#holy cow it’s been a long time since I’ve drawn anything

[thehobbit97]

Guess who’s back, back again. Art block is gone. Tell a friend 🎉

[davidmann95]

Thoughts (if any) on DC's April 2021 solicitations?

Let’s take ‘em in order! I should be able to muster up a comment on just about everything one way or another.

Green Lantern #1: Oh this is gonna be bad. Heard only the worst about Thorne’s Future State: Green Lantern, and I assume Jo Mullein’s DCU debut will be wasted here to either function as some kind of ridiculous ‘popularity contest’ with Teen Lantern for who gets the bigger push, or as a way to put TL over with a few “good work kid, you got a future” comments. Also, and granted I don’t know how Morrison will end or this will begin, is the New Guardians angle being immediately dropped?

Robin #1: Dope suit, art, and premise, but it’s Williamson so I don’t care.

Batman: The Dark Knight #1: I’ll read this and I expect to like it, but between this being Kubert’s first big Batman project since Master Race, the ‘old but not quite retirement age yet’ angle, and the title, I’m concerned the shock ending here is that it’s actually a stealth DKR prequel.

The Next Batman: Second Son #1: So they really are committing here, though weird that this kinda makes Ridley’s Future State book basically a longform teaser for this. And I’ll get it as it comes out since it turns out this won’t be in that John Ridley’s Batman collection after all - sorry Dustin Nguyen, I love your stuff but I won’t buy an entire trade of material I otherwise already own just for one new story by you.

The Batman & Scooby Doo Mysteries #1: I got that whole great-looking Scooby Doo Team-Up run by Fisch for free on Comixology, I should read that sometime and see if this’ll be worth getting too as well, because it sounds like a hoot.

Challenge of the Super Sons #1: Glad people who want it are getting it, I do not care.

RWBY/Justice League #1: WILL BE GETTING A POST ALL ITS OWN

Action Comics #1030: His powers waning definitely won’t help the standard pre-run fuming by a lot of Superman fandom, but it’s an interesting pairing with PKJ apparently doing mainly cosmic Superman adventures so I’m curious where he’ll go with it. That it’s particularly cited as being tied to Death Metal might validate my suspicion that the new ‘everyone remembers their entire mainstream publishing histories’ thing will play into Johnson’s description of Clark really feeling his age at the start of the run. And Janin on covers even before he gets in on the book proper! And that Midnighter description!

Superman #30: This sounds like where Johnson’s gonna start with that worldbuilding he touted, and I’m curious; definitely reads in this instance like him shoving Clark and Jon into some swords-and-sorcery-esque territory he’s familiar with.

American Vampire 1976 #7: Not reading, don’t care.

Batman #107: I assume ‘the events at Arkham Asylum’ are the ‘A-Day��� ominously brought up in Future State solicits. Tynion Batman, Jimenez as the regular artist now, whatever the Unsanity Collective is, all entirely my shit. More importantly than any of that though, GHOSTMAKER BACKUPS. And drawn by Ricardo Lopez Ortiz, artist on Steve Orlando’s excellent The Pull! Dope!

Batman: Black & White #5: Any other issue and ‘Jamal Campbell doing a life story of Nightwing’ would probably be the highlight, but in case you somehow hadn’t heard Gillen/McKelvie are making their DC debut on a Batman vs. Riddler story here, absolutely wild.

Batman: Urban Legends #2: Even more excited for this now that I’m onboard for the Grifter and Outsiders stuff given how much those features pleasantly surprised me in Future State.

Batman/Superman #17: Injecting it isn’t enough anymore, I need to be on some kind of constant IV drip with this book. I was wondering whether it’d take the premise to further generational riffs or follow a history of mass-media Supermen and Batmen, but instead it’s veering off in a direction I never could have guessed and I couldn’t be more excited.

Batman vs. Ra’s Al Ghul #6: NOTHING CAN STOP THE ADAMSVERSE. NONE MAY DARE TRY.

Batman/Catwoman #5: Wondering how this Harley involvement plays in - I don’t imagine it’s quite what it seems given how King’s written her before. And love that Joker by Mann on the cover, major Clown at Midnight vibes.

Catwoman #30: No reason to assume this run won’t continue to rule.

Crime Syndicate #2: Dammit, I don’t think this book is going to be good, but I’m kinda tempted.

Detective Comics #1035: Wouldn’t be psyched, but Dark Detective was another pleasant surprise so I’ll give this a chance.

The Dreaming: Waking Hours #9: Again, not reading.

Far Sector #11: Sucks a little knowing we’ll never see that little ‘Young Animal’ label in the corner again after this wraps. At least it’s going out on its highest note.

The Flash #769: In a vacuum this would sound dope but I have less than no faith in this, and goddamn that’s a terrible cover.

Harley Quinn #2: I’m sure it’ll be fine, no interest.

The Joker #2: I wanna believe Tynion will be able to make this work, he keeps talking like he has more freedom on this than he has some other books, but everything about this reads like the price he has to pay for relative post-Joker War freedom on Batman.

Justice League #60: It’s Bendis/Marquez on Justice League, lots of people will complain but I’ll mostly dig it. More interested in Ram V briefly getting to write the main crew in the JLD backup.

Man-Bat #3: I’d ask why this exists - and as a matter of fact I still do - but checking out some of DC’s digital-first output recently I see Dave Wielgosz has something on the ball, so maybe he’ll be able to make this work? Perhaps I’ll check it out in trade someday if worth-of-mouth is on its side.

Nightwing #79: I maintain, this is gonna be huge. And clever move to make for how to justify Nightwing keeping up his standard way of business after Bruce loses most of his money.

Rorschach #7: A comic I will purchase and let’s continue leaving it at that.

Scooby-Doo, Where Are You? #109: DC’s highest-numbered comic (that hasn’t gone through an interim renumbering), astonishing. Not getting it myself, but respect.

Sensational Wonder Woman #2: Can’t say this sounds like my thing.

Suicide Squad #2: I’ve been swayed into checking out the Future State debut, but that’d have to really blow me away for me to follow into the main book.

Superman: Red & Blue #2: Sadly if unsurprisingly DC’s clearly not stacking this with AAA attention-grabbing names in the same way as this latest version of Batman: Black & White, but there do seem to be some interesting names from outside the usual big two roster here. And the main and Bolland cover may disappoint but holy cow that David Choe variant.

The Swamp Thing #2: I have no doubt it’ll be incredible but time and again I learn I simply don’t have it in me to care about Swamp Thing regardless of the objective quality of the effort put into him.

Sweet Tooth: The Return #6: Another one I’m not interested in.

Titans Academy #2: Oh lord so this is where they stuck Billy Batson.

Truth & Justice #3: I continue to have no idea what if anything the unifying idea of this anthology is supposed to be.

Wonder Woman #771: Wonder Woman as troubleshooter for mythological mishaps isn’t a permanently sustainable or desirable status quo but I’m down for it for as long as it lasts if it’s any good (though that Immortal Wonder Woman preview...concerned me, in spite of Jen Bartel’s jaw-dropping art).

So that’s 19-23 out of 37 I’ll be getting - if DC’s standard for success with Infinite Frontier is the proportion of their line people will be checking out, I guess it’s winning with me.

[audreyandherocs]

Thea's Cave: Chapter 5

<Previous Chapter>

“You don’t have a communicator?!”

“Tommy, tommy, I literally woke up in the world just…I don’t know how long actually?” said Thea, her face scrunching at the realization that she didn’t keep count. “Wait, what’s a communicator?”

Tubbo trotted up to her and pulled out his communicator, showing it to her. “We use these to call and keep into contact with people. Also other things like if people get despawned or something.”

“Ohhhh, yeah definitely don’t have that. If I did, then I would’ve known there were other people around.”

“This is unacceptable! We got to get you one now, or how else are you going to need help from Tubbo and I!” yelled Tommy as if it was a crime.

Thea folded her arms together and human, leaning slightly against her wall. Her newly acquired bees were buzzing around which was a great delight to Tubbo.

“I mean, I’m close to L’manberg to book for it” noted Thea but the boys didn’t notice it. They were going in and out of the house, exploring everywhere as Thea just snorted at their antics but kept on working and learning.

She had a crossbow, snatched from the pillagers all those time ago, and apparently, she could shoot fireworks out of it. She had planned to experiment more with the fireworks but that plan went out of the window when the boys came.

It had been only three days since she met these boys and she already knew, they were chaotic and would need supervision when they were handling TnT. So, she had gone out and looked for some animals, Tommy enthusiastically helping her round up cows and chickens, and bees by an enthusiastic Tubbo. Thea found some sheep and now she was just tending to them and the farmland.

“HEY THEA,” yelled Tommy from the balcony as she turned to him nonchalantly, “WHERE ARE YOUR GUEST BEDROOMS?!”

“I DON’T HAVE ANY!” she yelled back and turned to her planning potatoes.

“WHAT?! WHY!?”

“WHY WOULD I?!” she yelled back a question, before snorting. There was someone jumping off and Thea turned back to see Tommy and Tubbo parkouring off the balcony and rushing towards her.

“So we can sleep over!”

Thea stood up and dusted off her pants, noting absentmindedly that she should get new clothes.

“If you guys do, just set a bed somewhere in the bedroom, I don’t care. I got wool and dye, just mark which is which and mind my stuff.”

Tommy and Tubbo beamed and dashed off as Thea realized she had just given the two permission to set their place. Thea shrugged as she heard the two boys in her home yelling about something and as she collected honey, she felt another presence.

She turned to it, seeing Wilbur walking down her little path. His eyes met hers and Thea instinctively waved her hand to greet him, smiling as she did.

“Hello Mr. President” she said as Wilbur gave a smile.

“Thea, I see you got a house now” he said, hands folded behind his back and head turning around to take in the place.

“Yeah, don’t need much sleep and got it done” said Thea as she put away her honey. “Here on some official business?”

“Something like that but it’s nothing right now. Tommy had mentioned a few things and I had some time so I thought I would come check it out.”

Thea hummed and nodded. Her eyes focused on Wilbur’s face, taking his features in before noting how skinny he was. Even if he was tall, he looked to be pushed thin from exhaustion and lack of management. Although his eyes were not focused on her, she could see the tiredness and the bubbling madness that was threatening to burst.

She didn’t want to think why the madness was there, but she guessed it had to do with elections and politics. It always did a number on people, one way or another.

Thea gestured to her home and smiled, “Well, would you like to come in for some tea? It’ll be nice to get to know you more.”

Wilbur jumped in surprise, eyes wide.

“Oh, you don’t have to.”

“I want to” said Thea, placing a hand on his arm but just above hovering. An open invitation but not one of force.

Wilbur looked at her and his posture relaxed, giving her a small smile. “That would nice, thank you.”

Thea grinned and guided Wilbur to her home. “Tommy and Tubbo are here already so what’s one more?”

Wilbur was led into her home and was immediately hit with the smell of food. His mouth watered at the smell and he then wondered when he last ate. He took another whiff and knew it was stew with freshly baked bread mixed in it. The door was opened, allowing the smell of flowers waft in.

He looked past the smell of food and he found himself standing in the room. He saw furnaces and her crafting station to one side of the home, where nearby were piles of chests and barrels. A weaving station was another part of the home with a chest bit it. There was a table with chairs surrounding it, on top of it with a nicely placed cactus.

There were two entrances, one leading up to the balcony and one leading down to the basement.

There was thumping upstairs and Wilbur instantly recognized Tommy’s and Tubbo’s voices. There were also sounds of barks and remembered Lupa and Fenrir.

Wilbur heard clattering as he turned to see Thea walking from her ‘kitchen’ and to the table. He politely walked over and sat in a chair as Thea sat opposite of him. She served the tea, him politely saying thank you before the two sat there with their tea and snacks.

There were a tense few awkward seconds before Thea felt the need to break the ice. “So, how are things?”

Wilbur chuckled nervously, lowering his cup. “I’ve been busy, with the election coming up and work to be done.”

Thea politely nodded, “Have you been taking care of yourself?”

“Excuse me?”

Thea took a sip before speaking. “One cannot take care of others if they cannot take care of themselves.”

Wilbur stared at her bewildered as Thea elaborated, “I get it, being president is stressful and there are ton of things to do and think about. But you don’t take care of yourself, you won’t be able to take care of anyone else; much less a country.”

The man in front of her ran a hand through his hair, resting his arms on the table. “You do make sense, but there’s a lot you don’t know. From the start, we fought for our freedom and our country but then once it was over, my control on the country has been slipping. Losing this election would make our effort for naught.”

Thea let him speak on and on, silently encouraging Wilbur to drink and eat the snacks. Soon they were finished as Wilbur sighed, leaning against his chair. “I’m sorry, I didn’t plan on-“

“I’m a new person, I literally know nothing or anyone else. With the election soon, whatever you say to me won’t matter either way, I won’t be able to influence any changes and it’ll be nothing once it’s over” cut in Thea, “So, don’t worry about it.”

Wilbur stared at her bewildered and he was only met with a straight-face. It was only a few moments pasted that Thea realized what she had said and her face was covered with her hands.

“Sorryyyyyyy, totally uncalled for” she groaned out.

Wilbur chuckled, “I didn’t expect you would say something like that.”

Thea removed her hands and she had a disgruntled face, “10 years of basically off the grid will mess with your social skills. Though, I haven’t considered myself to be particularly charismatic.”

Wilbur chuckled and took a sip of his remaining tea. Thea lowered her hands, about to speak when the tell-tale sign of Tommy yelling was heard.

“THEA!”

The aforementioned person stood up in her chair in a panic, eyes wide and body stiff with attention. She looked to the stairway and so did Wilbur. Tommy and Tubbo barreled down the stairway, holding her sketchbook in hand. They ran up to her and held out the open pages.

“I didn’t know you could draw!”

Thea relaxed, giving a huge sigh of relief and fell back into her chair. She had a hand on her face as she gave a nervous laughter. “Don’t scare me like that, I thought the worst-“

“Yeah, yeah-“ cut in Tommy before placing the sketchbook down on her table and flipped it with Tubbo and Wilbur looking with interest. “These are so pog, why don’t you show them more?!”

“Tommy, I will say this again and again. I literally woke up after god knows how long, I had other priorities. I haven’t exactly had time to paint either.”

“If we win the election, will you draw portraits of Wilbur and I?!”

Wilbur placed a hand on Tommy’s shoulder, scolding him. “Tommy, you can’t just ask her to-“

“Sure.”

They all looked at Thea who had a thoughtful look on her face, her arms crossed and back leaning against the chair. She had a thoughtful expression before she smiled at them. “But don’t get your hopes up though. It’s been years-“

“Wait, really?” gaped Wilbur.

Thea shrugged. “On any other circumstances, no. But, it has been years since I’ve properly drawn anything. At the end of it, it would be a great exercise and practice. Not to mention,” her eyes softened. “It’ll help solidify the fact that I’ve met people and interacted with them. That I was here.”

Wilbur looked at her with surprise as Tommy cheered. Tubbo tried to ask if he was included too which Thea confirmed that he too would be included. The two boys were chattering and bouncing off ideas to Thea who hummed and gave her honest opinions. Reminding them not to get too attached.

Wilbur had a small feeling of warmth in his chest and he didn’t know why. He was about to pull Tommy and Tubbo away for over-staying her hospitality when there was a large growl.

Everyone turned to Wilbur, whose ears turned red and Tommy gawfed, ready to make fun of the president when his own stomach betrayed him. It was Tommy’s turn for his ears to turn red and Tubbo was about to laugh and it started a domino effect.

Thea choked a bit before she let out a laugh, wheezing and everyone turned to her as she was slamming her hand on the table and knee, before keeling over and continued to laugh. They all watched in awe and concern as the girl continued to laugh and fall onto the ground, holding her stomach.

“What are the odds- HOLY COW” choked out Thea in laughter as she struggled to get back on her feet. “I…the ODDS!”

Tommy gawked at her and started to protest. “Hey, hey, stop laughing!-“

Thea snorted as she shakily made her way to the kitchen. “I…I’m going to get… *SNORT* Just sit down, I got it-“ she continued to laugh, forcing herself to stop as she slammed her head against the wall to force herself to stop.

Tubbo giggled before he went to help Thea who was wobbling due to the lack of oxygen.

Wilbur ran a hand over his neck bashfully as Tommy groaned, muttering to himself. Soon, they were all gathered around the table as plates of food were offered. They all dug into the soup, bread, and meats that were offered.

All three of them dug into their food and Thea couldn’t help feel that her suspicions were right on that they weren’t really taking care of themselves. She absently mindedly noted to keep her food stores stocked in case these shared meals were going to be frequent.

As dinner was wrapped up, Thea asked Tommy and Tubbo to help feed her wolves and check on the farm. The two eagerly dashed away from escaping dish washing duties. Wilbur rolled up his sleeves and politely helped Thea clean up the table and take them to the kitchen.

Thea washed the dishes after thanking Wilbur, offering him another cup of tea. The man leaned against the nearest window seat, watching outside where he saw Tommy and Tubbo running around outside, partly doing Thea’s request while also playing. Fenrir and Lupa accompanying them.

Everything was peaceful and Wilbur didn’t know when he last felt so close to contentment. At peace. His eyes were tired and he quietly realized he wasn’t taking care of himself.

He sipped his tea when he heard a soft melody. His ears prickled at the noise, his musician side of him instantly intrigued.

He found his legs walking quietly towards the source of the music and over the corner, he saw and heard Thea singing. It wasn’t a full song nor was it perfect. It was a mixture of singing of lyrics and hums when she didn’t remember it. Her voice cracked every so often but Wilbur knew those were from the lack of warm-up.

Wilbur found himself drifting off, eyes closing to focus on the singing and then there was peace for a moment.

Thea had finished washing up and walked out of the kitchen, drying her hands as she did. She went to check on Wilbur, half-expecting him to have walked back to L’manburg with the boys.

Instead, she saw Wilbur slumped against the nearest place. She stiffened and checked on him, noticing his eyes were closed, with soft breaths rhythmically. The teacup loosely wrapped in his hands that threatened to spill if any more loose.

She stared at Wilbur, bewildered on how he was sleeping there before she thought what to do next. Waking him up was definitely out of the question, remembering how tired he was, and begun to think if she could move him.

She looked at her hands, flexing them as if it would tell her how strong she was.

A moment and two passed before she took in a deep breath and further rolled her sleeve up. She bent down and took the cup away, moving it to the side somewhere before slipping her hands under him.

She paused, readying herself, before slowly but surely lifted Wilbur. He was much, much longer then she was, so she had to balance him while her arms strained. She held him up for a moment, seeing if he would wake up but the soft snores reassured her.

Sighing in her mind, Thea walked to the stairway, just as Tommy and Tubbo had come in. They looked at her bewildered, mouths wide open with shock. She ignored them, figuring they would follow her or stay there. She didn’t care as she had bigger problems.

She reached the bedroom floor, noting the green and red beds already there with her pink one. She went to her pink bed, carefully depositing Wilbur into it and drew the blanket, tucking him. The person now occupying her bed was unaware and undisturbed. If anything, he snuggled further, sighing in content.

Thea smiled and had her hands on her hips, taking a moment to breathe. She could lift someone to bed, but barely.

She turned to the stairway to talk with Tommy and Tubbo, but saw their heads peeking out of the stairway. She rose an eyebrow but gestured to their beds, hoping they got her question.

They all nodded and quietly but quickly made their way to their beds, taking off their outer clothes and armor before slipping in. Thea hummed, checking on them if they were settled (while absentmindedly tucking them in further and patting their heads) before closing her home.

When she was sure the place was secure, her wolves followed her as she took off her armour and placed a blue bed near the others and slipped into bed. Her wolves cuddled around her as she sighed, eyes heavy with sleep.

She listened to the room, hearing Tubbo and Tommy’s breathes starting to settle and Wilbur’s soft snoring. Thea closed her eyes, feeling sleep pull her in. Before she let the darkness claim her, she spoke.

