn’t tell where it was coming from, but still he moved forward and paused at the opening to the door looking down at the label.

Human/Starborn.

He stepped back a bit shocked suddenly as a face appeared in the bars, all pale white with wide black eyes and billowing black hair.

He stepped back.

“Let me out, I can help you.”

He glanced over at Sunny whose eyes were wide.

“You can hear her?” he asked 

Sunny nodded.

He busted the lock and pulled the door open. Footsteps sounded and a shape appeared from the darkness. The creature that appeared looked almost human except for her paper white skin and completely black eyes. Dark hair spilled down her naked shoulders. He couldn’t have said how old she was, but it couldn’t have been very old, could it.

Limp white ribbons trailed from her back and onto the floor.

She smiled at him, and when she did he could see a full set of human teeth.

“Thank you, commander.” 

She leaned in a little kissing him lightly on the cheek, “I will take it from here. You have done a wonderful job.”

He stood dumbfounded, rooted to the spot as she stepped out onto the floor trailed by a hundred ribbons like the train of a white wedding dress.

She raised a hand and inside their heads they heard, “Now don’t hurt anyone too badly, we still need them.” The Chaos turned to order as the ethereal creature gave orders projecting her thoughts to the mind of every creature in the room.

Commander Vir let her take over pushing his way through the next set of doors and up towards the administration building.

Some of the creatures had made it out into the hallways, but they were still receiving instructions from somewhere, and their movements were orderly. They stepped by as he passed into the next room labeled the nursery.

The two of them looked around, and there is where they found the human.Drev human/tesraki and human/Finnari hybrids comfortably curled up in baby incubators monitored by robotic nurses where the others had been locked in cages.

Adam’s face twisted in an angry snarl as he stalked through the room Vicky still pressed tightly to his side. Scrambling could be heard on the other side of the door, and he icked it open to find the two Tesraki scrambling to find an escape. One of them was limping badly, and the other one was holding the back of his head from where they had hit the wall.

Upon seeing him they backed away, “What have you done!”

“My job.”

“What job.”

“My job as fleet commander of the UNSC. Honestly you idiots are dumber than a box of rocks. We didn’t even change our fucking names. I dyed my hair blue, and she’s wearing nail polish.” he stalked closer, “How dare you use the adaptids like this.” The two Tesraki backed away into a corner.

Adam loomed over them his hands balled into fists, “This is beyond unethical. This is disgusting.’

He leaned forward, “Now tell me what you are doing. I give you five seconds, or else I am going to drag you downstairs, and have that starborn hybrid rip it out of your heads.

They whimpered and mewled at his feet.

“We needed the adaptids.”

“Why!”

They cowered, “Because, because you can’t hybridize without them, the DNA just doesn’t fit. Some of them don’t even have DNA to take genetic information from . The Adaptids are the only ones who can take any genetic material and repurpose it. If we try to do it manually there are always horrific problems. Hybrids are impossible without harvesting from the Adaptids.”

“You mean ripping them apart.”

“Well…. We we try not-”

“I saw what you were doing!” he snarled leaning closer “Do you understand just who you have crossed ?”

They mewled but didn’t answer.

He motioned down at Vicky, “you see her she is one of only six hybrids in existence that should have ever been created, and she is mine so… in essence.” He loomed even more forcibly until the two Tesraki were pressed back against the wall huddled together under his shadow, “You hurt my kid. Do you understand what happens when you hurt a human’s kid?”

They trembled and mewled even more violently.

Adam leaned closer, “You hurt a human’s kid, and you may as well be signing your own death warrant.”

They squealed as the human lifted them off the ground raising them into the air again.

Sunny reached out a hand, “Adam!”

Just then the windows to the facility began to rattle. Through the windows the two of them watched as a fleet of shuttles roared over the distant landscape and came to a stop just outside the facility.

Doors were thrown open and marines thundered down ramps in full gear.

The doors to the front of the building were thrown open.

From down the hall they could hear voices, “Get on the ground!”

“Stay where you are!”

“Alpha 1 this is Ramirez, following tracking signal to last reported location.” Boots thundered down the hall, and the door burst open as three marines spilled into the room their weapons up guns ready, “On the ground all of you!” Ramirez shouted.

Sunny raised her hands.

“Hold off Corporal, it’s us.” 

Ramirez pulled to the stop, “What the fuck happened to you, did you run into a staple gun?”

“Not now Ramirez.” 

He paused eyes looking down at the Adaptid that hunchedat his feet, “is that?”

“Yes.”

“Shit.”  he turned to the radio at his mouthpiece, “Someone get the GA on the line, sweep the building gather everyone up.”

“Leave the hybrids be.”

“Commander says to leave the hybrids alone.”

He dropped the comm and turned to his commander, “Put them down sir, we should let the GA deal with them.”

Adam’s hands shook with anger and his face twisted into a snarl. He clearly did not want to put them down, but lhe knew what was right. The Tesraki pleaded with him. His hands tightened around their throats, and they egan to choke.

“Commander, this isn’t you.”

His arms were shaking.

A hand came down on his shoulder.

“Adam…. Let them go.” Sunny’s soft voice cut through his anger, and finally he dropped them to the ground crumpling at his feet in a heap.

“Get them out of my sight!”

Two of the marines moved forward and dragged the Tesraki out.

Adam turned, and with his hands balled into fists, he stepped out the door and into the hallway where groups of marines were leading rumpled looking scientists and dazed security guards up the Stairs.

He turned as he heard three little voices calling his name up the hall. He turned just in time to see three adaptids racing up the hall with a very bedraggled looking German Shepherd following after. The spiderlings raced forward pulling to a stop in surprise as Vicky peeked out behind his legs.

“Sister!” They announced in unison pushing past him to her.

The dog let off a long, low sigh.

Krill followed after with Conn, “I told you that tracking device would come in handy, though we need a much faster response time next time.”

Adam ignored the smug little alien and turned on his heels making his way down the stairs to where the starborn hybrid was still conducting the raid pointing the marines in the direction of those people trying to hide or escae.

She turned when they entered the room her dark hair billowing around her face, her dark eyes glittering like the smooth black carapace of a beetle. The ribbons fanned out behind her. Conn almost seemed surprised and frowned when she looked at him.

“Say those rude things to me again, and I will broadcast your deepest darkest secrets to the entire city.” She said turning away and cowing their grumpy starborn companion, “Do not worry commander the GA is on their way.”

“Who are you, what are you?”

She turned, smiling, though her eyes were more than a little disconcerting, “I am Eris. The first successful hybrid to be born at this factory. I was made with the idea to start building an indestructible army. The little spider child scuttled up beside her wrapping its hands around her arm. She pointed to the child, “We were prototypes for the original designs, though our production was put on hold when there was a demand for the cute cuddly hybrids.”

“How old are you?” He wondered 

She smiled, “For the reckoning of yours, Less than two years, though my connection to the minds of others has cased me to age very, very quickly. My body aged as well thanks to intervention from the scientists.” She brushed some of her ribbons back, “This knowledge must be destroyed commander. The sentient races cannot be trusted.”

“You are sure.”

“There is always someone out there willing to make profit off of our creation.” She reached down and brushed the hair back from the spider child’s face, “Some of us cannot be loved by others, and that is no life to live. I do not care, who wants a cute hybrid baby. They are part of the problem, and this practice must end with us.’

“I understand.’

She smiled, “You are an honorable man, commander.”  She reached out to touch his hand, “You deserve the world for what you have done for us…. I hope you can also discover the happiness you have been refusing to allow for yourself.”

For the second time that day, he found himself rooted to the floor as she glided away holding the hand of the spider-child.

Conn chuckled inside his head, but otherwise was silent.

What did she mean? 

[pokeheadcannons97]

Due to now knowing rules, can I request bede with a s/o who has a (f) meowstic not liking the relationship, and constantly getting in the way? Please and thank you!

I’m so sorry this took so long!!!! I really loved this ask! Thank you!!!!! 

               Bede had been overjoyed to receive your invitation of a day together in Circhester. The weather forecasted clear skies with a chance of seeing the aurora in the later hours of the night. He had a full itinerary of the places where the two of you should head to, to full enjoy your rare uninterrupted day together.

               You had been busy with studies at your local college, completely swamped with schoolwork from the full sets of classes that you were currently taking. When you had a day off, he was busy with the onset of challengers at the gym. When he had a day off, you were occupied with homework and studying. Both of you had responsibilities that you couldn’t stray away from, so when the two of you both had a day off that lined up together, you decided to make the most of it.

               Bede had arrived at the meeting spot early, he glanced up at the park clock which read a quarter to ten. The snow piled on the top of it as it ticked away quietly in the rush of cars and people in downtown Circhester.

               He spotted a flower shoppe a few buildings down, an idea popping into his head.

—–

He handed the money to clerk as he told him which kinds of flowers to put into the bundle. Once picked and arranged he then chose a f/c ribbon to tie around in a large bow around the stems.

He carefully took the arrangement into his hands. “These look absolutely splendid, thank you.” He told the older shop owner who gave him a warm smile in return.

 “Anytime kiddo, it’s not everyday that I get to work on an arrangement for a gym leader.” He replied with a hearty chuckle, wiping the trimmings into a waste basket below. “Let alone for one that’s going on a date.”

 The blond blinked rapidly, his grasp on the flowers growing tighter.  “Who said anything about it being a date?”

The man let out another chuckle, louder this time. “Oh please son, I’ve been in this business for many years, I know what a fella that’s about to go on a date looks like. You may be a gym leader but you’re still a youngin. Your face is about as red as these roses over here.” He gestured to the big, uncut rose stems he was lining up on his worktable.

Bede was about to protest about how rude it was to assume things when the owner spoke up again. “If you want to have a good look at the aurora tonight, I’d suggest heading up towards the gym. With you being a gym leader, Melony should be able to let you two watch from the roof on top there.” He gave the young boy a wink. “Just a suggestion from an old geezer like me.”

The boy looked down at the bouquet in his hands, then back up to the shop owner. He gave a slight swallow as he tried to make the redness of his cheeks go down. “I’ll see about it, thank you for the advice.” He raised the flowers up a little. “And the arrangement, I’m sure they’ll love it.”

The man gave a light hum in approval. “Take care kiddo.”

Bede walked back to the meet up spot, his pink boots crunching the freshly fallen snow below. It was embarrassing to be so easily read by a stranger. He was usually so used to having the upper hand, to have control of the situation… except when it came to you. You made him a mess, and only you could. Why else would he get these flowers fo-?

“Beeeeeeedeeeee!!”

He looked up from his embarrassing thoughts to see you running from the station over towards him. Your hair was in all sorts of disarray as it stuck out in multiple places under your toboggin.

“You’re here early! If I would’ve known that, I’d catch the earlier train!” You told him while catching your breathe.

Bede gave a light chuckle, and genuine smile. He tucked the unruly strands back into place, fixing your scarf in the process. “Then there wouldn’t be a need for a meet up time, besides, I didn’t wait that long.” He placed the flowers out into your hands. “I used that time wisely though, no need to worry.”

You gave a loud gasp, your cheeks flooding with color. “Bedey! You shouldn’t have!” You marveled at the arrangement in your hands, smoothing a finger over the big bow. “These are gorgeous! And you even got my favorite!”

You leaned forward to give him a sweet kiss on his lips, your other hand that wasn’t holding the arrangement found it’s way to his cheek. “You’re the sweetest ever, thank you.”

Bede’s face flushed himself, but the smile remained on his lips, nonetheless. “I’m glad you like them.” He was about to lean in for another kiss when he felt something nudging in between the two of you.

He looked down and his face immediately fell. “Ah…hello Mochi.”

Mochi was your Meowstic, quite a docile natured female Meowstic usually. She had been your partner Pokemon since you were in middle school. The two of you went everywhere together, and she rarely left your side. Even for such intimate things as a date, much to Bede’s displeasure.

“Mochi! I thought you wanted to nap in your pokeball, silly girl!” You tutted at her, crouching down to your knees to give her head a firm pat, smoothing out the glossy fur.

Mochi leaned her head into your hand a mewed lovingly, her tail swishing back and forth. “Meeeeowwws~”

Bede also reached down to give her a pet, but she stopped him with one of her ears, and eyed him with distain.

“Alright alright, I know they give the best pets anyways.” Bede replied and retracted his hand. “So, do you wanna head out to that café?”

You gave him an excited nod. “Yes! I’m starving!” Your Meowstic purred in agreement, wrapping her tail around your leg. “Maybe they have some sweets that you’ll like Mochi.” You beamed at the psychic pokemon.

‘Wonderful…’ The gym leader though, stuffing a hand into his pocket, and smoothing his curls out with his other. ‘A plus one that absolutely loathes me.’

The day went by exactly as Bede had thought it would, after the new addition.

At the café while the two of you were eating your lunch, Mochi had levitated the spoon out of Bede’s mouth and plopped it down into his bowl of tomato bisque. Which in turn splattered rich red tomato stains all over his cardigan that he just had dry cleaned.

At the theatre, when he had grabbed your hand thinking it was yours, it was in fact Mochi’s who had taken your lap as her seat and swatted at him every time he even attempted to touch you. Eating all the popcorn that he had bought for the two of you. When he had leaned in for a kiss, he was met with a powerful scratch from a shadow claw.

During shopping at the local clothing shoppe, by some odd twist of fate the store was out of all outfits that Bede had taken a liking to, that were in his size. The store owner was even more so confused and repeatedly apologized to Bede and swearing up and down he would figure out why.

The clothes were found in the shoppe’s employees bathroom, tore to literal shreds. You two never went back. 

By the time night had fallen, Bede was beyond exhausted. At every turn and attempt that he had made to be close to you, Mochi had intervened.

She even hacked up a hairball while you two were holding hands on your walk by the water outside of town. Smirking towards Bede as you coddled her and were patting her back.

The two of you had arrived at the gym, snacks and drinks bought before hand to make it more of a leisurely picnic while watching the aurora on top of the gym at the shop owners’ suggestion.

Melony was more than happy to let the two of you use the roof of her gym for your date. Giving you a big warm hug in the process and fixing your hair back into place like a mother would do. She even suggested to use the gym challenge as a sort of couple’s activity.

While Bede insisted that was a bad idea, you were all up for it. Practically grabbing the tongs out of Melony’s hands in excitement.

Bede glanced towards Mochi who sneered at him with her arms crossed, tail swishing back and forth. He gave a sigh, his shoulder’s slumping in tandem. “Let’s do it…”

—-

The three of you cleared the first two levels with ease, you clapping your hands together in happiness and exclaimed loudly. “This was such a good idea! We haven’t even fell once!”

Meowstic mewed loudly with you, raising her hands in the air, sharing your excitement.

Bede watched in amusement and tugged his scarf closer to his body. It was rather easy to clear these levels with Meowstic’s superb sense of hearing. She had maneuvered the three of them through each hidden pitfall carefully. Not allowing any harm to come to you, or him.

Though he knew that if she had her way, he would be underneath the ice time after time.

You marched forward with her to begin the next level of the challenge, when you heard the whirring of machines all around you.

Mist, and thick fog began to emit from the fans up on the gym’s ceiling. It quickly settled down upon the three of you, and obscured the previously clear sight in front of you into a dense, icy haze.

You gave a slight shudder; the room grew even colder when those fans were turned on. “N-Now we can’t see?! This just keeps getting cooler and cooler!” you said eagerly and turned around to Bede. “Isn’t this the absolute best sweetie? We’re gonna clear this next one so quick, we’re gonna be faster than a Snorlax chasing lunch!”

Bede laughed at your childlike behavior, giving you a pat on the head before Mochi could swat him away. “We’d better hurry, but we gotta be extra careful, okay?” He reminded you and you nodded at him in response.

The three of you began to carefully trek the unsteady floor in front of you. Mochi had her ears up in full concentration, using her psychic power to help lead her away from the multiple traps that lay hidden underneath the ice. And all was going well up until the end.

With what seemed like a clear few steps away from the finish line, Mochi had gotten overly excited in wanting to beat Bede, she ran right over the final trap on the floor.

The ice began cracking under her small feet and she let out a small squeak as she fully expected to hit the lightly padded floor below.

…

But it never came.

The Pokemon cautiously opened one of her red eyes to peer at the pink cardigan that was previously stained by her with tomato bisque. The pokemon then fixed her gaze up to Bede who had managed to catch her in time to cushion the fall from above.

The gym leader groaned slightly, using on hand to prop himself and the Meowstic up. The other he used to rub his now slightly aching back. “Ugh…”

Mochi continued to stare, bewildered at Bede’s actions. The two of them didn’t get along, the pokemon didn’t agree with the relationship because she was highly critical of anyone that came close to her trainer. Let alone in intimate terms such as dating.

But if they didn’t get along, why did he save her?

Mochi mewed softly to Bede. “Murr?”

Violet eyes met with red ones and Bede offered Mochi a smile. “Hey, are you hurt?”

The pokemon shook her head and then nuzzled against his hand softly. “Meow…stic.”

The two of them looked up as they heard frantic footsteps.

“Bede! Mochi! Are you two alright?” You were on your hands and knees from above looking down with a concerned expression on your face.  

Bede gave a thumbs up and a smile, your Meowstic cheering loudly.

After helping Mochi and Bede up out of the hidden trap, you all found an alternative route to the finish line, and successfully finished the challenge.

Melony was waiting at the end to offer her congratulations, and the key to the roof as a “prize”.

You gave another cheer, wrapping your arms around Bede and pulling him into a kiss.

Bede kissed back happily and halfway expected to be interrupted. But he wasn’t.

After he pulled away from you, he peered down towards Mochi who was standing there quietly, looking away from the two of you with her paws together in front of her. Oddly quiet, and non-mischievous for once in her life.

The leader was confused at the Pokemon, but didn’t say anything as the three made their way up to the roof. As they arrived, the new gush of cold air hit everyone at once, causing a shiver to run through each of them simultaneously.

“Let’s get that blanket out yeah?” you suggested, wrapping your hands over your chilled arms.

When Bede had finished laying out the blanket on the cold roof’s floor, and another heavier blanket that quickly followed. You practically launched yourself under it’s cozy embrace and held it open for himself and Mochi to join into.

You dug into your backpack and pulled out several snacks and a thermos full of apple cider and poured your Meowstic some first. She in turn took a large sip and cooed appreciatively.

You then offered Bede a glass of his own, then settled in next to him. Mochi right in the middle of you two.

Once the three of you were comfortable it wasn’t long until a familiar streak of light made its way onto the sky, casting colors from pale blue to florescent pink all through the nighttime sky.

    You let out another gasp, while taking pictures with your rotom phone, totally entranced.

     Bede felt a small weight against his knee as Mochi settled herself next to him and licked at her paw to rub against her face to rid it of the sweet cider she had previously drank earlier. He wrapped a arm around you and petted your Meowstic’s fur softly, listening to her coos of delight.

    The day might not had gone as Bede originally planned, but it did end on a sweeter note. And that he was grateful for.

