#i say that but seven manages to always come back on top in the demo

[infamous-if]

seeing everyone so 👀 at the possibility of a Blake special is so funny, they really did go from bottom of the barrel to fan fave shvdjsbd but also same. love them

it's actually blowing my mind people weren't even this enthusiastic for seven's……………………is sev's crown slipping?!

[beels-burger-babe]

The Façade of the Suitor - Pt. 2

***Wow! You guys are really digging this series! Thank you so much for your support 🥰🥰🥰 I don't get to share OCs often, so it's really reassuring to see you guys take to Harlow. She's a character, that's for sure 😅😅 Thanks for all the love! - B*** Summary: MC catches the eye of Lady Harlow, a higher demoness who has had a small feud with the brothers for centuries. She's determined to steal MC from them and keep MC under her wing. The brothers, however, are determined not to let that happen. Part 1, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

After a week had passed since the ball, Lucifer had dared to hope that maybe that had been the end of things and that Harlow would just leave him and you alone. But fate had never been on his side. A letter arrived in the mail, sealed with a horrifyingly familiar purple stamp and her nauseating fragrance. It was, of course, addressed to you.

Lucifer's nose wrinkled in distaste. He'd have to dispose of this before you ever caught sight of it. He had turned to do exactly that when he bumped into Satan and dropped the letter. Satan sighed and bent down to pick it up. "I thought that you of all people would be capable of watching where you're," he stopped short as he finally looked at the letter. Satan's jaw clenched as he looked back at Lucifer. "Why in Diavolo's name are you in contact with her again?" Lucifer sighed and tried to take the letter back, Satan stepped out of his reach. He glared at the angry demon. "Not that it's any of your business-" "Not my business?!" Satan snapped before Lucifer could finish his explanation. "She turned you against all of us and nearly tore this family a part and you don't think it's my business if you're in contact with that- that- that snake again?!"

Lucifer growled at the reminder of his past failure. "If I had a choice, I would wipe her foul existence from the face of this realm, but I can't. I loath that woman as much as you do. The letter isn't addressed to me. It's to MC."

Satan's eyes widened and quickly looked down at the letter, seeing your name scrawled in her disgustingly perfect cursive font. He dropped the letter as though it had burned him. "We can't let them see this. Harlow shouldn't even know MC exists! How the fuck did this happen?"

Lucifer picked up the letter, " The exchange program ball. Near the end of the evening, MC and I were relaxing near a wall and Harlow approached us." Satan looked at his brother as though he had two heads. "And you just let her?" This quickly earned the younger demon another glare. "We were at a public event where I was representing our House and Diavolo and MC was representing the human realm. There wasn't much I could do without causing a scene." Satan rolled his eyes and threw his hands up in the air. "Of course! You'd let Harlow sink her claws into MC just so you can protect your reputation. I forgot who I was talking to for a moment." Beel stepped out of the kitchen and into the room at the sound of the yelling. "What's going on?" "Noth-" "Harlow's trying to get to MC." The "father and son" duo sneered at each other. Beel's eyes widened as his face paled. "Well, we aren't going to let her, right? We can stop her this time. Now we know her tricks. It won't be like last time?" he was staring directly at Lucifer. The eldest felt his stomach twist and churn guiltily at the desperation in Beel's stare. They all knew from experience just how cunning and manipulative Harlow could be. She had targeted Lucifer specifically, and because he let down his guard, his whole family soon became infected by the demoness venom. He refused to let the same happen to you. Lucifer turned on his heel and threw the letter into the fireplace. The three brothers watched as it slowly was consumed by the flames and turned to ash. "Tell the others about what happened. There's no doubt that Harlow will attempt to reach MC again. It's our duty to stop that from happening," Lucifer spoke up. Beel nodded right away before taking off to obey the command. Satan sighed and glanced at Lucifer, "You know this won't stop her. She'll figure out a way to get to MC." Lucifer continued watching the flames. The fire's glow reflecting in his obsidian eyes like a memory flickering in the darkness. "Maybe so, but at the very least it will give us time to come up with a plan on what to do when she does." In the end, Satan had been right. The brothers worked tirelessly together to intercept any letters, bouquets, or baskets that had been sent for you. Asmo kept a collection of the bouquets and gifts in his room, and simply told you that they were objects of admiration from his fans. You had walked in on Beel shuffling through the mail one day, and he had managed to fluster out an excuse before hurrying out of the room and shoving the most recent letter into his mouth. Mammon became even clingier than usual and was always by your side. Although he was physically with you, his mind and eyes were always looking around you for any signs of the demoness that he was trying to avoid. Satan had worked with Solomon to put an enchantment on the House's gates that caused anything that had recently touched Harlow's hands to be incinerated as it passed through the gate. Levi had been forcing you to watch the top ten anime betrayals and any anime with a manipulative or toxic antagonist in hopes that it would help you recognize them in Harlow if she ever got to you and that you would do the right thing and choose your real best friend him (and I suppose the others as well). Belphegor would purposefully fall asleep on you as much as possible to prevent you from leaving the House and therefore heightening the risk of Harlow coming to meet you personally. Lucifer had begun to do his own research on Harlow, once more, and was looking back on his own past experiences with the demoness to gain wisdom on how to outwit her. Despite all of their efforts, it wasn't enough. You came down to breakfast, looking complexed but intrigued as you held a piece of paper with a dreadfully purple broken seal on the top. The brothers froze as Harlow's familiar perfume reached their noses. Levi swallowed his food as he looked at you nervously. "M-MC, what...what do you have there?" You blinked up at them and held up the paper. "It's a letter from

Lady Harlow. A bat flew through my window this morning with this attached to its foot. According to the letter, she's tried more normal means of communication, but had no luck. Hmm, I wonder why?" you pondered out loud as you continued reading the letter. The brothers exchanged worried looks. Lucifer straightened his posture. "What else does it say?" You barely looked over at him as you responded. "Oh, she has invited me to a private luncheon at her manor. Apparently, she'd like to get to know me better." Your words caused everyone at the table to stiffen. "Seems suspicious to me," Belphie stated as he rested his head on your shoulder. "You shouldn't go. She's probably planning to kill you or something but is just pretending to be nice to get you to let your guard down." You smirked down at him. "Hmmm, sounds familiar," despite your joking tone, you noticed the room tense and Belphie looked away in shame. You frowned and placed a hand on his arm. "I...I was joking, Belphie. You know I've forgiven you for that. You've proved that you've changed. We're okay," you looked around at the others, finally picking up on the tension in the room. "What's going on? Why is everyone acting so weird?" Satan sighed and met your eyes. "Harlow is the Lady of Manipulation. She thrives off of playing with others' emotions and desires to get her own twisted wants." "She's dangerous," Lucifer added. You were shocked to see that he was seemingly unable to meet your eyes. Instead, he stared at his plate as though lost in a memory. "She's incredibly skilled at what she does and will worm her way into your thoughts before you're even aware of what's happening. She's cunning and sly," he finally lifted his head to look at you. You shivered at the intense urgency and regret in his gaze. "Lady Harlow is not one that you should give even a second of your time to. If you give her even a single inch, she will take a mile." You frowned and looked back at the letter. It was filled with so many kind words and eloquent phrasing. She had seemed nice enough at the ball, and she went through all this trouble just to send you an invitation. "Thank you for the warning," you spoke sincerely as you looked at the others. "I'll be sure to keep your words in mind and be careful." Mammon scoffed and crossed his arms. "You make it sound as if you're going." "I am." The room burst into a mix of angry proclamations, commands that you were not going, and pleas for you to listen to them. You smiled sympathetically at the brothers. "I know you're worried, but it would be extremely rude to reject a personal invitation like this from a noble, especially after all the effort she went through to have it delivered. I should at least go to see what she wants. I'll have my D.D.D. on me and you can guys can ask me all the questions you want as soon as I get back." Lucifer's eyes searched your expression in a mix of frustration and desperation. "MC did you not hear a single word I just said? One visit is all she'll need. I really must urge you not-" "Lucifer stop," the room fell silent as Lucifer's mouth snapped shut. His gaze hardened at your use of a command. You sighed and ran a hand over your face. "I'm sorry, but this isn't your choice. I know you seem to have...something going on with Harlow, and I will take caution from your words during my visit. But I'm sure I'll be fine. I live with and have befriended seven of the most powerful demons in the Devildom. What's a silly noblewoman going to do to me?" You gently lifted Belphie's head off of you and rose. "I should get ready for the school day. I'm sorry guys. I'll see you all later." As you left, a small piece of hope from within the brothers left with you. Lucifer snarled and downed a glass of wine. "Right," he said bitterly and looked over at Satan, "onto plan c."

*** I hope you guys enjoyed it! I promise you will find out exactly what went down between Harlow and the brothers later on. But for now, let the games begin 😈 Thanks again for all the support and love you've all been giving this series!***

Taglist: @cosmixbun @sufzku @simeonspebble @lovevictoire @obey-mes-treasure @kissed-by-a-dementor @yukihaie @justtiarra @mammoneybb @obeys-world @peachyeevee13 @otome-scribbles @azureusmoonie @poly-bi-mf

[defdaily]

THE STAR Magazine April 2021 Issue featuring JAY B

Translated by defdaily.

GOT7’s eternally sincere leader JAY B. A friendly interview where you can feel his warm-heartedness.

*This interview was done in informal language to give off the feeling of two friends chatting*

It has been a while since we last met for GOT7’s feature in 2017.

Right, hi. I’m JAY B. Nice to meet you. Have you eaten?

JAY B has been chosen to be on the cover of THE STAR’s 8th anniversary issue.

Dobby is free now. (Laughs). I’m a freelancer now but I still can’t believe the fact that I was chosen to be on the cover of THE STAR’s anniversary issue. I’m so thankful to THE STAR for choosing me to be on the cover so I worked extra hard during the shoot.

How are you doing these days? We’re curious to know what you have been up to.

A freelancer’s daily life is always similar. I work when there is work and rest when there isn’t. I was busy recently organising this and that to release GOT7’s digital single ENCORE. I took the lead and there were many things I needed to figure out such as paperwork. So I was very proud. The members have all joined agencies but I want to take a little more time and think about it carefully before choosing. I’m still a freelancer.

Does the freelancing life suit you?

I don’t know if it suits me but it’s fun. Now work-related calls come to me directly, so I would be asleep then receive a call. I’d go “Ah I fell asleep for a moment, sorry. What is this about?” (Laughs). Since I do even these kinds of small communications myself, it’s nice and fascinating to realise the value of work and opportunities. If I didn’t have this time and experience, I think I might have not realised the value of work as much. I used to be on edge at times when the managers used to tell me things in the past. But now that I’ve learnt how much processing has been done before the information reached me, I feel sorry. Now I have a heart full of gratitude for opportunities.

I don’t know if it’s because you’re a freelancer now, but you seem much brighter than before.

Dobby is free now. (Laughs) I’m joking. Of course it was very helpful having a company. But now that I do everything myself, I feel more satisfied. I enjoy it.

The GOT7 members have all started solo activities. It must not have been easy for everyone, how did you come to your decision?

Right. It definitely was not easy. The seven of us researched a lot so that we can continue as GOT7 together. But then we thought that we should broaden our view so each of us could end up in a better situation. In the process, what we each wanted changed a little and, there is a future that each person dreams of right? The company said we did everything we could do on our part and that they will cheer us on in the future, that made me feel proud. We are also very thankful to the company. I felt that we received a lot of protection under a large umbrella. After all, the company is like the mother that gave birth to GOT7, so I’m thankful to them and respect them. I also thought a lot and looked into a lot of things about how to continue as GOT7. I also went to the president and asked him for advice, and I greeted and thanked Jinyoungie hyung for everything.

While preparing for new activities, what was the thing most discussed amongst the members?

“So what is it that you want to do?” “So what do you want to do?” We asked that a lot. So everyone said “We have to do it" So I asked again “No, not 'I have to', but do you want to do this? Or do you not want to do this?” If you are going to do something, you should do it properly, right? If you are not going to do something with an active attitude, I think it’s better to not do it. So we all came together and decided to give it a try.

It’s clear that you are GOT7’s leader.

One advice the company president told me was that my talent and effort as a leader starts now. Personally handling matters related to our recent digital single, I felt this “Taking the lead as a leader, I need to really work hard.” There was a lot of pressure, but if I don’t do it, who would. It pushed me to work hard.

You mentioned very clearly in your social media livestream that “GOT7 did not disband.” I felt your affection towards the team, what does GOT7 mean to JAY B?

One extremely important thing in my life. Actually, it’s an indispensable part. I’m thankful for the fact that our team exists. You have to know that because GOT7 existed, we individually exist too. It wouldn't matter if my beginning was as a solo, but my beginning was as GOT7. That's what made me who I am now.

How is Lim Jaebeom different as JAY B within GOT7, JJ Project, Jus2 and ØFFSHORE?

Comprehensively they’re all sides of me but if I have to split them, they would be a novel vibe versus an essay vibe. ØFFSHORE and Def. are all about music I like, regardless of genres, and honest stories I want to tell. As for GOT7, JJ Project and Jus2, we would have a particular concept and make it a bit more fancy.

Most of the songs you have shown on SoundCloud are R&B genres with a groovy feel. Have you ever had a conflict between music you want to do and music you have to do?

I felt that I needed to work harder to prove [myself] to do what I wanted to do. I can’t always be spoon-fed. To prove [myself] I made more GOT7 tracks and sent around 15~20 demos. Later on Jinyoung hyung and the president acknowledged me and said “Jaebeom will take care of the musical aspect. You can trust him with that.” I felt really proud hearing that. I don’t really feel a sense of conflict between the musical differences. From pop and R&B to folk and modern rock, I don't want to draw lines between genres and make music that sounds good.

We are curious about the music JAY B will show alone and what you’ll pursue. What stories do you want to tell?

I want to do a variety of things. Alone, I think I will try mixing genres and do things that are fun and experimental. I can also do R&B pop or Urban genres which I’ve originally liked. But that might change later on.

Is there an artist you’d like to collaborate with in the future?

Someone with a pleasant tone to listen to. Even now, when I listen to music and I like the artist’s tone, I send them a DM asking if they’d like to collaborate. And Korea's top hip hop artist, IU-nim. Do you think it's possible? (Laughs).

Then would you like to send a message to IU?

Suddenly? Um… I will work very hard. If by chance you think my song is alright, I would love for you to add your nice voice to them. (Laughs)

An appearance that may seem cold with a tsundere charm. But what do you think your real personality is like?

I’m the type that is quiet and calm, but people close to me tell me I’m a weird person. When I cry reading a book or watching a movie, or when I get emotional they say “It’s so weird, it doesn’t suit you.”

Are you the tender type?

I think I just often get hit by waves of emotions.

We’re curious about the lifestyle you seek and your values.

To live each day without any regrets.

Is there a place you’d like to visit after COVID-19 ends?

Kyoto, Japan. It’s a place where there is a lot of Japanese heritage and it’s also pretty.

Recently you have combined your two Instagram accounts @jaybnow.hr and @def.cnvs, what was the reason?

I’m the one doing everything after all, it is just the musical name that was different. I can’t split my body into two. I realised I could combine them into one account and just show the difference within it. And as I get older, it’s hard to manage two accounts. (Laughs). Was I too honest? Now I'm confused about what's what.

Was there any other moment that made you feel old?

I don’t do much and my whole body aches. In the past, my body wouldn’t get affected by the weather. Now when the weather is gloomy my back hurts and my knees go numb. (Laughs).

I can see that you’re interested in artistic aspects such as photography, painting and fashion etc. Do these things influence your music?

Of course. They affect the way you live in itself. I’m a person who wants to express and leave behind what I feel. Calling myself an artist feels somehow cocky.

What are you interested in recently?

It’s not art but I’m interested in moving around. Living as a freelancer, I spent more time lying down at home, but now I need a fast-paced daily life. I try to wake up in the morning to eat breakfast and nutritional supplements then go outside to photosynthesize and soak in the world. Everyone has to keep moving. (Laughs).

Are you interested in fashion and lifestyle curation and design etc?

I don’t think I’m a person who dresses up exceptionally well, but if someone asks I’d be willing to help.

What would you introduce as JAY B’s preference?

Freedom. Regarding fashion too, I liked vintage and grunge styles but recently I’m interested in work look and amecage styles. My preference keeps changing. I can't define myself clearly either, but I like the sense of being free.

What inspires you?

Many situations and people, my experiences as well as indirect experiences.

How do you have an indirect experience?