“Good night, sweet dreams.”

The boys muttered back quietly and Thea fell asleep, the darkness no longer silent but simply, quiet.

<Next Chapter>

[thenovelartist]

An Impromptu Proposal, 30-31

<<Previous

And this concludes LadyNoir July and all the Love Square months! I do not know how I managed this, but I did, holy cow. :D Hope you all have enjoyed it!

30. Inspiration

Marinette was so intent in designing for her portfolio that she didn’t hear her husband slip into the room. Therefore, she was not expecting him to lean over her shoulders and startle her.

He was laughing at it. “Scare you, bugaboo? I wasn’t exactly being quiet.”

She sighed, her heartrate steadily calming. “You know when I get into a design, everything else disappears.”

“That I do,” he assured. “What are you working on?”

“Just some portfolio pieces,” she dismissed.

“Well, I knew that. What kind of pieces?”

Marinette looked down at the entire line that she had drawn out. “Formal wear inspired by our superhero costumes.”

That piqued Adrien’s interest as he reached towards one of the many pieces of paper scattered all over the desk. He examined the designs on it, which were several versions of a Chat Noir themed suit.

“I know I’ve done them before,” Marinette said. “But with the superheroes being so big still, I thought it would be fun to do it one last time before retiring the idea all together.”

“Make money off them while you can,” Adrien teased.

Marinette chuckled. “More like… I feel like it’s a last hoo-rah, you know? Like… like a sort of closure.”

Adrien hummed before giving her shoulders a squeeze. “Well then, bug, I say go all out and don’t hold back.”

“That’s the plan. But to be fair, when do I ever hold back?”

Adrien chuckled. “True.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “You’re really passionate about everything: designing, superheroing. You really throw your all into it. But that’s just one of the things I love about you.”

Marinette felt her face warm, along with her heart.

“I’ll let you get back to it. I can start dinner.”

“But it’s—” Marinette froze when she looked at the clock. “It’s five.”

She could hear the smile in Adrien’s voice. “Yes, it is.”

“I’ve been at this for four hours straight already.”

“Yes, you have. But just proves my point of how passionate you are.”

She pushed away from her desk. “I can make dinner.”

“Nah,” Adrien dismissed. “You’re on a roll. Don’t let me stop you. I’ve got dinner. You can continue working.”

She shot Adrien a smile. “Thanks, kitty.”

“Anything for you, my lady.”

 ...

31. Waiting On You

It had been a little over a year since Adrien and Marinette had defeated Butterlie and retired as superheroes. While they had originally planned to start up a family shortly after, they decided that it was better to wait. Between the counseling, Marinette finding a new job, and Adrien starting up an online university, they thought that bringing a kid into the mix was a little too much at the moment.

Until Alya announced that she was pregnant.

Adrien had been utterly thrilled for Nino, who was extremely excited at becoming a dad. But at the same point, Adrien was a little jealous. And one look at Marinette proved that she had been, too.

Hence why both of them were sitting on the couch at home, side by side, ready for that big talk.

“Do you think we’re ready?” Marinette asked. “Like, obviously we both want kids, probably enough to not be having this conversation, but I think it’s important.”

“I agree,” Adrien said. “But, at the same point… I think we’re ready.”

Marinette smirked. “Impulsive as ever.”

“Well, yeah,” Adrien admitted. “But think about it. I’ve been doing a lot better with the counseling and all. And I’ve started up schooling, and I feel stable and secure in my future and health. You; you’re fine. You stopped going to counseling because you’re healed enough to not need it anymore. You’ve got a job as a designer; you love it; things are going good for you. I think if we wait until everything’s perfect, we’re gonna be waiting a very long time. So, do I think we’re ready? Yeah; yeah, I do.”

Marinette’s surprised expression gave way to one of amusement. “Someone’s been thinking this over.”

“Honestly, I couldn’t stop thinking about it since we left Alya and Nino’s place.”

She chuckled before crawling into his lap. “This is the end of the conversation, isn’t it?”

“Probably,” Adrien answered with a smirk as he wrapped his arms around his wife.

“If I bring up any point, you’re gonna tell me I’m over thinking, aren’t you?”

“Bug, you know me so well.”

“Even if I suggest we wait so that we can think without jealousy clouding our mind.”

Adrien quirked a brow. “Are we ever not going to be jealous?”

Marinette paused, her lips pursed.

“You know I’m right.”

With a grumble, she laid her head on his shoulder to avoid looking at him.

Adrien smirked, liking the feeling of winning that conversation.

“So,” Marinette eventually said. “Are we starting tonight?”

His heart jumped in his chest as a smug smirk crossed his face. “Who says we have to wait for tonight?”

He shifted slightly so he could see his wife’s face, watching as her cheeks turned red before burying her face into his shirt.

“I’m teasing,” he said.

“No, you’re not.”

Adrien couldn’t deny that.

“How, out of all the people in the world, did I end up falling in love with you?”

“Because I’m literally the yang to your yin.”

Marinette giggled, coming out of her hiding spot in his shoulder to smile at him. “That’s true.”

…

It was two and a half months later that Marinette was showing him a positive pregnancy test.

Which meant that this was really happening. They were really going to be parents.

Which spurred Adrien’s desire to sell his apartment and find a family home to move into.

“We should have thought about this earlier,” Marinette commented as they were going through listings.

“Well, considering you’re only about a month along, I think we are doing this in good timing. But just so you know, I’m not letting you do any heavy lifting when we move.”

Marinette sighed. “Overprotective already?”

“Yes. Don’t argue.”

She giggled, wrapping her hands around his arm and leaning her head against his shoulder. “You’re gonna be a good daddy.”

He was going to be a dad. Holy crap, he was going to be a dad. The mix of panic and excitement was enough to make his head spin. “I’ll give it all I have.”

“I know you will,” she assured in a sweet tone that was calming his nerves but ramping up his heart. “And you’re gonna be a great dad.”

His heart light from her genuine words, he leaned over to kiss her head. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

“I love you,” she said. “And our kids are gonna love you, too.”

Adrien loved this woman; he was so lucky to have her. “I love you, too.”

…

Marinette looked over her new house with some pride. It had taken some time to find the right house and pack up everything, but Marinette couldn’t be happier. Especially since a baby would come in about three short months to fill the place with even more life.

Adrien slipped behind her, wrapping his arms around her belly. “What’s got you lost in thought?”

“We own a house.”

Adrien chuckled. “Yes, we do.”

“Together.”

“Yup.”

“We have a baby on the way.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“And we aren’t superheroes anymore. In fact, we haven’t transformed in months.”

“Yup and yup.”

“Is this what normalcy feels like?”

Adrien laughed, giving her a squeeze. “Yes, I think so.”

“It’s weird.”

“How?” Adrien asked, clearly amused.

“It’s… normal. I feel like something crazy and unordinary needs to happen.”

“What? Moving houses while you’re six months along wasn’t crazy enough for you?”

“Not really?”

Adrien shook his head, walking around her to kneel in front of her swollen stomach. “Hey, baby girl,” Adrien said, his hands carefully cradling Marinette’s abdomen. “Hurry up and get here. We’re waiting on you to throw our normal lives into chaos.”

Marinette chuckled before playfully smacking her husband. “Don’t encourage her. I feel like she’s going to be like you enough as it is.”

“You say that like I’m the chaos causer.”

“Well…”

With a chuckle, Adrien stood. “You know, whether this little one is easy or difficult doesn’t matter, because I don’t think we were suited for normal lives, anyway.”

Marinette couldn’t help but smile. “You’re probably right. But honestly… I think I’m okay with that.”

[steve0discusses]

Yugioh S3 Ep 36-37: Local Mom-Friend’s Weird Trick, Doctors Hate Him

Hey y’all it’s a surprise midweek post because I’m in Canada this weekend woo. Surprised I even got this post done, TBH, I finally get some time where I’m not commuting around to and from San Francisco or corralling small children and I can just sit at my computer and focus and have some peace and quiet and I got--a mysterious sickness from all those kids! *yay* So, since I can’t really focus on anything, I’ll type in here and see if any of my words make any sense at all and hopefully I won’t go on some weird ass tangent like I tend to do like every other post.

So Yugi is still dueling Kaiba, much like he has for the past like...it feels like 4 years. I know I’ve only seen 3 seasons but this is...this is a really long duel. Maybe because there was a month-long break for me in the middle, (during which I watched the entirety of Evangelion, 2 Seasons of Gotham, Stranger Things S3, and the disappointing season of One Punch Man so like...I’ve had some time away from Yugioh) or maybe...maybe it’s because they’re actually playing card mechanics that go more in depth...

But yeah, despite everything, they’re still dueling.

And honestly, I’m looking at that episode number above me and it’s like...so there’s this Kaiba and Yugi Duel and then...only one more duel, right? Is it going to be a ten episode duel? Like unless Rebecca comes back for a weird cameo like...how...?

Whatever, we’ll get there when we get there.

Anyways, everyone who’s been avoiding this duel like the plague is down with the plague victims in the hospital. That’s where Tristan gets a bright idea and it’s one of his dumber ones, believe it or not.

Man, I forgot that comatose Joey Wheeler is still wearing that duel disk Pharaoh slapped on him during all this too, haha.

Also, why does he have to have all these pectoral suction cups while they just kinda...gave up on Mai? I mean I know they can’t show boobies on a Y7 show but like...it really feels like the doctor just kinda shrugged at Mai and was like “I only have one set of boob suction cups, I really didn’t think I’d need more than that, if at all.”

(read more under the cut)

And so Tristan decides that if Joey is at the window which is like...600 ft below Yugi Muto’s duel, a duel you can’t...really see from the ground...then Joey Wheeler will arise.

I mean, it’s gonna work, it’s just also kind of laughable that Joey wasn’t able to hear any of this nonsense from the bed that is two feet away from the window.

But wtv, it’s very dramatic and Tristan gets to cry some more and feel useful I guess.

The haunted underwear mannequin plot-thread was dumped between that episode and this one, and I’m kinda bummed out that more things haven’t turned into haunted underwear mannequins.

Instead of horrific underwear mannequins, Joey’s dream has gone back to the standard fare of Joey picking on middle schoolers and wearing a much better outfit than he has for most of this show.

I will super miss Joey in a fitted suit. Like, soak it allll in horny preteens, because pretty soon, Joey Wheeler will be back in that scruffy oversized T-shirt just like...well, just like how a teenager would be. I mean there’s some REASONS Mai can’t date Joey, but the fact he has a fitted suit he refuses to ever wear is one of the top reasons right under, youknow, the fact he’d need a fake ID to ever go out with her.

It’s kind of amazing actually, how my whole life I kinda just figured this was a show of insane character designs, only to find out when I actually watch the show that there is like a ... REALLY horny line just going all the way through it.

Honestly, me trying to figure out how and when this kid’s show got so damn horny has been a very big mystery I’ve been trying to solve in the background this entire time. Like, I was told “yeah the Yugioh boys get very attractive.” and I was like “ehhhhhhhh I don’t even know what you’re talking about” but, little by little over the past 3 seasons, these animators are starting to draw these boys just waaaaaaay older than these kids actually are. I’m starting to see what people are saying. It’s still not my thing, personally, but uh yeah I can see how this spawned all that fanart now.

Anyways, speaking of, the other day a friend of mine’s sister was talking about how she, as a millennial, has been wired to love very tall skinny boys in skinny pants and very long coats with popped collars and I immediately was like “Lol are you admitting to Seto Kaiba?”

And she meant Cumberbatch Sherlock, LOLOLOLOL.

And so, back on the duel field we got Seto Kaiba, who’s a lot like Sherlock except a Sherlock who is suffering from both short term and long term memory loss. And, who does cards instead of heroin.

They probably both play violin.

Kaiba, despite having arc after arc where his little brother is his main motivation, has decided to just ditch Mokuba and it’s like...either he’s psyching Yugi out or Seto Kaiba forgot he had a brother for a little bit. He might...he might have forgotten. Mokuba is standing behind him, after all.

And so, because Joey is facing Yugi at just the right moment and at just the right time, somehow he can do his little force ability again and just do this:

Thanks, hallucination!Joey.

And out he goes, drawn like a romance anime character lol.

Anyways, he’s back to being a slob so...welcome back, wrinkle shirt, it’s been a while.

And then Joey looks around and actually said this:

“Did someone get hurt?” He asks, after being burned, electrocuted AND drowned just yesterday.

I was kinda very much hoping Tristan would deck him out.

Glad that, as predicted, the moment Mai doesn’t need to be Joey’s main motivation anymore, the moment he puts the cards away, she may as well not even exist. This show and the way they write straight romances.

Please admire the matching lace up boots on the Kaiba Corp’s Emergency Squad. This would be the most obscure Cosplay on earth but maybe the most wearable Yugioh cosplay outside of Bandit Keith because you wouldn’t need a 400 dollar wig.

And then for some reason Tea just loses her mind and has a complete breakdown. She’s been kind of a mess since Yugi walked out like 2 episodes ago, which seems kind of...I dunno, both out of character but very much in character at the same time. I mean we’re assuming they “have” a relationship it’s just never actually say that they do, so her acting like her man is dead is kinda like...it still feels like it comes out of freakin nowhere.

Anyways, Tea who is strong enough to lift this entire plane and who is, in fact, possessed by at least 2 powerful ghosts (remember Shadi did spends some time there and he did NOT like it), is now a seeping crying mess that refuses to lose any more of her hospital-prone boys.

I mean they were going to go anyway, but they let Tea pretend she had any control over that and kind of glazed over this.

Back in this game that no one else is really watching anymore, Seto Kaiba is still monologuing about his entire life story that he’s never gotten any therapy for, except for that time his evil step brother accidentally gave him therapy.

Quite upset we never see the color of Mokuba’s little tuxedo.

Course...didn’t...Noah wear a little tuxedo in that same exact shape? I mean it’s a silly headcanon but youknow...it could be a yellow tuxedo they just happened to find in the back of the closet.

And it’s at this point that Mokuba just lost his lid. I’m so used to Mokuba unconditionally supporting his crazy brother that this would have been the biggest anime betrayal of the whole series, if Mokuba had said any of this outloud (which he wisely did not).

It was like...damn Mokuba. He actually said something along the lines of “I liked you better when you were poor” and it was like. Holy cow, Mokuba. Damn.

Anyway, a bunch of card stuff happens, and Pharaoh has decided that Seto has too much anger in his heart, and that’s why he will lose. Then, Pharaoh played the card proof for how angry Seto is, and if I actually payed any attention to cards, it would have been very meaningful.

But anyways, kudos to Pharaoh on not mind-wiping Seto Kaiba this time or launching him directly off this very tall tower like he attempted to do last time. They actually played a game start to finish with eachother and nothing exploded except for every television in Domino. Progress.

and then Mokuba started crying and initially I thought...wouldn’t he have WANTED his brother to lose but then I kind of remembered oh yeah now Mokuba has to deal with this oncoming aftermath.

RIP Mokuba, I guess.

Anyway, I’m out of town for the rest of the weekend, escaping to the far North to get away from the weather. I should be back next weekend, but if I’m not, I was probably eaten by a bear. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Anyway, if you just got here, this is a link to my Yugioh recaps in Chrono order from the beginning.

[sonicrainicorn]

Made of Love, Chapter 16

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Table of Contents

Ship(s): Logicality, (platonic) Prinxiety

All Characters: Thomas, Virgil, Roman, Logan, Patton, Dr. Picani, Joan, Talyn, and Deceit

Synopsis: Humans Roman and Virgil get wrapped up in some serious magic business without meaning to. Their other companions aren’t exactly as they seem, either. Together they all must defeat a great threat for the safety of humanity.

Chapter Desc.: W͏̤ę̫̙̥̜̹̘͔l͉̳̪͕̥̭c̘̰̟o̙͉͕̰m͏̼̪̥͈͔̦ͅe̞̼͍͡ ͉̦͔͉̤t̵̺̗̹o ̹̻̝͚̞̠͉t̩he ͏͚̜̤p͕a͉̝n̡͚̯i̮̪̟c̭̟̘ ҉̯̤̼̥̥r̫͓͙̼o̲̮̤̜̝͉̼om͇͍̗.

TW: Cursing, stabbing

Prefer to read it on Ao3? Click here!

Virgil slept well passed one o’clock. In his defense, he needed the rest. Also, he hated mornings. He still felt tired when he woke up, but at least it was at a level he could manage. He stared up at the ceiling for several minutes before deciding to get out of bed. He trudged down the hall to see three faces he knew well. It was odd how quickly he had gotten used to living in a house with four other dorks.

Roman and Thomas sat on the floor at the coffee table playing some sort of card game. Maybe it was Speed. Virgil was too sleepy to pay attention to it. Logan was sitting with his legs crossed on the couch, scribbling into the notebook on his lap. Patton was most likely outside. The TV played mindless background noise.

Virgil plopped onto the armchair without a word. No one paid him any mind. It was nice; things felt normal. As if this was just a regular day with friends. If your friends happened to consist of two people who are sometimes one person, a ninety-four-year-old child, and a photographer who is way too into fantasy, that is. So, maybe Virgil wouldn’t say that “regular” fit in with this group in particular.

“Dammit,” Roman’s complaint was almost covered by Thomas’s cheer. When Virgil looked, he saw Thomas with an empty hand and Roman holding onto one card.

“You were pretty close that time,” Thomas teased. He pushed himself off the floor to wander over to the kitchen.

Roman frowned and started gathering all the cards into a single deck. “I’m going to call bullshit because Speed has been around since the 40s at least, and you’ve had the advantage of being around at that time.”

“Hey, just because I’m old doesn’t mean you can use it to justify your crummy gameplay.”

Virgil snorted. “He’s got you there.”

Roman threw a card at him. “No one asked you.”

Virgil retaliated by keeping the card.

Thomas came back in with a bowl of grapes and took a seat beside Logan to stay out of the rather immature fight going on. Virgil stretched to keep the card out of Roman's reach and kept going farther the closer he got to it. As long as Thomas didn't have to deal with it, he was fine. He munched on grapes as he watched the scene unfold. They were like two school children whose whole relationship was based on bullying each other. It often led to random entertaining moments such as this.

He glanced over to Logan and almost choked on a grape. “Holy cow.” He set the bowl down on the coffee table while placing a hand over his mouth. “How long have you been able to draw?” He had always been under the impression that Logan used his notebook to write in, not create literal works of art.

Logan stopped. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He pressed the notebook to his chest to hide the pages from view.

Roman snatched the card from Virgil’s hand and placed it in the deck. They stuck their tongue out at each other.

“Let me see it.” Thomas moved to sit on his legs and face Logan. He held out his hands expectantly.

“I think not.”

“Oh, c’mon. Please?” He gave his best pout and puppy eyes.

Logan wasn’t phased. “No.”

Thomas huffed and slouched his shoulders. “That always works on Virgil.”

“What?” Virgil stopped messing with Roman to pay attention to the separate conversation going on.

“Oh, nothing.” Thomas gave him a charming smile.

Logan rolled his eyes. “Thomas just wishes to see things that are none of his business.”

“It’s not gonna hurt anyone if you let me take a little peek.” He crossed his arms. “What’s so wrong about knowing how to draw?”

“That isn’t the issue.”

“Aw, you’re embarrassed,” Roman commented without even needing to look up.

Despite his scowl, Logan’s cheeks turned a soft pink color. “I am not. I just don’t see the point on how this is so interesting.”

“If you don’t see the point then why not let me take a gander at it?” Thomas blinked innocently at him.

Logan sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You know what? I’m just -- here.” He handed the notebook over. “I don’t know where you learned to be so stubborn.”

“Gee, I wonder.” He began to look through it. And he may or may not have held it out a bit so Roman and Virgil could peek over his shoulders to see. “It’s not like Picani practically raised me or any -- oh my God. These are the prettiest things I’ve ever seen in my life. How long were you planning to keep this a secret?”

"I have no idea what you mean."