[hollerace]

Mrs. Wahlstrom--Feb 5, 2021

How do you get into a fight the first time you see someone? When you’re the ripe old age of six? That’s the way it happened with Lloyd Tichey and me. We had just moved in to Midfield Avenue. I saw a kid across the street, playing between the two garages that took up the block. I crossed the street to inspect and got pelted with a clod of dirt for my trouble. I found a hiding spot and armed myself. After a brief fusillade, I poked my head out; so did Lloyd, who said, “My mom’s got iced tea.” Within first sips, our friendship was cemented. Lloyd was younger than I, not by much. He was a bit taller (who wasn't?) and better at sports and games. The surrounding streets were our arena, with plenty of kids and fewer cars. Were moms really allowed to drive? Not in our neighborhood. It didn’t take us long to confront a common enemy. Mrs. Wahlstrom lived next to me and anointed herself the personal enemy of kids having fun. She appeared regularly in attempts to quelch our enjoyment. Some of the games could attain high volume levels, particularly kickball. The sport was similar to baseball. An inflated ball would be rolled to the “batter.” You can figure out the rest. Four bases, hits, runs, enjoyment. Wacky Wahlstrom, as we called her, used her porch as her pulpit. Fortunately for us, she was a native Swedish (we guessed) speaker. Diatribes, accompanied by boney, croney finger-points, began with, “You keeds,” followed by screechy, unintelligible syllables, accented with various avian screeches, hoots and gabbling. Since she was a grownup, we didn’t sass her back, nor did we listen to her admonitions. Occasionally, a ball would find its way onto her porch. The nearest kid would race up there to retrieve the precious piece before she could confiscate it. Lloyd Tichey (pronounced “Ticky”) feared her least. He would march right up to Mrs. Wahlstrom and face her down until she surrendered whatever she had just nicked from us. One time, during a game break, I opined, “I wonder if there was ever a Mister Wahlstrom?” Several theories ensued. Lloyd’s stance was, “There was a guy, once. He musta killed himself.” We howled. Lloyd had an older brother, Barry, who was in my grade. He was quiet, virtually tacit, forever riding his bike down to Birch Creek to fish. An even older brother (Jimmy, I think) lived elsewhere. He was wild-eyed with bushy uneven hair and given to loud forms of addressing anyone. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING, TIMMY?” he would shriek as he raced from his car to the house. I never knew how to answer him. Mr. Tichey was a dapper, tanned, mustachioed man who travelled for work. His wife always looked furrowed; she seemed to worry a weathered washcloth in her hands as she walked about the neighborhood. She was followed everywhere by Baby Myra, a rotund little girl whose face needed constant swipes by her mom’s accessory. Their house smelled of cabbage. All the kids looked to Lloyd for leadership. He was a skilled organizer of games--a natural arbiter. If there was ever a problem, Lloyd seemed to rule. For a time, Dark Mark Longuiel, who lived down by The Field, started hanging around our street. He readily disagreed with anyone, and always seemed champing for a dispute. He even got mad at Ellen Botsford, who was far and away the prettiest girl who played with us. (Yes, we needed no Title IX; we just naturally went co-ed.). Lloyd Tichey got in his face. Harsh words, no blows, no Mark. As we grew, street play lost its popularity. We rarely saw Mrs. Wahlstrom. Once, when she was inching her ancient DeSoto down the driveway at a glacier’s pace, little Martin Botsford yelled, “Hey, Wacky Wahlstrom!” Lloyd immediately shut him down. “Leave her be,” he said sharply. Little Martin was already growing into quite the pain. But the little old lady seemed to fade into her dun, once-burgundy house. “She must have eighty Wiffle Balls in there,” remarked Lloyd one time. He remained an untitled leader in the ‘hood, but I was his consigliere, so to speak. Lloyd would ask me Big Questions. Many of these were about the aforementioned Ellen Botsford.

We were approaching the age where kickball dimmed in intergender activities. Most summer evenings, we played a game of Chase. This was a sort of an offshoot of the classic pastime, but much more hiding was effected as opposed to any seeking. I was just emerging from one of my favorite lairs, behind Crabby Creiner’s shed. I just happened to spy Lloyd Tichey and Ellen Botsford sneaking out of Muldoon’s lot, which provided excellent leafy cover. They were holding hands.

Wait! What? Suddenly, the rules of every game changed. Such manual interlocking was a brave, new world to a pre-shaving Catholic boy, at once exciting and terrifying. But Lloyd and Ellen? No way! No wonder all the questions.

I guess I liked some girls. There was a brief crush on Lisa Longborg, who was our eighth-grade lunch monitor. A veritable amazon at five-seven, she would camp at Sister’s desk while we ate on days too wet for recess. I would invent reasons to approach the desk while she sat there, imperious over her bologna-on-Wonder (pencil-sharpening was a good one), managing to sneak glances at her ever-burgeoning mammarial development. I wasn’t the only boy to attempt this ruse.

There was also the exotic, raven-tressed Ann Marie Pandolfo, whose glamour faded for me when she ironed a Paul Anka image on the back of her coat. This also garnered the disapproval of The Good Sisters.

I barely had the chance to recover from this tectonic shift in my life-views when another tremor hit. Lloyd announced that his family was moving up to Northfield, a suburb some ten miles north of town.

It seems Mr. Tichey had earned some sort of promotion at work, enabling his brood to improve their lifestyles. I was forlorn at first, then resigned.

The school year was bearable (Lloyd went to the public school), but that first summer loomed dusty, empty and stifling. There was the LAG (Lark Avenue Gang) for fun, just a couple of blocks away. Games of Chase still took place. Again I hid alone, noticing that more and more couples were pairing off.

My father even drove me up to Northford once to visit. The streets had no sidewalks or phone poles, with names like Chipshot Road or Rolling Mews Lane.

The Ticheys had a big, split-level ranch, a bigger yard. As neat as it was to see Lloyd, the entire scenario loomed disjoint, foreign. Even Baby Myra seemed clean, and the  house didn’t smell of cabbage

.I didn’t realize our city was slowly draining. People, stores and services were migrating. And a friendship faded, tattered pages of memories from a book hidden away on a musty shelf.

Not long after, I went off to Campion Prep; Lloyd ended up at Northfield High. I found the drums and Lloyd did the same for basketball. Our teams never played each other, for my school kept  an urban schedule. But the Despatch would cover Lloyd’s games, where his star would shine brighter as we neared graduation.

No sports legend, I even took Ellen Botsford to the movies once. She later ditched me for a Campion U. guy who had a sleek Honda bike. Who could blame her?

When I returned home after my freshman year at Sacre Coeur College, I fielded an odd phone call. It was from Mrs. Tichey. Her voice trembled as she told me how Lloyd had joined the Marines right after graduation. This unnerved me. I had thought for sure that a hoops scholarship awaited him. I asked for a way to get in touch. She gave me an FPO address. I wrote to him in vain.

Two summers later, I was rehearsing nightly with a local band, awaiting our maiden visit to a recording studio. One evening, a long Cadillac convertible pulled up to the house. Inside was Lloyd Tichey, in civilian clothes, but looking every bit the cut-and-pressed Marine.

Surprised, I hopped in, and we drove down to Lady’s, the seawall where Park Terrace met the Sound. It was his father’s ride, but Lloyd produced some cold Schaefers.

“I’m sick of this Honor Guard, shit, Timmy,” he began. An influential state senator from Northfield had arranged for Lloyd to secure this light-duty post at the governor’s mansion in Hartford.

“But, Lloyd,” I said, “this keeps you out of the war. Easy going.”

“Bullshit. Anyone can carry a flag. I’m a Marine; I want to fight.” I saw this was no time to voice my concerns over the Viet mess we had gotten into. His anger blossomed: sharp eyes, tightened features. I felt the tension.

We drank in silence. We both knew an argument was futile. As he dropped me off, we shared a brief hug, something we had never done as kids.

Our lives, like two opposing streams, changed courses, each divining its own path, surging forward in separate worlds.The ne

xt May, I read in the paper about Operation Georgia in Viet Nam. What made me notice was that the 9th Marines were involved. Lloyd’s unit.

I didn’t get a phone call. Reading the article in the Despatch galvanized my spine. I didn’t care about the heroes in Quang Nam province. But the article did include that a Lloyd Tichey of Northford wouldn’t be returning home. His remains, however, would.

I gleaned that there would be full military honors at Quantico, but not until a viewing was scheduled here in the city.My mom had sold the house by then, but on the day of the wake, I drove down Midfield Avenue. Why? An unseen force directed me down our old street. Maybe I wasn’t that surprised to see a cab pulled up next door to my old house.

I parked and walked over to the cabbie. “What’s the fare?”

“Some Mrs. Wallstorm. Goin’ ta Wolke’s funeral parlor. Sposta wait.”

I tipped him and told him to grab a better fare. Soon, she appeared on her porch. Hunched over like a question mark, she made for the stairs. I hustled over to help her. How old could she be? She seemed ancient when we were kids. I cradled her elbow as she descended.

“I gotcha, Mrs. Wahlstrom,” I said. She finally looked up, peering at me through veiled, powdery crinkles. I was afraid her arm, impossibly frail, would collapse under my grip.

“Oh,” she said, “leetle Teemy. We go see Lloyd, no?”

We drove the mile or so in silence. Every other time I had listened to her, she was yelling at me. This, somehow, seemed more appropriate.

My buddy, Juice Staley, worked at Wolke’s, so he procured a wheelchair for my passenger, who seemed grateful. We briefly stood beside the closed casket, bedecked with Old Glory. We were greeted by a forlorn Mrs. Tichey, looking uncomfortable in a dress. No husband in sight. She was propped up by Myra, now a young woman. I could see Mrs. Tichey’s washcloth lingering on a nearby chair. Jimmy, no longer wild-eyed, comforted Barry. The scene was fraught with an uncomfortable confusion.

 No one seemed to recognize Mrs. Whalstrom, and I saw no fruit in explaining who she was. Some folks, obviously from the suburbs, entered to pay respects. This eased my tautness. Mrs. Wahlstrom gave me a look that said, “Enough,” and we made our way out.

We passed a Marine officer, all gussied up in his dress blues. He said, “Folks, you might want to stay. We are having a color guard, and an armed salute…”

Mrs. Wahlstrom, still in her wheelchair, was having none of this. “YOU GO TO HELL, MEESTER! ALL YOU KNOW IS FIGHT! FOR WHAT? TO KEEL YOUNG BOYS LIKE LLOYD!”

The man bristled and said, “You best get her out of here, you damned hippie,” he said. I answered with a mock, left-handed salute.

All Mrs. W. could manage on the drive home was, “I guess I told heem!”

At her house, she said, “You come in for tea, Teemy. You must.” How could I refuse this?I had never dared to venture through the door before this moment. I was a bit frightened as I did so. “You seet, Teemy,” she said, leading me into a living room. I rested, cradled in comfy cushions bedecked with lace antimacassars. I could smell the furniture polish and soak in the patina of age that seemed to settle on everything.

Then, I shot out of my seat, drawn to an opposite wall. It was covered with decorations, almost a shrine. There were dreamed newspaper clippings (“Tichey Scores 38 in Tourney Win”); pictures of Lloyd as an All-Stater. Handshakes, trophies: a celebration of Lloyd’s career. Looking further, I could see clips from my Who’s Who in American Colleges honors. Even that shot from an old Billboard when they handed out those Sesame Street gold records.

I stood there, in awe (was it joy? terror?) as she brought in the tea. She sensed my questions as we sat.“

I had no keeds, Teemy. You and Lloyd--good boys. Noisy but good. So I follow you, like you was my own boys.”

As the murky, late-afternoon sun slithered through the blinds, I could hear the thump of a ball and the shouts of youth. I fought tears mightily.

Somehow, it all made sense.

[stronglyobsessed]

Hartwin father/son Fathers Day - Eggsy and eggsy’s little one give Harry a grandpa present for Father’s Day

Okay! So this turned out A LOT longer than I thought! It is 2.5K and I hope you enjoy!!!

Thank you SO much for such a cute prompt!

*It’s long so located under*

Here is the link for it on AO3!

Manners Maketh Grandfather

“Daddy!” A small voice called beside his ear. Eggsy rolled toward the sound, one eye cracked open to see a crystal blue set staring at him. “Happy Father’s Day!” Caleb claimed happily.

Before Eggsy could properly thank his four year old, a homemade card with ‘Happy Father’s Day’ written in his wife’s beautiful cursive on the front was thrust into view. Although the little hearts, cupcakes, flowers and stick figure form of what could only be Eggsy and Caleb, were clearly his son’s work. Behind him Tilde stood holding a plate that contained a generous stack of pancakes, eggs and bacon. She was immaculate, of course, with her blonde hair tossed in a messy bun. A tired smile lit her face, as her other palm mindlessly rubbed her protruding stomach.

“Thank you!” Eggsy leaned over the side to collect his son, bringing him under the sheets to cuddle him close. Caleb went without complaint, as always, and instinctively curled against Eggsy’s chest. He made sure to take the construction paper card and place it on the nightstand; he’d look at it later, right now he wanted a snuggle.

Caleb stayed put for a whole five minutes before he scurried back out, taking Eggsy’s card with eager hands. “I made this for you, Daddy!”

Eggsy beamed happily at his boy, Tilde now moved to sit next to them while Eggsy sat propped against the headboard. Caleb clambered to rest between his legs, giving Eggsy his card to read.

“Mama helped me with the words.” But Eggsy could see where his son tried to write his name. “But I told her what to say!”

“You did,” Tilde confirmed. She reached out to brush blonde wayward strands from their son’s forehead. “And he even helped me make breakfast!”

“I love it!” Eggsy promised after he read it aloud and dropped a loving kiss to the crown of Caleb’s head. “And I can’t wait to eat what you’ve made! Helping Mama cook, you’re getting so big!” His heart hurt at the reality. Their first baby wasn’t such a baby, and next fall he’d start nursery school just as they’d welcome their daughter.

“How's my princess doing?” Eggsy reached forward to rub where his girl resided. There was a soft kick against his palm. “Hello my love, good morning, Daddy loves you,” he cooed, just as he always did every day.

“She’s right as rain, sitting on my bladder and using it as her personal trampoline.” Tilde covered his hand with hers. She gave a quick squeeze before letting go, and took the tray to place over Eggsy’s lap, which also covered Caleb’s. “Happy Father’s Day, darling.” She murmured, lips hovered his skin before she pressed a tender kiss to his forehead.

Eggsy tipped his face, a hand cradled her cheek to guide into a full, delicate kiss. “Thank you. I love you.”

“I love you too.” She promised with an elated grin as Caleb made a face.

“Stop kissing! Daddy has to eat now!” Both parents laughed.

Eggsy tucked in as his son instructed, his son assisted in the consumption of his pancakes. It was perfect, a little noisy as Caleb romped around the bed with JB, but one of the best Father’s Day. Although Eggsy found himself saying that each year since becoming a dad.

“Come my little love. Time for a wash up and proper clothes.” Tilde herded Caleb off the bed. “Remember we have to finish the surprise for Grandpa, yes?” She added, just as Caleb began to make his ‘I’m going to have a strop’ face.

Thankfully the mention of Grandpa had a smile on his face and rushing to toddle beside his mother. Eggsy watched with fond eyes as they left so he could get himself ready as well. He sent a quick text to confirm their meeting, of course he was reminded to be punctual. Which was fucking hilarious, because the man had little regard for punctuality in his career.

“Are we ready?” Eggsy held Caleb’s black peacoat for him to slip his little arms into. “You sure you’re okay here, babe?” He worried as Caleb plucked small feet into trainers identical to Eggsy’s. But today he wore a casual pair of dark grey trousers, a hunter green button down and a freshly shined pair of oxfords.

Caleb was dressed just as nicely, but refused to wear the oxfords his Grandpa had bought him. “Ready!” He proclaimed. “Mama, I can carry it!” Caleb made grabby hands for the box that contained what he and Tilde had made.

“I’m fine, Eggsy.” She assured him. “Don’t run with them, okay?” Tilde carefully placed it into Caleb’s waiting arms. “And be good for daddy, make sure to give Grandpa my love.” She lay a soft kiss to his hairline. “I love you.”

“Love you too, Mama! Bye!”

Eggsy placed a hand on the top of the eager one's head; Caleb ready to bolt out the door. “Hold it bud. Daddy has to say goodbye too!” He cupped Tilde’s face with his freehand, coaxing her in for a tender sweep of lips. “Take care of my girl.” He touched her tummy, where their daughter danced against his palm. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” She promised, and they were off.

The drive to the Mews was short from the small home he lived in now. After Tilde renounced her title as Princess, and stepped away from the crown, they moved back to London. Eggsy continued to work for Kingsman, but on more local missions and the occasional overseas recon assignments. Nothing ever as risky as when he’d first become an agent. After the whole Golden Circle scare, and the loss of so many, they found the world a little less littered with insane, psychopathic villains...at least for now.

“We’re here!” Eggsy announced. Caleb cheered from his car seat, as if he didn’t have weekly visits here, or Sunday dinners at Grandpa’s. He collected his son, the homemade gifts and a box Eggsy had stowed away in the boot, and made their way to the door.

“I can press the button, Daddy?”

“Sure.” It was work to hold Caleb and juggle their offerings so that a tiny finger could press the doorbell. “Ah ah!” Eggsy cautioned when he started to push it again. “Let’s give him a minute, yeah?”

“Okay,” Caleb sighed mournfully. He’d end up spamming his grandfather with a string of chimes, if Eggsy allowed it.

He started to lose his grip on Caleb as he wiggled, getting restless that he couldn’t make the doorbell ring again, but just as Eggsy repositioned Caleb he heard precise footsteps approach the door. Caleb let out an ear shattering cheer when the door was opened, and Harry caught the small body that lunged toward his person.

“Caleb!” Eggsy hissed. “That is not polite!” But it appeared every ounce of manners, polite behavior and lessons to be a proper gentleman went out the window as Harry swung the boy onto a hip and hugged him.

Sometimes it was hard for Eggsy to separate Arthur and Harry at home. The man was a bit different since he’d ‘died’ and come back to life.

“Happy Father’s Day!” Caleb crowed. “We brought presents!”

Harry’s smile was soft, the softest Eggsy had ever seen it, and only for his son. “That was very generous of you, Caleb, but shouldn’t you be spending the day with your Daddy?” Eggsy kept Caleb’s presence a secret, but it looked like the older man enjoyed it quite a bit.

“Daddy’s here!” Caleb pointed out, with a face that could only be inherited from Eggsy.

“Yes, I am here. May I come in?” Eggsy grinned cheekily as Harry stepped aside, his arms filled with his boy, and the sight was something Eggsy would never tire of. “Happy Father’s Day.” He was finally able to wish Harry, giving him a half hug because Caleb dominated the other side, and pressed a loving kiss to Harry’s weathered cheek.

“Thank you, Eggsy.” He could hear the emotion stuck in Harry’s throat, as his remaining eye watered a bit. “Now.” Harry turned back to Caleb. Much like every time Caleb was in Harry’s presence, Eggsy took a back seat, and it’d been that way since the day his son was born; he didn’t mind a whit. “Shall we have tea, young man?”

“And open presents?!” Both men laughed at his excitement.

“We can.” Harry threaded fingers through Caleb’s blond strands. “Come. I have a full set in the sitting room. I think I even have a few biscuits for you.”

Eggsy wanted to argue that it wasn’t even lunchtime, but the words died on his lips when Caleb tightened small arms around Harry’s neck and a loud, wet kiss was slammed against his cheek. He wouldn’t deny his child, or the man he considered a father for over ten years, the simple joys that they seemed to bring one another.

They settled in, cuppas poured, and Eggsy sat watching two of his favorite men talk adamantly to one another. Though the conversation was led primarily by Caleb, who told Grandpa all of the neat things he’d done at home with his mother, and the mention of Tilde resulted in a thoughtful gaze from Harry.