Watching movies and reading books. Nowadays I read song lyrics and unfold the scenes in my head. I try to think of various points of view in these one-act plays.

To JAY B, love is?

Nonexistent. A moment. I don’t know. As you live life, I think falling in love is a momentary emotion. If it lasts long, I think it’s affection not love. I'm a person who has to talk about love, but sometimes I wonder if it’s okay to feel this way. There are also many different forms of love. The love that my parents give me and the love that my fans send me. I’m thankful for everything.

While promoting for 10 years, what was the happiest moment and most lacking point?

I feel like every moment until now has been somehow lacking. Whenever you look back you end up thinking “I should’ve done better back then.” I think everyone feels that way. But I never regret those times I’ve spent. The happiest instance was when I spotted my parents at a fanmeeting and ran to them and held them while singing. It felt like I was boasting to my fans “These people are my father and mother,” and it also felt like I was showing my parents how I was receiving that many fans’ love and support. I'm thankful that the fans looked at my family happily at that moment.

Have you ever had a slump?

I don't think about something if I think I'm going to fall into something serious, but I'm the type who gets stressed out to do something new.

You are loved not only in Korea but also abroad, have you ever thought about why your fans like you so much?

A lot. I just don't understand. I'm not even popular among my friends... Why on earth?

Think of at least one thing.

Maybe it’s because I worked hard steadily? To be honest, during the past 10 years I have never not tried my best on stage. I can say this with confidence. I’m thankful to be able to do what I like as a job. I have told the members about this previously, I’m sorry for not being affectionate to fans onstage. It’s my nature so I can’t help it. But I have never been indifferent as a singer onstage, that is a fact.

Your bucket list that you surely want to achieve this year?

Being healthy mentally and physically. Since the members have started their solo activities this year, I think I should release an album as well.

Any words for the readers?

Everyone, I’m not saying this as a formal greeting but I really want to say thank you. Hmm… How should I put this? Don’t worry since we are not disbanding. That’s why I tried hard to release the digital single. Continuing on I’m going to try my best to do as much as I can. You might feel disappointed at times along the way, and I apologize in advance for that. But what I can promise is that I’m going to do my best. Thank you so much for supporting me for 10 years. You all know this already, but I’m not so good at things like sending hearts and saying thanks affectionately. I just want to speak sincerely. Thank you so much. I hope everyone will be more happy, not just because you like and support us… I could sound arrogant saying it like this but... I hope our fans are sturdy people who will find their own small sources of happiness in their daily lives even if that isn’t us. And I hope everyone is happy. I’m so thankful and I want to ask you to trust me.

Lastly let us know your future plans.

We will try our best to match our times and do GOT7, JJ Project and Jus2 etc. no matter what. Even if our times don’t match somehow, we’ll try our best to gather even 4 or 5 people and return, so don’t worry. And Dobby is free now. (Laughs). I will do my best in everything. I've made a lot of songs and I'm diligently working on songs right now too, so look forward to it. You’ll be able to listen to it soon. Thank you. This has been GOT7 JAY B. Please give lots of love to The Star’s April issue!

Translated by defdaily.

[beelsnack]

Hi!!! I LOVE UR WRITING AND I MEAN A LOT! Its the first time EVER I ask for something and I know you are the right person! I don't know if you can write a HC of a female MC or it NEEDS to be neutral but just in case: How would the brothers react to a fem MC who is like"flat", (almost no breasts) and is super insecure? If you only write neutral, how would they react if MC was insecure because they have no curves at all and they think they are plain? THANKS A LOT 💞💞

Omg I’m??? So honored?? Thank you so much, I hope I can live up to the praise. ^////^

Yeah, I can def write a female MC! My only rule regarding MC’s gender is that you specify in the request if you want a certain gender for the MC. Other than that, I default to gender neutral pronouns!

I feel like I kind of mixed the two versions of your request together without meaning to, lol. This ended up being more like a fem MC who thinks they are plain. I hope you like it regardless!

I’m sorry this took so long, friend. I was in a bit of a creative slump and I wanted to put my all into your request!

CW: Suggestive situations, but nothing explicit

-----

Lucifer: “Come on, stop staring.”

Lucifer smirked from his position beneath her, using one arm to prop himself up while the other reached up to trail along her jaw. “Am I not allowed to admire your beauty?”

“I’m not beautiful,” she muttered, glancing away shyly. In the heat of the moment, both of them had discarded a majority of their clothes, but now that she had a moment to think, she hesitated. “Especially not compared to you.”

“I wasn’t aware that our relationship was a beauty contest,” he sat up fully, brow creased in concern. His hands made their way to her waist, steadying her as she straddled his lap. “Tell me what’s on your mind, my dear.”

She bit her lip, face growing warm. “It’s just…wouldn’t you prefer someone more…more?”

“My dear,” he chuckled lowly. “You are already quite the handful.”

“I meant…physically.” she crossed her arms over her chest, and Lucifer couldn’t tell if it was a subconscious gesture or not. “I’m not exactly…you know, well endowed.”

He was quiet for a moment before sighing and tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “If I wanted to be with someone based solely on appearance, I have my pick of the whole Devildom. You, my dear, are the only one who had managed to enrapture me with more than just your pretty face.”

Mammon: “Hey, human! Check it out!”

Mammon actually knocked on the door while he spoke, they were making progress.

She looked up from her schoolwork and smiled at him. “What’s up?”

“The Great Mammon is on the front cover of Devil Today, that’s what!” he tossed the magazine he had been carrying on top of their textbook. Splayed across the front in full color was Mammon, staring coolly over his sunglasses at the camera. The only change from his normal attire was swapping out his normal brown and white jacket for a black leather one, so it was clearly supposed to look casual.

Her eyes drifted from Mammon’s picture to beautiful demoness hanging off of his arm. She was exactly what a model should be - tall, slender, well-endowed, the works. The human felt a surge of jealousy climb up their throat, and she had to struggle to force in down.

“Hey, hey,” Mammon planted his palm flat on her desk, leaning down so he was eye-level with her. “What’s with that face?”

“What face?”

“The face yer makin’.” he frowned. “You look like you just took a bite out of something rotten.”

Her eyes flicked back to the glossy magazine cover. “Nothing. The picture looks great, Mammon.”

“You really think you’re getting out of this that easily?” he might lack common sense, but Mammon could read facial expressions and nervous tics like most people read books. “Come on, tell me what’s up.”

“I just…” she sighed, slumping back in her desk chair. “I keep wondering when you’re going to dump me for one of these amazing models you work with.”

Mammon’s eyes went wide behind his glasses. “You’re kidding me, right?”

When she shrugged and looked away, he huffed and took her hand. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. I wouldn’t trade you for anything.”

“Even Goldie?”

“Hey now, don’t be cruel!”

Leviathan: Was she really getting jealous over an anime girl?

A quick glance at the screen in front of them told her that yes, yes she was.

“Whoa, I, um…!” Levi gulped, scrambling for the pause button. The main couple was in a locker room, the girl clad in nothing but a pair on gym shorts and a flimsy tank top. There had been plot that lead up to this scene, but she had stopped paying attention a while ago.

“The reviews didn’t say anything about an r18 scene…” Levi mumbled, face turning bright red. She could see his bright orange eyes flick over to her briefly before he desperately searched for anything else to look at. “Oh, man. Ohhhh man…”

“Levi?” she gently placed a hand on his arm, and she felt him tense, but he didn’t pull away. Maybe the exposure therapy WAS working. “You good?”

“I-I-I…” he kept looking back and forth between her and the screen, face getting redder with each pass. Yup, he was definitely comparing.

Almost instinctively, she curled in on herself. Of course, she should have known she couldn’t even begin to compare to a 2D girl.

“Ah, wait, no, don’t look like that!” Levi stammered. “I just, um…th-this is the first time…I’ve thought the 2D one was…b-b-better…”

She stared at him for a solid thirty seconds before her brain caught up with what was happening and her face grew just as hot as Levi’s looked. “…Oh…”

Satan: Well, someone was certainly popular.

Satan had asked her to go to a new cat cafe that was opening up after classes had ended. He always took a bit longer to reach the entrance since his last class was all the way across the campus, so she had found herself a nice bench to sit on and read while she waited. It was only a few minutes before the doors opened to reveal Satan…

And a whole group of succubi.

Obviously, since he was one of the Seven Rulers of Hell, Satan got quite a bit of attention. Although she didn’t want to admit it out loud, the thought of him surrounded by demons whose literal reason for living was to turn people on made her feel a bit…inadequate.

One of them had linked her arm with his, manicured claws drumming along his forearm and she smiled coyly up at him. They were too far away for the human to hear the conversation, but the way her glossy lips pouted cutely up at him certainly didn’t make the human feel any better.

As they descended the stairs onto the cobblestone walkway, Satan’s eyes met her. Almost immediately, the vaguely irritated expression he had been wearing melted into something warm and he shook the succubus off of his arm without a second thought.

“Hey, sorry for making you wait.” he was at her side in a second, extending a hand to help her up from the bench. “Were you here long?”

“Only a few minutes,” she peeked over his shoulder at the fan club that was slowly morphing into an angry mob. “Um…”

“They’ll get over it,” he held onto her hand as they began walking, leaning over to kiss her temple. “Come on, let’s go. What were you reading?”

Maybe she didn’t have anything to worry about.

Asmodeus: This was a mistake.

A new nightclub had opened up in the Devildom Cultural District, and as Devilgram’s biggest influencer, Asmo had gotten some VIP tickets. He had practically begged her to come, since it was so rare that she wasn’t bogged down with homework and other mundane things. The thought of going clubbing with a bunch of demons made her feel a bit queasy, but she had agreed anyway.

Of course, Asmo was taking forever to get here. Knowing him, he was still in the bath. But, her name was on the VIP list, so the bouncer had let her stand behind the rope to wait for her date.

She watched as what seemed like every Devilgram model was let into the club. She couldn’t hear anything being said over the pounding base of the music, but she had caught enough disparaging glances to get the general idea that she was being judged.

She probably looked like a kid playing dress up compared to everyone else. Although she had thought that she looked fairly decent when she had checked herself out in the mirror before leaving, being surrounded by the Devildom’s best and brightest put a very unflattering filter over her self image.

“There you are!”

She jumped as Asmo appeared in front of her. She had been so lost in her thoughts that she hadn’t noticed the bouncer let him in. He looked stunning, as always, hair curled stylishly and already long lashes made even longer with mascara. Honestly, this man could show up in a garbage bag and make it the next fashion trend.

“Ooh, that dress looks amazing on you, darling!” he pressed a quick kiss to her cheek, briefly overwhelming her senses with the smell of his cologne. “I’ve never seen you wear that color before! Look at you, stepping out of your comfort zone.”

“Thanks, Asmo,” she laughed. “You look amazing too.”

“Don’t I?” he held out his arm for her hold onto like a proper gentleman. “I tried this new moisturizer today, and it’s a miracle-worker! You have to try it.”

“Is that Lord Asmodeus?”

“Of course it is, any club owner worth their salt would invite him for the opening!”

“Who’s that mousey little thing with him though?”

She could only catch snippets of conversations, but the Devildom rumor mill was already turning. She couldn’t help but frown, tucking herself closer to Asmo’s side.

“Don’t listen to them, darling,” he leaned down to whisper-yell into her ear. “They’re just jealous, and jealousy doesn’t look good on anyone.”

Beelzebub: This was the last time she was working out with Beel.

It might have been different if they were working out at the House, but being surrounded by demonic weightlifters made her feel a special kind of incompetent.

Everyone in the gym looked like they should be starring in a weight loss infomercial, but she felt like she was the before picture and everyone else was the after. She was wearing a baggy T-shirt that she was pretty sure wasn’t even hers and basketball shorts. Everyone around her was all toned muscles and six packs, and her arms felt rubbery just from a few reps with a five pound weight.

“You need some water.”

Someone of Beel’s size had no right to be as sneaky as he was. She hadn’t even heard him set down his weight, and suddenly he was standing in front of her holding out a water bottle.

“Thanks.” she sighed, setting down her weight. She hadn’t realized how thirsty she was until she took a drink. “Man, I feel tired already.”

“You’re doing good,” Beel smiled. “Maybe next time you can try the ten-pound weights.”

Just the thought made her biceps twinge. “Maybe…”

“You don’t have to feel self-conscious.”

“Huh?” Damn him and his unexpected perceptiveness.

He sat down next to her on the bench, popping the cap on his own water bottle. “You were looking around at everyone else, and you had this look on your face like you just ate something bad.”

“I’m that obvious, huh?” she laughed weakly.

“Not really,” he shrugged. “I was watching you.”

“You were?” she had been too busy comparing herself to everyone else to notice.

He nodded. “I like how you look when you’re determined. It’s…cute isn’t the right word, but…”

She couldn’t help but laugh, bumping him with her shoulder. “I get it. Thanks Beel.”

Belphegor: “Hey, come on, wake up!”

Sometimes she swore Belphie purposely fell asleep whenever it was the most inconvenient for other people.

She honestly didn’t know when he was conked out, but he was deep in slumber by the time she closed the textbook she had been using to fill out her study guide. He had folded his arms on the library table that the two of them had commandeered and pillowed his head on top of them.

“Why do I even bother…?” she sighed. Even so, she poked his cheek. “Belphie, come on. They’re going to close the library soon.”

He mumbled, but stubbornly remained asleep. Growling under her breath, she stood up and placed both of her hands on his shoulders.

“Bel. Phe. Gor,” she punctuated each syllable of his name with a shake of his shoulders. Finally, he groaned, one drowsy amethyst eye blinking up at her.

“Man, I was having a really good dream…”

She huffed, crossing her arms. “Were you even sleep long enough to dream? We’ve only been here for an hour or so.”

“O ye of little faith.” he yawned, sitting up. “I guess it’s best you woke me up, it wasn’t a dream I should be having in public.”

“Please tell me you weren’t having a wet dream in the school library.”

“Mm,” he smirked up at her. “It wasn’t a wet dream yet. More like moist.”

“Gross.”

“Well, I thought it was pleasant.”

She rolled her eyes, beginning to gather up the books she had spread across the table. Belphie continued to watch her through heavy-lidded eyes.

“You were really cute in my dream.” he finally said. “Not that you aren’t cute in real life, but still.”

She paused. “You were dreaming about me?”

“Who else would I dream about?”

“Literally anyone else.” she frowned, refusing to look at him as she shoved all of her supplies back into her bag. “I’ve seen some of the succubi around here, there are way better options.”

“Do you really think that?” Belphie reached out and grabbed her wrist. He wore his usual disinterested frown, but there was genuine concern shining in his eyes. “You really think I would trade you in for a bigger pair of tits attached to a screeching harpy?”

She just shrugged.

“If this was just about how you looked,” he stood, still holding onto her wrist. “Do you really think I would sacrifice my precious nap time to study with you?”

“Well, I mean, you still had your nap time…”

“That’s beside the point.”

[thephantomofthe-internet]

Read into Me Chapter 10: That Mad Ache

Steve Harrington x Reader

CATCH UP ON THE SERIES HERE

Words: 2,266

Warnings: ANGST FRIENDS THIS ONES NOT FUN

Series Tag: @divinity-deos @thecaptainsgingersnap​ @wolfish-willow​ @scoopsohboi​ @herre-gud-nej​ @clockworkballerina @maddie1504​ @i-am-trash-so-much-its-scary @buckysarge​ @wildcvltre​ @stanleyyelnatsiii​ @n3wtscaseofniffler5​ @peterparxour @a-big-ball-of-idk​ @asharpkniffe​ @used-avocado​ @mochminnie​ @sledgy14​ @the-creative-lie​ @yall-wildin-like-siriusly​ @ggclarissa​ @boredoomfm​ @voidnarnia​ @the-passionate-freak​ @awkwardnesshabitat​ @darkcrystal-wolf​ @hannahrisacher​

You didn’t exactly know where you were going, but you didn’t care. You had the windows rolled down, Elton John crooning on the radio, and your bare feet up on the seat. Steve had taken off his tie and jacket, popping open the top three buttons on his dress shirt. His hair was blowing in the breeze and you could see his chest hair peeking out from under the thin material of his shirt. He looked hot. You were drunk on adrenaline and you felt like kissing him. You were hyperaware of your lips, of his. You almost reached over to kiss him. But you didn’t.

“Where are we going?” you called over the wind in your ears.

Steve turned and looked at you with a cheeky grin. He’d pulled in around the community pool, long closed. “You wanna go swimming?” he asked.