Every page Thomas flipped to had a beautifully inked drawing. A realistic yet scratchy style that seemed very unique to Logan. There were many different subjects. Some inanimate, some real. Even a few that extended across two pages. They were very detailed and intricate for something done in a few days. So far, Thomas’s favorite had to be the one with the little fluffy bird. He knew for a fact Patton had a part to play in that. That man had a scary good way with handling animals.

“Is that Kilgarah?” Virgil pointed at the page with a roughly sketched dragon. A sly smile spread across his lips. “I thought you weren’t interested in Merlin.”

“I never explicitly said that.” Logan crossed his arms as his face turned a brighter pink.

“Well, it looks great.” Roman grinned. “You should do little Aithusa next.”

“I’m just -- I’m really blown away by this.” Thomas couldn’t stop gazing at every illustration in amazement. “How did you manage to trace all your lines so well?”

“I didn’t.”

Thomas lifted his gaze up to Logan. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I didn’t trace anything.”

He gaped at him for a moment. “Shut up. You had to have traced this.” His wonder only grew when Logan continued to deny it. “No freaking way. You free-handed all of these? In pen?” That sounded impossible to Thomas. Free-handing in pencil seemed a little more believable since there was a chance to erase mistakes, but there weren’t any second chances with pen.

Logan didn’t seem to understand Thomas’s astonishment. “Is that difficult?”

Too many words tried to get out of Thomas’s mouth at once. How in the hell did Logan not see anything impossible about that? “Uh, yeah it’s difficult. It’s really difficult. Have you ever even tried to use a pencil first?”

“I’ve never drawn with a pencil before.”

Thomas almost choked on air. “You’re over seven hundred years old and you’ve never drawn with a pencil before?”

“You’re seven hundred years old?” Virgil and Roman asked over each other, though Roman’s came out sounding similar to a screech.

Logan sent a glare Thomas’s way, who in turn raised the notebook to hide his mouth from view. “Yes, I am,” Logan continued. “But that’s hardly relevant to this discussion. And, Thomas, if you must know, pencils as you know them are a fairly modern invention. It was common to use ink."

"What'd you do before ink?" Thomas lowered the notebook a bit. He knew for a fact that ink would have been impossible for Logan to come by during his childhood.

"I, uh, I would burn shapes into wood." He traced a shape in the air with his finger as if to demonstrate. "Fallen wood, mind you. Patton might have killed me if I burned anything into a tree."

"Okay, that's great, but can we please go back to the part where you're seven hundred?" Roman asked. "I think I still need to wrap my head around it."

"You told them without me?" Patton complained as he stepped into the living room with a pout. "I wanted to be there for it."

"I didn't tell them. Thomas blurted it out."

Thomas chuckled nervously, raising the notebook back again. "Sorry."

Patton slipped into a smile and stepped forward to ruffle Thomas's hair. "Don't worry about it, son. Sometimes that just happens."

"I'm not your son," he mumbled under his breath.

"What year were you both born?" Virgil decided to ask.

Patton shrugged while Logan answered, "No idea. I had it narrowed down to some time in the fourteenth century, but I'm unsure of any exact years or dates."

"I was born in the winter," Patton added. "But I don't really know how to translate the date into something that makes sense for a modern, human calendar."

"What is it in a past, non-human calendar?" Roman questioned.

"Treto cheizmon tin pepti daméra naká punpó mjeslino."

Instinctively, the other three turned to Logan for a translation. "I have no idea how that would translate, either," he admitted. "It's not exactly a numerical date. It’s just kind of a statement."

“Alright. Well now that I know how old you are, I have at least a hundred questions I would love for you to answer.”

As Roman buzzed along with questions, Virgil pulled Thomas away for a private conversation. He made sure to lower his voice before speaking, “Did you tell them?”

“Oh, uh,” Thomas messed with the pages in Logan’s notebook, “I was kind of working up the courage?”

“I was knocked out for almost six hours.”

“Okay, so I might have forgotten about it a little.” He cringed a bit. “I just don’t know how to say it.”

Virgil sighed. “I don’t wanna put you on a time limit, kid, but maybe you should tell them sooner rather than later. Like today.”

Thomas continued to fidget with the pages. “Why can’t you do it?”

“Fine.”

He blinked in surprise as if he didn’t expect that to work. “Really?”

“Yeah, I’ll do it right now.” He walked over to the other three without another moment’s hesitation. “Alright guys, I hate to interrupt the twenty questions, but I have something really important to say.” He waited until he had their attention before continuing. “Last night I had someone tell me where Altair is. And this morning, Thomas and I double-checked with Joan and Talyn to see if it was reliable.”

“And?” Patton pried, clearly eager to hear some good news.

“It’s highly likely that it is.”

And then Patton lit up. He smiled so wide that literal sunshine seemed dull in comparison. It made Virgil feel ten times lighter and caused a little smile of his own to come out. “That’s amazing. We’re so close to fixing all of this.”

“There’s still the issue on what we’re going to do,” Logan pointed out. He seemed to be going over several different scenarios in his head already.

“You have us,” Thomas said.

Logan paused. “I certainly hope by ‘us’ you mean Roman and Virgil, and not that you’re implying you’ll be coming along.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Thomas poured all his attention into the notebook in his hands. "I figured I could help in order to make up for mistakes one might have made prior.”

A grimace flicked across both Logan’s and Patton’s faces as if a foul memory flashed in their minds for a second. “That isn’t the exact issue,” Logan continued. “You’re still a child. You have very little experience in fighting.”

“Logan’s right,” Patton added. “This could be very dangerous. I wouldn’t even want Roman and Virgil to get involved, but I don’t really think we have much of a choice. We don’t exactly have anyone else to ask.”

"But I can help."

"Maybe you should listen to them," Virgil muttered. He ignored Thomas's shocked expression to continue, "it would be a lot safer if you stayed here." The Theorist’s words were loud and clear: something would happen to Thomas if he went. And Virgil couldn’t allow that.

Thomas frowned down at the notebook. It took all of Virgil’s willpower to not take back anything upon seeing that expression.

“Why not give him a chance?” Roman spoke up. “Who knows? We might need an extra pair of hands.”

Neither Patton nor Logan seemed all that convinced, to which Virgil let out a silent breath of relief for. As long as one of them didn’t change their mind then everything would be good. It was almost as if they shared the same brain; if one of them thought differently, then the other could be swayed to think the same way.

“I promise I won’t get in the way this time. Please.” Thomas gave them a genuine plea.

Virgil glanced nervously over to Patton and Logan. He couldn’t say any more about this. It would be their decision in the end. He knew, if he wanted, he could tell them about the possibility of Thomas getting hurt if he went. But he was pretty sure he’d seen enough movies and read enough novels to know that telling someone the future was a surefire way to make it come true.

“It’s still dangerous,” Patton said. “At least Roman and Virgil know how to use weapons and are capable of defending themselves. But you…” He trailed off.

“I can’t just stay back and watch --” Virgil caught sight of Logan’s reaction to that. A spark of recognition. Words that were familiar and held a specific weight -- “at least give me a second chance. Some way to show you that I can do this. Please. I know I can do this if you just let me.”

“I don’t --”

“Okay,” Logan cut off in a steady voice.

“What?” Patton and Virgil stared at him in disbelief.

“Really?” Thomas beamed. “Oh, thank you so much, Logan.” He rushed over to give him a hug.

Virgil didn’t know how he could have interjected without sounding like an asshole. He didn’t want Thomas to come along for fear of something terrible happening, but he couldn’t downright say that. Maybe he should have said something when he had the chance.

“Uh, you sure about this, Lo?” Patton wrung his hands. It seemed Virgil wasn’t the only one nervous about it.

“Just trust me on this one.”

And that’s all it took for Thomas to tag along.

They elected to go the next night in order to be better prepared. And boy, oh boy, if that wasn’t agonizing for Virgil. Every second that ticked by felt like hell. He didn’t know what to do. At this point, it wasn’t avoidable. He just had to keep an extra eye on Thomas throughout this whole excursion. As if he didn’t have enough to worry about already.

The building, as it turned out, used to be an old shopping place. It had a vast parking lot full of litter and faded paint. The big, blocky letters that were once attached to the front were long gone and were instead replaced by faded outlines. Who knew how long this one had been abandoned for. Virgil didn’t even recognize the name.

Unfortunately, the inside was no better. Trash covered much of the floor. Some displays and shelves were still left untouched -- somehow managing to make things that much more creepy. An old, musty smell wafted in from all corners of the building. It was kind of disgusting.

“It’s so creepy,” Thomas commented as he huddled into his jacket. He stayed near Roman, as he was the closest person with a light source. “Did it have to be another abandoned place? It couldn’t have been like a park or something?”

Virgil felt that on a spiritual level. But this place didn’t seem as death-trappy as the manufacturing plant. It actually seemed like they had a chance at escaping this without dying.

“Calm down, Virgil Jr., I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Roman teased.

Thomas grumbled but his words couldn’t be made out clearly.

“Both of you -- be quiet,” Logan snapped. “We’re here for a reason and it isn’t going to help if you keep blabbering.”

They muttered apologies.

“I could always add a little extra light, Lo,” Patton whispered. If Virgil wasn’t so close he might not have heard it.

“Now is not the time, Patton.”

Patton frowned and fell out of step.

Interesting.

The group continued to wander around in near silence. Virgil and Logan kept at the front with their lights. No one had any idea of where to start. There wasn’t any evidence of anyone being here at all. But, as Virgil has learned the hard way, looks could be deceiving. Every turn caused more uneasiness to grow within the group. They had to find someone -- anyone. They couldn’t have made this trip for no reason.

And yet the deeper they got, with no sign of anyone appearing, a sick feeling began to swirl in Virgil’s stomach. Something was off. He couldn’t tell what, but it was something. It didn’t have anything to do with the building, either. No. This was… this was like dread. A deeply-rooted dread that might as well have always been with him. But he didn’t know what could be causing it. Maybe he was being paranoid.

“What the hell?”

A deep chill rooted Virgil to the spot. He could barely manage to turn enough to see Roman, who was looking off toward the side at something. Except nothing was there. Just a makeshift aisle with nothing in between. Nothing at the end. Nothing that should have caused that tone in his voice. And yet it somehow managed to make Virgil feel more uneasy.

“Roman?” Thomas tugged on Roman’s sleeve to grab his attention.

But Roman didn’t pay him any mind. He continued to stare in confusion and horror. “M-Mother? How are -- how did --?”

“What’s happening?” Thomas turned to Logan and Patton for an answer.

Logan frowned a bit. “Roman,” he walked over to him, “if you’re seeing something, it’s not there. There isn’t anyone here but the five of us.”

Thomas lifted his hand and waved it in front of his eyes. There wasn’t a reaction. “I don’t think that’s a good sign.” He gave Logan a worried glance.

“Neither do I.” Logan’s frown deepened.

Virgil wanted to ask if they had any ideas, but the words never got to take form. Patton’s frantic voice sounded before he could even open his mouth.

“Logan?!”

Immediately, Logan returned to his side. “Patton?” He grabbed his outstretched hand. “What’s wrong? Are you seeing something?”

“There’s -- I -- I can’t tell.” He put his other hand over Logan’s. “Too many things are happening. I don’t -- I don’t know what’s real. I can’t tell. Logan,” he squeezed his eyes shut, “why are you leaving?”

Logan stared at him in bewilderment. “I’m not. Patton, I’m right here.”

“Come back. Please. You can’t leave. You can’t…”

“Patton. Patton, I’m not going anywhere.” He shook his shoulder. “Patton.” But he didn’t get a response.

“I think he’s gone, too,” Virgil murmured.

Logan sighed and faced the other two. “I don’t have an answer to what’s going on, but just know that whatever you see -- if you start to see it -- is not real. No one is here but us.”

“What should we do?” Thomas hovered at Virgil’s side.

For once, Virgil could see right through Logan. He didn’t know. He was just as lost as them. “Until we figure out what’s causing this we can’t exactly do anything. So before we even think about fixing it we have to find --” He cut himself off with a sharp gasp. The phone in his hand clattered to the floor. “You.” He took a tiny step back, wide eyes never leaving the empty spot between Virgil and Thomas. “No. No, you’re not real.” He turned away from whatever he was seeing.

Uh oh.

“Shut up. You’re not real.” He covered his ears. “I’m not there. I’m -- I -- you can’t be here.”

Virgil had an awful feeling that the battle was being lost. “Logan, don’t believe it. You’re right -- it’s not there. You’re here with us.”

“You can’t stay. You have to leave.” Virgil couldn’t tell if he was talking to his hallucination or not. “You can’t stay.”

“Logan?” Thomas called in concern.

He didn’t get a response.

“What are we supposed to do?” He turned to Virgil. “Why is this happening to them? What are they seeing?”

“I, I don’t know.” He truly didn’t. “But we can’t fall into it. We have to figure out what’s going on.” He put his hands on Thomas’s shoulders, careful to mind his phone. “Focus on right here and now, okay? We’re the only two left.” That wasn’t stressful or anything.

“Okay.”

Virgil could tell he was frightened. Hell, he was too. The people around them were falling prey to hallucinations and so far there didn’t seem to be any coming back from it. Or any avoiding it for that matter. There was no telling what they were seeing or why, but it was clear that they weren’t seeing the same thing. Perhaps they saw something specific to them.

And then Thomas’s attention drifted away for a moment.

“Kid.” Virgil found himself squeezing his shoulder. “Did you just see something?”

“N-no.” Despite this, his eyes flicked away. As if to make sure something was still there.

“If I find out you’re lying to me I’m not going to be very happy.” Probably not the best thing to say to a child you’ve yelled at before about such an issue, but he couldn’t help it. He was trying his best to maintain some semblance of control.

“He’s not real. I know he isn’t.”

Virgil watched as Thomas tried to peer around him to see something. Someone. Only to return back to ignoring it with a more panicked expression.

Getting desperate, Virgil grabbed Thomas’s face with one hand and forced him to look him in the eyes. “Focus on me. There’s only five of us in this room, alright? No one else is here. And right now, you’re talking to me. I’m right here. I’m real and I’m in front of you. Whoever you think you see isn’t really there.”

“Y-yeah, okay.” He nodded as best as he could with Virgil holding onto his face. But with a gasp and wide eyes, he tore himself away. He pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Virgil furrowed his brows. “Thomas?”

“You can’t tell anyone. I never should have said anything. Please don’t tell anyone.” He continued to beg to someone that wasn’t really there.

Fuck. Okay, this wasn’t good. This was the exact opposite of good. What the hell was Virgil supposed to do now? He tried to grab everyone’s attention -- just one more time -- but no one responded to him. It’s like he wasn’t even there at all.

Okay. Okay, okay, okay. Step one: don’t freak out. Well, don’t freak out any more than he already was. Step two: find what’s causing this. As long as Virgil wasn’t seeing anything then he was the only one who could find the source. It could be anything -- anyone. He didn’t know shit about magic. But he had a feeling he’d know it when he’d see it.

If he could see it.

Oh, God, what if he couldn’t see it? What if he walked right past it? What if it was invisible? What if it could only be seen by someone with magic? Or, worse yet, what if it was a curse? How would he reverse it? Curses never came with clear instructions!

A chill crawled down his back -- almost like an icy finger running down his spine. It forced him to shudder. The space around him started to dim. As if a shadow had been thrown over the surrounding area to the point where he couldn’t see anyone else. Not even his light illuminated anything.

Alright, this was not helping his situation. What the fuck.

He tried to keep his breathing under control. That was the one thing he had control over. He could manage that, at least. He could focus on that. Just breathe. Breathing is good. In. Hold it. Out. In. Hold it. Out. In -- hold on a minute.

Out in the shadows, something started to move. Someone? They took a step forward. Virgil took one back. The process repeated until a full person could be seen. And… they looked a lot like Virgil. An uncanny resemblance -- a copy. Except this version of Virgil had dark shadows under his eyes. His clothing lacked any sort of color and he looked downright unimpressed.

“It’s funny,” he spoke, but his voice didn’t sound all that human. It carried Virgil’s cadence but with layers in lower octaves, “that this is the one thing you fear the most.” He motioned to himself. “You’re nothing impressive. Nothing about you is threatening. Your friends are a lot more interesting, I think.” He looked out into the shadows as if he could see where everyone was exactly.

Virgil let out a silent breath. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t think. Here was this doppelganger talking to him as if he already knew what was going on. He wasn’t sure if he should be terrified or confused. Yet he somehow felt both.

The doppelganger continued. “There are so many regrets. It’s almost palpable. Things they wished they could have said, things they wished they didn’t say. There’s so much of it. And it’s honestly ridiculous. Is this how people live their lives? With constant regrets? There’s so much of it in here. Far too many lifetimes.”

What…?

“It doesn’t make any differences to me, though. Whether it’s the childhood Thomas lost, or the family Logan ran away from, it’s all the same.” His eyes turned over to Virgil. “It makes them miserable. I don’t think they like being reminded of it all, and yet it’s funny to watch them squirm.”

Virgil’s fear flew right out the window. This thing was messing with everyone. He spoke about them like they were new toys. “What are you doing to them?” He broke free of his instincts and stepped up to his clone.

He continued to get that unimpressed look. “Do you mind putting that thing away?” He pushed the phone down with a finger. “I’m not exactly partial to the light. And I don’t think you want to anger me.”

Virgil glared at him but did as he asked. As he shoved it into his pocket, it came into contact with something. A pen. He slipped it out without a second thought.

The other Virgil raised a brow.

“What?” He twirled it around his fingers. “It’s just a pen.” He clicked it and the ballpoint tip poked out. He suppressed a smirk. “Am I allowed to have this out or are you not partial to these, either?” He clicked it again to continue twirling it.

The other Virgil scowled. “I could care less.”

“Great.”

“What is it with humans and the need to be insufferable?” He began to pace around Virgil. “You’re all like flies. There are other things that are stronger and better than you, yet you are always everywhere no matter how those things try to get rid of you. Yet in the blink of an eye, you’re gone. And you leave new flies in your place.”

Virgil narrowed his eyes. “What are you?”

The other Virgil paused for a moment. “There are many names for someone like me. Many have called me a demon, others only think I’m a shadow. I believe you would have known me,” he appeared to think about it, “as the boogeyman.”

Virgil tried to ignore how the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He had no reason to doubt his clone wasn’t telling the truth.

Other Virgil stood right in front of him again. His eyes gazed over every aspect of Virgil’s person. It made him feel oddly exposed. “Why you?”

“I ask myself that every day,” Virgil shot back without thinking.

“I’m well aware.” He eyed Virgil once more, then sneered.

Wow, rude. “Alright, I don’t really care about you or what you think of my kind, but I would like it if you fucked off.”

He quirked a brow. Some semblance of interest crossed his features. “What’s making you so bold?” He took a step toward Virgil. “You’re the timid one. You second guess all your moves and think long before you act.”

Virgil stopped messing with the pen. “Well, for one, you’re wearing my face. So I’ve already lost all respect for you. And you’re messing with my friends. No amount of fear is going to stop me from saving them.”

The other Virgil didn’t respond. He simply stared. Like a cat that observes a moving toy before deciding to pounce.

“Why is it not affecting me?” Virgil had to keep the conversation moving. “If you find me so boring why let me be free from it?”

“How do you know that you are?” A smirk slid across his lips. “What makes you so certain that this is even happening at all?” He walked passed Virgil. “You can’t possibly believe that out of everyone, you were the sole person to be unaffected --” Virgil’s stomach did a flip -- “there's two powerful Magi, another one that can barely hold that title, and a human that’s just better than you in general.”

Alright, this dude was getting the name Anxiety for being an asshole. Also for being scarily accurate to Virgil’s own thoughts.

“If they couldn’t avoid it, how could you? There’s nothing special about you.” Virgil shifted to look at him. “You’re just a human -- and not even a good one. You fail at everything you try to do, and you think you have the ability to save someone? Don’t you think that if it was that easy Logan and Patton would have done it by now?” Anxiety looked Virgil right in the eye. He didn’t seem as intimidating before as he did now. “But they haven’t. So suddenly you think you can do things that not even magical creatures can do.”