“She’s good.” Eggsy reassured. “Trudging along with our little lady growing. Both are healthy and safe.” He was bloody excited for their daughter to be born.

“Good, I’m glad to hear that. Please pass on my love and well wishes to both ladies.”

“I will.”

That was about all Eggsy was able to get in before his son monopolized Harry’s time. Though it didn’t seem like the man minded at all. He never pegged Harry to be a kid person, but as soon as Caleb entered the world, Harry was determined to be the best pseudo grandfather. Eggsy and Tilde had formally asked him to be when he visited hospital, and Eggsy wouldn’t speak to a soul that Harry had wept a little.

“Caleb,” Eggsy said after an hour. “I know you really like talking to Grandpa, but how about we let him open what we brought?” The reminder caused his boy to hop up, darting off of the sofa and collected all that his small hands could hold.

“For you!” Caleb shoved them in Harry’s lap, and crawled to sit beside Harry once more. “I made mine. Daddy didn’t!”

Harry bit his lip, an amused glint in his eye. “Well, I’m sure your Daddy put a lot of thought into it as well, hm?” Caleb nodded enthusiastically. “This is a charming card. You made it all by yourself?” Harry held a piece of construction paper similar to Eggsy’s.

“Yep! Mama helped with the words!”

“Well done,” he praised Caleb. And much like his father the boy preened, always willing to receive compliments and praise for his work. “Now what have we in the box?” Harry waited with all the patience any grandparent would have, as Caleb grabbed said blue, white striped box and handed it to Harry. “Is this your handy work as well?” Harry wondered as he opened the top.

“Yeah! But Mama used the oven. I can’t.” Caleb sounded displeased by that. “I mixed and helped pour the batter in. Then we frosted them!”

Inside were a dozen chocolate raspberry cupcakes; Harry’s absolute favorites. Leave it to Tilde to ensure Harry got precisely what he enjoyed, instead of the vanilla and buttercream frosted ones Caleb would have suggested.

“Now isn’t this a treat.” There was clear restraint in Harry’s brown eye as he stared at the sweets. “I will be sure to have one after supper.” He nodded, closing the lid and set them aside like he wouldn’t dig right into them once they left.

“Do you like them?” Just as the question was spoken, Harry scooped Caleb into his lap to give a big, full armed hug.

“I love them so much. Thank you, Caleb.” Harry dropped a soft kiss to Caleb’s head.

“Good!” Caleb crowed, wrapping his little arms around Harry, or as near as he could. “Daddy.” He turned to Eggsy. “You have to give Grandpa your presents now.” Eggsy nodded as he collected the long, thin box he had beside him.

It was wrapped in shiny silver paper with an equally shiny blue bow on top.

“Here you are.” Eggsy handed it over with a soft smile. He had a lot more patience than his son when it came to gratitude and praise for gifts. And he supposed that had to do with being thirty five, though Harry would argue the patience wasn’t extended to work; he was right.

“Oh, Eggsy,” Harry breathed. A hand swept over the polished wood handle of the rainmaker, as the other curved to cradle the taffeta canopy and lifted it out. “This is gorgeous.” The awe in Harry’s voice was well deserved. It was the newest model Kingsman had to offer.

“Comes with all the bells and whistles.” Eggsy promised, even as his son scrunched his nose; clearly unimpressed with something so mundane. “There’s a message engraved, too.”

Harry smiled tenderly as he turned it to read the inscription. “Manners Maketh Man.” He gave a whispered chuckle. “Thank you.” Eggsy heard the emotion beneath two simple words.

He marveled at it for a moment longer before Harry stood to wrap Eggsy in a warm, tight embrace. Eggsy returned the affection in kind, tipping his face to give a delicate kiss against Harry’s wet cheek; a few tears slipped despite his saying so.

Harry cleared his throat, swiping at his face to get rid of the moisture. “This has been lovely. You both have outdone yourselves.”

This time, both Caleb and Eggsy gave identical sheepish grins. After the paper and rubbish was cleared away, they enjoyed another cuppa and helped Harry tidy up. Just as Eggsy loaded the last plate into the dishwasher, his phone pinged with a text from Tilde.

“Hey.” Eggsy got Harry’s attention. He gestured to the front door and said, “You feel like joining us for dinner? Tild is making Beef Wellington.” Harry’s eye lit up. “We would have plenty,” Eggsy promised before Harry could ask.

“Yeah! You have to come, Grandpa!” Caleb already bombarded Harry before he could even speak a word. “And you can tell me a story before bed.” He shifted pleading blue eyes toward Eggsy. “Right, Daddy?”

“Of course! Grandpa is more than welcome to take over tuck in time. If he’d like.”

Harry scoffed, clearly offended there was even a question. “I really don’t want to be trouble. It is Father’s Day, and you should spend it with your family.” It was Eggsy’s turn to feel insulted.

“Dad,” Eggsy murmured, a name he used on and off in the recent years. The way Harry’s breath caught tugged at Eggsy’s heart; Harry was not used to hearing it still. Eggsy took Harry’s hand and held it. “You are family, and we’d be honored if you came.”

It only took a second for Harry to compose himself, evident that Eggsy’s declaration of his spot in the family caught him off guard, but it turned out in the best possible way.

“I’ll get my coat.”

Eggsy’s ears were filled with Caleb’s cheering and the quiet sound of Harry sniffling as he donned his jacket.

As Eggsy thought earlier, it was the best Father’s Day ever.

[endofjunee]

📚 Drunk in Love (last thing I remember) by @lovehoperomance He’s stumbling to the left of the street, hopeful that it’s in the direction of his flat, when he sees it. A food truck. Lit up in gold. It's as if God has taken a giant highlighter and drawn a halo around it. Okay, so it might be the streetlight shining down on it and the yellow light emanating from within...but Louis will still claim godly intervention if anyone asks.

He weaves across the pavement, shivering in what he now realises is a very brisk London evening, coated in fog.

“Hello. Hi.” Louis steps in front of the entire line, waving an aimless hand at the man in the truck who looks completely bewildered by Louis’ antics. The man is littered in tattoos and wearing a green headscarf that matches the sea foam of his eyes. “Do you have any fried chicken? Or a drink? Oh, oh, do you have chips? Oh please tell me you have chips?”

The man’s face, which Louis faintly registers is quite angular, shifts from bewilderment into a stunning, slightly crooked smile.

Or, the one where Louis wakes up, naked, in a stranger's bed and has no idea how he got there. Maybe it's foul play. Maybe it's just the kindness of a handsome stranger amused by his drunken antics. 🌹 Save A Horse, Ride A Cowboy by @chloehl10 Harry whimpered as Louis pushed himself up onto his tiptoes, grazing his ear lobe with his lips. His breath tickled Harry’s ears, and Harry swallowed, already anticipating what Louis was about to say.

“I’d like to ride you, cowboy…”

Or, Harry's a barman at Flaming Saddles, a country and western themed gay bar.

Louis’ a customer who’d like to see if the tall barman is as good on the ropes as everyone says he is...

📚 And That’s The Tea by @2tiedships2​ I’d like an Earl Grey with milk and sugar, please.

Louis had the phrase memorized, even though it had disappeared off its place on his upper arm over thirteen years ago now.

At fourteen he didn’t understand. Soulmarks don’t just disappear. Not unless…

Unless one of them dies.

Or, the one where Louis loses his soulmate before even getting the chance to meet them, and he is in no way prepared for the kind of distraction his new friend Harry proves to be. 🌹 I’ll Fly Away by @vintage-harry​ “Harold,” Louis spoke, but not too loud. He didn’t want to startle the cat pile. “Louis? What are you doing home?” Harry greeted him with a toothy smile. “Why are there three cats?” Louis pointed at the third one. “That’s Hail. He’s so sweet.” Louis blinked and shook his head slightly. “Why is he on the sofa, in the house, on the cats?” “He lives here now,” Harry stated as if Louis should already be aware of this. He was not aware of this news until now. “Since when?” He poked the cat in the head, his tiny black curtained head with white ears popped up. He mewed softly before blinking a few times. Louis thinks he looked offended. He looked at Harry expectantly. Harry looked fond. “For three days now.” He smiled at Louis. It reminded him of Dori smiling at Marlin in Finding Nemo.

Or, Louis and Harry live in a small town in Texas of just over 500 people and Harry seems to be growing cats in his garden. Love and fluff.  📚 Baby Honey 2.0 by @vintage-harry​ A few weeks passed by and Louis had spent a large portion of his time with incognito mode on as he Googled ways to hint at pregnancies. He came up with a few ideas but was impatient and felt uncreative at any idea. The most he read about was for online announcements. Louis decided one day while he was at Niall’s with two kittens laying on his stomach to take a photo and post it. He knew Harry would see it pretty quickly as he had Louis’ Instagram notifications on.

Louis held his phone out and took a few shots of the sleeping kittens on his stomach, thumbed through them and found the one he liked best and posted it with the caption, “Three little kittens” he hit post and waited. It didn’t take long, ten minutes later Harry left a comment asking where the third kitten was. Louis rolled his eyes and deleted the photo.

Or, Louis is pregnant this time and tries to find creative ways to hint about it to Harry. Only it doesn’t go as planned. 🌹 fuck fake friends by @artxghoul​ It’s better to just stay away. So he does. He tries his very best to. It’s just weird when you can’t be happy for someone. When you can’t encourage their achievements anymore, because they did it alone or with someone else, when it was supposed to be with you. Harry was supposed to always be with Louis.

Or, if you love someone, set them free. if they don't come back, text them when you're drunk. 📚 The Daddiest Place on Earth by @chloehl10​ dilfs_atdisneyworld: Ooh he's popular. Is it me or has it got hot in here? #dilf #hothothot #gimme

louist91: What the hell? Why the fuck am I on a DILFs page again?"

dilfs_atdisneyworld: louist91, Hello! You're on here because you're a DILF. A dad I'd like to f...😜

Louist91: dilfs_atdisneyworld Oh my god. Fuck off mate.

Or, Louis. Harry. Instagram. A whole lot of confusion and a whole lot of laughs... 🌹 Harry Poppins by @jacaranda-bloom​ When Louis’ best friends pass away he finds himself with an instant family. Maddie and Thomas are wonderful children but take an immediate dislike to every nanny that sets foot inside their house. After nanny number six is summarily dismissed Louis is at his wit’s end, that is until an unusual man arrives on their doorstep. Harry Styles is like nothing any of them have ever encountered before, and perhaps, exactly what they’ve been looking for all along.  📚 tonight’s not over (come over and stay) by @microlouis​ Zayn doesn’t say anything for a moment, pausing and worrying at his bottom lip. Finally, he asks, “Have you heard that Cox guy is coming out with a new song?” Louis freezes, fingers hovering over his keyboard where they had been typing his password.

“No, I hadn’t,” Louis says truthfully. “Where did you hear that?” “Tell anyone this and I’ll kill you, but I’d consider myself a big fan,” Zayn says. His face doesn’t change in expression, completely serious as he admits this to Louis. “Big fan? Like run a blog and everything?” Or, harry is a famous singer and louis is a student who just wants to write his novel. 🌹 Fiction Romance by @rougeandtonic​ Harry has a type.

He likes older, sophisticated, mature men. Well-educated men. Men with life experience and passion for arts and social causes. Men who are established in their careers, who've sorted their lives out.

Niall knows this.

And so Harry can't understand why he's sat here opposite Louis Tomlinson.

Or, a punk Louis/uni Harry blind date AU. 📚 Hope when the moment comes, you’ll say I did it all by SilverShadow1  Standing in front of them with an amused smile was an — there really was no other suitable word to describe him — angelic creature. Soft brown hair that was shaved on the sides and bright blue eyes that Harry had only seen in photos of the ocean; the lad was probably close in age to himself, yet seemed entirely boyish.

“Dad, put me down!” demanded Jess with no malice in her voice. Harry looked down in surprise, forgetting that she was in his right arm. “Oops,” he said, flushing. That caused the other lad to laugh. “Hi,” said the man at the door.

Or, the one where Louis is a piano teacher and Harry and his daughter are goners for him. 🌹 Graphic design is my passion by @kingsofeverything Graphic design student Louis Tomlinson has exams to study for and final art projects to complete, if it would stop raining long enough for him to walk across campus. Luckily Harry Styles has an umbrella, and he’s perfectly willing to share.

Louis doesn’t plan to get his heart broken and he doesn’t plan to make almost a hundred silicone dildos. One of these things definitely happens. 📚 i gotta get better! by @dystopianharry  Harry’s sex life has been pretty nonexistent since he broke up with his last non-soulmate boyfriend. after a chance encounter with someone online, he decides to enlist them to help him out. no strings attached, obviously.

Or, soulmates can feel each others’ pain and harry has some kinks he wants to explore. 🌹 Dreaming of You by @mizzwilde The Begrudging Starbucks AU.

The world is winter and steamed milk and creamy espresso shots. The world is a never ending queue. The world is a Starbucks logo and a pink-cheeked smile from Niall and a bored scowl from Zayn and the world is Louis watching his best mate, Liam, fall in love with their newest customer, Harry. Who may or may not be in love with Louis. The world is cruel. 📚 Through a Mirror Dimly by @londonfoginacup​ Louis Tomlinson, in his third year at university, does not expect nor want the roommate that is being assigned to his room.

Harry Styles, in his first year at university, has just been kicked out of one dorm and doesn't want to deal with yet another snobby, rich roommate.

They don't get along, and that's just how it is, until circumstances force them to reevaluate. 🌹 Raise a Glass to the Four of Us by @2tiedships2 Louis stared at his luggage.

Well. Apparently not his luggage, because the clothing he was looking at currently was a: worth more than everything he currently possessed, b: not his size at all, and c: more suited for a fancy ass lawyer than a holiday in NYC with his best mates.

“Ooh, nice loafers,” Niall said as he pulled one out of the suitcase. “I love the rainbows.”

“Okay,” Liam began. “What do you want to do first? Eat, shop for new clothes, or spend hours on the phone with the airline?”

Louis continued to stare at the luggage. 📚 His and Mine by @kissyboystyles​ Harry is adopted by a wealthy family, soon to be cleared of his connection to his soulmate without discussion on his twentieth birthday-- a gruesome rite of passage. For the past eight years, Harry has been staring at one name: Louis. But what happens now that his heart starts fluttering for a stranger, helping him remain strong at his weakest points? Harry feels he should be cautious; what kind of person goes by the name Tomlinson anyway…

Or, Harry legally isn't supposed to meet his soulmate-- he's rendered physically unable to recognize him even if he did-- but yet, of course, he does. 🌹 Drop to Hold You by @becomeawendybird After the end of the Second Wizarding War and the ensuing diplomacy between Muggles and the Wizarding world, the long-defunct Merlin College at Oxford opened it's doors again.

The ultra-competitive programs at Merlin require a rigorous application process. None more than the Auror training program. Louis finally manages to get in with his best friend Liam after a few false starts, only to be faced with the most beautiful, distracting man he could ever imagine. 📚 The Lone Hydrangea by @lightwoodsmagic “Thank you again,” he smiled at Harry as he picked up the arrangement and headed towards the door, and Harry quickly realised he didn’t know the man’s name. “I – wait! Sorry, I just...what’s your name?” At the man’s eyebrow raise, Harry stumbled over his words, “It’s just, if you’re coming back, I thought I should…know.” As the man looked at Harry, his smile only grew, and Harry’s heart thumped in his chest. “My name’s Louis. Louis Tomlinson, and it was so lovely to meet you,” he shot one final grin in Harry’s direction, “I’ll see you next week, Harry.” And then he was gone. “It was lovely to meet you too,” Harry whispered to the empty shop, putting his head on the counter, “Louis”.

Or, the post Hogwarts AU where Harry's a florist, Louis' a muggle who edits fantasy books, and they both have no say in how quickly they fall for each other. 🌹 A Little Bit Like Fate by @28shadesofpink “So,” Harry starts. “Since I heard you and your friend are not getting married, uhm... Would it be appropriate to ask you to stay for the kiss-in?” “Really?” Louis says, light and playful. “And who would I be kissing?” He looks up and offers a sweet smile, perfectly innocent. “Oh, I don’t know.” Harry is playing along, keeping his tone airy, but he takes a step forward and smirks. “With those cheekbones, I think you could kiss whoever you wanted.”

Or, Louis stumbles upon a kiss-in protest for LGBTQ rights, and he meets Harry. They click. It feels a little bit like fate. 📚 come together by @bottomlinsons Harry and Louis slept together three weeks ago, and haven’t talked.

Their coming group project is gonna change that. 🌹 Seeing Blind by @that-idiot-overthere Louis finally turns his head in Liam’s direction, knows his face is showing the longing he’s been aching with ever since it took root in his chest. “What the fuck do I do, Liam? He wouldn’t want me like that, but I want-” his voice cracks, and he turns his face back downwards. “What do you do when you’re not perfect for the person who’s perfect for you?”

Or,  the one where Harry’s an independent omega who likes to have his fun and Louis is the blind alpha that changes Harry’s priorities. 📚 Sweet as Cherry Wine by @harrieberrie Broken hearts are healed by the luck of the Irish

Or, Louis and Niall are a mess, Niall’s daughter has a hopeless crush, and Harry is hopelessly clueless 🌹 at the end of my rope by @saffona "Baby?” Harry mumbles, voice laced with sleep and a shiver goes through Louis at hearing the term. He hasn’t called him that in so long, in that voice and, clearly, even Louis’ body fucking misses it.

“Did you cheat on me?” Louis finds himself asking. If he’s being honest it’s more so he can see Harry’s reaction, than a genuine question, but what has he got to lose? Sure enough, Harry’s face changes from sleepy to the most incredulous look Louis’ ever seen on him. He actually looks terrified, all wide eyes, mouth gaping like he can’t believe Louis would even assume that and Louis would laugh at it, but he’s so done with the way Harry’s been acting, he just wants to know what the hell’s going on.

Or, the one where they go to Crete and Harry is definitely hiding something. 📚 truth, justice, and the gay way by @hattalove Liam needs a costume. Louis needs a best best friend award, a holiday, and to get a grip.

(Harry’s just in the right place at the right time.) 🌹 Hello My Name Is Harry by @a-brighter-yellow Louis’s 20-year high school reunion takes a turn when a celebrity classmate – who also happens to be Louis’s long unrequited crush – unexpectedly shows up.

A famous/not-famous AU inspired by Chris Evans.

[Previous Monthly Recs]

[timelordthirteen]

Heads Above Water (Sutherelle fic)

Robert Sutherland/Belle French, Explicit

Summary: Another crisis, another long day and night, and Robert Sutherland finds himself alone with his assistant Belle.

Notes: So I guess someone had to the first right? An Anyelle fic for Bobby’s new project Cobra on Sky TV. Details lifted from the article such as Sutherland’s wife and other character names. This is probably awful. Unbeta’d and a hot mess.

[AO3]

The light hit strangely along the table, split by the gap in the blinds and bent like an arrow.

Sutherland leaned forward, his hands braced to either side as the enormity of the day finally settled on his shoulders. He stared blankly at the strips of light cutting across the wood. Between breakfast on Tuesday morning and this moment, over thirty-six hours later, there had been meetings, emergency protocols, two press conferences, and a call from his soon to be ex-wife.