“Won’t we get caught?” you asked. You didn’t bother to mention your lack of swimwear. You weren’t naïve as to what he was suggesting and you weren’t uninterested in the idea.

“Nah, the cops are more interested in stopping teen drinking after the dance ends than sneaking into the pool.” Steve replied with a shrug, parking the car at the farthest end of the lot, under a heavy looking evergreen. You nodded, popping the door open. Steve grinned, following you as you made your way into the pool. As expected, the back gate was locked with a heavy padlock and chain, but the fence was easily jumped, barely seven feet tall, Steve barely had to climbed to reach the top and then up and over. The fence was a bit taller than you compared to Steve, but you hooked your bare feet into the latticed metal and heaved yourself up, pausing briefly at the top to take in a heavy breath before throwing your other leg over the top and shimmied down.

The pavement below was dry and harsh, long dried out from last summer. Hawkins still couldn’t be bothered to install an automated cover for the pool, draining it in the winter and leaving it uncovered for the rest of the year. It was a costly cheap fix, but it came in handy now. The long plastic line lanes had been pulled out and roped up on large barrels near the clubhouse and the lights along the pool walls turned the water ominously yellow along the edges. The lights above the pool had been turned off, but the street lamps along the road and in the parking lot lit up the area enough to see.

Steve swallowed hard. The woods were too close. He didn’t like darkness that loomed there; the unknown had too many options now. Those damned dogs could still be out there. He hadn’t seen where they’d gone. They’d all just run off. He hadn’t seen one since but on the nights where he couldn’t sleep he’d sit and watch out his windows to try to spot anything in those woods. He didn’t like the way the trees moved in the wind, especially with bleary, sleep deprived eyes. Now he was a bit too close. Cold sweat pricked his skin.

You reached behind your back and pulled down the zipper of your dress. You felt self conscious of yourself. You’d never stripped for a man, even really around a man. Still, you’d decided to do it. You pushed off the straps of your dress, letting it slip off your body and fall to the pavement below you. You dove into the water, icy cold on your skin.

Steve heard the splash. He whipped around, looking for a demo-dog about to strike. He didn’t know if they could swim and he didn’t want to find out. Instead he saw you burst through the water, your hair wet and slicked to your skull. Your makeup had smeared and your lips slightly blue. “You coming?” you asked, gasping for air to fill your cold body. Steve swallowed hard, nodding quickly. He kicked off his dress pants and unbuttoned his dress shirt. He jumped in fast, putting his focus on the beautiful, nearly naked girl in the water with him. In the back of his mind, he was wired. It wasn’t so much a fight or flight but more a protective urge. If anything happened, he’d made up his mind that he’d protect you over himself. He’d done it before for those kids, he’d do it again.

He burst out of the water in front of you with a splash. You laughed loudly, tipping your head back. Steve shook his head wildly, his hair flicking water over your face and neck. You squealed, pushing him away, swimming off to the other side of the pool.

“Aw come on, I thought you liked it wet,” he joked, swimming after you.

“Oh I do,” you started, turning to move away from the wall. Steve trapped you between his arms.

“Oh yeah? Tell me more…” he drawled. Moonlight was caught in your eyes. Or maybe that was street lights. It didn’t really matter; he could spend the rest of his life drinking you in.

You demurred, turning your head away from him. You ran a hand through your soaked hair. “Isn’t that a bit vain?” you asked.

“Sue me…” Steve chuckled, lowering his head to watch you carefully.

You conceded, leaning your elbows against the edge of the pool to hold yourself up. “I like your hair, wet or dry…I like your eyes and your smile…and…” you paused, humming slightly to mull over whether or not you should you should admit. “I like your arms.” You said simply, almost decidedly.

“My arms?” Steve was bemused. He expected to be flattered, and he was, but he didn’t expect a mention to his arms.

“Yeah, they’re strong and warm, I find them endlessly comforting.” You shrugged, reaching out a hand to caress his wrist gently. Your fingers had pruned, but your touch was warm, it sent tingles up his spine. You lifted his hand off the pool side, swimming under it and across the pool.

Steve turned to watch you go past. “And I like…” he said in a sing-song tone, putting his finger to his chin and cocking his head to the side.

“Oh no, I don’t really need to-” you started, holding up your hands defensibly.

“I like your laugh,” Steve said, cutting you off. “And your hands, even though they’re always covered in grey smudges, because you can make beautiful things with them. And I like eyes. You have nice eyes.”

You felt yourself colour. You didn’t know how to handle compliments, you didn’t get them often enough to be used to them. “Thank you…” you murmured. Steve once again trapped you. He felt warm against your skin, dizzying delicious. You wanted to stay there forever, but your mind screamed at you to run. His mouth hovered over yours, inching closer to yours. Your eyes fluttered shut. You wanted so badly to kiss him.

Instead, you pressed a hand to his bare chest, pushing him back. “Steve, wait,” you began.

Steve’s heart dropped “I thought…”

“I know, but I can’t, I haven’t told you yet…” your heart was breaking in your chest. You didn’t think this would be as difficult as this. You hadn’t expected everything to be so perfect.

“Told me what?” Steve narrowed his eyes. He didn’t know what you were about to say, but he didn’t like it. He’d already dealt with Nancy sneaking around with Jonathan Byers behind his back; he didn’t want to be made a fool again.

“I’m…leaving.”

“What?”

“I’m leaving Hawkins.” You sighed, pushing yourself onto the edge of the pool, letting the cold bitter night air sting your skin. “I’m meeting my mother in Paris. I’ve applied to the city’s school of the arts.”

Steve didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t imagined you going anywhere. You pressed on to fill the gap. “I don’t really know when I’ll be back here, it’ll all depend on if I get into the school and so I don’t want to lead you on or start something here when I’m leaving so soon.” You explained awkwardly.

“When are you leaving?” Steve managed to ask, swallowing hard.

“Right after graduation,” you said. Steve groaned loudly, an anguished cry. “I wanted to leave the first week of June but a part of the application process is working for a month in this sort of salon. It’s not like teaching its showing what you can do in real time. I have to leave right after exams and graduation to get there in time.”

The sound of a car speeding past drew in both your attention. You both became hyperaware that you were trespassing on city property. “We should go.” Steve said coldly, heaving himself out of the pool. You grabbed your dress off the pavement. Steve followed suit with his own dress clothes, pulling his dress shirt over his wet skin. You both hopped the fence again, walking in silence to his car. You felt distressingly naked compared to Steve, who was pulling back on his pants. Instead of going to the driver’s side to unlock the car, he popped the trunk and pulled out an oil marked Hawkins High sweatshirt from under the bat. He tossed it at your head and shut the trunk.

“Thank you…” you muttered, placing your dress on the roof of his car and pulled on the sweatshirt greedily. You drank in the warmth of the material, blocking out the cold air on your arms and chest. Steve unlocked his door and reached inside to pop the lock on your side. You pulled open your door and grabbed your dress, tossing it onto the floor of the car. You stepped in, shutting out the night as Steve started up the car.

You drove in silence for awhile. Then, Steve spoke “So, how long have you known?” he asked.

“A couple weeks, around the same time you asked me to prom.” You replied. Steve nodded, turning his attention back to the road. You could’ve cut the tension with a butter knife. “Do you hate me?” you asked.

Steve sighed “No, I don’t think I could hate you. But I wish you told me sooner.”

“I didn’t want to ruin prom…” you turned your attention to the window “And I didn’t think you liked me back…”

“So you’re just gone after this?” Steve asked, turning down your shared street. You silently wished he’d acknowledged your feelings. That’s he’d even look at you. You his gaze stayed fixed on the road ahead and his mouth pulled into a tight, thin line.

“I might be,” you turned to look at Steve fully “If I get in, then I’ll have the option to go for their four year program. But if I don’t get in, I’ll be back by early July.”

“And if you get in?” Steve turned into his own driveway, turning off the engine but not moving.

“Then I’d come home for Christmas...” that wasn’t a certain thing, your mother didn’t come home for the holiday and with assignments you weren’t certain you’d be back either, but setting a time frame for your homecoming made the whole thing feel more certain.

Steve nodded again. He was chewing on the inside of his cheek, not really looking at you, more the skyline behind your head. He was upset to say the least. Not necessarily at you, he understood why you hadn’t told him, but a bit of resentment harboured in the pit of his stomach. You were about to get out of this shit hole, to go on an adventure of your own. And he hadn’t even gotten into college. He was stuck here. He hated the universe for fucking with him, for showing him a new start and then taking it away.

“Steve,” you reached for the door. You needed to both be there with him and hidden away in your room. “Ask me to stay and I will.”

Steve turned to look at you. He saw the fear in your eyes, how pale you’d gone. You looked terrified and he was certain that it wasn’t of him. “Ask me and I will.” You repeated, nodding your head slightly.

Steve wanted desperately to say yes. To have you stay with him for the summer. But he knew it wouldn’t be fair. “No,” he breathed “I can’t do that, Y/N.”

“Yes you can, I’m telling you that you can.” You sounded desperate. You felt desperate. Every part of you was begging to stay exactly where you were. For the first time in your life, things were starting to turn up for you. Before now, you could’ve left everything behind easily. Now everything was more complicated. You were scared of the future, of what lay ahead in France. Steve was a way out, an escape from the change already set into motion. Your mother would understand she’d given up on so many things for men; her modelling career for your father, a second chance on it for an ex-fiancé, photo shoots and interviewers with designers for various flings. You giving up a chance at art school for Steve felt okay.

“No, no you have to go. You’re too good to not try this.” He rubbed your cheek with his thumb before turning away from you. Your heart broke, your hopes shattered on the floor at your feet. You bundled up your things from the floor and pushed the door open. Blue tears were streaming down your face. You couldn’t be around him now.

[thetriggeredhappy]

angst&hurt/comfort, where scout is anxious and doubts his skills, so he tries to calm himself by holding/hugging/whatever his plushie (or something else, idk), whilst someone is trying to get to him, to make him confess what is bothering him? idk if you wanna make it a ship ir maybe dad spy, ily -🦂

oh dude you already KNOW dad!spy hours are 24/7 up in here. welcome to “projecting RSD onto Scout TF2 episode 85″

-

Stupid summer, stupid break, stupid losing streak. Stupid everything.

Usually Scout was excited about breaks. A week or so of getting to be off work, heading home to visit family or going on a road trip or whatever was happening. It was nice, he loved it. But this time they had explicit orders from their boss not to go anywhere or do anything. To stay on base or to go specifically exclusively to the store in the nearest town for food or whatever. He hated it. The base was too small to hang out in for more than a few days at a time. He hated it.

And not to mention that they’d finished off work on a bad note. A day of losses turning into a week of losses, half the team scrambling to try and pull together enough to get one last good push in before the break and the other half deciding to just accept the loss and do better once they got back.

And every day after battle Soldier would single out someone who wasn’t on top of their game and lecture them. And all week, instead of going for the people who were largely slacking off and not breaking their necks to try and get them some actual wins, he went after Scout, who was so frantic that he kept making stupid mistakes.

And he just... usually he argued about it, and got in a fight with Soldier, but he just... didn’t have the energy for it. The day was over. They’d lost. And Scout knew it wasn’t entirely his fault, but it kind of felt like it. Maybe if he’d tried just a little bit harder, pushed himself just a little further, he could’ve gotten the rest of the team motivated. Maybe they all would’ve picked things back up and tried too. But he couldn’t do it.

It was frustrating. He knew his job, beyond what he did on the field, was trying to keep morale up. He kept music playing, he was always up for hanging out or playing a few hands of poker or headed into town with someone to get shitty fast food. And he tried really hard to be funny and to keep things lighthearted, tried so fucking hard to keep spirits up. And he knew if he said anything about it, pointed out how literally like all of his time was spent trying to make sure everyone was feeling okay, it would...

He didn’t know. Maybe they’d just tell him off for being whiny or whatever. Maybe it would stop working so well, if they knew he was always doing it so extremely on purpose, so intentionally. He didn’t know.

But at that moment, he was feeling so much like utter garbage that he knew he had to just avoid the team so he didn’t drag the mood down further. Usually they didn’t really miss him anyways, other than idly asking if he’d gotten into any trouble while he was off doing “whatever he did”. All he knew was that him feeling like shit around everyone else would just make them feel bad too. And it was break anyways—maybe they’d just end up feeling better on their own. Especially since he wasn’t around to interrupt them.

He had plenty of food in his room, mostly chips and candy bars and stuff like that, stuff he didn’t want the guys stealing. And he’d totally share if they asked, for sure, but for that moment he was mostly just digging through the hoard for himself and doing not much of anything else.

He felt like kind of an idiot, sitting alone and eating his feelings like some kind of angsty teen in a movie or the chick in the romcom who just got broken up with. But there was nobody there to ridicule him except himself. And he did, but... the point stood.

A few days passed like that. He had food, he had the little bathroom connected to his room, he had comics to entertain himself. He slept a lot, mostly. Felt like garbage. Read some comics. Ate chocolate about it. Slept some more. He left a few times to do a few assorted things—called home like he did every week, went into the common room late one night to grab some of his records back so he could listen to them.

At one point, he got a knock on his door. He didn’t answer, couldn’t seem to find the energy to. A second knock when the first was unanswered after about twenty seconds. He still didn’t move.

The next day, another knock. This one was accompanied by words. “Scout? I know you’re in there,” Spy called, sounding annoyed.

To be honest, Scout was pretty sure he didn’t have the energy to deal with whatever Spy was about to lecture him about. So he just rolled over.

“You’ve missed every team meal for almost four days. You’re being rude,” Spy declared.

Scout reached off the side of the bed and picked up a plushie that had fallen down. It was a big, chunky pig, and he’d won it when he and Pyro had gone out to a fair and he’d knocked the ball toss game out of the park. Pyro had taken three of the plushies he’d won, and insisted he keep the fourth for himself.

He felt like even more of a dumb baby, sitting there cradling a stuffed animal like he was scared to head off to his first day of kindergarten, but he was already too tired and filled with vague unrest for it to get to him much.

At some point he heard a heavy sigh and the clack of fancy shoes moving away down the hallway, and Scout relaxed.

Twenty minutes later, a knock.

“Scout, let me in,” Spy said firmly.

“Fuck off, Spy,” Scout snapped.

“Scout, if you don’t open the door, I’m going to,” Spy declared.

“Bullshit.”

A heavy sigh, and then a few moments later the door swung open.

“What the fuck?” Scout asked, lifting his head to glare towards the door as Spy stepped inside.

“I know how to pick locks, Scout. You know this.” Spy squinted to try to get used to the light, the blinds having been drawn. “I’m turning a light on.”

Scout just grumbled, dropping his head back into the plush pig. In his periphery, the light was indeed turned on. There was a beat of silence.

“I brought a plate from dinner. I was concerned you would get scurvy, since you now apparently have the diet of an eight year old child who was given a hundred dollars and left unsupervised at the grocery store,” Spy said dryly.

“I don’t want your fuckin’ handouts, Spy,” Scout muttered, muffled.

“It’s not a handout, it’s the fact that I refuse to have anyone on the team besides me whose teeth are falling out. Take the food.”

“Fuck off.”

Spy sighed again, and after a moment he moved to put the plate on the bedside table. Scout prickled at the proximity, but didn’t give him the satisfaction of looking up.

“I noticed that while you haven’t been at dinner, you still took the time to leave a thumb tack on my chair. Usually when you do that it’s because you’re angry with me. What exactly have I done?”

“I’m not mad at you, I’m just mad,” Scout grumbled.

“You know, it’s very childish to refuse to look at someone when they are trying to talk to you.”

“Guess I’ll just keep being the dumb idiot kid of the team then, huh?” Scout snapped.

Silence for a moment. “Scout. You’ve locked yourself away in your room and refused to come out again for several days. I know that something is wrong. The team does too—they’re starting to worry.”

“That might just be the most obvious lie you’ve ever fuckin’ told me, Spy,” Scout practically spat, and was glad to have his voice muffled, because suddenly it went a little tight.

“Is it that hard to believe that perhaps your teammates care about you?” Spy asked, a little sharply.

“It’s me, in case you haven’t noticed,” Scout said next, getting his voice back under control. “People don’t hang around me on purpose. They put up with me. And then they stop putting up with me at some point.”

“That’s not true,” Spy said, tone leaving no room for argument, but Scout elbowed some argument in anyways.