“Someone has to,” Virgil mumbled.

Anxiety laughed. A sharp sound that echoed off nonexistent walls. “And that someone is you? Just look at you.” He threw a hand out to emphasize Virgil’s appearance. “Is this what a hero looks like?”

Virgil sunk into his hoodie. It felt too big now. None of his clothes fit right. He was standing out against the shadows. There were eyes looking at him -- judging him. He couldn’t make himself any smaller.

“And look at them.” Anxiety turned around and swept a hand out. As he did so, the shadows seeped away to reveal Virgil’s friends. They looked even more distressed than the last time he saw them. Anxiety glanced back at him. “Think you can fix this? Can you change anything about this at all?”

He…

“Can you?” Anxiety's voice boomed. His eyes changed -- shadows started to creep into them until they were filled with pitch black. In an almost immediate reaction, the others cried out in various levels of distress. They lowered themselves to the floor with a different reaction to what they saw. Thomas curled in on himself, breath hitching. Roman stayed surprisingly still and silent. Patton’s hands flew to cover his mouth. Logan’s hands curled in his hair with his eyes shut tight.

“Stop it.” It came out at a whisper. “Stop.” He couldn’t take it. He couldn’t look anymore. “Just -- just stop. Why are you doing this?”

Anxiety’s eyes returned to normal. “You think you five were my first choice? I have better things to do with my time than mess around here, but a contract is a contract and I am bound to complete it. No one is happy with this, trust me.” He put his hands in his hoodie pockets.

“Contract?” Virgil furrowed his brows. “What contract? For who?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

Virgil ignored how cold his limbs got. This wasn’t ideal. A literal boogeyman had them all trapped because someone wanted him to. What was the right way to go about this?

“But you -- why are you here?”

“What do you mean?”

Anxiety rolled his eyes. “You’re afraid of everything. So why are you here? With them.” He motioned to the others. “I know for a fact that you would rather have your old life back. Even if it meant you never got to meet Thomas. So why do you continue to come back to them?”

“I have to --”

“You have to? You don’t have to do anything. You could very well go on your own way and they wouldn’t do a thing to stop you.” He started walking toward the others. “Is it because you’re scared of them? Of what they can do?” He put his hands on Patton and Logan’s heads. They shuddered in response. “Ooh, if you only knew the secrets they have buried -- you’d be terrified. Would you like to learn some?”

Virgil couldn’t open his mouth.

“Do you want to know how many people Patton has killed? What about what Logan had to do to survive?” Another smirk began to crawl onto his face. “I could tell you all of their darkest fears -- every one of their secrets. I know how much you hate those.” He moved over to Thomas. “What about this one? The little boy who’s still scared of the dark. And we don’t even have time to unpack the mess of that one.” He pointed to Roman. “What do you think? Just because I’m forced to be here doesn’t mean we can’t have a little fun.”

How in the hell was he supposed to respond to that? His friends’ secrets were theirs to keep. If they wanted to say it in their own time then they would. There was no way in hell he’d make that mistake again.

Anxiety crossed his arms. “There’s no way you can lie to me, Virgil. I’m inside your head -- I’m in theirs too. I could tell you what each of them is seeing if you wanted. It’s some juicy stuff if you ask me.”

“I don’t want to know. Keep it to yourself.”

Anxiety gave a mock pout. “Aw, you’re hurting my feelings.” He fell back into his unamused glare. “Face it, Virgil, you don’t want to know because you’re scared of what will happen if you find out. You’d rather be ignorant to their crimes and go on believing that they’re all innocent little angels. Well, they’re not as innocent as they seem.” He moved around Thomas. “You have a right to fear them.” He began walking back over to Virgil.

Virgil held his ground. He couldn’t let himself fall for any of his tricks.

“Do you want to know why Patton and Logan won’t talk about their human friend? What was his name…?” He paused to think about it. “Remy. That’s what they called him, at least. There’s a very good reason they wouldn’t want you to know.”

“Don’t.”

“Why?” Anxiety looked personally offended. “You have a right to know. Why would a close friend of theirs suddenly fall off the face of the Earth?” He shrugged. “Personally, I don’t know why Magi like them would even entertain the idea of befriending humans. Seems like tedious work. Especially when they die.” He sucked air through his teeth. “It must hurt even more when it’s your own fault.”

Virgil didn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

Anxiety continued on anyway. “He was their best friend for such a long time. Right up until the end. Unfortunately, he met that end a little sooner than he should have. He was right around your age actually.” He tapped Virgil’s chest with a finger. “Just something to consider.”

“Do you have a point?” He needed to act like it didn’t matter. Like it didn’t cause millions of questions to stir in his brain or cause his hands to feel clammy.

“Oh, yes, the point.” He smirked. “The reason they wouldn’t want you to know. Well, it’s simple really.” He shrugged again as if the answer should have been obvious. “It’s all their fault. Why would they want you to know about them getting their best friend killed? It’s frowned upon to kill your pets, you know.”

Virgil frowned. “You’re lying to me.”

“Me? Lie?” He put a hand to his chest in offense. “I just told you that I’m inside their heads. I can see everything that they do. And I’m telling you, with full honesty, that Remy is their biggest regret. Emile Picani regrets killing his friend, Remy Magada.”

“You -- I can’t -- no.” Virgil spun around so he wouldn’t have to see him. “I don’t believe you. Picani wouldn’t -- he isn’t capable of that.”

Anxiety appeared in front of him. “What makes you so sure? You barely know him. He’s lived a long life. There’s a lot you don’t know about him -- a lot he wouldn’t want you to know.”

Virgil couldn’t believe it. He just couldn’t. He had to turn around again.

“Are you honestly willing to rescue someone who will end up leaving you for dead? He’ll do the same thing to you that he did to Remy. And then he’ll do it to Roman. Do you want to risk that?”

He didn’t want to risk anything.

“Might as well leave now. Running away is what you do best, isn’t it?”

Of course, it was. That’s all he ever did. Maybe it was what he should do now. He wasn’t a fighter. He wasn’t someone who could come to the rescue. He was just a coward. He couldn't do anything. He never should have even come. Why did he think he had a chance? He didn't have any helpful qualities. He should leave -- he had to leave. There was nothing for him here.

He took a step, ready to run away with his tail between his legs, but he noticed something. Thomas. He sat curled in a ball with tears streaming down his face.

What the hell was he doing?

Virgil blinked a few times, his mind clearing of the weird fog it found itself in. The voices stopped. Everything urging him to leave -- everything saying he couldn’t do it -- was gone. Those weren’t his own thoughts. He closed his fist around the pen. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“What?” Anxiety almost sounded angered.

Virgil turned to face Anxiety, determination set in place. “I’m not leaving. Nothing you say will get me to run away.”

Anxiety scowled. “So what? You’re going to be the hero now? You? Do you honestly think you’re capable of that? Do you think they’ll think of you like one?”

“It doesn’t matter what they think. It matters what I think. And I think I’ve entertained you for too long.”

“Why aren’t you listening to me?” Anxiety’s voice warped further. The angrier he got, the more twisted it became. “You’re just a human! How are you able to ignore me?”

Virgil clicked his pen. This time, a dagger filled his hand. “Because I know when the voices in my head are wrong.” He lurched forward and thrust his dagger into Anxiety’s stomach. “Plus, I kinda hate myself. So maybe using my face wasn’t the best idea.”

He yanked it out.

(Next)

[g0dblessthefandom]

Brittana Valentine’s Semi AU (Updated Daily Unt-bwhahahahahaha) February 13, 2016

Flashback Fever

February 13, 2016

The day Brittany was offered her dream job, Santana had been talking on the phone with her mother for nearly an hour.

Though talking was a strong word.

What they were really doing was arguing loudly, while occasionally Santana would put her mother on speakerphone, and beg Brittany to respond to her mother’s rapid fire Spanish. Brittany, of course, knew better than to get in between Santana and Mama Lopez while the sparks were flying. She managed to make them laugh with a non-sequitur and then turned back to her computer desk, smiling at the prospect of her fiancee (she still got chills thinking of Santana that way) planning their wedding. They didn’t plan to draw out the preparations, especially with Brittany going out of the country in a few weeks for a conference, but convincing Santana’s mother that neither of them needed to arrive to the ceremony in a horse drawn carriage was easier said than done.

“Mami, it’s almost Valentine’s Day, we’re not dealing with this! Here, talk to your other daughter. She will tell you, I’m not- Mami, por favor-”

As if in silent response to her prayers, Brittany’s cell phone began to ring. She got up, kissed Santana on the forehead, and went quickly into the bedroom, closing the door behind her. She studied the screen for a moment before answering, frowning at the number that was unfamiliar to her.

“Hello?”

“Brittany? Dr. Brittany Pierce? This is Dr. Susan Wingate from Columbia. ”

The frown creased into her features bloomed into a smile. She wasn’t expecting a call from her alma mater, but she knew Dr. Wingate very well. The professor had always had a soft spot for her unorthodox student, and she’d liked Santana as well. Brittany had most recently sent Dr. Wingate a bouquet of flowers to celebrate her ascension to dean of the Physics department, but that had been almost two months before.

“Dr. Wingate, of course! It’s been a long time. It’s so good to hear from you. Congratulations on your promotion again.”

“Thank you so much, Brittany. I wanted to say thank you for the flowers. They were quite lovely. I know that you’ve been very busy, so it’s nice for you to spare a thought to your poor old  Quantum Field Theory teacher.”

Brittany’s smile grew wider. Dr. Wingate playing the pity card meant that she wanted Brittany to come and do something at the school. She was always happy to help out, and actually really missed hanging out with the science students.

“I’m pretty sure you also taught Quantum Field Theories II. And it was my pleasure, Doc. I always said you should be running that dusty program anyway, breathe some new life into it.”

There seemed to be a deep breath on the other side. Brittany’s smile slipped a little and she steeled herself for whatever was coming next.

“That’s actually what I want to talk to you about, Brittany. I have been trying to dig out these old fogies since I started working at this school, and I think I’ve finally made some headway.”

Brittany raised an eyebrow. “You don’t sound particularly victorious.”

“Do you remember Dr. Bailey?”

“Yeah. He was the old fossil that was in charge of Molecular Physics. Pretty terrible teacher if I remember correctly, and that was a while ago.”

“Yes, well, he, um, he quit.”

“Seriously?” Brittany almost shouted. She began to pace excitedly. “But how? Why? He had tenure, didn’t he?”

“He did. But, he was not happy with the way that I was managing things. Personally, I don’t think he liked the idea of a woman heading up this department. So, he quit. More specifically he went into retirement. He was due years ago, but the timing is incredibly inauspicious.”

Brittany slapped a hand over her mouth to muffle a guffaw. After a few moments, she spoke again, the laughter still in her voice. “Wow. So, the old man finally’d had enough, huh? Holy cow, sorry Doc, I know that puts you in a bit of a bind, but that’s pretty funny.”

“I’m glad you find it so humorous, Brittany, because you can actually do something about it.”

Brittany’s laughter stopped abruptly. “Me?”

“Yes. I’m sure that you’ve gotten offers from all over the stratosphere. You are a talented scientist, Brittany, we both know that. You have a passion for physics that is almost unmatched, and a light that cannot be stifled. I don’t want to waste you time with silly offers or half hearted gestures. I want you here, with me, where you belong. Come, work for me, here at Columbia. We can offer you full benefits, a competitive salary, and you will be my vice dean, teaching Molecular Physics, with limited classes and all of the research support that you need. I’ve gotten the okay to fast track you to tenure. We can even find something for Santana. Maybe in the music department? We need more people like you working here, Brittany, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes to get you back.”

Brittany felt all of the air go out of her lungs like a slowly deflating balloon. She tried to steel herself against the tsunami of thoughts that were racing through her head, but she was having some trouble. She shook her head and tried again.

“Doc, um, I dunno what to say…”

“Say yes, Brittany, and say it quickly, please. I’ve got the board breathing down my neck, and they want the position filled yesterday. I was wracking my brain and then who should occur to me but the rock star alumni who everybody wants and no one could have! The west coast isn’t doing anything for you, Britt, this is a a great opportunity.”

“ I know, Doc, I know.” Brittany said quickly. “It’s an amazing opportunity! I just have to talk to Santana first.”

“Of course, of course. Just-” There was another moment of hesitation. “If you could get back to me by Monday that would be much appreciated.”

“Wait, what- This Monday? As in tomorrow?”

“It’s just that we’ve got a board meeting on Monday, and I assured them I’d have good news.”

“You’ve got to admit this is a lot to spring on me at once.”

“Yes, of course. Take the day, sleep on it, talk to Santana, and let me know.” Dr. Wingate paused. “Just let me know, Brittany.”

They said their goodbyes, and Brittany walked, dreamlike, back into the living room, plopping down on the couch next to Santana, who’d finally gotten off the phone, and was scrolling through her newsfeed, doing her best not to fume, and failing miserably.

“I can’t believe my mom, oh my god. She thinks that we want this fairy tale wedding, but I mean, did she even consider for a second what we might want?”

Santana didn’t notice Brittany’s lack of response, choosing that moment to turn horizontally on the couch and put her feet into Brittany’s lap.

“And before you say anything, I get it, I know. I’m not supposed to be arguing with her anymore. This is our day, we shouldn’t let her get to us. But, she’s had my number for the past 29 years, you know,? And that’s not going to change-”

In that moment Santana noticed Brittany’s silence and sat up quickly.

“Babe, what’s wrong? Who was that on the phone?”

“Remember Dr. Wingate?” Brittany asked, with that faraway look still in her eye.

“Yeah. What was wrong?”

“Nothing, she, um-” Brittany turned, taking Santana’s hands in her own. “She called to offer me a job.”

Brittany watched Santana closely while she explained the call, taking in every detail of her fiancee’s face. She was normally so easy to read, but now Brittany couldn’t tell what she was thinking. She finished talking almost breathlessly, anxious from the lack of response.

“So, what do you think?”

There was long pause and finally Santana spoke with as much nonchalance as she could muster. “What did you tell her?”

Brittany swallowed. “I told her I’d think about it.”

Another pause.

“Think about it?”

“Well, yeah, mi corazon, I told her I had to talk to you, and sleep on it, but I mean, think about what a great opportunity this is!”

“Opportunity.”

“Yeah! I know, I know, it means moving back to New York, but it’s not like we don’t know anybody over there, and we’ve both talked about how we missed the city. And this job, Santana, I mean, it’s amazing! I’ll get to teach what I love, and hang out with students all day. Remember how much I loved being a TA? I can get tenure before you know it, and we can start thinking about our family. Kids, a house and a picket fence, the whole thing, you know? I mean, this could really be it for us!”

Brittany’s smile was blazing on her face as she got lost in her imagination, thinking about what could be. She hadn’t considered it much, but she was even starting to convince herself. It really would be a great opportunity, and with Dr. Wingate on her side, she’d be publishing more than ever. She felt giddy and excited all at once.

Suddenly her eyes went to Santana’s face and she felt her smile drop. Santana’s mouth was twisted into a grimace, and she pulled her hands back sharply out of Brittany’s grasp.

Brittany frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“You want us to up and move to New York City? We haven’t been there in almost a decade!”

Santana began pacing and Brittany followed her with her eyes.

“Well, yeah, I mean, I know it’s out of the blue, but at least it’s worth a discussion-”

“We came here for more opportunities, Brittany, are we just throwing that away now?”

“No, of course not but, you’ve got to admit that being here is getting us nowhere fast. You’ve been working the same dead end job for two years, and I spend more time on the road than here. I thought we decided that we were going to spend more time together.”

“Dead end? That job has gotten me a lot more contacts in the industry, which is more than hanging out at Columbia ever did.”

“I didn’t mean that, I just meant… Look, Santana, when we finished school, we both had these big dreams, you know? You were going to be a publicist and I was going to go and ride this math train as far as it could take me. We did your thing, we tried the west coast, and it didn’t turn out for you. Maybe it’s time that you tried something else. Maybe stop being so safe all the time! Take a risk!”

“Ah, so now I didn’t make anything of myself? That’s what you’re saying?”

“That’s not what I-”

“And do we know why they chose you all of a sudden? Just chose some alumni instead of anyone else?”

The words stung Brittany, and she flinched almost as if she’d been slapped.

“I’m not just ‘some alumni’, Santana, I’m one of the foremost researchers in mathematical physics in the world.”

“Right, right.”

Brittany could feel the heat rising in her face, and pointed a finger at Santana.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that for the foremost researcher in mathematical physics I have to remind you a whole lot to take out the garbage.”

Brittany knew that Santana was being petty, and she could feel her own rage boiling over, but she couldn’t stop herself.

“Taking out the garbage?”

“Yes, and if you think I’m chasing you across the entire damn country so you can go chase some dream that’s not even yours, you’re crazy. I’d rather stay here with my half baked ideas and my failures.”

“You're taking my words out of context, Santana. And who said this wasn't my dream? I love teaching, I love Columbia, this is a good fit!”

“Since when do you love teaching, Britt? Since when do you love Columbia? The last thing I remember you were chomping at the bit to get away from that school and it's dusty academics. You spent more time complaining about plenty of the teachers-”

“Well, of course at the time I wasn't feeling it, I had been in school for the better part of six years, I was sick of it. But I go back all the time for stuff there.”

“And who was with you for all those years? And when it was over we agreed that we would come to California so I could have my chance. Now is supposed to be my turn! I was supposed to get my chance to figure my life out.” Santana poured a bit, but her anger blazed on.

“And how long have we waited for that to pan out? Look, San, this is a good chance for us and a good opportunity for me, we can't just throw it away without a second thought.”

“And there it is.” Santana said coldly.

“What are you-”

“This is big talk from a woman who couldn't even read her schedule until senior year.”

Brittany made a small gasp.

“Every step of the way I have carried you and supported you, Brittany. I have guided and helped you. You literally failed every single class one semester do you remember that? You thought you were pregnant because you saw a stork. You are not some world class genius, you're a simple girl, who got lucky and if it weren't for me, you'd still be putting your clothes on backwards.”

There were tears in Brittany’s eyes and Santana somehow ignored them.

“We came out here for my chance and for my opportunity and you seem to have forgotten that. So, go if you want, but you're going to get there and realize how stupid you've been.”

Santana took that moment to turn on her heel, and storm into the bedroom, slamming the door behind her. Brittany could only look around as if she had whiplash. The sharp words that Santana had thrown at her still stung. One moment they were talking about a promising future, and the next Santana was spitting on everything she'd built and everything they'd built together. A part of her wanted to go after her, get her to explain, talk to her, anything, but a part of her was furious. How dare Santana treat her like that? The one person in her life besides her family that she had always thought she could trust and count on. Her best friend.

Brittany caught the sob before it left her mouth and turned grabbing her keys off the counter. As she raced out the door, she wiped away the tears streaming down her cheeks.

\

She was sure a couple of hours would do it. She’d be gone and come back and Santana would have come back to her senses, ready to start the new chapter of their lives together. But a few hours turned into a day, and by the time Monday came along, Santana was still speaking to her in those short, clipped sentences that meant nothing and meant everything.

And she’d meant what she said. There wasn’t really anything in California worth more than the job opportunity. They had their friends, of course, but at the end of it all, if they were together, that’s all that had mattered. But the fact that seemed so obvious to Brittany was one that she wasn’t sure she could make clear. When it was all said and done she could have forgiven Santana’s hurtful words, she could have forgiven the ugliness, she would have forgiven everything if Santana would just agree to go with her. And as the days stretched on, the fights came back in waves and always in different combinations but as much as they both tried there seemed to be a fundamental misunderstanding that no amount of talking (or yelling) could break down. Before long Brittany stopped having excuses when Dr. Wingate called, and she started feeling a distinct discomfort when the phone rang. So, finally, she’d said yes to Dr. Wingate’s job offer, in the hopes that Santana would come to her senses. And a month later, almost to the day, Brittany Pierce left California to move to New York, and for the first time in almost a decade, Santana Lopez wasn’t with her.