The memories were strange, hazy in that way you know will clear later, that will let you look back, detached and cold, but not relive. The regret that had nestled at the back his throat was familiar. He suspected it would be with him for a while as would the events of this crisis. When he started this job, he knew these sorts of things could, and probably would, happen. He’d watched others lead the country through similar situations, always from a distance, but it was different when he was the one in it. There was no hindsight, no news commentary, just a steady stream of experts and advisors telling you the odds of this or that without any clear direction as to what he should do.

There had been a moment where he was sure he was drowning. He could feel the slow downward pull, the pressure of the darkness below as it threatened to swallow them all. Ultimately, they’d managed to navigate through it, for better or worse. He supposed the front page of the Guardian would tell him which it was tomorrow, not that they would ever have the whole story.

The door to the conference room opened, and Sutherland looked up to see his personal assistant, Belle French peeking through the gap.

"What are you still doing here?" she asked, slipping around the door and letting it close softly behind her. “Where’s Ms. Marshall?”

He straightened and sighed. “Gone home, I hope. At least that’s where I told her to go.”

Her eyes softened and her head tilted as she approached, her gaze studying him. He didn’t know how long she'd been here, if she’d gone home at some point to sleep like some of the others, or toughed out with cat naps on couches like he and Anna had.

“What are you still doing here?”

The way he turned the question back on her made her smile. "Waiting for you, I guess. Making sure you don’t need anything before I go."

He nodded. “I’m fine. You should get out of here.”

"You first," she replied, dryly.

His eyebrows lifted. There was change in her posture, a hesitation, and then he laughed. She stepped closer and touched his arm, her fingers curling over his white shirt as she grinned up at him. The gesture was casual, but it grounded him in a way he hadn’t felt in hours. He wanted to lean into it, to wrap her hand in his, and savor the simplicity of human contact.

There was an itch beneath his skin, a restlessness brought on by the ebb and flow of adrenaline. He felt shattered to his core, but sleep seemed an impossible idea. He swallowed and felt the knot of his tie pressing against the column of his throat. His laughter faded, and he licked his lips, looking down at her hand where it still rested on his arm. She didn’t move it, and it felt like a dare.

Belle’s hand slid down from his forearm to his hand, and her lips parted at the first touch of her fingers on his skin. She had been his assistant for only the last year, having replaced the one he brought with him from his time in the Cabinet. The older woman had found the stress and long hours of working in the PM’s office to be more than she could handle, and she left after the first five months.

Sutherland himself was surprisingly easy to work for, even if the press didn’t like his rather forthright way of answering their questions. They called him gruff and snippy, said he was too aggressive with his language, especially since the divorce. Much of it seemed to Belle to be couched in their distaste for the son of a Glasgow dock worker having reached the heights of power in British politics. He didn’t forget where he was from, and since his opponents were fond of reminding him, he embraced it rather than fought it.

She liked the fast pace of her days, the constant flow of events and meetings, and how nothing was the same even hour to hour. Her years working in libraries and research made her a wiz at organization, and her previous job in the Department for Transport helped her with the general methods by which 10 Downing Street functioned. It didn't fully prepare her for the job, but there was something to say for trial by fire.

Sutherland met her gaze. “Miss French...”

“You did a good job,” she said, giving his hand a light squeeze. “I know Marshall won’t say it, but...you did.”

His throat felt strangely tight, and he managed a thin smile as he nodded. It gave him an odd sense of clarity, a knowledge that all this had impact on real people, most of whom wouldn’t full understand the brush with chaos their country had just survived.

Belle’s head dipped as his eyes trailed down. She should have gone home already, but leaving after everything that had happened, going out into the world with people riding in taxis, eating pizza, and walking their dogs knowing what she knew, just didn't seem possible. Real life wasn't real life once you knew what went on behind closed government doors. “You’re not alone, you know.”

A shudder swept over him. “I know.”

Did he though?

There were things between them, things he had avoided confronting for so many reasons. Belle was his assistant, his employee, but everything with her had been easy right from the first moment. Rachel, despite their ten years together, had never really understood him, but then again, he'd never really made an effort to let her either. In hindsight, it was inevitable that things would end between them, but even though she had filed for divorce eighteen days ago and his ring was sitting in a dish in his bathroom, he was still technically a married man.

It was the wrong moment for this, he thought, but then again, the moment would never been right, not while he was in office.

Belle felt his hand shake and then slide, pulling out of her grip, and she watched as he turned towards her.

"Thank you."

There was no hitch in his voice.

Her eyes met his again, dark and unreadable. "For what?"

There was weight in the question, and she felt his hand brush the edge of her jaw. The pad of skin slid over the line of bones, the sensation of his fingers soft and hot. Unconsciously, her hand reached for him, her fingers running along his tie. Her nails caught on the fabric as he leaned in, his mouth pressed over hers.

Belle stiffened, her shoulders tightening, and he pulled back, watching her.

"I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I - I didn’t - ”

Her hand rose and cupped his face, and he stopped, lips parted. She shouldn't - they shouldn’t - but she pushed up, closer, if only to see if he would move. His hand tensed over hers for a split second before she kissed him.

It was hard and messy, and he made a deep sound against her mouth when her tongue flicked over his lips. She let it slide along the line between them, slipping in and brushing against his teeth, lightly as if to tease him. He growled and his mouth opened wider, deepening the kiss as she shifted to stand between him and the table. She could feel his other hand in her hair, curling deeply into the strands, as the other moved around to her back to pull her to him.

The kiss was furious and selfish, leaving his mind spinning. His mouth stayed hard, fighting her, and she pushed back, letting her teeth sink into his lip and pull at the flesh. Maybe, this is what she wanted when she came to look for him, he didn’t know or care. It was easier not to, to stay in the moment and let it happen.

"Let me sit."

It came suddenly against his mouth, her voice thick and strained. They broke away, panting against each other as his mouth grazed hers. She stared silently at him, her heart pounding against her chest, as her hands reached back, and she pushed herself up to sit on the table. Dipping forward, he dropped his mouth over hers, his hands coming around to tug at her hips, pulling her to the edge. His teeth snagged her lip as she pressed up against him. They stopped for a minute, breaking the kiss long enough for him to shed his suit jacket, and for her to hitch her skirt high on her hips. It was enough to spread her legs and allow him to stand between them, a intentional declaration that shocked him back to reality.

“We shouldn’t.” His lips brushed hers as his palms ran up her thighs, over the bands of her stockings.

Belle leaned back, holding his gaze, and slid her black cardigan down her arms, letting it drop behind her on the table. Then she pulled her camisole out of the band of her skirt, flashing the pale, soft skin of her abdomen. She grinned as he palmed her breasts, squeezing softly before letting his fingers slide down over the silky fabric and underneath.

His breath was ragged as he pushed her shirt up, making more room to touch her. “Are you sure?”

She reached up and drew him down to lick at his mouth, taunting him until he kissed her hard. He could feel her taut nipples through the thin lace of her bra, and ran his knuckles over them, up and down, until she mewed a squeaky yes into his mouth.

"Tell me what you want.”

Sutherland’s voice had dropped, low and rumbling against her neck as he kissed his way down to her shoulder. She shivered, and he slipped a hand up under her skirt, pushing the fabric higher until he reached the elastic of her knickers.

The way he touched her was too gentle, and she whimpered and bit her lip, the strain in her muscles crawling up her neck, prickling her skin. Her eyes met his, and he pulled back, his hand sliding down over her thigh. She moaned again, arching slightly, and he plucked her nipple with his other hand.

Her skin was hot where he touched her, a feverish heat that made his blood thrum in his veins. Anyone could walk in and catch them, see their clothes disheveled, their mouths red from kissing. The thought made the warmth spread faster, thicken in the back of his throat, and his hand returned, slipping up and under her skirt again.

“Belle,” he whispered, brushing his nose along her cheek and then up to touch a kiss to her temple. “Tell me.”

The sound of his voice wasn’t loud, but her ears were ringing anyway, everything muffled by the rush of her blood and the beat of her heart. His thumb started to rub against her panties, pressing hard and letting the fabric slide against her clit. She was wet and hot, and she knew that he could feel it too, her need and desire.

“You.” The word was forced out of her mouth and she swallowed hard. “I want you.”

Her eyes were hooded as she looked up at him, her lips pressed together. His hand remained between her thighs, pressing just a little harder as her hips lifted.

“Please.” She shifted towards him, trying to press herself closer. Her nails scraped at his shoulder, digging in through his shirt.

His fingers pushed under her panties, finally touching her, and she gasped as her head fell back and her hand swept out behind her, shoving over a pile of folders. The pressure of his fingers, slipping in and out, urged her hips into rhythm, as his thumb started sliding up and down her clit. She rocked against him, her gasps turning into pants, the pressure building in her core, too fast and too much. Words were tumbling out of her mouth, but she didn’t know what she's saying, and an instant later she came hard, with his fingers twisting and curling inside her, and her hand tugging at his shirt.

She swayed into him, fumbling for his belt as she tingled with the remains of her orgasm. He drew her forward, hand sticky against her leg and pressed his mouth into hers again. His erection was heavy against her thigh, and she reached for him, wriggling her hand inside his trousers to free his cock. She felt him slip between her fingers, velvety and hot, and it made her pussy throb with fresh arousal.

He swore as he pulled away, trousers skimming down to catch on his knees as she wiggled out of her underwear. She reached for him again, and he caught her by the wrist. “I don’t - I don’t have anything.”

“Pill,” she offered quietly, slipping out of his grip and wrapping her hand around his shaft. “If you want. I’m - I’m good.”

She was watching him again, stroking him slowly. His head was spinning, but he understood her words, and the gravity of what she was giving him. He trusted her, with this as much as anything else. Anna would tell him off for it, but she was disinclined to believe anything that didn’t come with a triple checked dosier to support it. Gut feelings weren’t her thing.

“Okay.” Sutherland licked his lips, but they still felt dry, his tongue thick and catching on his teeth. This was madness, he knew that, yet neither of them seemed to be stopping. “Okay.”

Belle's eyes shot open at the first thrust of his cock. She buried her face against his chest to muffle the scream of pleasure erupting in her throat. It was hard and fast and perfect, hitting the right spot every time, and even though her body had barely come down from her first orgasm, another was building quickly. He seemed to sense it, and pushed her back, giving him space to fit his hand between them.

He swore again, cursing breathlessly into her hair as he leaned over her. His thumb managed to find her clit in the mess of skin and clothing and slick juices, and the first flutter of her cunt nearly forced him over the edge. Jaw clenched, he braced his other hand on the table and pulled almost all the way out before pushing back in, lifting her hips just a bit more.

Three more times were enough, she sobbed into his shirt, trailing streaks of makeup across the white fabric. He followed immediately after, feeling the relief down to his bones, and they sagged against each other, breathing in rhythm, until she pushed at him.

“Sorry,” he muttered, face flushed and hot. “Shit.”

Everything was a mess around them; clothes, papers, a water bottle he'd forgotten was there. It dribbled off the edge of the table and soaked into the Persian rug. He stepped back, stumbling as he pulled up his trousers, and tried not to stare as she slid off the table.

Sutherland ran a hand through his hair and blew out a puff of air. Whatever energy he’d had left was sapped, and he thought about just collapsing here instead of trying to make it back to the private residence. A hand touched his arm, and he nearly startled. Belle was looking up at him, her face inscrutable.

“This -,” he started, frowning. “I, um, I can’t do this.”

"I know," she agreed, with a small smile. “It’s okay. It’s not - anything.”

His eyes narrowed, unsure of what it was he was trying to say or what she was agreeing to. Before he could work it out, she gave his arm a squeeze and turned to go, pausing at the conference room door to say a soft goodnight. He watched her fingers trail over the edge of the door before it closed. After a long moment, he dropped down into a chair and exhaled, his eyes falling shut.

In the morning, Belle was in his office before eight, carrying a stack of papers in a wide folder and a cup of coffee. Sleep was a fitful proposition at best last night, her skin still humming from his touch. The ambiguity of how they left things had made a knot in her gut, and she didn’t want to leave it up to him to address it.

“Do you have a minute?” she asked, sweeping by the corner of his desk to set the coffee to the left of the blotter. The papers she set to the side, pressing a bright green post-it note to the top, a visual cue they’d worked out that meant read this before you do anything else.

Sutherland glanced up at her and then looked at the thick folder. “Sorry, no. Cabinet’s meeting early today.”

“Right.” She shook her head and smiled, understanding the quick dismissal for what it was. “I forgot. Never mind.”

She breezed out the door before he could say anything more, and he flipped open the folder with a sigh. He wasn’t afraid exactly, not of her going to the press or to Anna, not like that, but he didn’t like how they left things.

Later, he caught Belle on his way back from a meeting. It was after six and she was still trying to sort out tomorrow’s schedule, how to make it so he could be in three places at once without pissing anyone off.

“Belle…”

She looked up, almost frowning at the way he used her first name instead of the usual Miss French. It made her want to hope for things she couldn’t have. “Yes, sir?”

The formality and distance unnerved him, misplaced next to the memory of her scent on his fingers, and her wet heat around his cock. He could feel her stare, her awareness of him, and he perched on the edge of her desk, reaching out to lay his hand over hers.

“Are we - alright? After -”

“Last night?” she asked, looking up at him. The corner of her mouth curved slightly as he blinked dumbly, and then she nodded. “We’re fine, Mr. Sutherland.”

“Right.” He stood and tugged on the hem of his jacket, crossing to his office door before stopping again. “Did you, uh, need something this morning? I have time now, if you like.”

Belle looked down at her hand, and then met his eyes. There was a softness there that made her feel too warm, and she pressed her nails against the top of her desk. “No. Nothing important.”

[risingphoenix761]

A Dangerous Game - Ch. 4

And we're back! How is 2019 treating everyone?

Ten years. No more and no less. Now the clock has run out, and it's time to negotiate a new deal with the King of Hell. Fandom: Supernatural Pairing: Crowley x OFC (can be read as reader insert)

Series Masterlist

Chapter Warnings: Language. Subdrop. Discussion of magic. Nothing offensive. A/N: Oof. (That seems to be my favorite word so far this year.) I've heard the first 3 to 5 chapters are the hardest to write, and damn son, I don't disagree. Fun fact, this chapter marks the first in my fic career (lol) to feature TWO major-player OCs. Enjoy!

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That's the price you pay Leave behind your heart and cast away Just another product of today Rather be the hunter than the prey Imagine Dragons, "Natural" ***

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[withastolenlantern]

The late morning sun peeked between the Center City towers to the south, breaking through the smog haze emanating from the drone freighters parked at the port. The streets of Rhawnhurst were already abuzz with life; she passed the barbershop and Señor Rodriguez’s dry cleaners and old Madam Tupolov begging for change outside the automat café as she walked down Bustleton Avenue toward the intersection with Cottman, taking the long route to school. Not that anyone would notice that she was late, or ditched entirely; it would be hard to make out any individual student in classes that ranged up toward fifty students. The public schools were still drastically underfunded with an urban tax base that was quickly dwindling. They said on the holo that the state had threatened to bring in another private contractor to run them, but they’d tried at least twice before to little avail, and what would they pay them with? The Delaware had flooded three out of the last five years, each time cresting to a new record and washing out more homes along its banks and tributaries. Turquoise had overheard her mother and aunt whispering about property values, and she knew that in some way that was tied to school funding. 

A drone truck cut the corner at Cottman trying to make the light, clipping the curb and sending a splash of sewage run off spraying up on the cracked sidewalk. “Watch where you’re going!” she screamed in vain as she dodged out of the way, knowing full well it couldn’t hear her. “Piece of shit truck.” She wiped the water from her coat, a dark purple hand-me-down from her sister Destiny, and flipped off the truck as the cross-walk indicator turned. Her shoes, worn with age, were soaked through to her ratty socks, and now made squishing sounds as she walked.

Turquoise hated school, but she’d made a deal with her mother that she’d keep going, to her science and math classes anyway, and when she finished her homework she could go down to Mister Krystkiewicz’s studio in the basement. Mama stressed that she needed to focus on her education, that it was the only way she’d ever make her way out of here. But the universities were just as packed as the public schools; her counselor had told her there were ten applicants for every seat, even at the community colleges, and her grades weren’t good enough to qualify for a scholarship. Her mother worked three swing shift jobs just to keep food on the table, and even then they were all crammed into a two-bedroom apart they shared with her aunt’s three children. There was no way any of them could afford any kind of higher schooling, but Turquoise had never had any interest anyway: she was born to be an artist, she was sure, no matter how impractical that might be in the current age. Kris, as she shortened her neighbor’s borderline-unpronounceable eastern European surname, had told her numerous times she had promise, and some days that was the only thing that kept her going. At fifteen, her life was approaching a turning point, where adulthood would quickly become a pressing reality, and with it the requirement to find some way to provide for herself or become one of the hundred million Americans living below the poverty line.

Her grandmother had been the one to inspire her; her mother agreed, but would likely prefer the term “blame.” Dolores Quinlan had been a woman out of time, before her lungs had given out, a remnant of an era of opportunity. She would take Turquoise and her sister to the art museum once a month on the free Sundays, and afterward she would walk the girls down Fairmount Avenue for ice cream, making sure to point out the large mural of Irene Brevis, even then still mentioned with the reverence of hushed tones. The elderly woman, an idealistic academic in a world rapidly devolving towards the brutally pragmatic, did her best to instill in her granddaughters an appreciation for the abstract and intangible. Turquoise delighted in the visits, drinking in the history and the artistry in equal amounts. The sculpture gallery was her favorite; she loved to walk underneath the dangling installation chimes of Ole Sted as they glittered and whistled in the ambient breeze. One day she hoped to work in a similar medium, and Kris had dug up an old MIG weld unit for her to practice on tin cans and other sheet metal she collected from the building recycling dumpster. Her mother was skeptical but supportive, and mostly concerned that she didn’t burn down the only building she could afford to house them.

As she rounded the corner onto Cottman, she noticed the same drone that had nearly hit her driving erratically and squealing to a stop at the next stoplight. Catching up to it, she looked through the window, and noticed that this particular truck was being piloted by an actual person. It was peculiar to see, but not altogether strange; she knew some trucks carried armed security to protect valuable cargo or oversee important deliveries. The man in the truck was not wearing a Union uniform, though, and he had what appeared to be a bandana wrapped around his nose and mouth. He was sweating, even through the air conditioning of the truck, and pounding on the steering wheel as if to will the traffic light to change.

In the distance, she heard sirens wail, and as she turned to look, the engine of the truck roared to life as it flew forward into the intersection, through the red light. Horns blared as the cars in the cross-traffic swerved to avoid it, and with a loud thud a sedan collided full-speed with the back corner of the truck, sending both vehicles spiraling through the intersection. 

The sedan barreled toward Turquoise. She screamed, more instinct than conscious fear, and dropped her school bag to the pavement, ducking into a squat as if that might offer any protection. The car crashed head-on into the support pole for the traffic light, the metal and plastic bending and buckling with a terrible groan as a shower of sparks flew to the ground. The front end crumpled to a heap, and she heard the loud pop of airbags deploying from within the passenger compartment. A dark black smoke belched and hissed from under the crushed bonnet cover. 

Turquoise was disoriented; her ears rang from the sounds and her head spun as she tried to stand back up. She stood before bending reflexively at the waist, and steadied herself by leaning against the now-bent light pole. Her vision was blurred, likely from shock, and she felt slightly nauseous, probably just as much from the stench of the car’s burned electronics as the adrenaline flooding her system.