“All seven of my brothers, every fuckin’ date I’ve ever been on, the standing ban sayin’ I can’t go in Engie’s workshop or in Heavy’s workspace down by the boiler or the infirmary unless I’m actually seriously injured—“ Scout listed off, ticking off on his fingers, keeping his face hidden. “My own fucking dad decided he couldn’t fucking stand me and I was two years old, Spy, what the hell does that tell you? I’m an annoying little piece of shit and that’s all I’m ever gonna be and then one of these days I’m gonna die for real out in this hellhole desert and ain’t a single damn person out here will have ever even bothered to learn the name that’s supposed to go on my gravestone.”

Dead silence in the room. Scout’s arm fell back down by his side. His voice was shaky when he spoke again.

“Nobody’s ever even asked,” he managed. “Demo’s real name is Tavish, Heavy’s real name is Mikhal but his sisters call him Misha. And plenty of you guys get asked about it all the time but you don’t wanna say. And nobody’s ever even fuckin’ asked me.”

Silence for a few more seconds.

“I’m a whole person,” Scout said next. “I’m really into sci-fi. I’ve read every mainline issue comic book ever published after ‘35. I know how to cook and draw and I know the all the stats of every person on every major league baseball team. I was in theater in high school between track and baseball season in the winters and I and got a lead role on some Shakespearicles thing before it got cancelled because of budget cuts. I bet you didn’t even know that.”

“I didn’t,” Spy admitted.

“And why would you? Who the fuck cares? It’s just dumb scrawny idiot Scout, who the fuck cares what his deal is? He can barely do his job and read any word that’s over four syllables, who cares what he does? He ain’t nothin’ today, he must never have been somethin’ in the first place.”

“Scout—“

“Tell me I’m wrong, Spy,” he snapped, voice cracking down the middle.

“You’re wrong. Scout, what’s going on?” Spy asked, and his voice sounded closer, like he’d taken a knee. “What happened?”

He understood, logically, that telling Spy damn near anything was a bad idea. He sold information for a living. But logic hadn’t ever been much help to him, and anyways, he was pretty sure he was about to break down either way, and he could either cry like a dumb little baby and Spy could go to the rest of the team and tell them about stupid Scout and his crying for no reason, or he could at least sort of maybe a little bit sound justified and a little bit less completely unhinged.

“We lost all week because I fuckin’ suck at my job, and we don’t get to go off base for some goddamn reason, and I miss my family, and I—“ God damn it, he hoped to at least get to a second sentence before he broke, but here came the waterworks. “—and I know the team doesn’t give a shit, and if they even noticed they probably think I’m being some idiot baby, and I’m just so fuckin’ tired of all of this, alright? I’m just so goddamn exhausted, all the time, and no matter what I do I can’t make my own stupid, shitty, broken-ass brain shut up, and I...”

There was a hand on his shoulder, now. For some reason that’s what unstuck the sob in his throat.

“And I just miss my mom,” he managed, and sobbed again. “And I know that just makes me a stupid fucking baby—“

“Scout, it doesn’t,” Spy said firmly.

“Bullshit.”

A sigh, less exasperated than the others. “Scout, I miss my own parents. Often. Heavy writes to his mother, the Bushman calls home once a week and stays on the phone for an hour at a time. Do you think they would do that if they didn’t miss them?”

Scout couldn’t seem to find his voice, and just sniffled a little.

“If anything, it’s good that you miss your mother. You are appreciating her now, while she’s still part of your life, rather than later on when she’s gone. That’s a good thing.”

“Here I am cryin’ over dumb shit—“

“The fact that you’re even capable of tears shows that you haven’t completely sealed yourself off from your emotions like several of our testosterone-puppet teammates. I’m fairly certain that Medic surgically removed his own tear ducts. I think Soldier is so dehydrated that he’s incapable of it. And rather than sweat he needs to cover himself in liquid-like food products or else he’ll die of heat stroke.”

Despite everything, that made Scout laugh, just a little. More of a hiccup than anything else.

“Admittedly, you have greater social needs than several of our team, and they need to take breaks. Not just from you, but from everyone. It’s part of being human, everyone requires some amount of time alone or else they start losing their minds. But that doesn’t mean that they don’t care about you—value the things you do for this team, even. Every time someone would like company when going in to town for any reason, they always ask me where you are. And you’ve given good film recommendations to everyone except for the Sniper.”

“Guy hates movies,” Scout defended weakly.

“You keep recommending horror films. As it turns out, he is a fan of romantic comedies.”

“Fuckin’ what? Seriously?”

“I was shocked too. His complete lack of taste in all areas of his life continues to amaze me.”

Scout scoffed at that. A beat of silence.

“What I am saying is that the team doesn’t simply put up with you. You’re impossible to simply put up with, you take up too big a part of everyone’s life here. Instead, they must like and respect you.” A pause. “And your father must have truly been an idiot. Anyone with two eyes would be proud of the challenges you’ve faced and overcome with all of the disadvantages you’ve been dealt over your lifetime.”

Scout sniffled, wiped his eyes with his forearm, finally managed to look up at Spy. “Anyone with two eyes? You sayin’ you’re proud of me, then?” he asked, even if it was a little shaky.

“I feel no strong emotions,” Spy deadpanned.

“Alright, nevermind about earlier. That’s the most obvious lie you’ve ever told me.”

Spy rolled his eyes, standing, brushing off the knee of his suit.

Scout looked at the plate, made a face. “Aw man, what the fuck, is that asparagus? Is Medic back on trying to make us eat healthy again?”

“The Engineer cooked it, stop complaining and just eat it,” Spy said, quickly falling back into his role of naggy just on the near side of patronizing.

“C’mon, it couldn’t have been like, mashed potatoes or broccoli or somethin’?”

“You always douse those things in salt and butter. That combined with the energy drinks means you’re going to get a heart condition before I do.”

“Just get the fuck outta my room, Spy,” Scout huffed, putting the stuffed animal aside and moving to pick up the plate and utensils.

“Very well. And go talk to Demoman at some point, he’s been whining about nobody wanting to go get fast food with him for two days,” Spy said as he walked to the door. “And you can’t borrow my car to go.”

“Fuck you, Spy,” Scout said flippantly, waving him off.

“Fuck you too,” Spy said just as casually, and made sure to close the door behind him.

[404fmdhaon]

creative claims verification — superstar

summary: lyrical, composition & production claims for superstar warnings: none wc: 1880

when he steps into the studio inside bc — it feels like he’s in a state of limbo. nobody tells him frequency doesn’t relay to assimilation, and bc no longer feels like a home (despite how many hours he’s invested into the damn building). fuck it, he thinks. home is a piece where his body lays, imprints itself against the sofa and the chair. how his fingers rub the print raw of the keyboard, and how the grease of late-night eats come to smear against the mouse.

and if he’s had to guess the time he’s spent — it’s countless. an unlimited amount of hours ranging from the -ings of working on songs never released. yet, the cacophony brings resolve when nothing else speaks and jarred notes become a safe haven of comfort when he’s left alone in late hour spouts. 

when his body shoves past the doors, head down and shoulders curved, he’s met with nothing more than the hellos of an empty room. the lights flicker on, and the computer monitor untouched. his personal space, pristine from the night before by the way the piles of clothes topple upon the corner of the room (laundry, he’ll do eventually), and the barren toothbrush sitting in the pocket of his desk (he’ll use it later tonight).

it comes piece by piece by the time he sits himself on the desk, fingers pressing the button on for the monitor to come to light. he’ll use ableton today in lieu of what logic gives when the groan of his voice becomes reminiscent of nothing more than a heavy sigh of another recording.

make this album a good one, it’s your only time.

another heavy sigh, and he wonders what it’s like to press rewind. not fast-forward nor the resume of the tides of life. it’s the full-on riptide, and he’s left lost at sea where the tempest storms drown him whole. perhaps then, life would be kinder — but that sort of wishful thinking’s left for when his hands already click away to a barren file and the other’s pounding away on a keyboard with no thought in mind.

call it an effect that comes off the tails of weeks on end finishing up a song. the drawl in his voice, the deep baritone husk enough to give proof he’s irrational at best. built up motivation plucked by inspiration from the track done prior — he tries it again. gives it another go, something similar but blandly different. 

it all starts with the staccatos of a piano, the way they toss and jump illuminating the grin he has all goofy and lop-sided across his face (an effect of no sleep? or an effect of music itself? he couldn’t tell you.) the cacophony of the chords bring him back to the elementary days of picking up music the first time, his eyes crinkling the way they curve higher — still, to the third person view, it livens up to something somber.

the way the chords play a childhood book, and it’s a mere cry for help out in the open of an empty studio. he wonders how he can transpose it as the salve for the wounds gaping open — the harrowing feeling of loneliness now ripping stitch by stitch. and his only remedy? making the track flair with each and every embellishment of high-tone happiness, mimicking a circus imagery he crafts in his head. with the horns brought back, and the low-end percussion that adds with the ad-libs of snapping fingers. {it’s here he decides, the grand piano won’t do. he wants an electric key, borderline organ playing).

he saves it as a file — help.wav. 

but there’s no one to reach out, when he puts his hand forth. nobody to shuttle his woes in the gentle pats, swaying back — fuck. when was he ever in the seat of consolation paired with desperation? there’s a heavy sigh that escapes his mouth, when he runs back to the pen and paper. the eye of the beholder, and he positions himself in the role of the talker. weaponry in a stagnant pen and paper becoming the sole therapist to house his woes.

no talk back, no judgements. the pen and paper listen when he forces the unease ripping away from his chest, and for a second — he thinks he can breathe. feels his lungs cuff up with air. surprise, he doesn’t pant. doesn’t get startled. doesn’t slip out of his skin when he thinks of the first word that comes to his mind — superstar. 

the public paints knight as superstars, shining bright as the nation’s pick sitting pretty for the variable amount of years. (nobody ever tells you how lonely the top is. not when you’re surrounded by the bodies that become the walls to echo the voice you barely manage to sneak out when time calls). he writes down the things the public perception follows — a big house, a super car, money. honor. the limelight blinding his eyes to where it leaves him untouchable, ha. funny and incredulous, he doesn’t buy into it. 

self-made, he taunts it further by the time he closes his eyes and pictures his own house they gawk at. the art curated in expensive taste, the aid of his managers and the bodies that never frequent it. seoul forest becoming his own little garden and now, the song shifts in subject when it becomes a boast of his own hard earning works. 

it’s all money made from the years in knight. all the money funneled into the art that transforms his house into a galleria, and the richard mille watch that sits on his wrist. he laughs at how the ten year old learning the same chords would’ve billowed with stomach-hugging laughter at the sight of twenty-seven year old him living large, sitting on top. becoming the people on tv rather than the side shuffle of his father’s shadow. 

(he writes all of this down. again and again. each one engraving its mark deep into the persona he’s been filled to become). 

rap, hip hop. it all falls short when the stereotypes formulate the standard opinion: bad boys boasting about money. it’s a hopeless stereotype when he’s always five steps short of becoming whatever he’d imagine himself to be. 

it’s pointless to keep up a lie. so, he tells the truth. writes down the sadness that plagues him, and the melancholy that clings when he’s sitting alone in the studio — a part of his heart empty, far stretched away to where material goods do harm than good.

he asks for help.

“i need somebody.” 

the words feel uplifting, freeing by the time they meet the empty air. all tongue-tied and flustered, it’s the heat that rises again to flush out his cheeks. he writes it over and over, calls out for the help he won’t be met with tonight.

loneliness always a full-time burden.

and when another day brings freedom with recordings out of the way, no worry for knight behind the end of his i don’t give a fuck attitude, he ceases his comfort. comes to his own apartment, sitting down in the studio where the hard drive opens back to the state of disorder.

for that, he gives himself the benefit of the doubt — the feelings of home and comfort when he’s lounged out in a pair of sweats and the hoodie that wafts home. five pm, the leftovers in the fridge from the night before (he’ll eat that later, two am he bets.)

shit always go south, and by the time his phone rings and it’s another manager with another call — it’s the expectations coming to fill their predecessor: an early morning schedule the next day. gyujeong tosses the phone over his back — an aim straight to the sofa sitting pretty behind him, and he groans heavily back into the pillow that’s heard the brunt of his woes. 

he wants to forget about it all. forget about it even if it’s just for a brief moment, and this all becomes some fucked up reverie he’s lost in. five minutes of solace, and he’ll take it for the hours of wary shoulders tossing and turning at night. (he remembers how to forget, plugs in his hard drive and pulls up help.wav). 

the track plays with the recording he managed to finish the night — the effects of an all-nighter, and therapy in momentary bliss. he laughs, a pointed look tapered towards the empty screen as the demo takes over the silence. repeat, listen again. do it five more times, and he yanks away the beanie as his spine curves over the desk with fingers brushing past his lips. he knows what he sees. what he wants to salvage inside moments of sheer desperation where it’s the music that speaks louder than the voice that’s dwindled down in the past few years. 

no punches tonight, just the clicks that compose the song into frame. his voice sounds breathy when it plays, he picks that up on the second verse, easily. 

it’s bound to be a long night when he’s busy tuning his voice into something polished, less breathy. less gritty and rough when he wants the lyrics to speak to the masses that won’t read between the lines. it’s a reckoning all while a shame that he lays passive, using the music to speak on his behalf where his voice won’t raise higher. 

and by the time his head bobs, and it sounds more coherent. smoother, and flexible with the flow of his original intentions, there’s something that still lacks: desperation. there’s no urge to pull the spotlight back onto him, just the five seconds of a voice in hopes someone reaches their hands out — all warm and soft against the cracked dryness of his own. 

empathy, everyone says when you lack it, you’ll figure out the gaping void (they were right).

right inside each and every notion, and he bends over silently with his eyes on his screen and fingers edging to his temple, scratching then tapping. impatience flows back in when he files through the corner of his desk for a dusty mic that adds the hint to what he’s wanting: ad-libs.

it’s in the chorus where he wants to shout — call out for help. from anyone, for anyone. i need somebody becomes repeated, followed through when ‘anyone’ falls in his own voice in a multitude of different ways. soft, then harsh. loud and boisterous, passive and meek. what leaves the screen is nothing more than fifteen different ways for “anybody.” and “hello?”

he picks his favorite ones, the ones that breed desperation in the subtle movement of his voice. index finger and thumb against his chin, he taps patiently against the sides when satisfaction comes from a full picture. whole and somber with how the playback comes: belts of the music inside cheery chords, the addition of the horns then trumpets. fine-tuned by the base — then, it’s the lyrics that become the second hit, the punch that any sixth sense can pick up. hollowed out loneliness, and it’s a cry for help no longer seizing greatness nor the confines of things he’s collected over the years. 

[shirindanesh]

FAST-TRACK YOUR SALES SYSTEM WITH AGILE IN 90 DAYS - AND KEEP IT GOING

What if I told you there is a really simple way to accelerate your sales.

Sales leaders know what needs to be done in their sales pipeline but their problem is getting the team’s buy-in to fix it. You’ve got lags, blockages, overloaded people… everything that’s getting in the way of hitting your team targets. If everyone was on board with the fixes everything would happen faster, like a beautifully oiled machine operating smoothly.

Let me show you a system that will improve your sales numbers and fast-track your opportunities in your pipeline. 

“It's not a new sales methodology. “

In fact, regardless of what methodology you're using, this will work. 

1 - Visualise the problems in your pipeline: All relevant fixes AKA backlog of improvements

You are  aware of the fixes that need to happen in your system. The things that are currently not working, your pain-points.  You know that a lot of little things need to be improved. 

If you look at this simplified pipeline (for the purpose of this article); you can see it goes from Lead Gen→  Opportunity →  Proposal →  Contract mapped out in Trello. 

Let's get a sense of the type of improvements I'm talking about: 

In the “Lead Gen” stage, we are not using events well to create leads, or we're not using LinkedIn for lead generation. 

In the “Opportunity” phase, we don't have enough videos to show the demo, or we don't have any battle cards, or they are out-dated.

In the “Proposal” stage, we don't have a tracking system. So we don't know if customers are using our system or if they are interacting with the case studies or emails that we've sent. 

In the “Contract” stage, we know our current contract structure is old, and it's not easy to amend. And it takes a very long time, forward and backward, to get a sign off on a deal.

Pro Tip: To compose a backlog of improvements, think of your dream sales team and sales operation, think what needs to be done. Add that in your list. Get access to this Trello Board here. Duplicate it for your business and take it from there.

2 - Sizing and prioritising the sales pipeline fixes

Each of these improvement cards are associated with a metric. The key question is “How do you decide which one to go ahead with first?”

Actually, you don't!!!? Let’s walk through a case...