[love-andpeace]

SemiGata & 64 (ﾉ´ヮ`)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ

HOLY COW HOW DID I NOT SEE THIS UNTIL NOW?? Ughhhh I’m the worst, and I’m so so sorry Brooke! ‧º·(˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ )‧º·˚

I hope this is alright!

64: “ You’re so beautiful. ”

Yamagata groaned while keeping his face buried in his pillow. He knew he had to leave his room and get to his classes, but he couldn’t. He just couldn’t go out there and face everyone after what had happened the previous day at practice.

It all started when he had been watching Semi practice his serves, and he couldn’t help but grin at the way his teammate pumped an arm in the air. He knew that he liked Semi in a way that was more than just as teammates, but he had never let anyone know about his crush.

“Yes! Point to Team Semi,” Eita crowed happily.

“Nice job, Semi,” Reon called out while motioning for Semi to throw him a ball to practice his own serves.

“Yes,” Goshiki chirped. “Your serves keep getting better and better each time!”

“God, you’re so beautiful.”

And suddenly all eyes were on Hayato. Wait, he had said that in his head, hadn’t he?

The ball fell from Semi’s fingers and his jaw slowly opened, and it was then that Hayato finally realized that his most-guarded secret may not be so secret anymore…

“A-Ah, wait… Wait, what I meant was…” Shit, shit, shit! How was he supposed to get out of this? He just had to find a way to make Semi believe that Hayato had meant something else.

“It was just, well the way you…”

The entire court was deathly silent, the tension so thick and palpable. Yamagata could only look from each teammate to the next until his gaze set on Semi.

“I…” He tried to start again, but his mouth was dry. He could only shake his head and muttered a weak apology under his breath before turning on his heel and running out of the gym. He vaguely heard the cries of his name from his team, but he couldn’t go back and face Semi, not after all that.

So, now he was moping and feeling nothing but pity for himself at the situation he found himself in. Maybe he could get by without ever going to class again? But then how could he possibly get out of never attending practice? Coach was going to murder him if he tried to quit the team.

“Yamagata, I know what happened yesterday was… unexpected, but you can’t spend the rest of your life feeling sorry for yourself.”

Hayato groaned again. Leave it up to Jin to try and be the hero… Finally he pulled his head from the pillow and gave a bleary glower at his roommate. “What do you know about it? He wasn’t… I never meant for him to find out.”

Jin offered his roommate a sympathetic smile and clapped a hand against Hayato’s back. “I know, but I honestly don’t think he’s mad. I think it’s just… Well, you need to talk to him for yourself to see.”

Yeah, easier said than done. Hayato snorted, resigning himself to his fate. He knew he couldn’t give up entirely on his studies, no matter how much he might want to.

And after a long, drawn-out day of school, he found himself once again at practice, but no one said anything out of the ordinary to him. It was strange, how could nobody have had any issue with what he had confessed?

“Yamagata?”

The libero immediately whirled around and found himself face to face with the one person he had prayed to avoid. Semi appeared slightly annoyed, but Hayato supposed he couldn’t blame the other.

He finally took in a deep breath, steadying himself before jamming his hands in his pockets. “H-Hey,” he managed, licking his lips and giving Semi a weak grin. “Long time no see?”

Semi’s arms were crossed, lower lip poked out just slightly as he looked Hayato up and down. Damn, if Hayato weren’t scared shitless, this would definitely be a big turn on.

“You know, I’ve been trying to call you since yesterday.”

Hayato blinked. “Really? Eheheh, sorry about that.” He rubbed at the back of his head sheepishly. “I think I’ve lost my phone again.” And it was true, after running for his life yesterday, he had once again misplaced his phone.

Semi hummed noncommittally, fingers drumming against his still-crossed arms. “You know,” he slowly began. “You’ve got a real way of real way of messing plans up.” Semi sighed and ignored the way Hayato gaped at him.

“Huh… What’re you-?”

“And I’ve had this all planned out since discovering I liked you in second-year too,” he shook his head. “I was going to confess to you once we graduated, give you the second button from my blazer and all that jazz. It was going to be extremely sweet and sappy too.” Semi gave Hayato a pointed glance. “But you just had to mess everything up with your half-assed confession. Which by the way, I’m expecting a proper confession after all this.”

Brown eyes blinked once, then twice and Hayato was completely speechless. “W-Wait… You mean you…”

“Are we going to go through this again?” Semi groaned and rolled his eyes before moving to stand right in front of him. Before Hayato could say a word, Semi’s fingers had already snatched forward and were now curled around the front of his shirt. “I like you, and from what I understand, you think I’m beautiful.”

Hayato flinched and Semi’s lips curved up into a grin. Hayato was so fucked. “I-I like you, a lot,” he murmured quietly, unable to tear his eyes away from Semi’s. “I’ve liked you for awhile now, but didn’t think I stood a chance.”

Semi’s features softened and his smile softened before he leaned forward and pressed a quick peck against Hayato’s cheek. “Well, doesn’t it feel nice to be wrong?”

Oh yeah, Hayato had never been so glad to be so wrong in his life.

[fyeahjamesandlily]

A New Kind of Country

gift for: @lillytalons

A/N: James and Lily log onto FarmersOnly.Com for very different reasons. But they leave with very similar results.

(A quick disclaimer that I come from a family of farmers & grew up in a rural town so all of this is meant in good fun.)

Hope you enjoy!

rating: T

word count: 8,612

-

“That has to be the stupidest commercial I’ve ever seen in my life,” James said.

“Did I not say?” Sirius demanded. He turned his head to address their other friend. “Moony, did I not say?”

“Yeah, but you’re known to exaggerate,” James said.

It was a Saturday night and the three friends were holed up in James’ apartment, watching a Playoff game and drinking beer like their livers had personally wronged them. At some point during the last hour, James had slid right off the couch in favor of lying on the rug. His feet were cold from where they’d extended past the rug and lay on the hardwood floor, but he was too lazy to rifle around for a pair of socks. To live was to suffer after all. He’d read that once.

James didn’t watch a lot of TV, so he’d somehow managed to miss out on the phenomenon that was FarmersOnly.Com. When Sirius had first mentioned it, like two months ago while they were shopping for a blender because Sirius’ passion of the month was some kind of juice cleanse, James had thought Sirius was full of shit. Having never so much as shopped in a Walmart in his life, Sirius was the kind of privileged jerk that would find a dating website for farmers and “country-folk” the height of hilarity. Then again, James was just that kind of privileged jerk too.

The commercial that had just aired, however, proved Sirius perfectly right. In it, the city-slicker was portrayed as an ugly jackass who only wanted to talk about his car, until the heroine ditched her date to drive off in a truck three times her height with a suitable country boy. All of it was hammy, which James wouldn’t have minded as all of those sites promising love were selling a pretty corny idea to begin with, but what FarmersOnly did was unforgivable.

“Well it’s not really limited to farmers only is it?” James said. “I mean, the name’s misleading.”

Sirius nodded sagely. “False advertising’s what it is. Besides what exactly qualifies a person as country-folk? Is it just growing up in a small-town? Are we using the federal definitions on what qualifies? Because there are towns in like, Wyoming or wherever, where there’s only four people in the whole goddamn place, and then there’s that town in Massachusetts with like 60,000. I demand answers!”

Sirius banged his fist on the table, and Remus practically leapt off the couch in his shock. If they weren’t careful, Remus was going to pass out and spend the night there curled up on James’ couch. Not that James particularly minded, but Remus worked on the opposite side of town and the commute in city traffic could be harrowing.

“I just don’t get how it’s different than Tinder,” James said. “Good, old-fashioned hook up sites.”

“Did you not watch the commercial? It’s only for farmers and country folk, whoever they may be. That’s the difference,” Sirius said.

“But Tinder’s algorithm is based on proximity and similarity of interests. So if you’re in the middle of the “country” and say you love, I don’t know, Larry the Cable Guy, it’s going to match you with someone who also lives in the middle of nowhere and loves, I don’t know…square dancing,” James said.

“You two are going to Hell,” Remus muttered.

“What, why?” James demanded.

“Classism,” Remus answered shortly.

“Classism?” Sirius looked positively scandalized at the accusation.

“Maybe the people who use this site don’t like meeting people who think all farmers square dance and watch Larry the Cable Guy. Or maybe they do, but they want to meet someone who doesn’t think those things are worthy of mockery,” Remus said.

“What’s the point of life if you can’t laugh at yourself, Moony? In fact…” Sirius pulled out his cell and started typing.

In the beleaguered way Remus did most things – mouth pursed into a half-frown and eyes aimed heavenward as if for guidance – Remus returned to watching the game. As James’ team was in the process of scoring a particularly harrowing touchdown, James did as well, but he kept half an eye on Sirius, knowing that his friend would be up to something.

The answer came fifteen minutes later when Sirius proudly presented his phone to James for inspection. A picture of James in a plain, white t-shirt– the picture he’d taken at a bar a year ago as proof to his mom that he was leading a perfectly respectable life, explaining why he looked so wholesome – stared back at him from his new FarmersOnly profile page.

“Piss off,” James said, delighted. He pulled the phone out of Sirius’s hands entirely so that he could scroll through his new profile at his leisure.

“I think we’ve discovered why you’ve never found love, James. Looking in all the wrong places,” Sirius said sagely. “But your perfect corn-fed, cow-milking bride is on there somewhere. I can feel it.”

“Corn-fed?” Remus muttered to himself. “Like you didn’t devour that corn bread at lunch yesterday.”

James ignored Remus because, frankly, he was having too much fun to worry about whether it was elitist of them to sit around mocking the many people in the world longing for a more “traditional” approach to dating. Or as traditional as it could be when it emerged from a dating website. Certainly, it was more fun that admitting that he and Sirius were spoiled rotten and vastly underequipped to live in the manner that so many did. The closest they’d ever been to country-living was when they went camping, and even then, it was really glamping with an RV that had a power strip, a mini fridge stocked with chilled beers, and a hairdryer to protect them from going without for even a second.

Since Sirius had set up the profile from his own phone, he’d been forced to use pictures of James that he had saved in his gallery. All things considered, Sirius had chosen generously, and the image of James that began to take shape on the screen was nowhere near as ridiculous as James might have expected. Given time, James had no doubt that Sirius would have broken out Photoshop to place James in any manner of embarrassing locations – the Icecapades, the assassination of JFK, a Denny’s.

It was in the about section that Sirius had let loose, giving James an assortment of stereotypical country hobbies. For James’ description of an ideal woman, Sirius had written: “Sturdy enough to help with the housework and aware that patience is a virtue. I’m a strong believer in the value of waiting.” James read all of this aloud to Remus, who was clearly amused despite his protests.

“Not a single girl is going to talk to you with a profile like that. People can tell when they’re being demeaned,” Remus warned.

Sirius scoffed. “Have you looked at James’ handsome face? Girls will forget about anything when they see a jaw like that. Kind of like men and legs actually.”

“Yeah, Moony, don’t you think I’m handsome?” James said, before giving his most winning smile.

He started to flip through the different profiles to see if any girl caught his eye. His search wasn’t serious, of course, as he had only to switch over to Tinder to find any number of girls, most of whom weren’t touting their interest in traditional values, which suited James just fine. He was a guy after all. Still, he wouldn’t say no to a stunning blonde in denim cut-offs…

“Besides, James is rich,” Sirius reminded them. “These country girls would dream of a guy like him. A hero to swoop in and show them the delights of the city.”

“You do know that farmers have a lot of money, right?” Remus demanded, completely exasperated at this point. “They’re land-owners. You don’t even own this apartment.”

“Not if they’re farm-hands,” Sirius pointed out, his smile screaming ‘check and mate.’ “And I bet most of these so-called land-owners don’t have hair-gel inheritance money.”

“I bet they have more than disowned at sixteen money,” Remus muttered.

Next thing James knew, his two friends were wrestling on the floor. Remus had Sirius in a headlock that forced Sirius to hunch his body nearly in half but did nothing to prevent him from jabbing Remus repeatedly in the ribs. Ignoring them as this was a bi-weekly occurrence, James continued to scroll through his options. He’d already grown bored – eyes drifting to the game as often as to his phone screen – when he came across it. Her.

“Holy –! Guys look at this!” James cried. Since neither of them stopped wrestling to pay him any attention, James slid off the couch and dangled the phone in front of Sirius’s puce and sweat-soaked face. “Look at this girl!”

“She’s hot,” Sirius agreed before getting his finger into Remus’s mouth and pulling him into a fish hook. Remus howled his pained outrage and kicked Sirius in the shin in retaliation.

“Hot? Hot? Try gorgeous. Try the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen in my life. She can’t be real. This has to be a catfish,” James said loudly.

Now interested, Remus slapped Sirius’s hand out of his mouth so that he could look as well. “Oh yeah, very pretty.”

Very pretty? James was beginning to think he wasn’t the only one of their number that needed glasses because Remus and Sirius were clearly going blind. The girl in the pictures was the very definition of beauty, the kind of face that when photographed could be submitted to any magazine and they’d think she was shot by Mario Testino or someone equally talented.

The first thing of note was her hair, deep-red and cascading down her shoulders in every picture – except for the one where she’d pulled it back and given a great view of the long stretch of her neck, an almost equally appealing feature. Her features were nearly elfin, small nose and a rosebud for a mouth, a sprinkling of freckles, and cheekbones that looked like they were drawn on. The only big component of her face was her eyes, wide and green and inquisitive in every shot. Either she was perfectly proportioned or she was tall too, the one shot that showed off her body making it look as if her legs stretched on for six feet like some sort of gorgeous giantess.

And as if life wasn’t already cruelly unfair, she seemed super cool too. There was the photo of her finishing a marathon – makeup free and jubilant at her success. The one where she was vaping, a puff of smoke shielding the better part of her face. In one she stood next to a series of statues at a museum, posed in the same rigid manner so that she nearly blended in with the grey stone. Hiking and giving speeches, and playing the guitar, her interests seemed never-ending. In others, she was less active, just lying around with her cat or reading a book in the sun.

The only word that could rise to his mind was stunning.

So even though this entire profile had been meant as a lark, a way of laughing at a group of people unlike himself that he had never bothered to understand, James started to type.

“Next class we’ll be covering Piaget, so do the reading beforehand and feel free to stop by office hours on Monday if you’d like to talk to me or Professor McKirkland. You can expect your reviewed proposals returned next class. Have a great afternoon,” Lily Evans – TA, Aries, and Masters student in the clinical Psychology department – announced to the auditorium of students.

She always enjoyed the days where she got to lecture because, as she often said, it never hurt to brush up on the basics. After a Freshman year paper on the neuroscience of memory, Lily was all too familiar with how easily the brain discarded facts, even those ones she’d studied for hours on end. Today, she’d been less than happy to take on the additional burden because she was neck-deep in her year-end project for her Social Behaviors class. Hell, who was she kidding? She was drowning.

The issue was a matter of scope. Her original intent had been to observe the way heterosexual men utilized dating websites. Specifically, she wanted to classify their initial approaches and determine whether the four personality metrics could be correlated to how they chose to approach women.  Several problems immediately presented themselves: How was she going to survey these men to determine their personality types at the end? Was a ‘hey’ the same as a ‘hey, how are you?’ in her classification system? And how did she control for the different dating websites?

That last question was her greatest regret. Everything would be going so much more smoothly if she’d just limited her research to Tinder and been done with it. Unfortunately, her eyes had been bigger than her stomach and she’d signed up for a whole host of dating sties: Tinder, OKCupid, Christian Mingle, etc. It was lunacy because they all catered to different demographics, which meant she’d had to create a half-dozen different scales to measure the results. Sleep had been foregone in the effort.

Finally, finally it was almost over. Give her another three days, and she could put the final polish on her research. Hello A+ and goodbye thirsty men of the internet.

With class over, Lily made her way to the café next to the Psych building. She’d made a table there her home over the past three weeks because the restaurant had a download speed of 4.0 mbs waffle fries that she’d want as her last meal on death row. Who’d pick a half-rate coffee shop when there was starchy goodness just down the block?

Lily sat at her usual table and ordered her usual drink from her usual waitress. The stress of the end of the semester always turned her into a creature of habit. She was just debating whether she’d rather a veggie wrap or her beloved waffle fries, when her phone vibrated with a new message. Idly, Lily scanned the reminder from Marlene to bring ice to the party she was hosting on Saturday. The party Lily wasn’t even sure she could make.

Whenever deadlines came around, Lily always dropped off the face of the planet, which was how she’d managed to accumulate nearly six hundred notifications on her phone. Lily almost choked when she saw the number. They were nearly all messages off those dating sites.

Lily clicked into Tinder where the barrage was the worst. Her screen was filled with a page-worth of boring ‘heyyy’ and ‘what’s up, cutie’ messages. Her research had confirmed what everyone knew, that there was no approach more prolific than that of the bland introduction. A little ways down she was assaulted by her first unsolicited dick pic. It was from one of the guys she’d chatted with for a bit, and Lily would have sworn he had seemed normal at the time. Right below was a guy calling her names for not messaging him back.

Pushing the phone out of reach, Lily shuddered. Dating was meant to be fun, not this cesspool of negativity. The real research ought to be on what these jerks hoped to accomplish when they pulled this stuff. Lily imagined girls never fell for it. Or rather, she hoped they didn’t.

A wonderful thought had her reaching for her phone again; the collection stage was over! She no longer needed to belong to any of these sites. Talk about a fast way to handle notifications, she’d just delete all of them.

Tinder was the first to go. Then OKCupid. Goodbye Match.Com and Sayonara EHarmony.

Lily was having so much fun with her social media destruction that a waitress started sending nervous looks toward her table, disturbed by the unabridged glee on Lily’s face as she jabbed at her phone screen. Under normal circumstances, Lily might have cared, but her body was coursing with satisfaction and caffeine. In a time where Lily’s life took on a haze of glowing computer screens, paper cuts, and two-for-one five hour energy shots, she would take her pleasures where she found them.

Going to her FarmersOnly account was an afterthought because she’d ultimately had to cut the site from her research. The default profile Lily had constructed to use across all the platforms simply didn’t fit with the FarmersOnly user base, which meant she couldn’t properly observe how men used the site. Half of them had hit her up with a message along the lines of: ‘You don’t look like any country girl I’ve ever seen.’

Really the only thing she’d learned from her membership was that her decided “city-girl” status did nothing to deter the men. Guys were persistent wherever you went apparently.

Since she’d stopped using the site three months ago, she was surprised to see a new notification from that morning at 2:47 AM. A time that left a poor first impression if there ever was one. (Maybe someday she’d write an online dating advice blog to help these flailing guys.)

The message read: I saw you work at Sonic + I’ve been dying to find one around here. Save a man’s life. I need a coconut cream pie milkshake STAT.

Lily stared, bewildered, at the message for a minute longer. Here she was, ninety percent through a paper on online dating tactics, and this one was entirely new. She felt compelled to answer before she deleted her profile altogether. After all, she didn’t want him dying on her conscience.

Lily: Sorry. I work summers at 1 out of state & go to school at the University here.

There, now that was settled. Except before she had finished ordering (the waffle fries had won out), this guy – James Potter – had written back.

James: NOOOO! And I thought you’d be the girl to save me. But ur just a tease.

James: Wait! Not that kind of tease. A Sonic tease.

James: I don’t want you thinking I mean the other kind.

James: Though honestly that’d be better. I mean who dangles a milkshake in front of a man like that.

James: Rude.

Her paper was waiting for her and she really ought to open her laptop and get to work. Only Lily had no idea how to answer this James, and his bizarre messages warranted some kind of response. He was, well, kind of funny.