She heard a low moan from the passenger of the sedan. Turquoise breathed deep and cautiously tip-toed around to the side of the car, peering through the shattered window. It was a woman, slight and not much older than herself. She was dressed in business clothes, a blazer and slacks, and blood caked her white blouse. Her head was supported by the deployed airbag, its cushion now stained with a mixture of blood and makeup. She wasn’t moving, and her breathing was heavy and laborious. Turquoise shook her shoulder gently. “Ma’am? Are you okay?”

The woman screamed, high and shrill. Turquoise jumped back, startled. “Are you okay?” she asked again. “Here, let’s get you out.”

The woman’s screams turned to sobs. She was clearly still in shock from the crash. Turquoise tugged at the door, trying to free the woman from the car, but it was stuck. She pulled again at the handle, harder this time, and it gave way; the door came free from the broken hinges at the frame and slammed to the pavement with a heavy clang. There was blood everywhere. The woman’s leg was pinned below the now-crushed console; a long jagged piece of the bent door frame was jammed deep into her calf muscle. She continued to cry, deep painful gasps. “I think my leg is broken,” she mewed through the sobs.

“Stay here. I’ll get help,” Turquoise said, summoning a calmness to her voice that masked her internal panic. She turned away from the car toward the rest of the chaos. Across the intersection the truck had spun a half-rotation and bounced off a fire hydrant before slamming sideways into the glass facade of a storefront. The hydrant rocket into the air, a geyser of pressurized water throwing the cast iron fixture high into the sky only to come crashing onto the roof of a parked car, its bleating alarm now adding to the cacophany of the scene. 

Turquoise walked slowly across the street, taking care to avoid the shards of broken glass that now littered the intersection. Traffic had come to a stop, and people were slowly getting out of their cars to assess the scene. A man on a mobile had a holo open, and it looked like he was coordinating with an emergency dispatcher. She approached the truck quietly, and the door to the passenger compartment flew open, the driver spilling down into a heap on the sidewalk the sidewalk. His shirt was torn slightly, but he seemed mostly unharmed apart from a cut across his forehead. He quickly bolted upright and clutched his arm gingerly while he looked around, confused. She tried to ask him if he needed help, but as she got close he took off, sprinting toward an alleyway behind the ruined storefront. 

“Hey! Hey asshole, get back here!” she yelled after him, giving chase, but after a few steps she thought better of it and let him go. She’d gotten a good look at him, and the police were sure to want her statement when they arrived.

A bang behind her caused her already quickened pulse to skyrocket. She turned around and found that the loading door at the rear of the truck had sprung open in the crash, and was swaying in the early morning breeze, clanging against the side of the building. Boxes and crates had spilled out of it and were scattered across the sidewalk, and several people were now gathered around, gawking at the contents.

Turquoise joined them. Several of the crates had broken up, and her eyes quickly went wide in terror. She immediately recognized what she saw from the nightly news feeds; one didn’t grow up in one of America’s most violent cities without knowing a gun when they saw it. But these weren’t the small handguns she’d seen tucked into the waistbands of wanna-be thugs and bangers; these were large and heavy, with polished chrome finishing that glinted in the morning sun. There were five to a crate, and she counted at least ten more crates. 

Inside the truck were more, and things she couldn’t name but looked just as dangerous. Large tubes with switches and holo-projectors were scattered on the floor. A dozen or so heavy-looking vests were piled in a cardboard box; a large, inactive drone was parked on the bed, but not the type of delivery or advertising drones she’d seen before. This one was sharp, angular, and with much bigger rotors. It had small stanchions to either side where large, multi-barreled guns were mounted. It was painted matte black with cartoon shark teeth along the front edge. 

And in the far back of the cargo area, near to the passenger compartment, sat a large plastic vat. It had various tubes connected between it and some kind of controller that sat next to it. The apparatus hummed quietly, but ominously. Turquoise wasn’t sure what she was looking at, but she knew it couldn’t be good.     

Sirens wailed in the distance, and she was never so glad to hear them.

[birdscreeches]

Pamahiin || Aisha R.

"Pamahiin roughly translates to English as ‘folk superstition’. An unjustified yet widely held belief.”

My lolo had slept on a banig on the floor of a room filled to the brim with four grandchildren’s worth of stuffed toys, action figures, and school books. My lola slept on a bed right next to him in the same room, and when I asked him why he didn’t just sleep there—there was certainly plenty of space—he’d always tell me the floor was better for his back. More natural, or something. I just figured he had a personal vendetta against beds.

This is the same room he died in. Much to what I’m sure would’ve be his utter dismay, he didn’t die on his banig. Instead, at around six in the morning in my senior year of high school, he died on a hospital bed.

We bought the bed. We also bought several oxygen tanks, an IV stand, a wheelchair, something that functioned like a heart monitor, and a lot of different tubes for a lot of different things. In a room filled with toys and childhood keepsakes, we built him a hospital room. Thinking about the room and the sickening contrast between past and present and a future that was ending sent a sour pang through my chest. Like somebody had taken a metal bar and ran it across the bones of my ribcage. Xylophone sounds of guilt I couldn’t stand to hear every day.

To create silence, I pretended the room didn’t exist anymore.

It worked rather well until the morning Nanay had pulled me into the not-room. I was already dressed in my uniform, my bag weighing my shoulders down, when she told me to say something to Lolo before I left. Or before he did.

“Feeling ko malapit na,” she told me.

So I went. I barely looked at Lolo. He hadn’t been able to speak for months, by that point. He was more a corpse than anything. No more was the weird old dude who truly believed sleeping on the floor was more comfortable. Just a body we were keeping alive in a room I erased.

Not wanting to be rude, I forced myself to look at him, if only for a second. The eyes that looked back at me were murky and unseeing. Around us, various toys looked at me with the same kind of gaze.

“See you later, Lolo.” I said.

Unable to last any longer, I headed out of the room that didn’t exist and out of the house. Standing by the garden, I tapped my foot impatiently, waiting to leave for school.

A couple of seconds later, his heart stopped beating.

A little bit after that, I’m told what basically amounted to the fact that the last thing my lolo heard was my lie.

-

Now, the thing to focus on here shouldn't be his death, but the room. The not-room. The room I rendered gone. This was a neat superpower of mine; I could flip a switch in my brain and change what was and what wasn’t.

It all started with the spoon.

As a child, my lola taught me the intricacies of superstition. Don’t go bed with your hair wet, or you’ll go insane. Jump on new years, and maybe we can stop buying you Cherifer. If you drop your utensils, you will get a visitor. I found immense joy in these small magics of life, that one thing could cause another even if it didn’t make any sense. It didn’t have to. Afterall, with my superpower, I made it all true.

All I had to do was believe hard enough.

To the skeptics, I raise the fact that the galaxy revolved around the Earth because people believed it to be. The world was flat because people believed it to be. There’s somewhere we go after we die because we believe it’s real. We can rearrange the cosmos, shape planets, and live after life is over. If that wasn’t a superpower, I didn’t know what was.

One pathetic night at ten years old, I ate dinner alone. Everybody was busy or out or something and I was ten years old and alone. Petulantly, I threw my hand out, pushed my spoon off the the table, and watched it clatter to the floor. You will get a visitor.

I waited one second. Nothing.

Two. Still nothing.

Three, and something in my chest began to hurt. A bar dragged across my ribs, clanging around.

Four. The notes inside me said how dare you.

Five seconds in, I scrambled to the ground and picked the spoon up.

At the end of that night, nobody did come. My point here wasn’t that my superpower was bullshit, but instead that there was a caveat to it. I could believe in what I wanted, I could change my own reality and make things real or not-real, but the consequence to that power would always catch up.

A sound, a feeling, a something. Whatever it was, it always asked me the same thing: what have you done?

-

Twenty minutes after my lolo's heart stopped beating, we did end up leaving for school. My tito had taken us through the regular traffic that trickled Marikina into Katipunan Avenue, the normal slog of slow moving cars. Usually, the radio would quietly croon 70s and 80s music into the morning. 105.9 DZG-FM Mega Manila's first and only retro hit station—

On that day, nobody touched the radio. The rumble of the engine was the only sound to be heard.

In the passenger seat, my brother took a nap. Next to me, my younger sister had her earphones in, staring out the window, unmoving. I folded and unfolded the cuffs of my jacket over and over again until we arrived school and I clambered out of the car.

Class that day was almost hilariously uneventful. I returned a red pen to one of my classmates (I had lost all my own red pens). I took a Math final (I failed it very badly). I dry heaved into a toilet (the cuffs of my jacket were folded up). I put one leg in front ot the other, and kept walking, and nobody asked me anything. It was a normal day, and if it wasn’t, I told myself it was. I could rearrange planets, if I wanted. One day was child’s play.

In my gut, I didn’t feel the stirrings of mourning so much as the sound of a clinking spoon against the floor. Count the seconds now. How long until I caved? How long until the reality I crafted myself started to thrum with shame?

Lolo was my mom’s father, and Nanay had always been the type to get things done inordinately fast. After school, my sister and I were taken to a holding room in Loyola Memorial Park. There, everything was set up. Catering, relatives who were called from the province throughout the day, an army monobloc chairs, and of course, a coffin where Lolo now laid in. The only thing we were missing was one of those tarps all dead people seemed to have, but this was obviously a rush job.

“Maybe next time,” I joked to a couple of kittens I found under the table laden with food. There were two of them. A grey one and an orange one.

At around eight in the evening, we held a small mass in the holding room. Being a close family member, I got the front row seats. The priest was nice. He told jokes and had a voice that was made for condolences, and I enjoyed listening to him until he started the homily. His homily was about what I said to Lolo before his heart gave up. “See you later.” He went on for a long time about how he found it beautiful. Meanwhile, I wanted to go find a bathroom to try to vomit in again, but I stood my ground. I figured if I was going to have a reaction that strong, it would be because this was a wake. Not because of my lie. Not because of me. Somebody was dead, and all I could think about was myself. How dare you.

Shut the room closed and pretend it didn’t exist. My mind was no different. Obfuscate. Reroute. Distract. For the rest of the homily, I tuned out the voice of the priest and instead looked to the coffin.

I saw Lolo pretty clearly behind the glass. He looked off. In the middle of a solemn mass where I could hear my Lola crying, where, in my periphery, I saw my older sister’s tears fall to the floor, I almost laughed. I almost doubled over when I realized they put makeup on him. There was powder on his face. He had lip tint. My gut hurt from keeping it in. God, I thought. He would’ve fucking hated this.

When the mass was over, teary relatives filtered outside and began to eat. It’s amazing what food and company can do, because in roughly five minutes, all the tears were gone, replaced now by boisterous stories and loud conversation. Feeling a little safer, I told somebody about the makeup thing. When I’m met with laughter, I smile for the first time that entire day.

One by one, I watched everybody leave. They’d be back tomorrow. There’d be more people tomorrow. I sat by the food table, all the catering stuff cleared out and gone, and played with the kittens. They cuddled onto my lap, happy to have warmth and attention as I cooed over them.

It was at that moment, with my hands full of purring fluff, that I realized I hadn’t cried the entire day. While my hands moved over soft fur, I realized I hadn’t cried today because he didn’t die today. His heart stopped beating, but he was already dead for a long time. At least for me he was. At least I had created the story in my head to make it like he was. Here were the not-rooms and magic spoons and people who were dead before a doctor declared them dead. It’s one hell of a superpower. It’s one hell of a responsibility too, but I was sixteen and stupid and still counting down for the moment where I scramble for the spoon. To the sound of soft mews, I realized that the pin had dropped. Now it was a matter of when I’d pick it up.

The orange kitten pawed at the rolled down cuff of my jacket. Its claw dragged a faint line of red against my skin.

And I bled.

-

Now the worrying thing is that for the past month, I’ve been dreaming. This was an anomaly. My anxiety usually meant restless nights which usually meant that most of my dreams were lost to exhaustion. Dreams for me felt like something you needed to pull free from a strong undercurrent. It just so happened my grip has always been weak.

When I did dream, when I did remember them, it’s because instead of having to hold on, the dream clamped around my wrist, crawled up my arm, and wrapped itself around my neck. When I did dream, I woke up gasping. A slight change of semantics now; when I did dream, technically, it’s because they were always nightmares.

I preferred restless blurs any day, but for the past month, I haven’t been lucky.

The dreams vary slightly each and every time. Sometimes I was at school. I was at home. I was at the grocery store. I was at the Jollibee a minute walk away. Sometimes there’s somebody with me and sometimes I was alone. Sometimes there was rain. Sometimes there was fire.

But the constant was my teeth. No matter what happened, I always felt something shatter in my mouth. One by one, bloodied tooth shards came loose. They tumbled past my lips and into my shaking hands. When I thought all my teeth were gone, that finally, it’s done, it started all over again with new teeth breaking and coming apart. On one horrifying occasion, I pressed my hand to my mouth to to keep it shut. The teeth continued to break nonetheless and I felt them slide down my throat.

I woke up gasping.

Teeth falling out was a common enough recurring dream that the interpretations were limitless. If Freud was to be believed, these dreams either meant I needed to get laid soon or get off more. Others said that fear was taking control of my life, as if I didn’t know that already. My brother told me that maybe, I needed to see a dentist. I told him to fuck off.

“It means somebody is going to die,” Nanay told me over lunch. We were at a sushi place, and she popped a salmon sashimi into her mouth as if she didn’t just say the creepiest thing ever.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” she said. Another salmon. “Pamahiin.”

“I’ve doomed us all, then.”

“You have to bite on aluminum,” Nanay pointed her chopsticks at me. “And then say ‘this will not happen’.”

I made a show of biting down on my fork (I could never get the hang of chopsticks) before releasing it. “This will not happen.”

“No, you have to say it while you’re biting down.”

“Theeehs will nohh hapehn?” I tried again, fork in my mouth. My younger sister started to laugh.

“And you have to do it as many times as you had the dream.”

“That’s—it’s been a month, that’s over twenty times! You’re messing with me!”  

“I’m not! I’m your mother,” she faux gasped.

“You do know that that fork is made of steel, right?” Tatay said. My younger sister lost it, bending over and laughing like a loon.

When I got home, I googled the pamahiin. Various sources confirmed that Nanay wasn’t messing with me, but they did say that it wasn’t aluminum you had to bite on, but wood. Between a faceless blog page and my own mother, I decided to believe the one who could whack me in the head.

When everybody had fallen asleep, I went to the kitchen and tore off a small square of aluminum foil. I folded it, bit down, and said, “This will not happen. This will not happen. This will not happen.” My garbled, pleading litany.

That night, my teeth fell onto the floor of my dreamscape yet again.

Who would I use my superpower on next?

-

Almost midnight on the day Lolo’s heart stopped beating, it was finally time for us to leave. Nanay would stay behind; it was her job to keep watch. Vaguely, I remembered something about aswangs stealing dead bodies in the night. Good luck to whatever aswang dared go against her.

I pried Orange and Grey off of my hoodie, waved goodbye to Nanay, and sleepily climbed into the car with the rest of my family. Tired and weary, I watched the bright blurs of streetlights zoom past, looking forward to passing out in my bed.

But then instead of turning right onto J.P, Rizal after crossing the river, Tatay kept driving straight.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“Somewhere.”

“Why?”

“Never go straight home after a wake,” he said. Ah. Right. 

Which is how we ended up at a Ministop across Sta. Elena High School.

I idly walked through the aisles of the store, instinctually gravitating towards the candy section. As I looked upon a selection of Cadburys, I thought about whatever spirits that had hitched a ride with us doing the same. Would they like fruit and nut, or just plain chocolate? I thought, laughing a little to myself. Would they be pissed knowing of all places we left them, it was at a goddamn Ministop? I thought, imagining a Sadako like figure tapping her foot by the cashier.

Would they wonder why I didn’t cry at my own lolo’s wake? I thought, my laughter dying down. Would they wonder if I had feelings? I thought, my stomach began to sink. Would they wonder if I had a heart?

In this too-bright aisle, surrounded by sweets, the spirits we were brushing off, and the ghost I refused to even acknowledge, tears welled up in my eyes. They didn’t fall. I blinked them away before they could, but not before my rib cage rattled the dissonant notes of something terrible.

The funny thing was that this wasn’t because I suddenly accepted he died, as if there was something about the ambiance of a convenience store that hammered the point in. I accepted he died long before, but as tears threatened to spill past my eyes like dream teeth falling out of my mouth, like a spoon clattering to the ground, I realized that the glacial five seconds had finally passed. What have you done? I told myself a story so hard I believed it. How dare you? I switched mourning for safety. What is the price you’ll pay? It’ll follow me home. It’ll follow me everywhere.

“Are you going to get anything?” Tatay asked, pulling me out of my haze. “Cadbury?”

“Nah,” I told him. My eyes were expertly clear when I looked at him, but he didn’t look convinced. “Are we going now?”

“Yeah,” he said. So we all walked out, a bunch of assholes who loitered in a convenience store without buying anything, and got into the car.

In the rearview mirror, I watched the Ministop get smaller and smaller til we finally turned on the road going home. We were safe now. No more spirits

Nobody touched the radio. The rumble of the engine was the only sound to be heard. In my head, I heard a something more. I’m bringing something home with me, I thought, listening to the tiny little clangs. Something was playing my bones, and it sounded like shame.

I shut my eyes, laid my head against the window, and pretended I didn’t hear it at all.

[rainsonata]

A Restless Night

Fandom/Pairing: Elsword; hints of LPMM Rating: K Word Count: 5,022

Summary: Being friends sometimes means standing outside of Psyker’s house in the dead hour of the night because your son accidentally fed a stray kitten chocolate.  Psyker is suddenly entrusted with taking care of Arc and Mastermind needs a nap.  MMLP Modern AU developed with @blazingsnark, where MM and LP are single dads to AT and PT.   

Note:  Rest of MMLP Modern AU can be found here.    

It was still dark when Psyker woke up to his phone on his dresser, vibrating to a ringtone he had been hearing more often.  Rolling to his side, he reached out to unhook the phone from the charging station (Dear gods, the sun wasn’t even out yet.) and slid his finger across to answer in a groggy voice. 

“Hello?”

“Lusa!”  Mastermind’s voice was loud and clear.  “Hey, I know it’s kind of early…”

“It’s four in the morning,” Psyker fought the desire to bury his face into a pillow, instead looking up at the ceiling.  He had early morning schedules for work and exercise, but this was too early even for him.  A nagging thought tailed at the back of his sleepy mind, “What’s up?”

“Can I bring Arc over?”  He sounded embarrassed, “I need someone to watch him while I’m out.”

“Did something happen?”  Psyker grew suspicious with narrowed eyes, sitting up to straighten his back and glared at the phone, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Mastermind said with weakness.  His voice was breathy, but he sounded okay, so Psyker didn’t question him further.  “But I need to take a little guy to the hospital.”

“I’ll come over,” Psyker said and lowered his phone.  “I can come back if Psych wakes up.”    

“You won’t have to…”

His hesitance made Psyker stop when he heard the sound of something closing shut from the other side of the call.  Was that the car door?  He opened his window, peeking out to see Mastermind stepping out of his car with Arc wrapped in blankets and wiping his eyes.  Father and son caught Psyker’s eyes and gave a tired wave for a greeting.  What the hell.  They were standing on his lawn.    

They were at the door when Psyker opened to see the pair half asleep with red eyes like neither of them had much sleep.  Mastermind prompted Arc into the house and led him over to where the sofa was in the living room before turning to face Psyker, who still processing what he saw.  His friend and kid showed up at his house without warning and Mastermind was pale as a ghost like someone was dying.  A quick gaze over the two found no signs of injury, but it was alarming to see either awake at this hour.     