In this picture (above) you can see we have mapped out an end-to-end of a sales pipeline  at the back of the room. It has all the steps in the sales pipeline, from beginning to the end.

We invited the sales team. Some of the guns, a couple of the architects, SMEs, some of the newcomers, the hunters, the farmers, anyone that is working on the sales pipeline.In this workshop we asked them to map the pain-points across this end to end pipeline (using the red post-it notes you can see in the background). 

Sizing the improvement

Next step is about sizing the issues that the team has highlighted.  We ask them to use cards (pictured) to indicate the size and frequency of these problems. Now, everyone can see which one is the bigger problem. Next step we'll ask them to prioritise.

Prioritisation

All problems require attention but not all at the same time. This is actually a specific method of prioritisation. We ask the team, "Which one of these problems is the most important one from our customers’ point of view?" NOT which one is the one that makes more money for us. And you can tell from this picture which one was getting the highest point and will get nominated.

The dot-voting method

The dot-voting method is another option for decision making. This is a democratic method where you nominate the high priority items. This is useful where there is no data available because it harnesses the collective wisdom and team's understanding of customers. 

Each participant has 10 dots, in 1,2, 3, 4 

They place dots next to issues identified on the sales pipeline.

Issues with the most dots “win” and will be priortised to be resolved.

Other names for dot voting are multi-voting, sticker-voting, sticky-dot voting, dot-mocracy and dot democracy.

Pro-tip: To prevent skewed voting from  strongly opinionated team members, invite junior participants to place their votes first, while saving stakeholders or subject-matter experts for last. This approach protects the votes (and voices) of those who may be less likely to authentically contribute and may automatically defer to others.

3 - Implementing the Improvement

If we go back to the Trello board, the backlog of improvement cards, let's say the team prioritises three improvement cards for us: 

Lead generation Stage: We are light on lead generation, so let's look at LinkedIn. LinkedIn is the future.  

Proposal Stage: Our Battle Cards belong to the industrial era or stone age. 

We need to install a tracking system to make sure we are measuring the things that we want.

At the beginning of a quarter, we will commit to three prioritised cards.  Then we agree for seven sprints we will apply the change and see how we improve on the metric associated with them.

Why 7?

For seven sprints we will do what we need to do, and then we'll stop. Why is it seven? To change a habit or behavior in a person or an organization, which is made of people, you need to hear something seven times and you need to do it 21 times. However, before committing to 21 times, we stop at seven to see if it's working. 7 sprints can also be mapped to a quarter which works well for organisational financial calendars.

4 - Measuring the impact of change

After seven sprints we stop. We will do a measurement. When we are measuring, we want to always compare the results to get insight to see if it's working or not, or if it helped. We compare that quarter's results with the previous quarter, and we compare that with the last year, same time. That's to make sure that the change and the result is not because of the environment, and is a true change.

5- Zoom in at “Linkedin Lead Generation” Card

Let me look at ANOTHER item, so you get a view of what could be inside it. Let's say the team has never used LinkedIn before. We need to get our sales navigator license. We need to create filters so we know which accounts we're targeting. We need to create the right messaging sequence because we want to have different touch points with our clients. And we want to have a couple of case studies. 

At the beginning of a sprint, the team comes together and decides which accounts they want to target. Each day they will update their trackers to what they've done. That's basically a tactical way of looking at the activities. In our sprint review, we say, Okay, how did we go?

TEAM TRACKS THEIR ACTIVITIES RELATED TO THIS

Let me show you a tracker that we put in place a while ago. This was a sequence of messages, the period that we were using it, the delays, between each message and the team’s tracker. So they could show their progress. This is a simple tracker designed to show us the leads, calls and the impact of the change or activity. We go seven sprints with it and at the end we stop and compare the results. It’s as simple as that.

6 - The human element of this system

This system that I showed you allows you to get your team's buy-in.

Remember, you didn't tell them what needs to be done, you ask them and involve them in the prioritisation and decision making process.

What’s important is you’re moving from a "knowing" space to a "doing" space.

Many, in fact all sales leaders, know what needs to be done. But getting their teams to come along with them, that's their challenge. This system is a quite tangible method to get people moving and create momentum and results.

It’s also really helpful in terms of managing noise, if you know what I mean.

7- The metric that rules them all

One other point, probably the most important point of this 45-day plan ; each one of these improvement cards is for improving a specific metric, a number or a percentage. However, the whole system will improve one overarching metric; your "Funnel Velocity".

As you know we have two types of indicators, leading and lagging indicators. 

Leading indicators - you straight away see an impact after you’ve put a change in place. These are normally observable, behavioural changes and metrics.

Lagging indicators - are the result of change that we’ve put in place over a period of time.

Funnel Velocity is a lagging indicator.  

On a separate note, Funnel Velocity has an element of time to it, and it can be translated to an accounting concept of “Early Revenue Turn-On”. 

The two above reasons, being a lagging indicator and having an element of time, funnel velocity is a difficult metric to go after. For you to be able to change that or improve it, you need to do so many things in your system in order to be able to increase the speed of opportunities in your funnel.

If you are anything like me and you’d like a good challenge: improving Funnel Velocity is a good challenge.

8 - The 45-day Acceleration Plan

To bring all the theory and practical sides together, I've designed and tested a 45-day acceleration plan that is action by action to help you implement the process explained above.

The intention of this plan is to show you how to implement Agile ways of working into your sales pipeline. It’s innovation in leadership applied to sales pipelines to increase numbers

I am passionate about Sales Transformation with Agile. If you have any questions, any problems, or you want me to clarify anything for you, contact me,I would love to talk to you about this.

If video is more ‘your thing’ I’ve also created a video walking through this process for you.

Compose a backlog of improvements, think of your dream sales team and sales operation, think what needs to be done. Add that in your list. Get access to this Trello Board here. Duplicate it for your business and take it from there. 

Shirin Danesh is founder of Momentum Pipeline a program designed to make top-tier consulting practices in Agile transformation accessible to a wider range of companies. She invites sales leaders to improve one challenging but rewarding metric - Funnel Velocity. She is an Executive Agile Coach, working with futuristic, caring and ambitious executives to level-up their business. You can read her blog on Agile transformation here.

Article originally published on www.shirindanesh.com

[marshmallow-phd]

The Sound of the Rain

Genre: GreekMythology!AU, Modern!AU, Orpheus!AU, Reincarnation!AU

Pairing: Yixing x Reader

A/N: This random spark of creativity was inspired by this amazing moodboard made by @amaxing-daes. I hope you don’t mind! 

**

Day: 1,095,036

He wasn’t sure why he kept count anymore. It’s not like he was counting down to anything. Or up. Did an end really exist for a cursed immortal?

Three thousand years was a long time to walk the earth, to watch it change and evolve. Regular mortals would complain about wanting to go back to the “good old days”. Little did they know there was no such thing. Every decade and every century had its monstrosities that made the ones having to live through wish they could go to another time. It was one of the few things that never changed.

Yixing’s fingers danced across the piano, softly pressing on the keys and letting the notes piece themselves together however they saw fit. He hardly ever thought about arrangements anymore. Reflections would simply formulate in his head and then he’d let the magic flow through to whichever instrument he’d picked up at the time. Sometimes it would be about things that made him angry, sometimes nature itself would be enough to spark his creativity. In the present moment, his most frequent inspiration was plaguing his mind.

Even after all these years, his wife – the one taken from him too soon, the one who he almost had back in his arms if he hadn’t been such a failure – still haunted his dreams. He could say that some of his most beautiful pieces were created because of her, but all the awards and recognition in the world couldn’t replace the hole in his heart.

“Wow, Lay, could you get more depressing?”

Yixing smirked to himself. Lay. It was his latest pseudonym. In retrospect, maybe it was a little silly, but at the time he thought it fit right in with the other music producers in this modern age. One of his frequent collaborators went by “Loey” after all.

Now interrupted, Yixing stopped playing and turned off the recorder that was resting on top of the piano before turning around to face his partner. “Not everything needs to be a dance number, Han.”

“But you’re good at those.” Han motioned back with his head. “Come on. That popstar is here and she wants to listen to the demo.”

“Okay.” Standing up from the bench, Yixing pocketed the recorder and followed Han out of the practice room towards the studio. He frowned once they entered the small workspace.

Shia, the latest sensation exploding on the world pop scene, was sitting in Yixing’s chair, sporting the most sour look on her face. Perhaps she thought she was above this listening schedule. Or maybe she got into an argument with her boyfriend. Whatever the reason for her attitude was, Yixing really wasn’t in the mood to deal with it.

Let’s just get this over with.

Sitting down in one of the less comfy chairs, Yixing introduced himself, shook hands with the managers and other producers for Shia’s album and turned to the soundboard to start the song.

If Yixing had to rate this song, he’d only give it a seven. He was always harsh on his own music, but this one just came out a little… well, he didn’t know how to describe it. He was still proud of it – he was with a majority of his creations – he just felt a little lackluster about music in general lately. Over the centuries, it’d been the one thing that kept him going after losing his wife. Maybe it was the way music had changed that was making him lose interest. Or maybe it was just himself that was changing. The will to keep going was certainly starting to fade.

Somewhere around the first bridge, Yixing’s confidence grew, just a miniscule amount, but he knew this song was good. The kind that would make everyone cheer and get up to start dancing The managers and producers were bobbing their heads, listening intensely as the song headed into the chorus. Yixing himself sang the demo since no one else seemed to be able to pick up on the rhythm.

When the song ended, everyone turned to Shia to take in her reaction. The pursed lips never relaxed and she never uncrossed her arms throughout the approximate three and a half minutes.

“I don’t like it,” she finally stated after a minute or so of silence.

Her manager sighed, looking as frustrated as Yixing was beginning to feel. “And why’s that?”

“This isn’t the music that I signed up for,” Shia snapped. “I don’t want to sound like everyone else.”

“This doesn’t sound like everyone else,” Han argued. “A song by Lay is always one of a kind. This will put you on the charts where you belong. You said you wanted to make it to the Grammy’s-”

Shia scoffed. “Do you really think this song about how great life is and how much fun you can have is going to get me to the Grammy’s? I want a song with meaning. I have plenty of dance tracks to release as singles. Do I look like I want to be the next Britney Spears?”

Yes. Yixing held his tongue. He’d seen her interviews and her music videos. As judgmental as it could sound, she did, indeed, seem to be going down the dancing popstar route. He’d never seen her pick up a guitar and strum out a heartbreaking ballad with lyrics so deep they took the listener to another time in their life. She never talked about music like it was her life and soul. If that was the kind of artist she wanted to be, then why did she sell out?

Suddenly feeling a little hypocritical, Yixing stood up and walked out of the room.

“Lay, wait!” Han stopped him just before he could escape out the front doors. Putting a hand on his shoulder, Han sighed. “Don’t take that punk’s word to heart. It’s a good song. Plenty of other artists will want to take it.”

Yixing shook his head. “At this point, I don’t really care. I’m getting too old for this.”

Han chuckled. “If it were anyone else, then I would argue that statement. But since it’s you….”

That made Yixing laugh. Yes, Han knew… maybe not the entire story, but he knew most of Yixing’s history. And it was a complete accident how he found out.

For over three thousand years, he’d been able to keep his own secret. But one night when Han was over, Yixing had a little too much to drink and started blurting out everything. Han didn’t believe him at first, but then out came the portraits and pictures and hundreds of diaries that Yixing had kept over the years. He felt a little lighter now, having someone to share his secret with. While Han had made comments here and there that almost gave him away, everyone pretty much took them as jokes or metaphors, keeping him safe from any odd experiments scientists might want to put him through. It wasn’t science that made him what he was, so he doubted they would find anything out anyway.

“I just need some air.” Yixing slipped out from under Han’s hand and pushed through the glass door that led to the sidewalk outside.

He didn’t know where he was headed, if he was going towards a certain something at all; he just knew he needed to be away from the studio for a while, let the others hash it out if she wanted it or not. There was nothing in him that really cared. Han was right; someone would take the song if she didn’t.

It was nice outside today. Most of the time, Yixing didn’t know what the weather was like. He nearly always dressed in the wrong kind of clothes: a t-shirt when it was freezing, a leather jacket when it was boiling hot. This time, however, he lucked out. The temperature wasn’t too bad, making him comfortable in the black shirt and matching jeans he was sporting. Blue was the only color in the sky, save for the blinding sun. No clouds covered up the beautiful wonder above him. But that work of nature’s art almost distracted him to a dangerous level.

Your head was down towards your phone when you passed him, nearly making him miss you as he was staring up at the sky. But enough was captured in the corner of his eye to make his heart jump in his chest. He knew that hair. He knew that jaw and shoulder and ear. He knew you.

Could it really be? Could he really have just stumbled upon a second chance?

Fighting through the crowd on the sidewalk, Yixing hurried to catch up with you. He needed to make sure that it was the same face.

Several feet ahead of him, you turned into a coffee shop. Okay, good. He could catch up to you there. But just as he approached the large window that made up a majority of the front wall, his heart sank.

You weren’t just stopping in to get a fresh cup of coffee and then going about your day. You were meeting someone. A particularly handsome someone who stood up and greeted you with a hug as soon as he spotted you. You were smiling and laughing, happy to be in his presence. Realizing that he had been ridiculous to follow you in the first place, Yixing turned around and headed back towards the studio.

The place was empty when he got back. It was quiet, which was exactly what he needed at the moment. No sample beats thumping in the speakers, no drum sets being pounded on, no pitch tuning being done. Just peace and quiet. And he even had his chair back, although a small amount of glitter was left behind.

Covering his face with his hands, Yixing leaned forward as he sat down and tried his best to keep his breathing normal. It had to be the same person. Not the exact same, but your new incarnation. Your face was the same, your smile, your gracefulness. There you were right in front of him. All this time he’d been alone, unable to numb the pain of losing you, no matter who he smiled at or let sleep on the other side of the bed with him at night. None had come close to you. But now it was almost worse. Did he try to insert himself into your unsuspecting life? Or did he let you go on blissfully unaware of his existence?

“Lay, you okay?”

Lifting his head, Yixing looked at Han, thankful that he was alone in finding him.

Han’s jaw dropped. “Man, are you alright?”

It was then that Yixing realized he’d been crying. The tears that rolled down his cheeks were small and few in number, but still very much present. Han sat down in the office chair across him, rolling a little closer.

“I saw her,” Yixing whispered.

“Saw who? Shia?”

“No,” Yixing sniffed back the new set of tears that were threatening to spill over. “My wife.”

Han’s jaw dropped. “Y-your wife? But I thought she, you know, died. Like… a long time ago?”

Leaning back in the chair, Yixing sighed. “She did. I think this might be her recent incarnation.”

“Wow.” Han ran a hand through his hair, blowing air between his lips in astonishment. He suddenly jumped forward in his seat, startling Yixing. “So, reincarnation is real, too? Like, it's kind of all true?”

“All might be a bit of an overstatement, but yes. I’ve met a few people along the years that have been reborn.” Yixing frowned, remembering the few run-ins he had, mostly with people he had known when he was still mortal. There had been a mixture of fear and excitement when he’d approached them. Would they remember him? Would they know he had been alive all this time? The answer to both had turned out to be no. To this day, Yixing didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

“So, did you talk to her?”

Yixing shook his head. “No. She, uh, she was meeting someone. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

Something hard and plastic connected with Yixing’s face, shocking him and stinging at his skin. It was a pair of headphones that Han had snatched up from the soundboard and thrown at him. “What was that for?”

“Because apparently being alive for several millennia made you dumber rather than smarter,” Han snapped. “This could be your chance to be with her again. Maybe that one goddess, Penelope-”

“Persephone.”

Han rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Maybe this is her way of saying ‘hey, you’ve been punished enough, here’s a treat’.”

“I hardly doubt that.” With a heavy sigh, Yixing ran a hand down his face. He looked up at his friend, his one confidante. “You really think I should try and find her again?” Han nodded, a sympathetic smile on his face. Yixing cringed. “But she was meeting a guy….”

Han took Yixing’s hand and shook it twice. “Hi, welcome to the twenty-first century where girls have guy friends.” Yixing yanked his hand back, irritated. “Also, it could have been a cousin she hadn't seen in a long time. Or,” Han held his hands up, palms out, in a very sarcastic manner, “even if it was a boyfriend, I doubt he could hold up to the chiseled, dimpled, world’s greatest music producer, Lay.”

There was no other response Yixing could muster other than to laugh, embarrassed by the hype his friend was giving him. While he still didn’t have the full confidence to go up against another guy if you were already in a relationship, he still wanted to get to know the you in this time period, even if he had to settle with simple friendship.