Lily clicked into his profile to do some digging, which, if her goal was to quickly move onto her paper, was a mistake because Sonic boy was hot! Hot in that kind of nerdy, unaffected way. In his profile picture he was a big smile of white teeth and impressively rumpled hair. There was an asymmetry to his face, almost like everything was angled just a degree to the side, yet it didn’t diminish from his attractiveness at all. Plain white T-shirt. Eyes that crinkled when he smiled. She couldn’t find a single point to critique.

A quick scroll through the other photos – all six of them – proved the good photo wasn’t a goof. They showed him sweat-soaked and in-shape playing soccer, wrestling with a giant dog, visiting a brewery, and drinking wine with his mates, all of whom were decked out in tuxedos. Lily had to give him a gold star for photo selection. He’d achieved just the balance Lily would have recommended if she was doling out advice.

Moved solely by her shallow admiration of James’ face, Lily typed out a quick response.

Lily: Have you considered travelling to the 1 a county over?

James: You mean drive my car 35 mins to reach the greatest shake on this earth?

James: Don’t be ridiculous.

Lily: Was that your subtle way of telling me you own a car?

James: Impressed ;)

Finding herself laughing at his blatant self-promotion, Lily clicked back into his profile. And here’s where he lost her. He lived in the same city and had graduated from her university, which was good, but his hobbies included mudding, bull-riding, and trout. As if trout was even a hobby! Looking through his photos, it had been so easy to forget that she was on FarmersOnly.Com and she was decidedly not a farmer.

Lily almost closed the app without responding, but the guilt kicked in before she could. What kind of shallow person let a few hobbies scare her off from a guy who seemed cute and charming? It would be the height of snobbery to reject James because of a few cultural differences. And she had no business looking down her nose at anyone considering the part of the city where she grew up. To be fair, she ought to let James chase her away with their incompatibility instead.

Lily: Not really. A car in this city? Not a good investment.

James: Oh I don’t drive it around here.

James: I like to take it out on the weekends. Speed down the highway with the top down and the music on blast.

Lily: Well aren’t you just an Eagles song.

James: What can I say? I like to Take It Easy.

James: Your profile said you like Oscar bait movies.

James: You mean like good cinematography or Meryl Streep in literally anything?

Lily: I mean sweeping biopics about suffering and triumph.

James: Eww. Bad taste L

Lily: Don’t try to neg me.

James: I would never. You’re gorgeous & you know it

James: You just also have bad movie taste.

Lily: Fine. Favorite movie?

James: Fight Club.

Lily: You have to be joking.

James: Dead Sirius.

James: That was a pun.

James: Which I now realize you can’t get because you’ve never met Sirius.

James: My best friend, Sirius.

Lily: Weird name.

James: Tell me about it. His parents name on a theme. All constellations.

James: I mean who does that?

Lily: My parents named me & my sister after flowers.

James: …So apparently your parents do that…

James: All I can say is OUR children won’t be named on a theme.

James: I’m thinking Trudy and Blaze.

James: Thoughts?

Lily: I’m speechless.

James: Kewl. I want you to WRITE your answer not speak it.

They continued in much the same manner for another hour and a half until Lily realized the sun was setting and she hadn’t so much as glanced at her research. James Potter appeared to be many things – contrary and confident and contradictory to name a few – but he was decidedly a distraction as well.

Despondently, Lily decided it was time to bid James a goodbye because she’d rather see the back of him than her destroy her average. Surprisingly, James accepted that she had work to do without complaint. Lily had half-expected him to start rattling on about the possibility of him dying without her company or something equally extreme. In the short time she’d known him, she’d picked up that he was prone to that exact type of exaggeration.

Just before she logged off, however, he did ask whether he could have her number so that they could keep texting later. Lily deliberated for another minute before typing out her cell number. After all, what could it hurt?

“He takes aim. He shoots. He scores!” Sirius practically roared, upending a bowl of popcorn as he threw his hands into the air. His controller tumbled off the couch in all the excitement. “Prongs, did you see how I just outmaneuvered you there? …Prongs?”

“What?” James asked absently, not bothering to look up from his phone.

He almost fell off the couch like the controller when Sirius reached forward and yanked his cell right out of his hands. James blinked a few times to adjust. After hours of staring at a phone screen, his eyes were no longer accustomed to making out shapes in his dimly lit apartment.

“What the hell?” James demanded, making a move to snatch his phone back, which Sirius deftly evaded.

“It’s not fun kicking your ass in Pro Evolution when you don’t even bother! I invited you over to play, not to stare at your phone,” Sirius complained.

“You sound like, really old,” James said, amused even as he plotted how to get his phone back. “Like ‘those darn millennials always on their phones’ old.”

Sirius made a highly offended noise in return and switched off the TV, interrupting a montage in which Sirius’s team was rewarded for their goal. “First off, rude. Second off, you could have stayed in your own apartment if you didn’t want to play. What are you even doing?”

“Just texting,” James said ambiguously.

Purposefully ambiguously because James had found through years of experience that Sirius was a menace to a man’s love life. Not only was he the kind of handsome that could have any girl questioning her choices, but Sirius was also the kind of jackass that could send a girl running with a few well-placed stories. James would let Lily in on his secrets one day, but that would only be after he was confident she was invested. He would need to trap his dream girl just like his ancestors before him.

“This isn’t that farmer girl is it?” Sirius asked. When James didn’t answer, Sirius’s eyebrows shot up practically past his hair line. “It is! A farmer! Really, James?”

“She’s not a farmer. She was born in a city and she’s at the university,” James corrected quickly. “I think she just must like the farmer type, you know? That’s why she was on the website.”

Sirius gave him a long, assessing look. “You do know that you don’t exactly fit that mold, right?”

“Yes.”

James was unfortunately aware of his failings in just that area. Lily had joined FarmersOnly.Com to find a good, old country boy, and James hardly qualified despite his profile’s many false claims. So far, the disparity between the James of reality and the James that had first attracted Lily hadn’t been an issue. Their conversation flowed smoothly, better than any experience with a woman that James could remember with both of them alternating between flirtation and serious conversation effortlessly. So much of that fact was likely due to Lily being perfect: clever, beautiful, accomplished with a variety of interests and experiences to keep him on his toes. The only trouble was that he didn’t meet her desired mold at all.

“Just give me my phone back, dude,” James pleaded.

“I don’t know. Maybe I want to see what’s so special about little Miss Cowbell,” Sirius said.

“Please don’t play around right now. She’s going to think I’m ignoring her if I don’t text back,” James said.

Since they’d started talking three days earlier, James had been quick to respond to every one of her messages. The longest gap between her writing and him replying stood at four minutes. She had texted him about dying for a caramel latte but being too lazy to leave her apartment just as he got out of the shower. He’d nearly pulled his hair out when he realized he was keeping her waiting. Because when it came to someone as perfect as Lily, James didn’t want to take any chances.

Knowing that Sirius didn’t respect little things like privacy and might actually start reading through his conversation with Lily – Sirius always figured out James’ passcode no matter how many times he changed it – James figured it was best to just answer. “She’s just asked if she can psychoanalyze me. She’s got a Bachelors in psychology and is getting her Masters right now.”

“I can psychoanalyze you,” Sirius snorted. “Low-degree narcissism and a weird aversion to cramped spaces that can only be you remembering back to your time in utero.”

“Aren’t you funny,” James said drolly.

“Yes, I am,” Sirius said, but then, “Seriously though, dude. Put the phone down on hang out with me. That or go home. I could still be in bed playing Tetris but I put on clothes to hang out with you.”

Reluctantly, James surrendered his phone to Sirius. The rest of the afternoon was spent in the typical fashion – eating too many Doritos and arguing over who had played better when they’d both won an even number of matches at FIFA 2014. Bit by bit, James forget that there was a beautiful girl on the other side of the city, going about her own life like something out of a fairytale. One filled with pen stains and haunting deadlines, but a fairytale all the same.

“So you gonna meet her?” Sirius asked.

James struggled to follow the question as he was currently on the phone with the pizza place down the street and he was trying to do the math as to how many pizzas to order. Two would be plenty for the two of them, but there was the very real possibility that Peter and Remus would come over later, and that would be two pizzas too few.

“What?” James asked stupidly, before quickly telling the guy on the other end of the phone that they’d take three pizzas.

“The girl you’re texting. The farmer,” Sirius said, “Are you planning to meet her?”

James stared at Sirius as if he was questioning whether his friend had suffered a braincell destroying accident. Sarcastically, he said, “No. I don’t want to meet the hot girl I’ve been texting non-stop for days. Distance makes the heart fonder and all. I want her to stay far away forever.”

“Okay, okay. Just asking,” Sirius said placatingly. “I’m happy for you two. Honestly.”

It was nearly two A.M. and six Yuenglings into the night when James Ubered back to his own apartment. He’d have slept over at Sirius’s, but the cushions of the couch had been worn down to the point that sleeping there felt like lying on the floor, and as James’ buzz had grown, so too had his desire for a night’s sleep surrounded by fluffy pillows. He favored as many as seven on an average night. Only as James was walking out the door did Sirius think to return his phone, which James had altogether forgotten about after Peter had arrived with a deck of cards.

He skipped over the texts from his parents – forever anxious about how he was holding up in the city alone, as if all his friends didn’t live a few blocks away – and the snaps from girls he’d known at one point or another. With the ease of muscle memory, he moved to check for more messages from Lily, and he nearly dropped his phone in horror at what he found there. The last thing that had been written before Sirius had stolen his phone was Lily’s request to psychoanalyze him. In the absence of a reply, Lily had assumed the worst.

Lily: James????

Lily: I was just joking. You know that.

Lily: Right?

Lily: Shit. I’m really sorry. I wasn’t trying to annoy you or anything.

Lily: Okay…well good night.

James swore he was going to gut Sirius when he saw him next. What had he been thinking letting Sirius talk him into abandoning his phone for the night? James knew all too well that most of Sirius’s ideas about relationships were toxic, and, worse, that he was all talk, never applying them to his own romantic endeavors. If Sirius had been talking to a girl, he never would have surrendered his phone in the name of friendship.

Quickly, James typed out his response.

James: SORRY

James: Definitely didn’t mean to drop you like that. I was just caught up with friends and lost track of time.

James: Sorry if I freaked you out.

Lily didn’t immediately write back, so James figured she’d fallen asleep for the night. He was forced to content himself with the idea that she wouldn’t see his apology until she woke up the next day. The lights of the city blinked as his driver took him the rest of the way home, a glint of color that would blaze brightly and then fade away into darkness a second later as they rounded a corner. These lights acted as a replacement for the stars that were muted by the many competing colors of the city.

Maybe that was why Lily was spending her time looking for men on FarmersOnly. To a degree, James had to admit that he could see the appeal. Out in the country, where the sky stretched for miles into the distance, James imagined a person could breath. A person could lay out in a field, staring up at the night sky with no fear that he might be mugged. More importantly, a person could be truly alone.

The prospect made him sigh longingly.

His phone dinged.

Lily: whewww, no worries. I just didn’t want you to get the wrong idea or anything.

Lily: Glad everything’s okay :)

Maybe he ought to have respected that it was late and Lily was likely tired, but James was in an uncharacteristically sentimental mood, and he wanted to talk to her. It seemed ridiculous, but he’d missed her in the few hours they hadn’t talked. They’d known each other for a few days and already she was a fixture in his life.

James: I missed you today.

It took her a few minutes to write back, but when she did, James grin was exaggerated enough to make his cheeks ache.

Lily: Me too.

James: Tell me something abt when you were growing up.

Lily: Like what?

James: anything just a story

Lily: ummm growing up i lived on a really busy street & we were pretty far from any parks or anywhere we could play because we were on the wrong side of downtown.

Lily: so my sister and I really wanted to play tennis but we couldn’t safely.

Lily: like one time I literally almost got hit by an SUV so my mom forbade us from ever taking our rackets outside for any reason.

Lily: so we developed this version of tennis where we played in the house. Like actually lobbing balls over the kitchen table and up and down the staircase.

Lily: It was WILD. We destroyed half the house by the time my parents realized what was happening. Broken glass everywhere. The dog traumatized from running back and forth so much. But it was so much FUN.

Lily: it’s still like my best memory with my sister.

James: I guess I can see why you find the country lifestyle so appealing.

James: Seems like the right way to raise kids.

Lily: Trudy and Blaze would certainly like a little open space.

James: Yea they would

James: Do you think you want to meet sometime soon. Face to face?

Lily: No.

James: No?????!!!!!????

Lily: No.

Lily: I’m pretty sure you’re like a 60-year-old man and I want the illusion to last a little longer.

James practically collapsed in relief.

James: What if I promise I’m not 60?

Lily: Are you 59?

James: I promise I’m not a day over 58.

At this point he’d arrived back at his apartment and he had to focus on finding the key to his building. When he looked back at his phone, Lily had answered.

Lily: my friend’s having a party this weekend. Do you want to meet me there?

James: it’s a date.

And right there in the middle of the sidewalk, with the lights blinking down on him and pedestrians sending him dirty looks for taking up so much space, James thrust a triumphant fist into the air. It was a date.

As was typical, the party was overcrowded, the combined tempo of the occupants’ thundering pulses almost overpowering the heavy bass of the Tropical House music that Marlene had come to favor. A step in any direction was guaranteed to encroach on at least one guest’s personal space, so stubbed toes and muttered ‘excuse mes’ became the theme song of the night. The problem was that Marlene was far too popular for her own good, a former debutante with a practiced smile who knew when to ask the right, probing question. Lily would have sworn that every familiar face on campus was crammed into the studio apartment that night.

It had long ago crossed into the realm of the embarrassing how often Lily glanced at her phone, which Marlene was quick to remind her whenever Lily failed in her stealth attempts, hiding the phone beneath her leg and glancing down for a message from James. She couldn’t help that he was late, nor that the fact of his lateness had unleashed a hurricane in her stomach. Still, a man didn’t text non-stop for a week, just to stand you up on the first date.

Seated by the TV, with Marlene practically sprawled across her lap, Lily had the perfect position, able to socialize as she pleased with the court that naturally surrounded Marlene wherever she went and able to keep an eye on the door, her visibility only blocked when the basketball team – all of whom were too tall for their own good – crowded into her line of vision. Whenever that happened, Lily’s foot would start to tap in double-time, outpacing the beat of the music currently playing. Lily wanted to believe that her nerves were subtle, but the amused curl of Marlene’s smile belied her hopes.

Somehow, despite all the precautions she’d put in place, Lily missed when James first strolled into the party. Just about no one else did because, well…he stood out. Lily was delicately scooping the remains of vodka-tinted jello out of her shot glass when James appeared at her shoulder like something straight out of a Nicholas Sparks movie, one of the ones about rodeos, a pseudo-Western hero with none of the gruff of Clint Eastwood. Lily nearly choked, as the jello slid, slimy and sweet, down her throat.

To his plaid button-down and worn blue jeans, Lily couldn’t complain, but she had some major objections to the enormous cowboy hat that perched jauntily on his head, sliding slightly to the left like it didn’t quite fit. His belt buckle was enormous, easily the size of her clenched fist and bronze. In a room full of university sweatshirts and non-descript tees, James stood out like a sore thumb; a thumb that had been beaten with a hammer and then become infected with gangrene.

“Sorry I’m late,” James said. He shouted to be heard over the music only the song switched over mid-sentence, so half his apology was just yelled in her face.

“No worries,” Lily said, pushing Marlene’s gaping form to the side so that she could stand up and greet James properly. “I didn’t see you text. Did you find the place okay?”

James didn’t answer for a moment, too busy staring at her to remember his manners. He shook his head like he was coming to himself and said, “Sorry. Sorry. Yes, I found the place fine. I just…wow, I can’t believe you’re real.”

“I could say the same to you,” Lily said, and then prayed that had somehow sounded less cheesy to his ears than hers.

Lily wasn’t quite sure what to do with her hands: present one for a shake, move in for a peck on the cheek. Maybe James was feeling the same anxiety because he lowered the tip of his hat – thumb resting on the braided leather – and said, “M’lady, do you like my hat?”

The creepings of embarrassment were already making themselves obvious in the blush that appeared across her cheeks. She ought to lie, of course. It was the socially acceptable course of action. Unfortunately, one of the main lessons she’d taken from her studies was that the truth was imperative. She could never expect people to truly know her, let alone develop a healthy relationship when it was built on dishonesty. Even the little white lies that most people excused as a normal part of social interaction were inexcusable.

So, horrified with herself even as she spoke, Lily admitted, “Actually I kind of hate it.”

Taking off the hat, James looked between her and the infernal thing, obviously perplexed. Evidently he’d thought that sort of thing would appeal. Then, in a move so smooth she would have thought it was practiced, James tossed the hat like a Frisbee in to the crowd of dancing bodies, lost forevermore.

“There. No more hat,” James declared pleasantly.

His hair stuck flat to his head from where the hat had plastered it down, looking nothing like the pictures. Before her eyes though his hair appeared to engage in a battle against gravity, slowly unsticking from his skull and rising in disordered clumps. She wanted to pet it down back into place, but something told her that any effort on her part wouldn’t be enough.

Smiling brilliantly, Lily stuck her hand out for a shake. “Since we’re meeting formally for the first time, it’s nice to meet you, James.”

Instead of shaking her hand, James picked it up gently, running his thumb – so much longer than her own – along the vein at the center of her hand. She half expected him to pull a goofy move like raising it to his lips for a kiss, but instead he pulled her entire body forward for a hug. Lily had to remind herself that it was just a hug because the gesture felt so intimate that she half-expected everyone at the party to stare at them with disgust, and this was the same party where a few freshman had been grinding in one long train for the last hour. It only lasted for a few seconds, but the hug was warm and exciting. Just like James.

When they broke apart, Lily said, “Want to find somewhere to talk? I’m excited to see if you’re half as witty as you like to think you are.” James cocked an eyebrow at her, so Lily elaborated, “You’ve had an unfair advantage when we’re texting. It gives you a couple of seconds to think. For all I know, you’re googling your best lines before sending them.”

“I respond pretty fast,” James pointed out. “Either I’m every bit as clever as I’ve led you to believe, or I’m the speedy type.”

“And you know that’s one of the main things that I look for in a man,” Lily said.

Rapid fire, James said, “Well then it may interest you to know that I can type 70 words per minute. Thank you high school computer class. These fingers are agile.”

He wiggled his fingers in her face, giving Lily the perfect opportunity to grab him by the hand and pull him toward the balcony. It was the only place in Marlene’s apartment that wasn’t brimming with people because she’d hung a curtain to cover the sliding door that separated the apartment proper from the narrow balcony outside. Anyone who wasn’t familiar with Marlene’s place wouldn’t even realize there was a door behind the gauzy drapery, but Lily knew to just peel it away for a quick escape.

Why the architects had thought adding balconies to the units here was a good idea was a mystery to Lily as the view from Marlene’s apartment was bleak, blocked off entirely by the towering brownstone across the street. All that anyone could really make out from there was the comings and goings of the passersby on the street. Since the view wasn’t impressive, Marlene hadn’t bothered to decorate much, setting down two low-sitting, white-plastic chairs and a cardboard box to act as a table. It was in these uncomfortable chairs that Lily and James settled, repositioning them so that they half-faced each other.

“These remind me of being in kindergarten,” James said, tapping the chair in question idly.

“That’s funny. They remind me of my Grandma. She had chairs like this in her garden,” Lily said.

Lily suddenly was unsure of what to say, which was funny because they’d never run short of conversation when they were texting. Their banter had flowed naturally like how she’d only ever witnessed on television. Maybe that was the problem though. All of the normal getting-to-know-you talk had already occurred between them.

Fortunately for her, James wasn’t the type who ever wanted for something to say, and he quickly launched into it. “So you said you’ve been busy with the end of the semester. Did you finish up all your work? You should know that I expect good grades from such a bright young lady.”

“I don’t know. My work’s been better,” Lily admitted.

She’d finished her paper and expected an A considering all of the work she’d poured into it, but some of her other projects were lacking. Plus, she���d barely studied for any of her test. She’d pass, but she’d be lucky to score above a B minus.