“Where are you going?” Psyker asked as Mastermind tucked in Arc.  “Are you hurt?”

“It’s not me,” he shook his head.  “Arc found a stray kitten and we’ve been waiting for the mother, but she hasn’t returned.  I saw it eat something last night and the vet told us to monitor, but it got worse this morning when Arc woke me up.”        

A cat, Psyker mentally shook his head in disbelief.  All that panic over a cat.  The way Mastermind talked over the phone made him believe another family member or neighbor was hurt.  If this was later in the day, he would have called out Mastermind for making him worried.  

“How long has it been?” Psyker asked.  

“A few hours at most,” Mastermind said.  “We were planning on leaving him at the animal shelter, but it looks like he already made his decision.”  He said without humor, a barren smile forming across his lips.    

“Where is it?”

“In the car,” he said.  “I’m sorry for dropping on you like this.  I’m worried about leaving Arc alone or taking me with him when it’s still early.”

“It’s fine,” Psyker crossed his arms and glared.  “And stop apologizing!  Of course, I’ll look after him.”  

He followed Mastermind to his car and saw something lying inside a bundle of quilts, a small white head sitting out of the pile with its eyes closed.  Its body twitched when Psyker reached out to pet it, crying a weak mew.  

“Text me if anything comes up.  I left Arc with his homework, snacks, toys, and some clothes in case I’m out longer.” Mastermind said when he stepped into the car to fasten his seatbelt.  The kitten was placed in the back and secured in a baby car seat with the seat belt pulled over.  

How about you?  Psyker wanted to ask the man, who could barely keep up with his own words and stumbled over them in a rush.  He wanted to tell Mastermind that things were going to be okay and he and Psych will keep Arc company, but a mixture of morning drowsiness and fear struck him from saying any of that.  Did Mastermind say how old the cat was?  It couldn’t have been older than a few weeks old judging by its size.  He and Psych adopted Doomsday when he was a couple of months old, but he was unsure how things worked for younger kittens.  

Instead, he gestured for Mastermind to wait and ran back into the house to grab the first thing he saw on the kitchen counter, sprinting back out to toss it at the other.  Mastermind caught it without thought and opened his hands to see a Kit-Kat bar.  

“Sugar for the drive,” Psyker said.  

“Thanks,” Mastermind opened the bar to chomp off a big piece, chewing it with a thoughtful expression.  “This is the first time Arc and I took care of a pet outside of the occasional goldfish.”  

“It’s not your fault,” he was quick to shoot down whatever doubt Mastermind intended to say.  “Get that cat to the nearest hospital and then we can talk about taking care of pets.”

“You make it sound like it belongs to us,” Mastermind chuckled.  

“It kind of does now that I’m involved with it,” he joked.  “Is that everything?”  

Mastermind nodded and checked his watch for the time, scanning the back seat one more time to see the kitten wiggling inside the blankets before closing the doors and locking them shut.  As he backed out from the driveway, Psyker stood at the lawn even after he drove off and left the neighborhood.  By the time he returned back into the house, he sunk into the seat next to Arc and decided to catch up on sleep before the boys woke up.  

Morning arrived sooner than he thought it would.  It felt like he didn’t sleep at all, a quick dreamless slumber that ended when the sun rose and he heard something crashing.  Psyker’s eyes snapped opened, jumped off the chair, and scrambled over to see a child standing over the counter on his tiptoes to reach for a bowl.  Lying on the tiled floor were plastic containers, more tumbling down before Psyker ran over to catch them and shoved them back into the shelves.

The child looked embarrassed, “Sorry, Lusa.”

“Already up?” He grinned, easily reaching his hand to grab the bowl and handing it to the boy.  

Arc nodded and mumbled a thank you, taking it with searching eyes for the cereal before pouring the bowl, carefully pouring the milk to avoid spilling.  The ten year old was still in his pajamas, purple ones with cat imprints on them and sat on a high stool at the counter.

Psyker was in the middle of checking the fridge for food when he was greeted by a loud meow.  He looked down to witness Doomsday walking into the kitchen, looking up at him with expectation when it sat in front of his bowl.  The gray cat meowed again when Psyker didn’t react to it as if saying, Hey, what’s for breakfast?       

He laughed and reached down to ruffle the cat’s head, “Look who’s home today!”

Course, I am, Doomsday licked his paw, or at least that’s what Psyker pretended that was what he was saying.  He laid on his stomach when Psyker opened the canned food, pupils growing bigger at the sight of breakfast  

“You think the cat will be okay?” Arc asked while watching Doomsday eat, “I mean our cat.”

“Your dad is doing everything he can to make sure it feel better,” Psyker wasn’t sure how to answer that question without giving the kid false hope.  He noted the absence of Psych and made a mental note to check on him later.  

Arc accepted his answer, “Dad said he’ll call later, right?”

Psyker nodded, “But for now, you’ll have me and Psych to keep you company!”  

How much did Mastermind tell Arc?  He didn’t look surprised to wake up in their house, but he was unusually quiet since Psyker found him.  The kid was moving his food around the bowl, eating the cereal pieces individually and only stopping to sip the milk.  His legs dangled from his seat and seemed more interested in Doomsday because his eyes was on the gray cat, who finished his meal and was already meowing for more.  

“If you eat more, you’re going to get fat.”  Psyker teased the cat when it pawed his knee for more.  Yellow eyes looked up at Psyker and let out a lazy yowl, rolling on his back to expose his belly as it to make a point.     

“Is Dad mad at me?”        

“Why would he be mad at you?”  Psyker stopped rubbing Doomsday’s belly, guilt pangs in his heart when he saw Arc’s fearful expression.  The kid kept looking at Doomsday like he was seeing a ghost, was this about the white kitten?  

“I didn’t mean to do it,” Arc whispered and choked on his words.  “He ate the chocolate I dropped. When I made it open his mouth, it was already gone.   I told Dad what happened and the vet told us to watch for signs, but now he’s sick because of me and he really liked that cat.”  

“Your dad was telling me this morning how brave you were to wake him up even when no one in the house was,” Psyker chose his words with care.  “If you waited longer, the cat wouldn’t have made it when he dropped you off.”  He noticed the heavy bags under Arc’s eyes and asked gently, “Did you get any sleep when the vet told you two to watch the cat?”

Arc shook his head, “I couldn’t sleep.”  

Psyker nodded, fair enough. 

“You and your dad did all you could,” Psyker said.  “Psych is going to be awake in a bit, you want anything?  Books?  Games?”  

“I think I’m going to go back to sleep after this,” Arc rubbed his eyes, letting go of the tension in his shoulders and finished the last bit of his cereal.  “How long will dad be out?”

“I don’t know,” Psyker said.  “But I’ll tell you if he messages me.  Tell you what, when you and Psych are up, let’s try this new online game I found.  They just released these new classes I think you guys will like.”   

The game had been running for years, but something about the recent updates perked his interest when he was checking out games to try out with his son.  He already had the game downloaded on the computer.  It was a colorful game with lots of characters and seemed easy enough to play, although the new classes he mentioned to Arc struck him as eerie for reasons he couldn’t pinpoint.  What was the game called?  Add Sword, Grand Chase?  Something like that. 

“I think I heard Psych talking about it.” Arc mused, but agreed, “Okay, I’ll try it.”

“Awesome!” Psyker beamed, “If you need me for anything, I’ll be in the kitchen.”

There was still concern written on his face, but the wrinkles were gone at least and he was smiling again, a good sign by all means.  Psych was still asleep, so breakfast could wait.  After cleaning up the dishes leftover from Arc and himself, he wiped down the countertop and made sure to place the cat food where Doomsday couldn’t reach it.  When he left to brush his teeth, he caught Doomsday lying in front of the TV with Arc lying on the couch with his eyes closed.        

“Aw, come on!” Arc slammed his keyboard with frustration when he missed another combo with defeat.  He didn’t have a laptop yet, so he was playing on the family computer with Psych playing against him on the other computer.  

“I win!’ Psych bounced in his seat.

“No fair!” Arc pouted, “You cornered me before I could move!”  

“Too bad,” he stuck out his tongue.  “Wanna pvp again?”

“No,” the other moved his hands away from his keyboard and exited the sparring room.  “You keep using the same combo against me.”

Before Psyker could debate if he should sort out their bickering, the phone he had been clutching on all day vibrated in his hand.  Even after cleaning the kitchen from breakfast and running some errands around the house, he checked his phone every so often for messages or phone calls from Mastermind.  It wasn’t until half past one did he see the text message.    

>>Chocolate poisoning.  Vet says he’ll need to stay overnight.    

His heart stopped beating, drawing in his breath and almost didn’t hear the boys still arguing in the background.  Psyker barely texted back a message, having to go back and delete misspelled words that came out as a jumble of letters before hitting send.  

>It’s okay?  Arc told me the details and says he’s sorry.  He’s been asking for you all day.  You coming back?  

He watched the screen dim while waiting for Mastermind’s response before it lit up again, a longer message this time followed by frantic sentences.  

>>Yeah, they said he’ll be released tomorrow to rest for a few days at home.  Is Arc okay?  What happened?  I’m coming back in a bit after I grab something to eat.    

Psyker bit his lip and gave up trying to text back when the phone failed to pick up his words from moving his fingers too quick.  This wasn’t something he wanted to carry through text messages when the idiot couldn’t hear his voice or that he had a dozen other things to say aside from this cat business.  

“Hey, Arc is fine.”  Psyker was relieved when his call was picked up almost as soon as he pressed the call button.  “He thinks it’s his fault for it getting the cat sick.”   

Mastermind’s voice was quiet and hushed, “I told him it was an accident and he didn’t mean it.”

He retained himself from saying, Of course he does, he thinks of you highly and he doesn’t want to disappoint you.      

“I want to talk to Arc,” Mastermind said.  “Is he there?”

“Why don’t you come over for lunch?” Psyker suggested.  “You plan on heading home today?  I thought maybe Arc could stay a little longer.”    

He couldn’t see Mastermind, but he imagined the other nodding in agreement when he said, “That would be good for him.  I guess I can drop by for a bite.”     

Psyker stifled a laugh when Mastermind walked into the house later that day, navigating through the clutter of books and toys on the floor.  The other male nearly popped a vein when he walked by an arrangement of legos, wanting to avoid the death of stepping on one, something Psyker could sympathize with.  He stubbed his foot more than once thanks to Psych sometimes forgetting to clean up after himself.       

“I thought you got lost!” Psyker said a little too cheerfully when he greeted Mastermind.  Tired and irritated from lack of sleep and caffeine, but the concern over the cat and Arc from this morning were gone for the most part.

“Traffic was hell,” Mastermind grabbed a chair and sat behind the sofa with his head resting on the armrest.  “This stupid driver nearly rammed into me.”  

“Alas, a typical Saturday afternoon.”  Psyker said with a grin.  “Lunch is in the kitchen, by the way.  Want me to get it for you?”

“That would be great,” Mastermind glanced around the house.  “Where are the kids?”

“In Psych’s room trying out a new game,” he went to grabbed a sandwich from the fridge and slide the plate over to Mastermind.  “You want pickles with that?”

Watching Mastermind eat was always interesting to Psyker.  Always starting from a corner, he would nibble through the crust before taking bigger bites into the middle, but careful not to spill out the food even if it was something like a sandwich.  Today however, Mastermind was ravenous and ate through the whole thing in minutes, only pausing to gulp down water to make sure he wasn’t choking.  Did he forget to eat while he was out again?     

“I’m glad you’re back in one piece,” Psyker sighed.  

“The cat is sick, not me.”  He rolled his eyes.  “Things were looking bad, but I think the cat will be fine.  Arc’s going to be happy when I tell him.”    

“You want to talk to him?” Psyker said, “I’ll take care of the dishes.”   

Mastermind gave him a grateful look and left the dishes in the sink for him to take care.  He watched the other walk down the hallway to where Psych’s room was.  When he was done washing the dishes, he saw father and son talking amongst themselves in the living room, too quiet for him to catch what they were saying.  Arc was showing a picture he drew to Mastermind, the way his face lit up reminded him of Psych.  Mastermind was still holding onto the picture when he slipped back into the kitchen with the boys moving back the living room to clean up the mess when Psyker came out to remind them.    

“You wouldn’t want Masi to fall over them and break his back, would you?” Psyker lightly chided them when he pointed at the mess.  

“Dad…” Psych whined, but Arc cackled.  

“I’m not fragile,” Mastermind feigned annoyance, but a smile slipped through.  The way he draped himself over the couch with his chin resting on his crossed arms reminded him of a cat.  He looked up at Psyker in confusion when the other laughed at the similarities.  “What’s so funny?”     

“Your hair's a mess,” he teased Mastermind.  “You look like Doomsday.” 

Mastermind snorted being compared to the gray cat, who was short furred, but then remembered the one time Psyker gave it bath and turned its fur into a little mohawk before cackling and sending pictures to him.  Nonetheless, he self consciously patted his hair down and used his phone camera as a mirror to look at himself.    

“Do you and Arc want to stay over for dinner?  I can order pizza.”

It was shockingly easy for Psyker to ask this question without thinking twice.  He figured why not when Mastermind and Arc were already here and it was getting late.  The kids were wrapping up on cleanup, chattering away with something that sounded like a debate between video game characters.  Mastermind was flipping through his emails on his phone and only looked up when Psyker made the offer.      

Mastermind rubbed his temples, “Fine, but let me choose the toppings this time.”

“Of course,” he beamed, giving Mastermind a sly smile.  “Don’t forget I like pineapple.”  

Mastermind groaned, “Lusa, that’s disgusting.”

“But it’s sweet,” Psyker sang.  

“And sour,” he scrunched up his face.   

“Like you.”

“Lusa,” Mastermind looked at him with exasperation.   

“Masi.”  

He bumped his fist up in victory when Mastermind planted his face into the couch in defeat, but not before dialing the pizza place to place their order.  The pizza’s aroma was quick to herd in the kids and the adults when the doorbell rang, Arc and Psych fighting over the paper plates and Mastermind pulling out his card while Lunatic Psyker searched for a place to put the pizza without Doomsday getting to it.  Amongst the chaos and liveliness of fighting for a bite to eat, it wasn’t the first time Psyker thought he wished he invited Mastermind and Arc over more.           

Psyker woke up to the sound of scratching from the back of the house.  Cursing at the familiar sound he once thought belonged to ghosts, he found Doomsday meowing at him and pawing the glass door leading to the backyard.  He slid the door open and watched the feline run off into the darkness.  He was going to get anxious later that day about Doomsday not returning home, but he was too tired to be concerned about that when he walked back into the house.      

“Lusa?”  

He spun around to see who it was and grasped his hand over his chest in the sudden sound of their voice.  Gods, that scared him!  Having white hair and a pale complexion made him thought Mastermind was a ghost.      

“Sorry for waking you up.”  A wave of deja vu hit him of interacting with his friend at an ungodly hour yet again.  Was this becoming a norm for them?   

“What time is it?”  Mastermind pulled out his phone to read the numbers, “Two?”

“You were out since nine,” Psyker said.  As soon as they finished their dinner of a strange combination of pizza toppings that looked like a rainbow, Mastermind collapsed on the chair and slept.    

“I was supposed to take Arc home after dinner,” Mastermind bemoaned.  “I thought it was going to be a quick nap.”

“I told Arc not to wake you up,” Psyker said.  “You were out all day, so I thought you needed the sleep.”  Arc’s sleeping bag was still here from last time, so it’s just another sleepover for the kids.  They fell asleep not too long after Mastermind after he pulled out a cartoon movie for them.  It was a movie that was out the year before, something about robots and superheroes.     

“But I’m here too,” Mastermind said.    

“Eh, we already live at each other’s houses.”  Psyker waved it off and joked.  “Want to merge our houses?”  

“Ha,” he snorted.  “Only if you do the taxes for me.”  

Psyker grinned, “And you do the cooking?”  

“You don’t like my casseroles,” Mastermind rolled his eyes.  

“Only because you use green bell peppers,” he teased him.     

Mastermind snorted and played with a loose strand of his hair, twisting the ends until it tangled around the curls.  For the first time that day, Mastermind had a genuine smile that stood out under the dim lights.  Had this been him two years ago when they just met, he would have complained about waking up in disoriented and in a house of another person’s, but he looked comfortable with himself.    

Mastermind walked back to the living room where the boys were asleep in sleeping bags on the carpeted portion of the floor with only a bit of their head sticking out.  Arc was easy to spot, clinging to a pillow he borrowed from Psych.  Unsure on what to do, Mastermind awkwardly stood in between the chair where he passed out and where Arc was.  Psyker saw the man holding a mental debate and decided to save him from his dilemma.  

“Stay,” Psyker walked over to place a hand on Mastermind’s shoulder.  “Feel free to use the guest room if you want.  I have a spare toothbrush if you need it.”  

It took Mastermind what felt like minutes to register what Psyker said and opened his mouth, only to close it shut again and gave a tiny nod in understanding.  He gave Psyker a grateful look when offered a toothbrush and left to brush his teeth.  When he came back, he saw Psyker sitting in the chair with a worn out expression.  Psyker thought he was gone until he cleared his throat.      

“Thanks for taking care of Arc for me,” Mastermind said.  “I don’t know what I would have done without you.  I’m glad he likes you enough to talk to you too when I’m not there.”  

“Hey, that’s what friends do,” Psyker replied.  It went unsaid that he was happy that Arc was comfortable with him too.  Not too long ago did Arc shyly let Psych do most of the talking to Psyker if he needed anything.  “I know you would have done the same for me if I needed you to look after Psych.”

“Friends?” Mastermind repeated the words as if he couldn’t believe it.  “Yeah… Psych is a good kid.”  The gentle smile made Psyker’s heart stop for a moment, one that wasn’t directed to anyone, but he was glad the lights were too dim for Mastermind to see his face.  “What’s a good name for a white cat?”

“Hm?  Thinking of a name now?” Psyker was amused, “I thought you weren’t planning on keeping it.”  

“No, but I spent so much money on that operation that he might as well be ours.”  Mastermind growled.  “Not even a month old and he’s already a brat.”    

“Fair enough,” he laughed.  “Doomsday got into trouble a lot when he was a kitten too.”

“You phoned me because you thought you lost him to the trash can,” Mastermind pointed out.  

“Hey, I found him digging through the trash once.” Psyker tried thinking of name suggested, “How about Snow?  Frosty?”

“Too generic,” Mastermind sighed.  “How annoying.”     

He grinned, “Welcome to the joy and pain of having a pet!  Congrats.”    

“I can already feel the pain,” Mastermind said with sarcasm, but there was no venom in his voice.  He yawned, “It’s late, I’m going to sleep.  I’ll see you in the morning.”  

With Mastermind retreating back to the guest room for the night, it left no reasons for Psyker to still be awake.  He checked on the kids again to see them fast asleep before going back to his room.  When he hit the covers, he passed out into a dreamless sleep.  

The next time he went to Mastermind’s house to pick up Psych, he was greeted by Arc, who was showing him the science project he and Psych worked on that afternoon.  With Psych sprinting to the car despite warnings from Psyker not to, he scanned the house in search for Mastermind.  After walking through the living room with Arc behind his trail, he soon found Mastermind with his knees on the floor with his head ducked under the coffee table.