“Okay,” Yixing nodded. “I guess there’s only one thing left for me to do.” He stared down Han with determination. “I’ve got to find her again.”

Day: 1,095,043

It’d been a week already and he couldn’t find you. Not that he thought he would find you the moment he walked outside and headed in the same direction he had the first time, but it was becoming a little discouraging, not seeing you again.

For the third day in a row, he sat in that coffee shop, the one place he’d seen you, and waited. From his years of observing people, he could guess that you came here often if you chose to meet someone within these walls. He just hoped that he wasn’t wasting his time. He’d given up too easily last week. Where he should have come up with some excuse to talk to you, introduced himself and gotten at least your new name, he froze, turning around and deciding that you were better off in this new life without even giving himself a chance. While he was ashamed of how he’d failed you, he wasn’t a bad person.

As he stared out the window, watching the people pass by in groups or by themselves, he listened to the soft sprinkle of rain hitting against the glass. It was a little gloomier today, bring his hope down a few pegs. He didn’t really like the rain, but the pitter-patter sound the droplets had inspired a few songs, so he couldn’t hate it completely.

Just when he was thinking over possibly heading out into the cold weather, his miracle arrived.

You were on the other side of the street, walking towards the crosswalk that would bring you straight to the shop. But you were crying. Not loud, shoulder-shaking sobs. Instead, it was the kind that was more subtle. The kind that reddened the eyes and stuffed up the nose, but made no sound. Yixing wouldn’t have even been able to decipher your state if you hadn’t been hugging yourself so tightly, wiping your eyes with your sleeve every few seconds or so.

When you came to the crosswalk, you were so wrapped up in whatever was making you hurt that you weren’t paying attention to the glowing orange man that had stopped blinking, warning pedestrians that it wasn’t safe to walk. Not even thinking, Yixing jumped up out of his seat and ran outside. Shoving people aside left and right, he made it to the sidewalk, not slowing down as he raced to push you out of the way of oncoming traffic. He finally stopped once your feet were safely back on the pale concrete, his arms cradling you to his chest. Stepping back, he frantically held your face, searching for any sign that you were hurt in the rescue.

“Are you okay?” he said breathlessly.

You nodded shakily. “Th-thank you. I, um, I really should have been better attention. I just-”

Yixing shushed you. “That’s okay. Let’s get you out of the cold and something to drink.”

Not answering, you let him lead you back to the coffee shop. Inside, he sat you down at the table he’d been occupying by the window for the last several hours before going up to the counter and ordering a simple hot chocolate. The wind outside was biting and unforgiving and your thin cardigan was hardly enough to shield you from it’s wrath. You needed to warm up and hopefully the steaming drink would do the trick.

“Thank you,” you whispered as he set the cup down in front of you before taking his seat again. You didn’t touch the drink and you kept your head down, most likely to hide the fact that you’d been crying – which he already knew.

“Are you okay?” he asked again.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You were lying, but he didn’t call you out on it. “Thank you, again. For that. I feel like an idiot for just walking out there in the middle of traffic.”

“Maybe something was distracting you?” he offered. He hoped you would open up to him even though, to you, he was complete stranger.

Your answer was accompanied by a shrug. “Something like that, yeah.” Finally you took a sip of the drink, shivering as the soothing liquid hit your system.

It was silence for a few minutes. Many sentences started themselves in Yixing’s head, but he couldn’t bring himself to release any of them.

“I just get like that sometimes,” you suddenly confessed, making Yixing perk up.

“Get like that?” he echoed.

“Yeah.” You played with the cozy that saved your hand from the hot plastic, not meeting his eye. “I don’t know why, I just get really… sad, I guess? Usually, I just sit on my couch and listen to depressing music, but something today told me to go for a walk. I guess I was trying concentrate on not crying that I wasn’t paying attention to where I was walking.” Your cheeks rose up as you gave him a shy smile. “Kind of weird, isn’t it?”

“No, no!” Yixing protested. “I don’t think that’s weird at all. Emotions make us human, right?”

“That is true.” Holding out your hand, you introduced yourself. “I’m (y/n).”

Yixing fought to contain his elation as he took your hand, still a little cold but much better than it was before, and said, “I’m… Lay.” He thought it best to keep the facade of his current identity for now. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Lay?” Your eyebrows furrowed. Scepticism was painted all over your face, but you went with it. “It’s nice to meet you, too.”

Fighting the urge to bring your hand to his lips, like he did all those years ago, Yixing let your fingers slip away from his. “So, what do you do?” he asked.

“I’m a school teacher.” Your entire face brightened up, making it even more beautiful than it already was. “First graders.”

Of course. It fit all too well. “You look like you’d make a great teacher.”

“Thank you. What about you?” you asked after taking another sip of your drink. “What do you do?”

“I’m a music producer,” he replied proudly.

Your jaw dropped. “Are you serious?”

Laughing, Yixing started to go into more of what he did, but then his phone rang, making him frown. It was Han. “I’m sorry. I have to take this.” At your nod of understanding, he answered the phone. “Hello?”

“Hey, buddy, any luck?”

Yixing cleared. “Actually, yes. Did you need something?”

“Wow. That’s actually surprising. I figured you would be SOL with the luck you’ve had.”

He’d let that slide… for now.

“But, right now, Shia’s on her way. They want to hear the song again and they want you there. Got to come back to the studio. Sorry, man.”

Of course this would happen now. “Alright. I’ll be there in a few minutes.” Hanging up, he looked at you apologetically. “I’m sorry. I have to go.”

“No, that’s fine,” you insisted, waving your hand at him.

Taking a deep breath, Yixing knew he had to take this chance while it was in front of him. “Do you think… I could see you again?”

Your eyes grew wide and a pink dust appeared on your cheeks. “Um, yeah. I would like that.”

As quick as his fingers could go, he opened a new contact in his phone and handed it over to you. There was no protest as you gave him your number.

“This might seem weird, but I’m glad to have met you, Lay,” you confessed.

His heart swelled in his chest. How could things be going so well for him? “I’m glad to have met you, too.”

Leaving you there in that cafe was hard, but he had to maintain his regular life. Besides, now he had a way to see you again. Walking away from you right now was only for a moment, it was not forever. Not this time.

Day: 1,095,077

For over a month now, Yixing had been able to see you off and on, meeting you at the cafe or grabbing a small dinner. The more he got to know the current you, the more he was convinced that you really were the reincarnation of his wife. The subtle mannerisms, the way you talked, every little feature in your face, it was all the same. And he was falling in love with you all over again. Some things were different, obviously, as your life experiences were different this time around, but he still felt strongly towards you and wanted to be with you.

He found himself skipping out on sessions with Han to go meet you. The melodies leaving his his fingers, whether being created on the soundboard or the instruments in front of him, were happier, livelier than they had been in the past. It was like he’d spent so long in the dark, cold winter, but the frost was finally melting away to spring.

Everything was in perfect order for when you would arrive. This was the first time you were going to come to the studio and Yixing wanted you to be impressed, not disgusted by the food wrappers and empty coffee cups lying around. Though the definition of your relationship was still just as friends, he could feel it growing into more. He hoped that tonight would help things move to the next step.

“Lay?” your soft voice came out as a whisper as you gently knocked on the doorframe.

He beamed at you, running up to you and guiding you in. “You made it. How was school?”

“It was good. The kids say hi.”

Yixing had gone once to the school to bring you back the cardigan you’d left at the restaurant the night before. The children had rushed at him, curious of the man who was bringing their teacher a piece of clothing. He’d stayed and played with them for an hour or so before you finally had to shoo him away to get back to their lessons.

“Tell them I’ll come see them again soon,” Yixing grinned.

You rolled your eyes. “You are going to get me in trouble.”

Patting the seat next to him, Yixing urged you to come to the recording equipment. He had something he wanted you to hear. “Are you ready?” You nodded eagerly. Yixing pressed the button to start the new song.

It was a slow ballad, but not a sad one. Hope and love filled every lyric, connected every note. He wished for you to understand it was all for you. The only thought he had while creating the song was of you, your face and your smile. Your laugh was the foundation for the rhythm, giving it a unique pattern.

As the song faded out, Yixing’s recorded voice giving way to the last few notes, you turned to him, glossy eyed and smiling brighter than the sun.

“That was beautiful,” you sighed. You reached out to him and grasped his hand. “You are so talented.” Realizing what you were doing, you took your hand back, embarrassed. “I mean, of course you are,” you laughed. “Mr. Music Producer.”

Shyness spilling over his whole body, Yixing pressed both of his hands into his head, leaning back in his chair while chuckling. You loved his song. The message might not have gone completely through, but you loved it. That was enough.

The two of you stayed in the studio for a few more hours, just talking while Yixing showed you how he composed songs on this modern technology. You listened attentively, taking in everything that he was saying, even playing with some of the knobs to create your own transitions.

Before he knew it, it was getting late and time to leave the studio as the sun was leaving the sky. He walked you out, but he didn’t want to leave you just yet.

“Are you hungry?”

You nodded eagerly. “I am, actually.”

Yixing scratched the back of his head nervously. “Can I make you dinner?”

“You cook, too?” You scoffed, looking out onto the street. “Is there anything you can’t do?”

Laughing, Yixing didn’t answer, just taking your hand and leading you to his car. His apartment wasn’t too far away, making it there in five minutes or so. Almost as soon as you walked in through the door, you started looking around, taking in the record collection and small pictures that Yixing had taken in his travels over the world. Not that you knew the older ones were taken by him.

He let you wander around while he got to work in the kitchen, sauteing vegetables and marinating the meat. The smells of the cooking food filled the air until he could hear your stomach growling from his spot in front of the stove. He giggled at the sound, but he didn’t say anything, just allowing you to continue walking around.

Just when he started plating the finished product, the vibration of strummed guitar strings hummed through the air. Walking over to the entry way that led to the living room, Yixing’s lips split into a smile when he saw you sitting on his couch, playing the acoustic guitar that usually sat in the corner, only there when he was inspired at two in the morning.

At first, the notes you played were random, nothing recognizable. But then, slowly, the notes changed into a melody he hadn’t heard in a very long time.

Tears formed in his eyes as he listened to you play the first song he ever wrote you on the lyre. It had been a gift, one that he hoped to win your heart over with. The plan had worked, the two of you very much in love and married within the month. He played it for you whenever you asked, typically on the nights before he had to leave you. After your death, he vowed to never play the song ever again. The only time he broke that promise was in front of the god of the underworld as he begged to take you back with him.

When you saw Yixing, you stopped playing, mumbling an apology.

“That was a very beautiful song,” Yixing said as he willed the water in his eyes to stay put. “Where did you hear it?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s kind of been in my head for as long as I can remember.”

The first step Yixing took towards you was hesitant, knowing that the action he wanted to take would either make or break the two of you. But after another step, he couldn’t hold back anymore.

Grasping your jaw with his hands, he captured your lips in his, leaning you back on the couch as you moved the guitar out of the way. You reciprocated the kiss, gripping his shirt in your hands. Yixing let go of your face to move his hands to your waist, lifting you up from the couch. In response, you wrapped your legs around his torso and he carried you to the bedroom, the dinner he’d made completely forgotten.

Day: 1,095,078

The warmth given off by you helped Yixing sleep better than he had in over three millennia. He held you close, memorizing every curve and the very scent of your skin. You were still fast asleep next to him, your breath the only sound echoing off the walls. Kissing your bare shoulder, Yixing slipped out of the bed and headed into the kitchen. He couldn’t help the smirk when he spotted the spoiled dinner.

Once that mess was cleaned up, he started on breakfast. This time he would make sure that you actually ate something.

Humming to himself, Yixing carried two plates of fresh, hot food back into his bedroom. But you were no longer sleeping peacefully, entangled in his sheets as you clung to his pillow. You were now wide awake, dressed and holding a small portrait in your hands as you sat on the edge of the bed.

Crap.

He’d forgotten about that piece he’d kept with him all these years, laying out on top of the dresser.

It was a piece of cloth, old and fraying on the edges, with your portrait painted delicately on the fibers. To preserve it, he kept it pressed under glass in a frame. He’d had it made soon after your death so he could carry it with him everywhere. Only by a miracle had it stayed in such good condition. The details in the painting were enough for anyone to see the connection between you and the subject.

“What is this?” you asked in a shaky voice. “Why does this look like me?”

Putting the plates down, Yixing approached you cautiously. “I can explain-”

“This is old,” you held up the frame, your grip so tight that your knuckles were pale. “Have you been stalking me?”

“No!” He threw himself at your feet, taking your arms in hands so he could feel more grounded as everything was crumbling around him. This what not how he wanted you to find out. He knew someday he would have to tell you, but he wanted to do it on his own terms, in a way that you would understand. “Please, listen to me. I can explain.”

You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment, shaking your head. When you finally opened your eyes again, you sighed. “Who are you?”

Taking the frame from you, he stood up and sat next to you on the bed. “Most of what I’ve told you is true, but- My name isn’t Lay. It’s Yixing. And I’m over three-thousand years old.”

“What?” You jumped up, putting space between you two. “That’s what you’re going with? Are you insane?”

“Please,” Yixing begged. “I’m trying to explain this the best I can. I truly am that old. I was cursed after I tried to save my wife.”

You frowned. “Y-your wife?”

“Yes.” Yixing stood to his feet, but when he stepped towards you, you shrank back. “She was the love of my live and I lost her. Twice. But then I got another chance. I met you.”

“So… you think I’m her?” you scoffed. “That’s the only reason you’ve been seeing me?”

“Some people are reincarnated,” Yixing explained. “It’s still you-”

“No!”

The sudden charge in your shout had Yixing taken aback.

“I’m not her,” you insisted through clenched teeth.

“But the song-”

“I don’t want to hear it!” You stormed out of the bedroom, grabbing your purse as Yixing hurried after you.

“Wait! Please!”

You slammed the door in his face, ignoring every plea he called out after you.

Shuffling back to the bedroom, Yixing picked up the frame, sliding down to the floor. The tears flowed more freely than ever as he clutched the portrait to his chest. Just when he had you back in his arms, he lost you once again.

Day: 1,095,094

Over two weeks had gone by since you stormed out of Yixing’s apartment. You wouldn’t answer his phone calls and Yixing was losing all hope of ever seeing you again. He couldn’t make you understand; all he could do was hope that you would think about what he said and maybe give him another chance to properly explain things.

With his head resting on his arm as he stared at nothing, the song he’d written for you echoed through the speakers in the studio. He couldn’t stop listening to it, wallowing in his self-pity, hoping someday he’d just go back to being numb, like how he was before he met you.

“This is a beautiful song.”

Jumping at the sound of another voice, Yixing turned around to find Shia standing a few feet away. Gone was the sour, put-out look that had been on her face the last three times he’d seen her. Now her features were softer, a sentimental smile on her lips. She wasn’t looking at him, eyes trained on the soundboard, like she was really taking in the theme and meaning of the lyrics.

Yixing turned off the speakers, turning his back to her. “Thank you,” he said sternly.

Shia walked forward, leaning her palms against the table. “That’s the kind of song I’d like to sing.”

“No,” Yixing shook his head.

“What do you mean no?” She straightened up, crossing her arms. “Did you already write it for another artist?”

Turning off the rest of the equipment, Yixing got out of his chair and slipped his arms into his black bomber. He needed to get out of here. “No. This one’s not for sale.”

Her jaw dropped, offended. “What do you mean it’s not for sale?”

“Exactly that.” What was so hard to understand that he wasn’t giving this song to anyone?

“Don’t you want people to hear this song?” she fought back. “I’d even have it as the lead single-”

“It’s not for you!”

Yixing never got angry like this. He wasn’t a yeller, a screamer, but he just wanted her to go away and stop nagging him about the song.

“Lay?”

He froze, eyes widening and throat going dry. That was just his mind tricking him in this moment, right? His hope manifesting into delusions to ease the pain?

But when he turned towards the door, it was really you standing there, shifting from foot to foot, and looking like you were about to run out of there at any point given the slightest reason to.

“(y/n)?” he gasped.

You licked your lips. “Hi.”

Shia looked back and forth between the two of you, getting a sense that she should probably leave. Without a word of goodbye, she slipped out, giving you the room.

Neither of you spoke for the longest time. Yixing had so much he wanted to say, but he didn’t want to drive you away again. You came to see him, so he would let you go at your own pace.

“Han came to the school,” you explained, breaking the silence. Yixing didn’t respond, just letting you continue. “He, um, he said that you’d been going through a hard time lately.”