“I’m gravely disappointed,” James said, in a tone that suggested he was trying to mimic a stern father.

Lily snorted. “It’s your fault in the first place.”

“Mine?”

“Yes, yours! You kept distracting me when I should have been working. I’m lucky I got anything finished at all what with you blathering away all the time,” Lily said with more vehemence than she actually felt.

“I feel…oddly proud,” James smiled. “If you really need me to stop texting for a week so that you can get some work done, just say the word.”

Lily’s lips remained pressed together. It was mortifying really, how she couldn’t force herself to ask he stay away for even a minute, let alone a week. That was when she made a decision.

Looking him directly in the eyes, Lily said, “Maybe you can take me mudding sometime.”

If she wanted the rise of feelings – swelling and hot and shiver-inducing – that came with James, that meant acceptance of who he was. Mudding and all.

“Mudding?” James asked a bit nervously. He must have picked up on the fact that Lily, for all her appreciation of casual attire, wasn’t exactly the mudding type.

“Yeah, it was listed as one of your hobbies on your profile,” Lily said. “I don’t have a clue what to wear, of course. You’ll have to help me out a bit. Would sneakers be the right call? Or do I need some special kind of boot? Mudding sounds, well…muddy.”

James winced, scratched at his knees, looked away. All signs of a man with a secret. It set Lily a bit on edge to watch him so obviously nervous.

“I mean…if you don’t want to take me that’s fine,” Lily said.

“No! Of course, I want to take you. I mean, I want to take you everywhere. Try everything,” James said, such a shockingly unexpected declaration that she was left blinking and confused.

“Then, mudding,” Lily said firmly because they both had something to prove.

James remained silent, allowing the moment to stretch and turn awkward. Her intuition that James was keeping something from her grew unignorable. As much as Lily loathed dishonesty, she didn’t want to pry. Everything they had felt so tenuous, as if the smallest mistake might dash her image of James forever, send him back into the realm of her daydreams.

“I have to tell you something,” James said, like he had no idea that those words brought with them a million allusions to heartbreak and betrayal.

“What?” Lily said, feeling just that heartbreak and betrayal.

“I’veneverbeenmudding.”

“What?”

“I’ve never been mudding.”

Under normal circumstances, Lily would have responded to such a statement with a shrug, but James was sweating like he’d just let her in on one of the darkest secrets of his life. Faced with his inexplicable solemnity, Lily felt like she ought to treat the situation with the same level of gravity.

“I don’t understand…that’s fine,” Lily tried uncertainly.

Head in his hands and elbows propped on his knees, James sighed. “I don’t think you understand, Lily. I’ve never been mudding. Never been mudding, or to the rodeo, or to Nashville. None of it.”

“You’re still young. Plenty of time to cross things off your bucket list in the future,” Lily said.

The only sense she could make of the situation was that James was poorly handling his death anxieties, coming face-to-face with the reality that he still hadn’t done so much of what he had planned in life. Perfectly natural if a little poorly timed. She patted his shoulder in sympathy.

“No, you don’t get it,” James looked up at her with wild-eyes. “My whole profile was a lie. I got you to meet me under false pretenses. I’m not a country guy at all! I’m born and raised in the city, and I love it. The closest I have to any country-credibility is I like that one Rascal Flatts song.”

As Lily listened on incredulously, James filled her in on the entire, ridiculous tale. He was genuinely terrified that she was going to dump him on sight for being too urban. What struck Lily as the most ludicrous of all was that two city-bred people with their northern values, had managed to find each other on FarmersOnly.Com.

She began to laugh.

“Lily?” James asked nervously.

She kept on laughing.

Only after several minutes did she find the voice to explain why she’d been on the website in the first place. Overcome at the realization that he hadn’t ruined his chances for her, James leaned forward seemingly at an impulse and kissed her. Almost the second his lips touched hers, a car alarm set off down the street. Startled, James tried to pull back to see the source of the commotion, but Lily yanked him forward by his collar, not letting him separate from her by so much as an inch.

James kissed her back then. The sharp point of his nose caressed along her cheek. His hands combed a soft path through her hair. All of the sounds of the party behind them and the traffic below faded to nothing. Their chemistry was undeniable, heat sparking between their lips and and casting fire down her spine like a series of sparklers.

“Well, what have we here?”

Hesitant to end what had been gearing up to be an earth-shattering kiss, Lily turned to see Marlene standing by the open door with a bottle of Merlot held high. Lily gave Marlene her best intimidating look, a silent plea for her to go back inside so that things could continue but Marlene’s eyes were slightly unfocused like she was already four or five glasses in and she missed the signal.

“You two look so adorable together,” Marlene sighed pleasantly before sliding down to sit on the balcony with them, back propped against the door.

“Thanks, Marlene,” Lily said tightly.

James gave Lily’s hand a light squeeze and smiled. It was a promise that there would be plenty of time for kisses later. Lily felt something relax inside of her. Plenty of time.

The city really was beautiful at night, even their limited view from the balcony. Here, Lily had a view into so many different lives, all of these people bustling about in different directions with loved ones and decisions to make that she could never guess at. Hubs of humanity. That was what cities ought to be called.

“So where’d you two meet anyway?” Marlene asked.

Funny as their story was, Lily liked that it lived as a secret between them. Someday she’d tell the truth to anyone who asked, but for today…today it was theirs.

Like they’d rehearsed it, James and Lily said in unison, “Tinder.”

Their subsequent grins matched just as perfectly.

They matched perfectly.

[fiftyshadesofdimmadome]

Book 1; Chapter 18

Dr. Greene is tall, blond, and immaculate, dressed in a royal blue suit. I’m reminded of the women who work in Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome’s office. She’s like an identikit model another Stepford blonde. Her long hair is swept up in an elegant chignon. She must be in her early forties.

“Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome.” She shakes Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome’s outstretched hand.

“Thank you for coming at such short notice,” Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome says.

“Thank you for making it worth my while, Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome. Miss Steele.” She smiles, her eyes cool and assessing.

We shake hands, and I know she’s one of those women who doesn’t tolerate fools gladly. Like Kate. I like her immediately. She gives Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome a pointed stare, and after an awkward beat, he takes his cue.

“I’ll be downstairs,” he mutters, and he leaves what will be my bedroom.

“Well Miss Steele. Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome is paying me a small fortune to attend to you. What can I do for you?”

After a thorough examination and lengthy discussion, Dr. Greene and I decide on the mini pill. She writes me a pre-paid prescription and instructs me to pick them up tomorrow. I love her no-nonsense attitude she has lectured me until she’s as blue as her dress about taking it at the same time every day. And I can tell she’s burning with curiosity about my so-called relationship with Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome. I don’t give her any details. Somehow I don’t think

she’d look so calm and collected if she’d seen his Red Room of Pain. I flush as we pass its closed door and head back downstairs to the art gallery that is Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome’s living room.

Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome is reading, seated on his couch. A breathtaking aria is playing on the music system, swirling round him, cocooning him, filling the room with a sweet, soulful song.

For a moment, he looks serene. He turns and glances at us when we enter and smiles warmly at me.

“Are you done?” he asks as if he’s genuinely interested. He points the remote at a sleek white box beneath the fireplace that houses his iPod, and the exquisite melody fades but continues in the background. Standing, he strolls towards us.

“Yes, Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome. Look after her; she’s a beautiful, bright young woman.”

Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome is taken aback as am I. What an inappropriate thing for a doctor to say. Is she giving him some kind of not so subtle warning? Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome recovers himself.

“I fully intend to,” he mutters, bemused.

Gazing at him, I shrug, embarrassed.

“I’ll send you my bill,” she says crisply as she shakes his hand.

“Good day, and good luck to you, Ana.” She smiles, her eyes crinkling as she does when we shake hands.

Taylor appears from nowhere to escort her through the double doors and out to the elevator. How does he do that? Where does he lurk?

“How was that?” Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome asks.

“Fine, thank you. She said that I had to abstain from all sexual activity for the next four weeks.”

Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome’s mouth drops open in shock, and I cannot keep a straight face any longer and grin at him like an idiot.

“Gotcha!”

He narrows his eyes, and I immediately stop laughing. In fact, he looks rather forbid ding. Oh shit. My subconscious quails in the corner as all the blood drains from my face, and I imagine him putting me across his knee again.

“Gotcha!” he says and smirks. He grabs me around my waist and pulls me up against him. “You are incorrigible, Miss Steele,” he murmurs, staring down into my eyes as he weaves his fingers into my hair, holding me firmly in place. He kisses me, hard, and I cling on to his muscular arms for support.

“As much as I’d like to take you here, now, you need to eat and so do I. I don’t want you passing out on me later,” he murmurs against my lips.

“Is that all you want me for my body?” I whisper.

“That and your smart mouth,” he breathes.

He kisses me again passionately, and then abruptly releases me, taking my hand and leading me to the kitchen. I am reeling. One minute we’re joking and the next... I fan my heated face. He’s just sex on legs, and now I have to recover my equilibrium and eat something. The aria is still playing in the background.

“What’s the music?”

“Villa Lobos, an aria from Bachianas Brasileiras. Good, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” I murmur in total agreement.

The breakfast bar is laid for two; Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome takes a salad bowl from the fridge.

“Chicken caesar salad okay with you?”

Oh thank heavens, nothing too heavy.

“Yes, fine, thank you.”

I watch as he moves gracefully through his kitchen. He’s so at ease with his body on one level, but then he doesn’t like to be touched... so maybe deep down he isn’t. No man is an island, I muse except perhaps Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, pulling me from my reverie. I flush.

“I was just watching the way you move.”

He raises an eyebrow, amused.

“And?” he says dryly.

I flush some more.

“You’re very graceful.”

“Why thank you, Miss Steele,” he murmurs. He sits down beside me, holding a bottle of wine. “Chablis?”

“Please.”

“Help yourself to salad,” he says, his voice soft.

“Tell me what method did you opt for?”

I am momentarily thrown by his question, when I realize he’s talking about Dr. Greene

visit.

“Mini pill.”

He frowns.

“And will you remember to take it regularly, at the right time, every day?”

Jeez... of course I will. How does he know? I blush at the thought, probably from one or more of the fifteen.

“I’m sure you’ll remind me,” I murmur dryly.

He glances at me with amused condescension.

“I’ll put an alarm on my calendar.” He smirks. “Eat.”

The chicken caesar is delicious. To my surprise, I’m famished, and for the first time since I’ve been with him, I finish my meal before he does. The wine is crisp, clean, and fruity.

“Eager as ever, Miss Steele?” he smiles down at my empty plate.

I look at him from beneath my lashes.

“Yes,” I whisper.

His breath hitches. And as he stares down at me, I feel the atmosphere between us slowly shift, evolve. . . charge. His look goes from dark to smoldering, taking me with him. He stands, closing the distance between us, and tugs me off my bar stool into his arms. “Do you want to do this?” he breathes, looking down at me intently.

“I haven’t signed anything.”

“I know but I’m breaking all the rules these days.”

“Are you going to hit me?”

“Yes, but it won’t be to hurt you. I don’t want to punish you right now. If you’d caught me yesterday evening, well, that would have been a different story.”

Holy cow. He wants to hurt me... how do I deal with this? I can’t hide the horror on my face.

“Don’t let anyone try and convince you otherwise, Anastasia. One of the reasons people like me do this is because we either like to give or receive pain. It’s very simple.

You don’t, so I spent a great deal of time yesterday thinking about that.”

He pulls me against him, and his erection presses into my belly. I should run, but I can’t. I’m drawn to him on some deep, elemental level, that I can’t begin to understand.

“Did you reach any conclusions?” I whisper.

“No, and right now, I just want to tie you up and fuck you senseless. Are you ready for that?”

“Yes,” I breathe as everything in my body tightens at once... wow.

“Good. Come.” He takes my hand and, leaving all the dirty dishes on the breakfast bar, and we head upstairs.

My heart starts pounding. This is it. I’m really going to do this. My inner goddess is spinning like a world-class ballerina, pirouette after pirouette. He opens the door to his playroom, standing back for me to walkthrough, and I am once more in the Red Room of Pain.

It’s the same, the smell of leather, citrus, polish and dark wood, all very sensual. My blood is running heated and scared through my system adrenaline mixed with lust and longing. It’s a heady, potent cocktail. Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome’s stance has changed completely, subtly al tered, harder and meaner. He gazes down at me and his eyes are heated, lustful... hypnotic.

“When you’re in here, you are completely mine,” he breathes, each word slow and measured. “To do with as I see fit. Do you understand?”

His gaze is so intense. I nod, my mouth dry, my heart thumping for a way out of my

chest.

“Take your shoes off,” he orders softly.

I swallow, and rather clumsily, I take them off. He bends and picks them up and de posits them beside the door.

“Good. Don’t hesitate when I ask you to do something. Now I’m going to peel you out of this dress. Something I’ve wanted to do for a few days if I recall. I want you to be comfortable with your body, Anastasia. You have a beautiful body, and I like to look at it.

It is a joy to behold. In fact, I could gaze at you all day, and I want you unembarrassed and unashamed of your nakedness. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?” He leans over me, glaring.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Do you mean that?” he snaps.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good. Lift your arms up over your head.”

I do as instructed, and he reaches down and grabs the hem. Slowly, he pulls my dress up over my thighs, my hips, my belly, my breasts, my shoulders, and over my head. He stands back to examine me and absentmindedly folds my dress, not taking his eyes off me. He places it on the large chest beside the door. Reaching up, he pulls at my chin, his touch searing me.

“You’re biting your lip,” he breathes. “You know what that does to me,” he adds darkly. “Turn around.”

I turn immediately, no hesitation. He unclasps my bra and then taking both straps, he slowly pulls them down my arms, brushing my skin with his fingers and the tip of his thumbnails as he slides my bra off. His touch sends shivers down my spine, waking every nerve ending in my body. He’s standing behind me, so close that I feel the heat radiating from him, warming me, warming me all over. He pulls my hair so it’s all hanging down my back, grasps a handful at my nape, and angles my head to one side. He runs his nose down my exposed neck, inhaling all the way, then back up to my ear. The muscles in my belly clench, carnal and wanting. Jeez, he’s hardly touched me, and I want him.

“You smell as divine as ever, Anastasia,” he whispers as he places a soft kiss beneath my ear.

I moan.

“Quiet,” he breathes. “Don’t make a sound.”

Pulling my hair behind me, to my surprise, he starts braiding it in one large braid, his fingers fast and deft. He ties it with an unseen hair tie when he’s finished and gives it a quick tug so I’m forced back against him.

“I like your hair braided in here,” he whispers.

Hmm... why?

He releases my hair.

“Turn around,” he orders.

I do as I’m bid, my breathing shallow, fear and longing mixed together. It’s an intoxi cating mix.

“When I tell you to come in here, this is how you will dress. Just in your panties. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?” He glowers at me.

“Yes, Sir.”

A trace of a smile lifts the corner of his mouth.

“Good girl.” His eyes burn into mine. “When I tell you to come in here, I expect you to kneel over there.” He points to a spot beside the door. “Do it now.”

I blink processing his words, turn, and rather clumsily kneel as directed.

“You can sit back on your heels.”

I sit back.

“Place your hands and forearms flat on your thighs. Good. Now part your knees.

Wider. Wider. Perfect. Look down at the floor.”

He walks over to me, and I can see his feet and shins in my field of vision. Naked feet.

I should be taking notes if he wants me to remember. He reaches down and grasps my braid again, then pulls my head back so I am looking up at him. It’s only just not painful.

“Will you remember this position, Anastasia?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good. Stay here, don’t move.” He leaves the room.

I’m on my knees, waiting. Where’s he gone? What is he going to do to me? Time shifts. I have no idea how long he leaves me like this... a few minutes, five, ten? My breathing becomes shallower, the anticipation is devouring me from the inside out.

And suddenly he’s back and all at once I’m calmer and more excited in the same breath. Could I be more excited? I can see his feet. He’s changed his jeans. These are older, ripped, soft, and over-washed. Holy cow. These jeans are hot. He shuts the door and hangs something on the back.

“Good girl, Anastasia. You look lovely like that. Well done. Stand up.”

I stand, but I keep my face down.

“You may look at me.”

I peek up at him, and he’s staring at me intently, assessing, but his eyes soften. He’s taken off his shirt. Oh my. . . I want to touch him. The top button of his jeans is undone.

“I’m going to chain you now, Anastasia. Give me your right hand.”

I give him my hand. He turns it palm up, and before I know it, he swats the center with a riding crop I hadn’t noticed is in his right hand. It happens so quickly that the surprise hardly registers. Even more astonishing it doesn’t hurt. Well, not much, just a slight ringing sting.

“How does that feel?” he asks.

I blink at him, confused.

“Answer me.”

“Okay.” I frown.

“Don’t frown.”

I blink and try for impassive. I succeed.

“Did that hurt?”

“No.”

“This is not going to hurt. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” My voice is uncertain. Is it really not going to hurt?

“I mean it,” he says.

Jeez, my breathing is so shallow. Does he know what I’m thinking? He shows me the crop. It’s brown plaited leather. My eyes jerk up to meet his, and they’re alight with fire and a trace of amusement.

“We aim to please, Miss Steele,” he murmurs. “Come.” He takes my elbow and moves me to beneath the grid. He reaches up and takes down some shackles with black leather cuffs.

“This grid is designed so the shackles move across the grid.”

I glance up. Holy shit it’s like a subway map.

“We’re going to start here, but I want to fuck you standing up. So we’ll end up by the wall over there.” He points with the riding crop to where the large wooden X is on the wall.

“Put your hands above your head.”

I oblige immediately, feeling like I’m exiting my body a casual observer of events as they unfold around me. This is beyond fascinating, beyond erotic. It’s singularly the most exciting and scary thing I’ve ever done. I’m entrusting myself to a beautiful man who, by his own admission, is fifty shades of fucked-up. I suppress the brief thrill of fear. Kate and Elliot, they know I’m here.

He stands very close as he fastens the cuffs. I’m staring at his chest. His proximity is heavenly. He smells of body wash and Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome, an inebriating mix, and that drags me

back into the now. I want to run my nose and tongue through that smattering of chest hair.

I could just lean forward...

He steps back and gazes at me, his expression hooded, salacious, carnal, and I am help less, my hands tied, but just looking at his lovely face, reading his need and longing for me,

I can feel the dampness between my legs. He walks slowly round me.

“You look mighty fine trussed up like this, Miss Steele. And your smart mouth, quiet for now. I like that.”

Standing in front of me again, he hooks his fingers into my panties, and at a most un hurried pace, peels them down my legs, stripping me agonizingly slowly, so that he ends up kneeling in front of me. Not taking his eyes off mine, he scrunches my panties in his hand, holds them up to his nose, and inhales deeply. Holy fuck. Did he just do that? He grins wickedly at me and tucks them into the pocket of his jeans.

Uncoiling from the floor, rising lazily, like a jungle cat, he points the end of the riding crop at my navel, leisurely circling it tantalizing me. At the touch of the leather, I quiver and gasp. He walks round me again, trailing the crop around the middle of my body. On his second circuit, he suddenly flicks the crop, and it hits me underneath my behind... against my sex. I cry out in surprise as all my nerve endings stand to attention. I pull against the restraints. The shock runs through me, and it’s the sweetest strangest, hedonistic feeling.

“Quiet,” he whispers as he walks around me again, the crop slightly higher around the middle of my body. This time when he flicks it against me in the same place, I’m anticipat ing it... oh my. My body convulses at the sweet, stinging bite.

As he makes his way around me, he flicks again, this time hitting my nipple, and I throw my head back as my nerve endings sing. He hits the other... a brief, swift, sweet chastisement. My nipples harden and elongate from the assault, and I moan loudly, pulling on my leather cuffs.

“Does that feel good?” he breathes.

“Yes.”

He hits me again across the buttocks. The crop stings this time.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, Sir,” I whimper.