“Sorry about being late, the interns messed up something and it took hours for me to untangle.” Psyker ran his hand through his roots with worn out eyes.  He and Mastermind were past the stage of getting annoyed at each other for being a little late, both of them understanding the nature of their jobs, but he despised running late out of the need to feel in control.

Mastermind pulled his arm under the sofa, reaching out for something Psyker couldn’t see.  It wasn’t under Psyker cleared his throat did he notice his presence and promptly stood up to face him with an awkward cough.  

“I didn’t hear you,” he apologized.  “Did Psych already leave?”

“Yeah, he’s in the car.” Psyker said.  “Did you lose something?”  

“I can’t find Apocalypse.”  Mastermind groaned when Psyker gave him that weird look, the kind that questioned his sanity.  It didn’t help that Arc was laughing when he said the name and added, “You know, the cat?  Arc, go look for him in your room.  He might be hiding in your closet again.”  

Arc was still giggling when he went down the hallway and made a right turn to where his room was before slamming the door shut.  Mastermind pulled his hands down his face and rubbed his eyelids before pulling them away to see Psyker staring at him.  

“You named it Apocalypse?”  

“Arc named it,” Mastermind explained.  Wasn’t that the name of a super villain from one the comic books Arc and Psych loved so much?  He grumbled when Psyker started laughing at the name, “We call it Apo for short and HEY, your cat is named Doomsday.”     

Still cackling, Psyker rolled up his sleeves and grinned, “Doomsday is a great name, our cats’ names match!”  

Rolling his eyes, Mastermind said, “I wouldn’t know.”  Right, Mastermind wasn’t as well verse with comic books as he was.  Anything he knew about them were limited to whatever movies he saw in theaters with him or Arc.     

His attention snapped back when he heard a soft squeak coming from the bookshelf hugging the living room wall closest to the kitchen.  He and Mastermind followed the noise to discover a small white ball of fluff sitting in the trashcan.  It waved its paws in the air when Mastermind picked it up and gently scolded at it.

“Naughty kitty,” Mastermind placed a finger on its forehead, trying not to smile when it mewled.  “I thought you wandered off where the birds could pick you up.”

Psyker chuckled at its liveliness, “It looks healthy.”  

“Yes, a real trouble maker,” Mastermind feigned annoyance.  “He’s a little brat.”  

“Now you an extra mouth to feed,” Psyker teased when Mastermind went to the kitchen to open a can of cat food.  

“Hey… thanks for the other day.”  Mastermind said.  “I know I said it for Arc, but I mean it for myself too.  Having someone to talk to is nice.”   

Again?  He wasn’t uncomfortable with Mastermind, not when he was always joking with him like he was just now, but it felt like something was stuck in his throat when Mastermind thanked him for what felt like the tenth time that month.  The giddiness he experienced reminded him of his high school days, clouding his judgment about Mastermind’s last statement.  

“You don’t need to thank me for every little thing I say or do,” Psyker said.  He didn’t mean to be rude, but he wasn’t sure how many more times he could take these thank yous ever so formally when he and Mastermind have known each other for nearly two years.  It made talking to Mastermind awkward sometimes, although overtime, he found it cute.  “Just say, ‘you’re awesome, Lusa.’”  

In deadpan expression, “You’re loathsome, Lusa.”    

He looked at Mastermind with a thumbs down and pulled down his lips into an exaggerated frown in attempt to make the man laugh.  All he got from Mastermind with a twitch in his facial features before shaking his head with a small smile.  He may have lost the conversation, but he won a smile.        

Apocalypse, too, mewls in approval from its spot in Mastermind’s arms.   

[another-chorus-girl]

“Erik House” Chapter 8

It was Crawford's turn on the parlour's pipe organ. Since there had been previous disputes over the instrument constant use, they’d had to make up a scheduled allowance of sorts for its use. 

His hands caressed the keys as music filled the room. 

Kerik took a seat by Lewis and Warlow, watching the older Merik play.

"Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation. "Darkness wakes and stirs imagination, "Silently the senses, abandon their defenses. "Helpless to resist the notes I write, "For I compose the music of the night"

As Crawford sang aloud, Kerik raised a brow from beneath his mask. "I've heard you lot sing this a hundred times, why does his sound different?" Kerik asked

"This was an earlier version he wrote, no one else knows it." Warlow stated.

"Close your eyes, for your eyes will only tell the truth. "And the truth isn't what you want to see"

Crawford continued to sing.

"In the dark it is easy to-"

"AAH OHH!"

Crawford's hands faltered on the keys as the organ groaned in protest. Kerik and the other Merik's looked around for the source of the strange noise.

Crawford continued playing, seeming to ignore whatever had just happened.

"Close your eyes start a journey to a strange new world, "Leave all thoughts of the world you knew before. "Close your eyes and let music set you fr-" But Crawford was interrupted yet again.

"Bathing beauty, "Take a look at....YOU!"

They heard the strange sound coming from above them.

"Sweet musics throne! What is THAT?!" Kerik asked.

The other two Meriks glanced uneasily at Crawford, whom they could see was clenching his fists.

"Bathing beauty, on the beach "Bathing beauty, say 'Hello!' "Whatta cutie! "Whatta peach! "Bathing beauty, watch her go!"

They heard it coming from the third floor. 

Crawford stood, storming down toward the stairwell. 

"Uh oh," Lewis vocalised turning to Warlow. "Go find Jones, NOW"

Kerik scratched his head, "I don't get it. I thought the only one he had a problem with was that talentless tenor Gerik."

Lewis shook his head, "Think about this: if you were the debuter of a show and years later another story comes and throws all of that character development you worked so hard on out the window for vaudeville trash how would you feel?"

Not waiting for a reply the Merik followed Warlow as he made a beeline for Jones room. Dragging Karimloo and Mauer along as well, they found Jones and hustled up to the third floor. 

"Dots? Dots? DOTS? DOTS?! DOTS!"

Mr. Y had been sent a copy of the latest dress rehearsal for Phantasma's opening act back in America by Giry.

He mused Dots made much more sense than Checks.

Suddenly he heard a pounding on the door. Confused he stood opening the door to see Crawford fuming, the older Merik looked as though he were going to have an aneurysm.

"What seems to be the problem, monsieur?" Mr. Y asked cautiously. Gerik had already told him about the ambush this man and the others had established.

"The problem is whatever that insufferable caterwauling is!" Crawford scowled,

Mr. Y sighed, "Now I know what you're going to say-"

"Oh do you now? I've composed symphonies, let music consume me day and night, did the impossible and completed my masterpiece. And you have the gall to insinuate that years later THIS is what comes from the same composer that wrote 'Don Juan Triumphant?!'" Crawford ranted. Despite the height difference the Merik seemed to tower over the much taller man with his outrage. "

Fortunately the others were able to pull Crawford back before he could reach for the lasso and risk doing something rash. 

Karimloo held Crawford back pinning his arms back.

"Unhand me this instant!" The older Merik demanded, it was rare to see him fuming so. Almost frightening even.

Jones attempted to calm his friend down, helping lead the Meriks out of the room. "Now now, there's no need for anymore violence-we’ve done enough of that in the past. Just calm yourself Crawford, remember your blood pressure-"

"TO HELL WITH MY BLOOD PRESSURE!" 

Mr. Y then made a mental note to sound proof the room that day forward. --

The carriage pulled up to the house's main gate, a lone figure stepped out thanking the driver. 

The man had been advised this was the right address to find the masked man. Having been told the door would be left unlocked, he turned the doorknob. 

"Erik?" He called. "Erik, you're a poor host playing this game of hide and-AHHHHH!"

From upstairs the shriek could be heard even up on the third floor.

"Allah above! What nightmare have I been thrown into?!" The Persian man gaped, entering a parlour room finding not one but five masked men. While they're masks and appearances differed from Erik, they held a similar air of sophistication and dominance.

Carpenter and Gaines stared quizzically at the man.

"Who...is he exactly?" Gaines asked. “I feel like I should know him?”

Capenter shook his head, "I'm not sure. But I feel like we're missing something very important?"

Lerik stared blankly at Daroga, whom was babbling rather fast in Persian. This man seemed familiar.

"I know that language anywhere!" Trotting down the stairs Kerik made a beeline for the parlour. "Really! All this time I thought you were never going to-"

But the novelised man paused when he saw the dark skinned man.

"Wait, you're not Nadir. You sound like him, but somethings not the same." His yellow eyes looked the man up and down. Daroga shuddered inwardly as Kerik smirked. “Hmm”

"I say stop hounding him, all of you!" The others whipped their heads toward the sound of Erik's voice as he slowly trudged up the basement stairs.

"E-Erik?" Daroga said, marching over to the masked man. "It...It is you right?"

Erik swatted Daroga's hand away as he rolled his golden eyes.

"Of course it's me you great booby!" The full masked man said as if it were obvious. "Now come along! I need you to take a look at something."

Following him down the stairs, the Persian man hesitantly glanced back at the others whom stared right back as he went down to the basement floor.

"I still want to know who he is!" Gaines blurted out. -- Kerik felt Ayesha rub up against his leg mewing up at him as he played.

  "It's my turn," Warlow noted to the novelized man.

"I'm almost finished, don't get your bowtie in a twist," Kerik teased

"You said you were almost finished ten minutes ago!"

Reading the Epoque with one leg crossed over the other, Panaro sat with Soot peacefully curled up in front of him. 

As Ayesha continued mewing, the labradoodle's head perked up. The dog stood and trotted over to Ayesha in curiosity. he Siamese stared up at the new, giant, fluffy presence. Soot was massive in comparison, but Ayesha did not scare easy and the labradoodle was no threat.

"Hey," Kerik picked Ayesha up, noticing the dog as well. "Leave my little lady alone."

Panaro turned his head, "Oi, my dog wouldn't hurt a hair on your cat. Let him be."

Soot sat watching the cat with wide, dark eyes. He scooted closer, sniffing her face.

Ayesha didn't seem to like her personal space invaded and reached out. Neither Kerik or Panaro could suppress a chuckle watching a five pound Siamese boop a large labradoodle playfully on the nose.

--

Several miles away, the Daroga heaved a sigh leaning over the table.

"So there were six of him?" Nadir asked,

He nodded as the other Persian man shuddered.

"Lord, one is difficult enough." Nadir shook his head, reflecting back on Kerik's outragous antics.

Ledoux silently nodded, agreeing with the other two men, Lerik could be quite the handful despite the man not uttering a word.

"Another round gentlemen?" The bartender asked. Everytime the three Persian men got together here, it seemed to be under stressful circumstances. He wondered often what troubled these men so. Perhaps it was family related.

"It's on me tonight," Nadir declared, "I feel somewhat responsible for not warning you prior to your visit."

Ledoux made a series of hand gestures and leaned back in his chair with his hands clasped together.

"He apologises as well," Nadir explained.

The three men raised a glass.

"To a maskless Erik free evening," Daroga toasted.

"Here here," Nadir agreed, Ledoux remaining silent but clinking his glass with a curt nod.

On the other side of the pub, the Persian men failed to notice Destler glancing in their direction quizzically.

"Another monsieur?" The lady asked, breaking Destler's concentration as she took his empty glass.

Shrugging his shoulders and turning back to his latest composition Destler nodded.

"Please," He answered, continuing his work.

-The version of “Music of the Night” Crawford sings is from the promo video for the musical back in 1986. As far as I’m aware there arn’t many Phantoms that have sung this version, or at least I haven’t heard any.

-Crawford’s hatred of LND is slight Actor Allusion as it stems from an interview Michael did a few years ago. While he didn’t directly say he hated the sequel when asked he didn’t seem to like the idea of Phantom continuing when the ending was just fine the way it was.

-The Dots and Checks remark is due to the OLC recording of LND has Meg wearing a checkered bathing suit at the finale of “Bathing Beauty” whereas the Australian version (and the version my Mr. Y comes from) used dots. 

-Michael Crawford stands at 5′10 wheras Ben Lewis stands at a whopping 6′2 (many of the popular Phantoms are fairly tall, Crawford is an exception and Wilkinson at 5′8)

-Yes Daroga (Leroux), Nadir (Kay), and Inspector Ledoux (1925 film) are three seperate men as the Eriks and Christines are separate. 

[deschainroland]

Favourite Music Releases, 2017

Another year has passed. Out of the 30+ new releases that I listened to this year, these are the ten records that impressed me the most. Other noteable releases and disappointments can be found at the bottom.

1. Slowdive Slowdive

By striking the perfect balance between the dreamy pop songs of Souvlaki and the expansive soundscapes on Pygmalion, Slowdive have created another highlight in their discography and my favourite album of 2017. Personal favourites are the hypnotic album opener Slomo and gut-wrenching second single Sugar for the Pill.

2. Chelsea Wolfe Hiss Spun

Hiss Spun is a logical progression from Chelsea Wolfe’s previous albums in how it embraces (doom) metal even more than Abyss and Pain Is Beauty, even featuring grunt vocals from Isis’ Aaron Turner on Vex. The sheer density and dread of its 12 tracks might seem oppressive at first, but after repeated listens, it becomes clear that this serves a purpose as the more restrained and open moments start to shimmer through.

3. St Vincent Masseduction

With videos that pop with vibrant, bold colors and a tour format where she alone takes center stage, with only her guitar and these same videos to back her up, it might seem that Annie Clark’s latest is more form than substance. Luckily, this is not the case. The songs are as creative, varied and well-written as before, with a style that is built around electronics more than before, while keeping Clark’s unconventional guitar style firmly in the foreground.

4. Mount Eerie A Crow Looked At Me

Phil Elverum’s lyrics have always been rooted in personal experiences, often illustrated through his perception of natural phenomenons and life around him. Yet, they have never been more intimate and confrontational than on A Crow Looked At Me. He recounts the grief he and his daughter went through in the period after his wife’s death in 2015. Using plain, clear sentences, delivered in his typical speaking/singing style, he creates honest and heartbreaking tableaus of small moments that perfectly illustrate what it means to go through the loss of a loved one.

5. EMA Exile in the Outer Ring

On 2014′s The Future’s Void, EMA started to experiment more with electronics, compared to her more guitar-driven (and fantastic) debut Past Life Martyred Saints. Combined with the rather heavy-handed delivery of Void’s themes, it felt as if she was still looking for a new direction after her very personal debut. On Exile In the Outer Ring she seems to have found it. A more subtle balance between guitars and industrial electronics throughout the album, as well as more memorable song material, make this one of my most-listened-to albums of 2017, 

6. LCD Soundsystem American Dream

American Dream feels like the work of a much older band than the LCD Soundsystem that released three albums during its initial run, even though This Is Happening was released only seven years ago. James Muprhy’s lyrics have grown more contemplative than ever and the band seems to have adapted to this in places (How Do You Sleep?, Oh Baby, American Dream), while retaining the groove of their older songs elsewhere (Tonite, Emotional Haircut), albeit always employing a new, more organic, sound palette that was not present on their first three albums.

7. Millionaire Sciencing

More than a decade after their last release, Millionaire have released new music. Millionaire is the brainchild of Tim Vanhamel and (especially this time around) essentially a solo project, despite the five-headed band surrounding him on stage. His varied musical taste results in an eclectic but somehow homogeneous sounding albums that surprises and twists, often within the duration of a single song.

8. Arcade Fire Everything Now

The central theme of the album, apathy and anxiety caused by a constant influx of information, is contrasted by the often uplifting melodies. Everything Now  demonstrates once again how Arcade Fire are one of the most gifted current bands when it comes to releasing innovative, album oriented music that appeals to a broader audience.

9. Queens of the Stone Age Villains

Yes, it is probably one of the weakest QOTSA releases to date and yes, its production is a vast departure from their early stoner rock roots, but the songs remain catchy and fun as hell. The uptempo material grooves like before, despite the different sound and a  ‘ballad’ like Fortress belongs in the ranks of their best tracks.

10. Lana Del Rey Lust for Life

Honeymoon felt a little lackluster and like more of the same, so hot on the heels of (the largely excellent) Ultraviolence. Lust for Life luckily feels fresh again, thanks to its bright - and by now familiar - lush production and the addition of surprising guest vocalists (Stevie Nicks, Sean Lennon). It is admirable that she sticks to her own style, setting herself apart from the many generic-sounding acts in today’s pop landscape.

Interesting Releases

Arca Arca Björk Utopia Cloud Nothings Life Without Sound Charlotte Gainsbourg Rest The Flaming Lips Oczy Mlody Intergalactic Lovers Exhale Kamasi Washington Harmony of Difference METZ Strange Peace Nine Inch Nails Add Violence (EP) Soulwax From Deewee Steven Wilson To The Bone The xx I See You

Disappointing

At The Drive-In - in•ter a•li•a - All sense of urgency is gone and any present anger feels like an act. An unnecessary reunion. Death From Above 1979 - Outrage is Now - More of the same, which is unsurprising, given the limited sonic spectrum they operate in. Gorillaz - Humanz - Although Gorillaz albums have always blended a broad array of influences, they always had that ‘Gorillaz Sound’ that is unfortunately missing on this one. Not an awful record by any means, but certainly not on par with what they have done in the past. Gruppo di Pawlowski - In Inhuman Hands - After delivering one of my favourite albums of 2014, the Steve Albini produced compact bombshell Neutral Village Massacre, this new release is too unfocused to have that same impact. Mew - Visuals - Not too suprising after the more pop oriented style they developed on their previous album, but it is still disappointing to see them continue in the same direction.