Yixing sighed. “Please, don’t feel responsible. It’s completely understandable. The truth was dumped on y-”

“Han told me the same thing.” You shook your head, still trying to process it all. “He said that he saw the pictures of you, throughout the years. That you were really telling the truth about being alive all this time.” You took a step towards him, finally meeting his eye. “But I want to hear the rest from you.”

Testing the waters, Yixing filled in more of the space between you, even risking taking your hand in his. When you didn’t pull away, he smiled, the corner of his mouth just barely tipping up. “I told you about my wife. She died after falling ill. I wasn’t there when she passed, having left earlier in the month on business. When I came back, it was too late. But I needed her. So I went after her. I traveled to the underworld to make a deal with the god who ruled there.”

“How did you… get there?” you asked cautiously, the strain between your eyebrows giving away how hard you were working to make sense of what he was telling you.

He couldn’t help but reach out and trace the outline of your cheekbone. You were listening, taking in what he was saying without running away. “I went through several trials, met with many religious leaders. I finally found the entrance. It’s the kind of place that could only be found if the gods deem it so. I met with the ruler of the underworld and made him a deal: I could take my wife back with me to the world of the living, but I had to have faith. I had to walk back up to the surface without looking back until I crossed the threshold. Just before I reached the sunlight, though, I panicked. I wondered if I had been tricked. So, I turned around and she was there. But I’d broken the deal and she faded away just when I’d gotten her back.”

Water was pooling on the bottom lids of your eyes, threatening to spill over as you took in his story. But it wasn’t over yet.

“I lost all will to live,” he admitted. “I didn’t eat, I didn’t leave my bed. I just wanted to be with her again and that was the only way left for me after the trial. But death never came for me. I was now cursed to live forever, never allowed to see my love again because I couldn’t have faith.” Letting go of your hand, he cupped your jaw. “When I saw you walking down the street, I thought I was given a second chance. My love back on the earth with me again. Getting to know you, this you, has been the real blessing. Even if you decide to walk away, I will be forever grateful.”

When he was finished, you reached up, capturing his wrist in your hand. He thought, for a moment, that you were going to push him away again. But you didn’t.

“I don’t know if I’m actually her,” you whispered. Meeting his eyes, there was a glow in your own gaze that was making his heart speed up. “But… I can’t walk away, not now. It feels too right, being here with you. I would hope that you see me in front of you, and not her.”

“It’s you,” he confirmed. “It’s you.” He pulled you in, kissing you deeply. It felt so good to have you in his arms again, to have you believe him and receptive of his love for you. It was all true. Now he didn’t care if you really were his wife’s incarnation, not anymore. You were the one he wanted now, the one he would be thankful to have for the rest of his days, no matter how many were in his future.

Day: 1,095,103

Although the last time he left you alone sleeping in his bed ended in disaster, he still slowly slipped out from under the covers, knowing it’d be fine this time around. As quietly as he could, he slid the glass door that led out to his balcony open. He stepped out into the cool morning air and leaned up against the railing.

Life had settled in the last few weeks. You were still adjusting to certain things, like calling him Yixing rather than Lay and having him reference something that happened decades ago like it happened last week. But he’d never been happier in his immortal life.

“It’s nice to see you smiling like that.”

Yixing jumped, letting out a strangled noise in surprise. Why were you always sneaking up on him like that?

But it wasn’t you that had joined him on the balcony. In fact, it was someone he never thought he would ever see again. She probably had much better things to do than pay him a visit.

“Persephone?”

“Hello, Yixing,” the goddess greeted from the iron seat with a dazzling smile.

“What are you doing here?” he asked as he adjusted his stance, leaning his back on the metal barrier.

“I thought I would catch up,” she said cryptically.

Yixing raised an eyebrow. “A bit late for that, don’t you think?”

She shrugged. She definitely didn’t look like the goddess that painters had depicted in their artworks over the centuries. A red pantsuit and short haircut helped her blend right in if she happened to be walking down the street. That softness that Yixing had seen so long ago was still present, so apparently not too much had changed. “Are you happy now?”

“Yes,” he said honestly. “I am. Are you here to tell me you had a hand in that?”

Persephone smiled coily. “Maybe.” Releasing a sigh, she crossed her legs, letting her hands rest in her lap. “I thought it was time to give you a life again.”

“So, my punishment is over for now?” Yixing knew, even though he was living joyfully now, that eighty years down the line, he’d have to go back to his lonely existence. But he’d pushed that thought aside each time it came out. He would love you now and forever, each day was gift, the future could wait.

“It wasn’t ever meant to be a punishment,” Persephone insisted. “I knew how much you loved your wife. I wanted to give you a second chance at that love.”

“So why didn’t you just have us reborn together?” he questioned harshly.

“Because you needed to remember your past choices, so you wouldn’t make them again.”

Again? But-

Ah. Yes. He loved his wife, he did with his whole heart. But he let his passion for music get in the way, leaving her behind as he went to play concert halls and chase after the admiration of the audience when he finished a piece. The fact that he didn’t get enough time with his wife wasn’t just because she died so young, but because he was away so often. He wouldn’t do that again. Already, he was putting off studio sessions and canceling meetings to spend time with you. Maybe he really had learned from his past mistakes without even realizing it.

“Is it really her?” he asked. It was a question that didn’t really need voicing, but it slipped out anyway. No matter what the answer, he would walk back into that bedroom and hold you tightly.

But Persephone nodded. “Yes, it is. I held onto her until I thought the time was right. Most memories are erased when a person is reborn, but I left traces of you in her, despite my husband’s protests, to help bring her to you. Remember how she said she would get sad sometimes without any reason?”

Yixing gave off a short laugh. It was a faint memory of him that took you to the streets that day, allowing him to see you again. It made all those years of wandering alone worth it, absolutely.

“Yixing?”

You stepped out on to the balcony, rubbing the sleep from your eyes and yawning. Persephone was gone, leaving the two of you alone. Opening his arms for you, Yixing pulled you in close to his chest, staring out at city skyline. He could feel your heartbeat, the steady rhythm reminding him of the rain pattering against the window on days where he felt especially lonely. He’d thought about how much he disliked the rain that day he pulled you out of the street. Now it was his favorite sound in the whole world. A sound that used to pull him down was now making him fly.

Day: 1,095,472

“Yixing! Hurry up! We’re going to be late!”

“I’m coming! Just one more minute!”

Instead of finishing up, however, Yixing just found himself smiling at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. The two of you were supposed to have left already for the party celebrating Shia’s newest album.

After much persuasion by you, Yixing had finally relented in letting Shia release the song he’d written for you. Now there were talks of songwriting awards galore with how successful the single had become. Yixing didn’t think he’d be able to attend the awards, needing to keep his identity as lowkey as possible, but the thought of it was elating enough.

You peeked into the bathroom, looking as amazing as ever. “Yixing, the fact that we’re waiting on you and not me is a great way to break the stereotype, but we’re seriously going to miss the launch!”

“I’ll be right there,” he promised, giving you a kiss on the cheek.

“Okay,” you sighed, stealing your own kiss from his lips before disappearing back to the living room of your shared apartment.

Fixing his hair one last time, Yixing gave himself a last onceover to make sure he looked the part of main producer. But then he spotted something that didn’t belong. Hidden among his styled black hair was a single strand of gray. Plucking it from its place, he held it up close to examine it. There it was, a gray, aged hair. Never had he ever seen one of those from his own head. Did this mean-

It wasn’t ever meant to be a punishment. I knew how much you loved your wife. I wanted to give you a second chance at that love.

Did this mean he was no longer immortal? Would he now be allowed to age and grow old with you? Only time would give way to the truth, but the hope growing in his heart was like a wildfire, raging out of control.

Out in the living room, he pulled you into a hug.

“Is everything okay?” you asked when you pulled back.

Yixing nodded eagerly. “Yeah, everything’s fine. Come on, let’s go.” He took your hand and led you out the front door, to head to the party and to the rest of your lives. Together.

[phobiadeficient]

Speeding bullet cross fraction maybe? Maybe one of them nervous about how to teams would react, had they found out and the other calms their partner's mind with gentle sex

this is like literally more feelings than it is porn but im almost physically incapable of writing cross faction without it getting angsty. call it billy shakes syndrome

-

“Anyone see you?” Sniper asked quietly, taking Scout’s jacket and hanging it up by the door.

“Don’t think so,” Scout replied quietly, kicking his shoes off and starting to wrestle his way out of his t-shirt.

It was late, stupid late, but the lateness was necessary. Nobody else was awake and about, most likely, and if they were, they would be too tired to go investigate what someone was doing going into Sniper’s camper, and it was too dark out for them to be able to tell that the person was wearing blue, especially with the additional precaution of Scout wearing a black jacket over his regulation civvies. And absolute worst case scenario, if someone came by, it was possible they wouldn’t recognize the enemy Scout when he was out of uniform, and Sniper could say that he was… his friend from town, or his weed guy, or something like that.

Scout seemed a little off, hands shaking too bad to get his laces undone. Sniper was patient, moving to pour Scout a cup of coffee—decaf, but Scout always drank it with about four packets or two spoonfuls of sugar anyways, so it didn’t matter.

Scout took his usual seat, and his hands continued to shake as he took a drink from the mug Sniper slid across the table to him, staring at the blinds every few moments as if sure they were going to come alive and try to strangle him at any moment.

“What’s wrong?” Sniper finally asked.

Scout took a breath, then another. “Nobody saw me,” he repeated. “But… I think Spy—ours—saw me… coming back in late. He started asking questions. Then during the break today he said… he said something, I dunno the exact words, but he was… maybe he was just making fun of me. I dunno. But it sounded kinda like he might know something is going on.”

Snioer reached across the table, took Scout’s hand gently. Scout allowed it. “Well,” he said, “maybe he doesn’t. Just keep acting natural.”

Scout nodded, swallowed hard. “And if he does and we gotta make a break for it…” Scout trailed, looked at Sniper and back away. “…We, we planned for it. We’ve got a plan. We know what’s gonna happen.”

“Right,” Sniper agreed. “Don’t panic. The boss will send someone to talk to us. If she does the same thing she did with Soldier and Demo, she’ll tell us that we’re hired to kill each other specifically, and that the other one already agreed. She’ll say all sorts of things to confuse us and make us doubt ourselves.”

Scout nodded, swallowed hard again. Sniper waited a moment.

“And what are you meant to do?” he gently prompted.

Scout nodded. “Play dumb, then play along,” he managed, although his voice was a little choked. “Act mad for a little bit, then pretend I believe whatever she says to me.”

“Right. And I’ll do the same but give in quick since I’ve got the reputation that I’m a professional about this sort of thing, plan to kill everyone I meet and all that,” Sniper continued. “And then the weekend immediately following, we head to the bar in town, meet up, make our escape. Back before I had a Medic around to patch me up, I knew this sawbones down in southern California, and she’ll do what she has to do to get anything Medic’s put in us back out, and we mail them back to our bases then high-tail it to Canada.”

“And if somethin’ goes wrong, we’ll handle it,” Scout said, voice tight. “We know what we’re doin’.”

“We know what we’re doing,” Sniper agreed, squeezing his hand.

Scout blinked hard a few times. “What if…” he started to say, then stopped. “What if somethin’ goes real wrong though?”

“Then we’ll handle it,” Sniper replied.

“But what if—“

“Love,” Sniper cut in, squeezing his hand a bit harder, heart dropping at the way Scout squeezed his eyes shut, propped his forehead against his hand. “Love,” he continued, more gently. “I know you’re scared. I’m scared too. But we can’t afford to let it eat away at us right now. We need to keep acting natural.”

“I’m gonna fuckin’ die if I gotta keep sitting around pretending I’m not scared twenty-four-fuckin’-seven, Snipes,” Scout said, voice broken. “I just sit around all day worrying about you and if anyone’s found out and if anyone’s gonna find out and if I’m gonna mess everything up for us. It’s all I can think about.”

“You can… let it out in little bursts,” Sniper said carefully. “Like now, when there’s nobody around.”

Scout sighed shakily. “I only get maybe ten hours a week that I can see you and I don’t wanna spend it freaking out like this, I feel like I’m ruining everything,” he admitted, sinking even further.

“You’re not,” Sniper assured. Scout’s exhale told him that he didn’t believe him.

Scout drank his coffee silently, still staring off into middle distance. Sniper dipped as well, watching his expression as well as he could without staring, which would just make Scout feel self-conscious.

“Can we lay down?” Scout asked, sounding tired, and Sniper nodded.

He laid down, and Scout wasted no time in curling up against his chest, pressing them as close together as he was physically capable of. Usually Sniper would get on his case about it, because they lived in the desert and it was the middle of summer, and even with it being past sundown it was hot and uncomfortable and they’d both get sweaty in no time. But this time he didn’t, he allowed it, just kneading and drawing circles into Scout’s bare back, connecting the dots on his freckles while Scout nestled his face in against Sniper’s neck, breathing slowly, deeply.

Minutes passed that way, and then Scout shifted slightly against him, and after a moment Sniper realized Scout was kissing his neck.

“Love,” he said quietly, hardly a whisper.

Scout ignored him.

“Love,” he repeated, a bit louder now, hands stopping.

“C’mon,” Scout mumbled against him. “What’s the problem?”

“You’re upset and freaked out,” Sniper replied, a little sharply.

Scout’s exhale was shaky. “I just need a minute to be out of my head, okay?” he tried, the annoyance in his voice crooked, and Sniper could hear the exhaustion underneath.

So he nodded, said some quiet affirmation, and Scout was shifting.

Sniper mostly just pet at Scout’s exposed skin while he got himself ready, rousing his body and soothing his mind. Stroked and pinched, let himself be distracted from his own nerves and the weight in his chest by the sounds Scout started making and the weight on his lap. By the time Scout was adjusting, sitting up on his knees so Sniper could shuffle his pants the rest of the way off, slowly lowering himself down around Sniper with all kinds of gorgeous little noises, his mind was adrift, too busy trying to register so many nerves lighting up to dwell on things like his life situation.

Scout moved fast, something there in his eyes that told Sniper he wasn’t completely distracted yet, and the jolt of his hips bordered on uncomfortable, on too much, making Sniper’s breath catch in his throat. It only took a minute or so for Scout to make a noise of frustration, motions stopping with a final jerky roll, chewed-off nails digging into the softness of Sniper’s stomach. “Get on top,” he panted.

Sniper nodded, wrapped an arm around Scout’s lower back, braced his elbow. Carefully rolled them, repositioning them, pressing an apologetic kiss in against Scout’s collarbone when he made a sound of discomfort. “Ready?” he asked quietly, and Scout nodded, head falling back.

It only took a few seconds before he looked back up at Sniper though, eyebrows furrowing. “What’re you…?” he trailed breathlessly, clearly confused.

“Taking it slow,” Sniper replied, voice still quiet, gentle. He reached a hand down to adjust Scout’s thigh just slightly higher up on his waist, and Scout opened his mouth, presumably to complain, but all he could do was release a moan at the next slow push, angled just right.

Despite the large majority of his body demanding that Sniper pick up the pace and rail into Scout like there was no tomorrow—and who knew, maybe there wouldn’t be—he kept his pace slow and easy, moving just right to make Scout’s back arch, his hands curl in against the sheets, then Sniper’s hair as he gently guided him to do so. Scout looked up at him with wide, bewildered eyes, and Sniper looked right back, allowing himself now, and only now, only in the privacy and secrecy of his own house and home, to show his love on his face, bright and clear as he watched Scout fall into the throes of pleasure. That was his only goal. He could finish himself off later for all he cared—right then, Scout deserved, needed, to be pampered and shown that Sniper loved him. More than anything else in the world.

Why did he have to be on the other team, Sniper asked in his own mind, eyes squeezing shut for a moment at the weight of the question. He didn’t get an answer, so he just opened them again and moved to start kissing across any skin he could reach, starting to jerk Scout off in slow, easy motions, giving him that little twist at the end that he enjoyed so much.

Scout was practically a puddle by the time he was done, Sniper’s only warning before he came being a hard twitch in his hand and a gasp half an octave higher than Scout ever got. He kept his motions steady, even if his hand sped slightly, wringing out every gasp and half-stammered syllable that he could before shivering took over and Scout fell back limp against the bed. Sniper pulled out as gingerly as he could, wincing as the heat and tightness left him.

Scout tried to start talking twice, and managed it on the third time. “Why’d you stop?” he half-slurred, blinking up at Sniper, dazed and fucked stupid. “You could’ve finished off, it’s okay.”