He comes to a stop. . . but I can no longer see him. My eyes are closed as I try to absorb the myriad of sensations coursing through my body. Very slowly, he rains small, biting licks of the crop down my belly, heading south. I know where this is leading, and I try and psyche myself up for it but when he hits my clitoris, I cry out loudly.

“Oh... please!” I groan.

“Quiet,” he orders, and he hits me again on my behind.

I did not expect this to be like this... I am lost. Lost in a sea of sensation. And sud denly, he’s dragging the crop against my sex, through my pubic hair, down to the entrance of my vagina.

“See how wet you are for this, Anastasia. Open your eyes and your mouth.”

I do as I’m told, completely seduced. He pushes the tip of the crop into my mouth, like my dream. Holy shit.

“See how you taste. Suck. Suck hard, baby.”

My mouth closes around the crop as my eyes lock on his. I can taste the rich leather and the saltiness of my arousal. His eyes are blazing. He’s in his element.

He pulls the tip from my mouth, and he stands forward and grabs me and kisses me hard, his tongue invading my mouth. Wrapping his arms around me, he pulls me against him. His chest crushes mine, and I itch to touch, but I can’t, my hands, useless above me.

“Oh, Anastasia, you taste mighty fine,” he breathes. “Shall I make you come?”

“Please,” I beg.

The crop bites my buttock. Ow!

“Please, what?”

“Please, Sir,” I whimper.

He smiles at me, triumphant.

“With this?” He holds the crop up so I can see it.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Are you sure?” He looks sternly at me.

“Yes, please, Sir.”

“Close your eyes.”

I shut the room out, him out... the crop out. He starts small, biting licks of the crop against my belly once more. Moving down, soft small licks against my clitoris, once, twice, three times, again and again, until finally, that’s it I can take no more and I come, gloriously, loudly, sagging weakly. His arms curl around me as my legs turn to jelly. I dis solve in his embrace, my head against his chest, and I’m mewling and whimpering as the aftershocks of my orgasm consume me. He lifts me, and suddenly we’re moving, my arms still tethered above my head, and I can feel the cool wood of the polished cross at my back, and he’s popping the buttons on his jeans. He puts me down against the cross briefly while he slides on a condom, and then his hands wrap around my thighs as he lifts me again.

“Lift your legs, baby, wrap them round me.”

I feel so weak, but I do as he asks as he wraps my legs around his hips and positions himself beneath me. With one thrust, he’s inside me, and I cry out again, listening to his muffled moan at my ear. My arms are resting on his shoulders as he thrusts into me. Jeez, it’s deep this way. He thrusts again and again, his face at my neck, his harsh breathing at my throat. I feel the build up again. Jeez no... not again... I don’t think my body will with stand another earth-shattering moment. But I have no choice... and with an inevitability that’s becoming familiar, I let go and come again, and it’s sweet and agonizing and intense. I lose all sense of self. Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome follows, shouting his release through clenched teeth and holding me hard and close as he does.

He pulls out of me swiftly and sets me down against the cross, his body supporting mine. Unbuckling the cuffs, he frees my hands, and we both sink to the floor. He pulls me into his lap, cradling me, and I lean my head against his chest. If I had the strength, I’d touch him, but I don’t. Belatedly, I realize he’s still wearing his jeans.

“Well done, baby,” he murmurs. “Did that hurt?”

“No,” I breathe. I can barely keep my eyes open. Why am I so tired?

“Did you expect it to?” he whispers as he holds me close, his fingers pushing some escaped tendrils of hair off my face.

“Yes.”

“You see most of your fear is in your head, Anastasia,” he pauses. “Would you do it again?”

I think for a moment as fatigue clouds my brain... Again?

“Yes.” My voice is so soft.

He hugs me tightly.

“Good. So would I,” he murmurs, then leans down and softly kisses the top of my head.

“And I haven’t finished with you yet.”

Not finished with me yet. Holy Moses. There’s no way I can do any more. I am ut terly spent and fighting an overwhelming desire to sleep. I’m leaning against his chest, my eyes are closed, and he’s wrapped around me arms and legs and I feel... safe, and oh comfortable. Will he let me sleep, perchance to dream? My mouth quirks up at the silly thought, and turning my face into Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome’s chest, I inhale his unique scent and nuzzle him, but immediately he tenses... oh crap. I open my eyes and glance up at him. He’s staring down at me.

“Don’t,” he breathes in warning.

I flush and look back at his chest in longing. I want to run my tongue through the hair, kiss him, and for the first time, I notice he has a few random and faint small, round scars dotted around his chest. Chicken pox? Measles? I think absently.

“Kneel by the door,” he orders as he sits back, putting his hands on his knees, effec tively releasing me. No longer warm, the temperature of his voice has dropped several degrees.

I stumble clumsily up into a standing position and scoot over to the door and kneel as instructed. I’m shaky and very, very tired, monumentally confused. Who would have thought I could have found such gratification in this room. Who could have thought it would be so exhausting? My limbs are deliciously heavy, sated. My inner goddess has a ‘do not disturb’ sign on the outside of her room.

Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome is moving about in the periphery of my vision. My eyes start to droop.

“Boring you, am I, Miss Steele?”

I jump awake, and Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome is standing in front of me, his arms crossed glaring down at me. Oh shit, caught napping this is not going to be good. His eyes soften as I gaze up at him.

“Stand up,” he orders.

I climb warily to my feet. He stares at me, and his mouths quirks up.

“You’re shattered, aren’t you?”

I nod shyly, flushing.

“Stamina, Miss Steele.” He narrows his eyes at me. “I haven’t had my fill of you yet. Hold out your hands in front as if you’re praying.”

I blink at him. Praying! Praying for you to go easy on me. I do as I’m told. He takes a cable tie and fastens it around my wrists, tightening the plastic. Holy hell. My eyes fly to his.

“Look familiar,” he asks, unable to conceal his smile.

Jeez... the plastic cable ties. Restocking at Clayton’s! It all becomes clear. I gape up at him as adrenaline spikes though my body anew. Okay that’s got my attention I’m awake now.

“I have scissors here.” He holds them up for me to see. “I can cut you out of this in a moment.”

I try to pull my wrists apart, testing my bonds, and as I do, the plastic bites into my flesh it’s sore, but if I relax my wrists they’re fine the tie is not cutting into my skin.

“Come.” He takes my hands and leads me over to the four-poster bed. I notice now that it has dark red sheets on it and a shackle at each corner.

“I want more much, much more,” he leans down and whispers in my ear.

And my heartbeat starts pounding again. Oh boy.

“But I’ll make this quick. You’re tired. Hold on to the post,” he says.

I frown. Not on the bed then? I find I can part my hands as I grasp the ornately carved wooden post.

“Lower,” he orders. “Good. Don’t let go. If you do, I’ll spank you. Understand?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good.”

He stands behind me and grasps my hips, and then quickly lifts me backward so I’m bending forward, holding the post.

“Don’t let go, Anastasia,” he warns. “I’m going to fuck you hard from behind. Hold the post to support your weight. Understand?”

“Yes.”

He smacks me across my behind with his hand. Ow... It stings.

“Yes, Sir,” I mutter quickly.

“Part your legs.” He puts his leg between mine, and holding my hips, he pushes my right leg to the side.

“That’s better. After this, I’ll let you sleep.”

Sleep? I’m panting. I’m not thinking of sleep now. He reaches up and gently strokes my back.

“You have such beautiful skin, Anastasia,” he breathes as he bends down and kisses me along my spine, gentle feather-light kisses. At the same time, his hands move round to my front palming my breasts, and as he does this, he traps my nipples between his fingers and tugs them gently.

I stifle my moan as I feel my whole body respond, coming alive once more for him.

He gently bites and sucks me at my waist, tugging my nipples, and my hands tighten on the exquisitely carved post. His hands drop away, and I hear the now familiar tear of foil, and he kicks off his jeans.

“You have such a captivating, sexy ass, Anastasia Steele. What I’d like to do to it.”

His hands smooth and shape each of my buttocks, then his fingers glide down, and he slips two fingers inside me.

“So wet. You never disappoint, Miss Steele,” he whispers, and I hear the wonder in his voice. “Hold tight... this is going to be quick, baby.”

He grabs my hips and positions himself, and I brace myself for his assault. But he reaches over me and grabs my braid near the end and winds it round his wrist to my nape

holding my head in place. Very slowly he eases into me, pulling my hair at the same time... oh the fullness. He eases out of me slowly, and his other hand grabs my hip, hold ing tight, and then he slams into me, jolting me forward.

“Hold on, Anastasia!” he shouts through clenched teeth.

I grip harder round the post and push back against him as he continues his merciless onslaught, again and again, his fingers digging into my hip. My arms are aching, my legs feel uncertain, my scalp is getting sore from his tugging my hair... and I can feel a gathering deep inside me. Oh no. . . and for the first time, I fear my orgasm. . . if I come. . .

I’ll collapse. Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome continues to move roughly against me, in me, his breathing harsh, moaning, groaning. My body is responding... how? I feel a quickening. But suddenly, Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome stills, slamming really deep.

“Come on, Ana, give it to me,” he groans, and my name on his lips sends me over the edge as I become all body and spiraling sensation and sweet, sweet release, and then com pletely and utterly mindless.

When sense returns, I’m lying on him. He’s on the floor, and I’m lying on top of him, my back to his front, and I’m staring at the ceiling, all post-coital, glowing, shattered. Oh... the karabiners, I think absently I’d forgotten about those. Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome nuzzles my ear.

“Hold up your hands,” he says softly.

My arms feel like they’re made of lead, but I hold them up. He wields the scissors and passes one blade under the plastic.

“I declare this Ana open,” he breathes, and cuts the plastic.

I giggle and rub my wrists as they’re freed. I feel his grin.

“That is such a lovely sound,” he says wistfully. He sits suddenly, taking me with him so that I’m once more sitting in his lap.

“That’s my fault,” he says and shifts me so that he can rub my shoulders and arms. Gently he massages some life back into my limbs

What?

I glance up at him behind me, trying to understand what he means.

“That you don’t giggle more often.”

“I’m not a great giggler,” I mumble sleepily.

“Oh, but when it happens, Miss Steele, ‘tis a wonder and joy to behold.”

“Very flowery, Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome,” I mutter, trying to keep my eyes open.

His eyes soften, and he smiles.

“I’d say you’re thoroughly fucked and in need of sleep.”

“That wasn’t flowery at all,” I grumble playfully.

He grins and gently lifts me off him and stands, gloriously naked. I wish momentarily that I were more awake to really appreciate him. Picking up his jeans, he slides them back on, commando.

“Don’t want to frighten Taylor, or Mrs. Jones for that matter,” he mutters.

Hmm... they must know what a kinky bastard he is. The thought preoccupies me.

He stoops to help me to my feet and leads me to the door, on the back of which hangs grey waffle robe. He patiently dresses me as if I’m a small child. I don’t have the strength to lift my arms. When I’m covered and respectable, he leans down and kisses me gently, his mouth quirks up in a smile.

“Bed,” he says.

Oh... no...

“For sleep,” he adds reassuringly when he sees my expression.

Suddenly, he scoops me up and carries me curled against his chest to the room along the corridor where earlier today Dr. Greene examined me. My head drops against his chest. I am exhausted. I don’t remember ever being this tired. Pulling back the duvet, he lays me down, and even more surprisingly, climbs in beside me and holds me close.

“Sleep now, gorgeous girl,” he whispers, and he kisses my hair.

And before I can make a facetious comment, I’m asleep.

[readbookywooks]

They Arrive at the Monastery

IT was a warm, bright day the end of August. The interview with the elder had been fixed for half-past eleven, immediately after late mass. Our visitors did not take part in the service, but arrived just as it was over. First an elegant open carriage, drawn by two valuable horses, drove up with Miusov and a distant relative of his, a young man of twenty, called Pyotr Fomitch Kalganov. This young man was preparing to enter the university. Miusov with whom he was staying for the time, was trying to persuade him to go abroad to the university of Zurich or Jena. The young man was still undecided. He was thoughtful and absent-minded. He was nice-looking, strongly built, and rather tall. There was a strange fixity in his gaze at times. Like all very absent-minded people he would sometimes stare at a person without seeing him. He was silent and rather awkward, but sometimes, when he was alone with anyone, he became talkative and effusive, and would laugh at anything or nothing. But his animation vanished as quickly as it appeared. He was always well and even elaborately dressed; he had already some independent fortune and expectations of much more. He was a friend of Alyosha's. In an ancient, jolting, but roomy, hired carriage, with a pair of old pinkish-grey horses, a long way behind Miusov's carriage, came Fyodor Pavlovitch, with his son Ivan. Dmitri was late, though he had been informed of the time the evening before. The visitors left their carriage at the hotel, outside the precincts, and went to the gates of the monastery on foot. Except Fyodor Pavlovitch, more of the party had ever seen the monastery, and Miusov had probably not even been to church for thirty years. He looked about him with curiosity, together with assumed ease. But, except the church and the domestic buildings, though these too were ordinary enough, he found nothing of interest in the interior of the monastery. The last of the worshippers were coming out of the church bareheaded and crossing themselves. Among the humbler people were a few of higher rank - two or three ladies and a very old general. They were all staying at the hotel. Our visitors were at once surrounded by beggars, but none of them gave them anything, except young Kalganov, who took a ten-copeck piece out of his purse, and, nervous and embarrassed - God knows why! - hurriedly gave it to an old woman, saying: "Divide it equally." None of his companions made any remark upon it, so that he had no reason to be embarrassed; but, perceiving this, he was even more overcome. It was strange that their arrival did not seem expected, and that they were not received with special honour, though one of them had recently made a donation of a thousand roubles, while another was a very wealthy and highly cultured landowner, upon whom all in the monastery were in a sense dependent, as a decision of the lawsuit might at any moment put their fishing rights in his hands. Yet no official personage met them. Miusov looked absent-mindedly at the tombstones round the church, and was on the point of saying that the dead buried here must have paid a pretty penny for the right of lying in this "holy place," but refrained. His liberal irony was rapidly changing almost into anger. "Who the devil is there to ask in this imbecile place? We must find out, for time is passing," he observed suddenly, as though speaking to himself. All at once there came up a bald-headed, elderly man with ingratiating little eyes, wearing a full, summer overcoat. Lifting his hat, he introduced himself with a honeyed lisp as Maximov, a landowner of Tula. He at once entered into our visitors' difficulty. "Father Zossima lives in the hermitage, apart, four hundred paces from the monastery, the other side of the copse." "I know it's the other side of the copse," observed Fyodor Pavlovitch, "but we don't remember the way. It is a long time since we've been here." "This way, by this gate, and straight across the copse... the copse. Come with me, won't you? I'll show you. I have to go.... I am going myself. This way, this way." They came out of the gate and turned towards the copse. Maximov, a man of sixty, ran rather than walked, turning sideways to stare at them all, with an incredible degree of nervous curiosity. His eyes looked starting out of his head. "You see, we have come to the elder upon business of our own," observed Miusov severely. "That personage has granted us an audience, so to speak, and so, though we thank you for showing us the way, we cannot ask you to accompany us." "I've been there. I've been already; un chevalier parfait," and Maximov snapped his fingers in the air. "Who is a chevalier?" asked Miusov. "The elder, the splendid elder, the elder! The honour and glory of the monastery, Zossima. Such an elder!" But his incoherent talk was cut short by a very pale, wan-looking monk of medium height wearing a monk's cap, who overtook them. Fyodor Pavlovitch and Miusov stopped. The monk, with an extremely courteous, profound bow, announced: "The Father Superior invites all of you gentlemen to dine with him after your visit to the hermitage. At one o'clock, not later. And you also," he added, addressing Maximov. "That I certainly will, without fail," cried Fyodor Pavlovitch, hugely delighted at the invitation. "And, believe me, we've all given our word to behave properly here.... And you, Pyotr Alexandrovitch, will you go, too?" "Yes, of course. What have I come for but to study all the customs here? The only obstacle to me is your company...." "Yes, Dmitri Fyodorovitch is non-existent as yet." "It would be a capital thing if he didn't turn up. Do you suppose I like all this business, and in your company, too? So we will come to dinner. Thank the Father Superior," he said to the monk. "No, it is my duty now to conduct you to the elder," answered the monk. "If so I'll go straight to the Father Superior - to the Father Superior," babbled Maximov. "The Father Superior is engaged just now. But as you please - " the monk hesitated. "Impertinent old man!" Miusov observed aloud, while Maximov ran back to the monastery. "He's like von Sohn," Fyodor Pavlovitch said suddenly. "Is that all you can think of?... In what way is he like von Sohn? Have you ever seen von Sohn?" "I've seen his portrait. It's not the features, but something indefinable. He's a second von Sohn. I can always tell from the physiognomy." "Ah, I dare say you are a connoisseur in that. But, look here, Fyodor Pavlovitch, you said just now that we had given our word to behave properly. Remember it. I advise you to control yourself. But, if you begin to play the fool I don't intend to be associated with you here... You see what a man he is" - he turned to the monk - "I'm afraid to go among decent people with him." A fine smile, not without a certain slyness, came on to the pale, bloodless lips of the monk, but he made no reply, and was evidently silent from a sense of his own dignity. Miusov frowned more than ever. "Oh, devil take them all! An outer show elaborated through centuries, and nothing but charlatanism and nonsense underneath," flashed through Miusov's mind. "Here's the hermitage. We've arrived," cried Fyodor Pavlovitch. "The gates are shut." And he repeatedly made the sign of the cross to the saints painted above and on the sides of the gates. "When you go to Rome you must do as the Romans do. Here in this hermitage there are twenty-five saints being saved. They look at one another, and eat cabbages. And not one woman goes in at this gate. That's what is remarkable. And that really is so. But I did hear that the elder receives ladies," he remarked suddenly to the monk. "Women of the people are here too now, lying in the portico there waiting. But for ladies of higher rank two rooms have been built adjoining the portico, but outside the precincts you can see the windows - and the elder goes out to them by an inner passage when he is well enough. They are always outside the precincts. There is a Harkov lady, Madame Hohlakov, waiting there now with her sick daughter. Probably he has promised to come out to her, though of late he has been so weak that he has hardly shown himself even to the people." "So then there are loopholes, after all, to creep out of the hermitage to the ladies. Don't suppose, holy father, that I mean any harm. But do you know that at Athos not only the visits of women are not allowed, but no creature of the female sex - no hens, nor turkey hens, nor cows." "Fyodor Pavlovitch, I warn you I shall go back and leave you here. They'll turn you out when I'm gone." "But I'm not interfering with you, Pyotr Alexandrovitch. Look," he cried suddenly, stepping within the precincts, "what a vale of roses they live in!" Though there were no roses now, there were numbers of rare and beautiful autumn flowers growing wherever there was space for them, and evidently tended by a skilful hand; there were flower-beds round the church, and between the tombs; and the one-storied wooden house where the elder lived was also surrounded with flowers. "And was it like this in the time of the last elder, Varsonofy? He didn't care for such elegance. They say he used to jump up and thrash even ladies with a stick," observed Fyodor Pavlovitch, as he went up the steps. "The elder Varsonofy did sometimes seem rather strange, but a great deal that's told is foolishness. He never thrashed anyone," answered the monk. "Now, gentlemen, if you will wait a minute I will announce you." "Fyodor Pavlovitch, for the last time, your compact, do you hear? Behave properly or I will pay you out!" Miusov had time to mutter again. "I can't think why you are so agitated," Fyodor Pavlovitch observed sarcastically. "Are you uneasy about your sins? They say he can tell by one's eyes what one has come about. And what a lot you think of their opinion! you, a Parisian, and so advanced. I'm surprised at you." But Miusov had no time to reply to this sarcasm. They were asked to come in. He walked in, somewhat irritated. "Now, I know myself, I am annoyed, I shall lose my temper and begin to quarrel - and lower myself and my ideas," he reflected.