[grinwolfe]

What it's like living here

I would like to tell you a story. A long story. It doesn't matter if you believe it or not. Maybe one day you'll find yourself in a situation and some part of this will resurface from ancient memory and absorb some of the shock. Or maybe you already know, and my story might provide some validation or relief. The point is, it's a story and we always learn things in stories. I live in a prairie. I live where hardly anyone comes to visit and half the people who live here want to leave. I live with extreme heat and drought, extreme rain and floods, the occasional snow and hail in July, 8 months of winter, the highest crime rate in my country, plagues every year of different insects and animals (this is the jack rabbit and bumblebee year, so it's a good year), and the most light on average in a year, with our 180° skies and endless fields. It takes hours to get anywhere else, there aren't any public buses anymore for between the towns, so if you're on your own and have no car, best of luck to you and see you in two days. There is nowhere to hide from the sun, the bugs will feast on you, as will bears, cougars and coyotes once you've been trampled/gored by a moose or stag. This is a desolate, dangerous, empty space where if you stop and listen for a while, you start to feel the great expanse of ever consuming existence and how small and very very mortal you are. How fragile and brief we all are, and quite meaningless. That silence can either take you to new levels of consciousness and understanding, or drive you insane until you are babbling and screaming just to hear anything beyond the soft drone of all those bugs who want to eat you and the hungry giggling of a pack of coyotes. That is where I live. I also live in a century old house. This is quite the accomplishment; there aren't many of them left in the community where I live. Anything old, antique, or possesses character is immediately destroyed because 'it doesn't appeal to businesses.' A plain metal box always replaces it, which is the ugliest damn thing you've ever seen. My house is 110 years old, maybe older; the furthest the records go back is 1906 and my house was already built then. It came from a Sears catalogue and was built by laymen. I exist because of this house. It brought my parents together; my mom was my dad's first and last renter who only ever paid one months rent because she lost her job. I grew up in this house, amid the constant reno's saw dust, rusty nails, century old horse hair, exposed wiring, and power tools. My father is still renovating it. No, it isn't in that bad of shape, he's just really bad/slow at it and is very possessive of the house so he refuses to let anyone outside of me or mom help. And we don't like to help him because he's a huge jerk when you help him. You need to know all of this because understanding the circumstances of growing up in this house, in this place, adds another unnerving layer upon my tale. It's hard to know if it was like what I remember before I was born, or if activity ramped up as I grew up. I have no way of finding out because neither of my parents are a)organized, b)observant c)tolerating of differences. The earliest event I can remember was the most traumatic. I was around the age of 4, and while my parents watched tv in the living room, I went into the kitchen with their permission to grab a caramel candy. Our kitchen has one huge single pane window looking into our backyard and midway up I saw two lights reflected in the glass. My first instinct was that those lights were reflected from a hallway light behind me. I wasn't wrong. I just didn't immediately grasp that the light was rebounding off two eyes that were over ten feet (over 3 m) off the ground. Not little eyes either. They were yellow white, round, forwards facing, 1 1/4" (32 mm) in diameter and roughly 8 inches. And they were staring right at me. Do you know what that is? Because I still don't. Frankly, it's amazing I didn't pee myself. I was so scared, I couldn't scream or make a noise. I collapsed and played dead like a baby deer while trying to slowly crawl out of the kitchen while gasp crying softly for my parents, terrified that the monster will come through the glass. I eventually made it, got rebuked for crawling on the floor, and then I hid under the coffee table while they watched their show. It wasn't until the end of their show that they bothered to ask why I hadn't said a word and was still under the coffee table. They dismissed my fears. To this day they denied it ever happened, yet they still mock me for saying back then, 'the trees have eyes.' From then on, I avoided that window, or any ground floor window at night, afraid of what I would see for 10 years. Blinds and a heightened night vision became my friend. I figured if the lights were off around me, then nothing outside could see me. I would not, and still don't sit with my back to windows. That was only the beginning. As I child I remember hearing things that didn't make sense; footsteps around the house, mysterious bangs, someone calling my name, and a full blown tea party in the kitchen when no one was home. I challenged my parents the next day about why I wasn't invited to the party, it was only 9:30 but they replied there was no party, the babysitter left at 9 and they didn't get home until 11. Things went missing and I would get blamed until I realized how disorganized and irresponsible with other people's stuff my parents were. Then we all blamed each other. Toys that I broke by accident were mysteriously repaired, and I know for certain that my parents would never miss an opportunity to turn something I did into a lecture, and pound their chests on how benevolent and wonderful they are to fix it and how grateful I should be for the next year and how Santa would bring me one less present. When I was ill, someone would tuck me in and wipe my forehead but when I opened my eyes no one was there. Our three cats also saw things, as did I. Things that moved fast but were otherwise transparent. The cats were very affected, flight or fight modes activated, hissing, growling, mews of fear, charging and fleeing. I was 6 when I heard about ghosts from a friend, and that seemed to make sense. But ghosts scared me so ghosts became a banned thought in my home and if you dared bring up the subject you were met with 'don't be ridiculous, that's a silly thing to think, you're letting your imagination get away with you and are irresponsible with your things,' and I had to agree because I was six and what the hell did I know? As I got older and my dad ripped more of the house apart, events became less frequent but more intense. Once in the early morning before school, my stereo went crazy, flipping through all the station MANUALLY (the dial was turning) while a very loud buzzing traveled around my room, occasionally dive bombing me. If it was a bee, then it was a bee the size of a guinea pig, but I would've seen that and I saw nothing. I screamed for my dad, who also heard it, who also couldn't figure out what was making it, and then leaving it unresolved with a 'stop wasting my time.' I ran in, grabbed the rest of my clothes and changed in the bathroom. I never heard that buzzing again and never found a very large insect in the house. I saw shadows watching me at night in my room, and shadows of insects and insect like things crawling around in my home. I honestly thought I was going crazy. Since then I've been tested for schizophrenia and psychosis and nope, I'm an average crazy, no more sane than anyone else. Then things got more obvious. Once, while dancing in my kitchen (i only dance when I'm alone) I was startled by a young man, about 16, quickly leaning out from behind my refrigerator to say 'hi!' in the most excited pleased tone you can imagine. I screamed of course and tried to leap up onto the opposite counter tops and by that point he was gone but I still remember what he looked like from the waist up (the rest was hidden behind the refrigerator). He had suspenders, a green shirt, one of those paperboy caps, a round raw face like it had been cooked, with a short button nose and bright blue eyes. He was genuinely pleased to meet someone close to his age, or that's how it felt. On another occasion, in the morning, a different young man walked into my room and said 'my name is Marlow.' It was so clear. I sat right up, he had vanished by then and said loudly 'who the f@ck is Marlow???' Funnily enough, he did resemble Christopher Marlowe a little, but I refuse to believe a 17th century poet/writer decided to visit me in my bedroom. Also, I still don't know who the f@ck Marlow is. When I misbehaved or shirked chores I got tapped. Anywhere, often on the top of my head, sometimes on my ear or shoulder. Soft the first time but if I had been ignoring it by the 3rd then they got harder. Last year a hand fondly patted/ ran through my hair. I could feel the individual fingers on my scalp. Not everything has been benign. My dad took down a wall in the basement and suddenly there was a Shadow Person, which for the uninformed is a non-human entity and they generally mean bad news, like this one. I did not know this at the time, I thought I was going insane and the internet couldn't answer my questions. They are incredibly malevolent, and this one kept threatening all of us, intending to kill any and maybe all of us for pleasure. But my feckless parents were in more danger than me because they couldn't see it. It fell entirely to 15 year old me to research and handle it. I begged my mom to help, even though she laughed in my face, and I told her I was scared for their lives. They couldn't even help me keep it contained in the basement (for some reason the doors -which were original, kept it from moving around freely.) For a month, that thing steadily increased its energy and territory. It grabbed my ankle as I was going up the stairs and chased me the rest of the way up. Half of me thought I had finally lost it, but another part of me, that rational side, trusted my instincts because if we were really in danger, now was not the time to ignore it. I eventually triumphed; I used the door trick, specifically the front door. I locked it out of the house and now it's out there in the world but not terrorizing me. I thought when I went to college that all that would change, that I'd be away from trigger memories and in a new place in a safe supportive setting doing something that I loved. Not so. The forest next to the college also possessed things, some of which were even worse and more powerful than the Shadow Person. Luckily, I only saw them from a distance and through my window. I have had CAT scans done, MRI's, I've talked with psychiatrists, neurospecialists, psychotherapists, and have had 3 psychoanalysis done. None of them can explain any of this and no one wants to try. I tell them what I've experienced and they go silent because they're rational, scientific doctors and though in every other way I am sane, what I am saying must be impossible. So I researched. And researched. And researched. Now? I'm not scared of ghosts, nor do I go looking for them. They're people without bodies, but still people. They're going to be just as enthusiastic, seedy, annoying, mean, bossy, or kind as they were in life and mostly don't want to be bothered or have their home ripped apart. Don't mess with things you don't understand is a good rule of thumb. It might be fun to scare yourself and your friends silly by trying to summon something BUT DON'T. It's not worth it, and you might have to face consequences that will stick with you forever. Plus, it's kinda rude. But if you get a Shadow Person, or some other non-human entity, dude, get that shit dealt with right away by a professional. They do exist. As for me, I'm just fine. Back in this old house for now, the remaining spirits are on good terms with me and are waging war on dad and his eternal renovations. I expect when he passes, he'll be in this house too, there is no wall, no floor, nothing he has not put his mark on. And as long as the people standing in the back yard watching the house don't get in, we'll be fine for a while yet.

[ezmisery]

Crush

I’m looking in the mirror. I see Hallie. She is smiling. Out loud I whisper, “This is me. I am Hallie. I am myself.”

When you’ve been doing what I have for as long as I have, it is hard to remember the before. Before a producer changed my name to Hallie. Before the fake hair and tits. But of course there was a before. I had a name. It exists somewhere in my mind but I am either too tired or too high to bring it back. I remember a family who loved me. But then, somewhere else in that memory, is an insatiable need to escape. To be anywhere but there.

I do remember Callie’s old name. It was Jenny. She used to be ugly. Maybe ugly is too strong a word, but she was never beautiful. Beauty was all she wanted. She left her bumpkin life and moved to LA to be something. Attention is her drug.

But whatever our reasoning for leaving the home we were born in, we both ended up having sex for money.

We were lucky, really. So many people come into this business with nothing but a hole and a willingness to fill it. But Callie and I, we found each other. Our niche was that we looked remarkably like one another. Our noses both twisted to one side (not after the nose job.) Our proportions were the same (and stayed that way even after the breasts and hips we got pumped into us.) But most importantly we had the same eyes. They are freakishly big and surrounded by a sea of blond lashes. Callie told me her mother called them insect eyes. But in our business, big eyes were desirable (especially after popping in some blue contacts.)

Gregorio saw this similarity and created our personalities. He’s our manager. He is an odd looking man with a large beer belly but the face of a young boy. If you’ve seen a porno in the past ten years you’ve probably seen his work. He is the one who chose our names and paid for our transformations. It was money well spent.

He introduced us to the ‘twin’ market. We advertised ourselves as sisters who enjoyed having sex with each other. This made us extremely desirable. It only took a few months for Gregorio to release our first movie - “Callie and Hallie – the Slut Sisters.” It sold surprisingly well for new talent. We were on the map.

But Gregorio made sure we understood that our new names, our new bodies – they weren’t just personas. We had to become these women. We had to forget whatever boring lives we had before and live full time as Callie and Hallie.

So that’s what we did.

The years that followed were a whirlwind of films, internet specials, and club appearances. Callie and I spent nearly every minute together. We started behaving like twins instead of just acting. We were committed to letting go of our old selves completely. It brought us a lot of money. Not a lot of joy though.

As all porn stars know your fame does not last forever. Viewers got tired of seeing us fuck each other. We brought in guest stars, props, fancy locations…but we just weren’t making the money that we used to. But like he always did, Gregorio had a plan.

“There’s a new market,” he told us one night, the coke straw still in his hand. “It’s hugely popular but very underground. It will take a lot of commitment to the project.”

I nodded, totally burnt out on everything. But Callie said, “I already told you I’m not fucking an animal.”

Gregorio laughed. “Don’t worry. This won’t require you to fuck anything actually.”

My head rolled to one side and I closed my eyes. I didn’t care. I didn’t care about anything really. Callie on the other hand was still invested. “Well what do we have to do?”

“You need another hit,” Gregorio chuckled. “Just show up when I tell you to. We’ll have the wardrobe ready for you.”

“Does this unground thing have a name?” Callie was always outspoken. I suppose I admired her for that. I think it was her former self peeking through the curtains. But me…I had given up. I’d do whatever they wanted. I was a fuckdoll now.

Gregorio shook his head. “I’ll tell you at the shoot.”

Callie dropped the issue. We spent the rest of the night in a stupor. I woke up with Callie’s drool on my hair and Gregorio’s dick in my mouth. I spit him out and he wouldn’t stop laughing. I rolled over into the fetal position and kept myself from crying.

That was a week ago. Now I’m sitting at the mirror staring at Hallie. She looks tired. Her hair is fake and perfect. Her teeth are fake and perfect. I feel like crying, but she is smiling. I whisper, “This is me. I am Hallie. I am myself.”

Callie is complaining. “Why the hell are we shooting in this shit hole?”

I look at her. She’s right. We’re sitting in the bedroom of some old house. The place looked sketchy but we’re used to that. I study Callie’s face. She looks exactly like Hallie. Even I cannot tell the difference. My voice comes out exhausted, “We need the money.”

“Let’s just get this over with.” She stands. She is wearing a neon green bodysuit with black zebra stripes. Her makeup is over the top and caked on her face. It is a typical look for us. I stand in a matching pink number. Our shoes are high with a thin heel. I used to wobble when I walked in them. Now it the pain feels nearly comforting.

We leave the bedroom and head towards the kitchen, where the shoot is taking place. It’s a huge space for such a shitty house. The floors are spotless white tile. It’s as if this is the only room ever cleaned. Gregorio is holding a camera, checking out angles.

“Where’s the crew?” Callie asks.

“Just me today,” he responds. “We need to keep our production costs down with this one.”

“Okay fine. So what’s the deal? Fetish shit?” Callie cracks her fingers against her hip bone.

“You could say that.” Gregorio laughs his disturbing belly laugh. I sigh deeply.

Callie rolls her eyes. “Stop it with this vague gig. Just tell us what we’re doing.”

He puts the camera down. “I’ll bring in your co-stars,” he says mockingly before heading down the hallway.

Callie looks at me with scorn. “Don’t pass out like last time.”

“I’ll try.”

Gregorio comes back from the other room with a large cardboard box in his hands. There are strange noises coming from inside. I figure a vibrator must have switched on. Gregorio is grinning like a kid about to prank his little siblings. He drops the box on the floor and it smacks against the tile. The noises inside get a bit louder.

“What the fuck…” I whisper.

The top flap of the box is slowly inched upward. A small head pokes out. It’s a kitten. It couldn’t be older than a few months. I go to the box. Inside are nine kittens; four orange, one black, and four white. They all were mewing and scratching against the cardboard.

Callie clicks her tongue. “I said no animals.”

“You’re not going to fuck them,” Gregorio chuckles. “Although I might pay to see you try.”

“Then what? They climb over us while we fuck each other? Some weird kink?” Callie clearly wants nothing to do with the kittens. I pick one the black one up and pet its tummy. It purrs softly.

Gregorio goes back to the camera. “Have you ever heard of crush porn?”

“No.” Callie has her hands on her hips, impatient.

“It’s easy. We can finish the shoot in an hour at most. All you have to do is look good and do what I say.”

“Fine. Hallie put that thing down and get over here.” I delicately put the kitten back into the box. Its big green eyes watch as I walk over to Callie.

Gregorio gives us the go ahead and we start dancing. Our fake laughter fills the room. Soon we’re making out and groping each other. I don’t even notice that Gregorio has let out one of the white kittens. It is wandering around our feet.

“Callie,” he calls out, “kick the cat.” Callie looks a little confused but moves the kitten with her foot. “No! Kick it.” She stops kissing me and kicks the cat with a hard strike. It flies a foot in the air before landing on its side.

“I don’t like this,” I try to say. I want to get out of here.

“Shut up,” Gregorio orders. “Now Hallie, press your shoe down on the kitten’s body. Do it slow.” He is breathing heavily.

The kitten is still a bit dazed from being kicked. I move towards it. It cowers away from me. In robotic motions I lift my leg above the tiny thing. I bring the stiletto down slowly. It traps the kitten beneath the heel. It cries louder as I apply pressure. Something inside me starts to melt. A tear forms in the corner of my eye.

“Now crush it,” he says excitedly.

I look to Callie, who is leaning against the counter. Her arms are crossed. I try to find some sympathy or compassion in her face but all I see is impatience. My jaw begins to quiver. I’ve done some disgusting things in my porn career. But this was different. I feel Hallie slip away just a bit and someone else, someone older peaks through.

“This is taking too long.” Callie storms over to me and pushes me to the ground. The kitten pees in fear. With one swift motion Callie lifts her foot and slams it down on the kitten’s body. There is a sickening crack. I turn away, tears now flowing freely. I can hear the sound of Callie’ shoe being removed from the dead kitten. It sounds like wet meat against the tile. Callie starts giggling uncontrollably. “That was easier than I thought.”

“It needs to be slower,” Gregorio says, but he can’t hide his excitement. “And you both need to do it together. That’s our niche.”

“I don’t think I can do it,” I whisper, but no one is listening.

“Grab an orange one next,” Gregorio continues. “This time you both step on it.”

Callie scrapes some of the viscera on her heel off onto the floor. “You get the cat, Hallie.”

My body responds without my permission. The years of being told what to do, of being degraded and humiliated, have caused a disconnect between my mind and body. There is a voice inside me trying to scream. I don’t want to do this. But I am already lifting the small, soft thing in my hands. It nibbles at my nails. I lay it down on a clean tile. I’m sure it can smell the metallic death of its sibling.

Gregorio has pulled out his penis. It sits like a fat beige slug between his legs. He refocuses the camera. “Both of you come together. Crush it real slow.”

Callie grabs me by the waist. Her nails bite into me. She slides her fingers over my ass and licks her lips. I look away. She shakes me, trying to get me to pretend to be into it. She presses her foot towards mine and suddenly the kitten is underneath the soles of our shoes.

“Slow,” she whispers, her voice merciless.

My cheeks are wet with tears. I wish I could stop, could run out, but instead I push down. I can feel the pressure of the small body beneath my foot. Gregorio moans like a perverted old man. The kitten is screaming. It takes one whole minute for the neck to crack. And still I am pushing down, fighting my own instincts. Callie is kissing my neck but I don’t feel it. I only feel the revolting squish of blood, organs, and flesh.

I am now fully sobbing. Gregorio is angry. “We can’t keep the take if you keep crying! Shut the fuck up and try again. Do the black one this time.”

I can’t move. The dead kitten is still beneath my shoe. My entire body is heaving. Callie slaps me across the face. “You’re wasting my time.”

I slump over to the box. It smells strongly of piss. The other kittens are terrified. I reach in and pull out the black cat I had held earlier. It looks at me with a mix of fear and confusion. Its eyes are huge and green. I kiss the top of its head, my tears wetting its fur. It chirps at me.

Gregorio yells, “Hurry the fuck up, bitch!”

And this is when the present becomes a memory. I am no longer in the moment, but now minutes later, running out the door. I hear screaming. I smell something sick. I leave a trail of bloody prints behind me. Despite the height of my stilettos I am running fast. The bodysuit rubs against my hips. No one pulls over. No one notices me.

There is a small black kitten clutched safely in my arms.

I make it to a gas station almost a mile away. I walk in and all heads turn. The clerk tries to flirt with me but I ask for the phone. My old life has lodged itself back in my mind. I feel sober for the first time in years. I call my father. He cries when he hears my voice. I cry too. The kitten licks the tears off my face.

My father drives ten hours to pick me up at a motel. He takes me home. He calls me Valerie. When he hugs me, I don’t feel disgusting. When I see my mother, my siblings, I feel safe. They give me clothes and a warm bedroom. My mother has even gotten supplies for my little kitten friend.

I named her Jenny.

This is my life now. It is not exciting or exotic. And I like that. When I look in the mirror I still see Hallie sometimes, but for the most part I have let her go. “This is me. I am Valerie. I am myself.”

Three months after starting my new life I receive an email. It is from an unknown account. There is a small message and a video attached. The message says, “Too bad you left so early.”

I open the video. It is shot from a handheld camera. I instantly recognize the scene. It is the kitchen I fled from. Shots of the two dead kittens can be seen in the background. The camera is focused on my legs. The man behind the camera yells, “Hurry the fuck up, bitch!” Without a moment of hesitation I walk towards the camera. The focus drops down to my feet, stuffed in those cursed stilettos. Like a show horse I lift my foot and stomp it down upon the fat beige worm that was Gregorio’s penis. He drops the camera and is screaming. I do not lift my foot. I twist the heel and blood is spurting into the air. I crush his cock over and over. Then, as if scared by a noise, I take off running. The camera is on its side, still capturing the pulp that was once Gregorio’s genitals.

A few minutes pass. Gregorio has clearly passed out. Slowly Callie walks over to the camera and picks it up. She is smiling. She looks just like Hallie did. “I think we got what we needed,” she says into the camera. “But just to be safe, let’s take care of the rest of these disgusting cats.”