“That would’ve hurt,” Snioer pointed out gently, finding his boxers and wiping Scout’s mess off of his hand.

“That’s okay, I would’ve been fine,” Scout said.

“No,” Sniper replied, cupping Scout’s cheek now, looking him dead in the eye. Scout’s eyes widened at the suddenness, the intensity in Sniper’s gaze. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m never, ever going to hurt you. Not if I can bloody help it. We clear?”

Scout looked at him with those big blue eyes for a few more moments. Then, over the course of a few seconds, his expression crumpled, and then he was lunging up to pull Sniper into an embrace, sobbing hard.

Later in the night, Scout would suck him off and they’d talk about other things, minds far away from their situation, finding joy and comfort in each other, and joy of a different kind in each other’s bodies as strength and vigor slowly returned to them. But in that moment, Sniper just held on Scout, wishing more than anything else that he would never have to let go.

[ofkamis]

haley lu richardson. cisfemale. she/her.  ／  kameron “kami” abbott just pulled up blasting man by jojo  — that song is so them ! you know, for a twenty-six year old singer & actress, i’ve heard they’re really self-destructive, but that they make up for it by being so persistent. if i had to choose three things to describe them, i’d probably say midnight drives with the top down, music playing loudly through headphones, & a wall of paintings from everywhere she’s been. here’s to hoping they don’t cause too much trouble !  ** jojo levesque acting & voice claim 

general info 

full name: kameron joanne abbott 

birthdate: november 3rd, 1993

“stage name”: kami 

basically if you know who jojo is ......... that’s kami. but if you don’t, watching this 26 min video explains everything ( and is kind of worth the watch bc jojo is a fucking QUEEN ) 

growing up and rise to fame

kameron abbott was born in massachusetts to recently divorced lynette & joshua abbot.  though they were divorced due to other extra marital issues ( her father and mother were both cheating on each other for the length of their marriage ) they decided they could be co parents.  

when they made these plans, they didn’t expect it to really affect them as much.  their own personal issues made it hard for the two grown adults to get along and they wound up fighting all the time.  

kameron lived with her mother full time, seeing her dad often though, but most of her early memories include hearing the two of them fighting or making comments about each other in front of her.  

was seven years old when she got her first singing gig, she was going to be singing the national anthem at a school event, which is where somebody else saw her and she wound up singing at another event.  

it was at one of these events that kameron was spotted by a talent scout and brought in to a recording studio.  she wasn’t sure if it was going to work for her, but she was excited nonetheless.  a real paying job!  singing and making music, man it was her dream.  she would give anything for it.  

they signed a contract when kami was ten and a half, and started looking into music that they could use for her.  kami was interested in writing her own music, but at ten years old she didn’t have a lot of life experiences to draw on for music.  so the label worked with different demos and gave her some options and they worked with her to pick what would be best. 

kameron and her mother relocated to brooklyn when she was eleven years old, working on getting her music heard by people who mattered and working on the album.  it was a lot of time that kameron took out of her school in order to work on everything.  

some of the kids in school were always curious why she was missing so much school, and yet was still at the top of her class.  kameron continued getting her school work even when she’d be working in the studio either in new york or los angeles.  

her first single “leave ( get out )” dropped the summer before her 12th birthday.  the album followed, titled “kami”, was released the next winter early in the year.  

suddenly, there was a lot of press about the tiny girl who had a powerful voice.  she was on talkshows and working on different circuts getting her music out and talking about everything.  

claiming that fame

kameron’s life changed drastically when her album dropped.  she thought they would be staying in new york, since that’s where the label had relocated her.  but shortly after the release, they decided it would be best to bring her out to los angeles instead.  

so at thirteen kami found herself in a new city ( again ), surrounded by people she didn’t know.  sure, she was making a name for herself, but what the hell was she really doing?  

kami wound up not going to any of the local schools, instead her mother decided it would be best to home school her in the meantime while they were in a period of adjusting to a new place and working on her second album.  

it wasn’t anything that they expected to be doing so quickly after the first, but the abbott women adjusted.  

during this time kami didn’t see her father a lot.  she would call him and talk to him here and there, but since he lived on the east coast and she was on a tight schedule there wasn’t time to do much of anything.  

on top of working on a second album so soon after her first, kami was auditioning for film roles.  she even managed to land a lead role in the film aquamarine -- which meant she was filming that and had to put the album on pause for a couple of months.  

aquamarine premiered the spring of 2007, and was claimed to be one of the best “sleepover fics”.  the kind teenage and preteen girls watch to get their minds off of their own problems. 

she got close with her co-stars too, some of the first real hollywood friends she had.  

following the success of her theatrical debut ( not as herself ), kami’s second album dropped the following year ( very unusual for me, but i’m keeping the track listings of jojo’s first two albums the same for kami’s ....... a wild concept ik ) actually just before halloween.  

during the process of promoting her new album, kami got her second fil role in the movie rv.  the film came out in the summer of 2008.  

of course, as much as kami liked acting, she really wanted to be in the studio working on music of her own.  but there was something else going on.  

the lawsuit

kameron wanted to be in the studio for everything -- she’d been writing her own music finally.  

except, her label was putting it off.  and kami didn’t understand why.  

she tried to busy herself by working on recording everything she had, working with several different producers and coming up with new tracks.  and still, despite all of this, her label wasn’t releasing her music.  

kami confronted them about it, telling them ( at 16 years old ) that if they wouldn’t release her new music, that she’d walk from the company and find somebody else.  

that’s when they pulled out their contract.  they owned kami’s voice--so she would have to do what they wanted her to do.  

she was ten and a half when she signed the contract--or technically when her mother signed the contract.  they hadn’t been in hollywood before and they’d been assured that it was the same kind of contract that anybody would sign.  

of course, kami was livid, she had worked hard, to just wind up fucked by the label she’d thought of as a family for so long.  

the label was putting out other artists music and pushing her release date back again and again and again.  

finally, kami found a lawyer and she began the very long process of suing her label for her voice back.  

handling the situation 

to make herself heard, to keep her fans happy while she was going through all of this--kami found a loophole.  she couldn’t release her music publically and do any big promo through her label.  but she could release her music on multiple websites such as soundcloud and straight to youtube.  

of course, she was a little disheartened at first that there wasn’t a direct answer for her issues even though she was in the courthouse.  

in the meantime, since she couldn’t put her own music out into the world, kami was featured on several different songs.  

she was also acting, because she felt like she needed to keep being out there in the world for everyone who cared about her.  

her mother and father were both there for her, but wanted kami to see if she could quit making music and focus on something else.  she had money from her previous and current work, she could make her way in anything she wanted.  

but it wasn’t what kami wanted to do.  it wasn’t her dream.  she wanted music.  she didn’t care how she had to do it, she loved making music and bringing her music to people who needed to hear it.  

sure, she could go to college or find another job.  that wasn’t even what she had been thinking about.  but it wasn’t what she wanted.  music was all she could think about.  

finally, kami said fuck the studio’s rights and decided she was releasing her music one way or another.  which is how her mixtapes came about.  

her first mixtape was released in 2011.  and then she started doing smaller shows.  no big concerts or anything, but small shows in order to get everything out there.  

this was also the first "album” that kami had nearly completely had a hand in writing herself.  she finally felt like she was letting her fans see who she was as an artist and not just as a performer.  

of course, during this time, kami is still in a consistent legal battle.  her label’s going bankrupt, but they still technically own her voice and she wants it back.  but nothing’s happening.  and she just wants to scream out loud.  

this led to a lot of self doubt and depression and kami wondering if she wasn’t good enough to be on her own.  she fell into a spiral of doubt and stubborn thoughts and couldn’t bring herself out of it.  

it doesn’t help that kameron isn’t the most talkative person ever in the world because she thinks she can really handle everything on her own.  so while this is all weighing on her and causing mass amounts of stress and destructive thoughts, kami’s pretending like it’s all fine.  

she’s photographed laughing at parties and working on her music too.  nobody suspects that inside she’s dying and needs a release.  

she managed to release another mixtape and an ep of covers, too.  

release 

finally, kami could breathe again.  the spring of 2015 brought her the courts decision.  it was ruled in kami’s favor that she could be released from the contract she’d signed years earlier.  and finally, she could look into making music of her own with a new label.  

kami’s response was a big fuck you to her label.  

instead of immediately coming out with new music that she’d been working tirelessly on, kami put that to the side and began a new project.  

her music wasn’t available online for her fans, and she had won the rights to the songs.  they were hers.  so she could do what she wanted to.  

kami spent the next two years in the studio working on rerecording her original two albums ( kami, 2005 & this time 2007 ).  

of course, during this time she’s doing interviews and talking to her fans and she swears that she’s back for good and nothing will stop her.  

she’s found a new label that will treat her like she deserves to be treated and won’t do something like that again.  she’s protected in her contracts, and she completely understands everything.  

the fall of 2017 kami rereleased the albums on streaming services and on itunes.  she didn’t expect anything of it, but suddenly the two albums were at the top of the itunes charts.  

“#kamiscomeback” was trending on twitter worldwide for two whole days.  

she was elated.  began doing interviews with her fans.  q&a videos on her youtube channel.  

kami did a couple of pop up appearances too.  she wanted to make sure everyone knew that even though she’d spent a lot of time rerecording old music, she did it for a reason.  she owned it, and she wanted the people who had worked hard on the songs with her to get what they deserved from it instead of the now defunct label that had kept her in the prison for so long.  

kameron was in a constant motion of making music in the studio and working on concerts.  she did a whole summer concert series in the summer of 2018.  she was working so hard.  

DEATH TRIGGER WARNING before going on the stage during one of her summer concert shows kami got a phone call from her mother.  normally she wouldn’t have answered this, but she felt it was important to do so.  her father died in a car accident.  

kami’s team was ready to pull her out of the show, pull her out.  but kami was insistent on performing.  

a video of kami breaking down during not one but two of her songs went semi viral.  it wasn’t until the next day that it was announced what had happened.  

focusing on now  

kami took a bit of a break, which she hated doing, because she’d just been on the longest music break of her life but she knew her mom and her people were right.  she needed time to grieve.  

kami moved away from los angeles and went back home to massachusetts for seven months.  

during this time kami was working on new songs and writing them.  but she needed time to breathe and focus on herself.  

it was in december of 2019 that kami released a new song off of her upcoming studio album, along with a music video just dropped with a link on her twitter.  music. ( more coming in 2020 ) the video is a string of all old home videos of kami growing up and singing.  it’s raw and real, and was praised for how honest it felt.  

kami recently released another song off of her upcoming album, man.  it’s much more of an upbeat song and she released the music video the same day too.  

fun facts 

kami is allergic to strawberries, which she found out at the age of four. 

was never particularly close with either of her parents, but she spent more time with her mother growing up.  she wished they were closer and friendlier, but there was a lot of underlying resentment.  

kami has a dog named sodapop.  has a cat named bender.  

she’s had a couple of different hair colors over the year, but it was always different for her different phases.  during her bad battle with her label her hair was jet black.  

loves crime shows.  always wanted to be on criminal minds, but she has done shows like hawaii five-o & lethal weapon.  

was a contestant on “kids say the darndest things” when she was five.

rides a motorcycle, but also doesn’t ride hers too often.  

loves to watch makeup tutorials for fun. 

makes fun of herself constantly.  in fact, she released a song about some hate tweets she got for shits and giggles not too long ago ( kameron )

has one a couple of awards, but won her first grammy at this past grammy awards 

loves 80s and 90s movies.  

collects paintings from street artists everywhere she goes.  she’s got a whole room filled of them at her house. 

turned her house’s guest apartment into a full fledged recording studio.  

wanted connections  

childhood friend(s) / a first love / exes / past pr relationship / current pr relationship / a friendship where they tease each other but love each other / maybe a roommate or something 

[anagentinwriting]

Subscribe - Part 8

Summary: (Modern AU) Peter was your college sweetheart until a certain event led to your break up. Seven years later another event brings you two back together, but this time a little girl is in the picture. Will listening to your podcasts be the reason you two get back together or be another reason to keep you apart?

Pairing: Peter Quill x Reader

Word Count: 3116

Warnings: Angst, Fluff

Subscribe Masterlist / Main Masterlist

You got released from the hospital three days ago, and you were already sick of sitting at home. You cleaned the whole house from top to bottom twice since no show or book could grab your interest. And with Meredith being at school for most hours of the day, you were bored out of your mind being home alone. You wanted to go back to work but couldn’t start till next week, which meant three more days of nothing.

Somehow, you convinced your doctor and Pepper to allow Wanda to work out of the office at your house today. You finally got to do something different, even if it meant planning Peppers trip to New York next week. You and Wanda started working on it, then the accident happened, so Wanda has been working on it by herself. She was a little lost, but she managed to figure out a few things from all your random sticky notes. 

“The talent has arrived,” Wanda shouted as she entered your front door.

“I’m upstairs. I ordered Chinese for us. It should be here shortly,” you shouted from Meredith’s room upstairs.  “I’ll be down in a bit. I’m almost done folding laundry.”

“Alright, I will...” Wanda started, getting interrupted by a knock on the door. “Get the door,” she whispered to herself. She pulled open the door, digging through her wallet. “Hi, how much was it again?”

“Excuse me?” Wanda glanced up to see a guy with a confused look on his face.

“You’re not the usual morning delivery guy?”

“No...um does YN live here?” He asked as his eyebrows came together, forming a crease between them. 

“Does she owe you money?” 

“No.”

“Did she hit your car?”

“Ah...no.”

“Then, yes she lives here and who might you be?” Wanda crossed her arms across her chest, eyeing him up and down.

“Peter. I'm an old friend.” He stuck out his hand, and she shook it.

“Wanda.”

“Oh, like from the podcast?”

“Yes,” she chuckled, watching him with suspicion. “So you’re apart of the small percentage of guys who listen to it.” He shrugged with a smirk. “What can I do for you? YN is a little busy at the moment.”

“I wanted to catch up on some things. Gamora told me she would be home today since she is going back to work next week.” Peter answered, hoping to get his point across. 

“She is. Somehow she convinced the doctor to let her because she’s going insane sitting around all day.”

“She was always the busy body,” he smirked, nodding his head.

“You’re right about that, Peter.” Wanda agreed. She stared at him for a moment longer trying to place where she might’ve seen him before, or a time YN talked about him. “I'm sorry, but I have to ask Peter; YN has never mentioned anything to me about a guy named Peter.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” he stated. “There is another name you might know me by it’s…”

“How do I know you’re not some crazed stalker fan of the show?” Wanda asked, interrupting him.

“No. I’m not that at all. Trust me,” he replied, holding his hands up in front of him. “I only learned about the podcast a few weeks ago from Meredith.” 

“So, you know YN’s daughter, too?”

“Yeah, she’s a great little lady. She has her mother’s spunk and curiosity. She carries the weight of the world on her little shoulders, and puts on a brave face when she wants to be strong for everyone else,” he replied while Wanda nodded, agreeing with him half listening and half zoning out. “She’s my daughter.”

A second later, Wanda’s head snapped to him as the realization dawned on her. She stared at him, tilting her head to the side almost as if she was reading his mind. “Can you like chill for a sec,” Wanda proclaimed, slamming the door in his face and ran up the stairs. 

You put the last of Meredith’s laundry in her drawer when Wanda barged into the room out of breath. She stood with her hands clutching her knees, trying to catch her breath. “Whoa, Wanda! You alright?”

“YN, your um…your um…” She heaved, trying to catch her breath. 

“My what?”

“Star-Lord...is...downstairs.” 

“Wait, what?” You stared at her with big round eyes.

“Gamora told him to stop over,” she breathed. “Why do you have so many steps?”

“She never said--” you furrowed your brows together “--I'm...I'll be back.”

“Yeah. You go girl.” She collapsed on Meredith’s bed, pumping her fist in the air. “You get him, girl.”

You stood by the closed door, seeing a reflection through the textured glass window. He’s here. What were you going to say to him? Why didn’t Gamora tell you he was going to stop by? At least you could've better prepared and made yourself presentable. You glanced in the round mirror next to the door, trying your best to look approachable. You took a deep breath and opened the door to see Peter’s back. The small creek in the door made him turn around and smile at you. 

“Hi, YN. You’re looking better...ah...Gamora told me you’re going back to work soon, so I thought I would come to visit you before then. I wanted to check up on you anyways and thought we could catch up.”

“Is this because you found out about Meredith?”

“Yes and no. For one, I didn't know you moved to Malibu after college.”

“There’s a lot you don't know about me.” You opened the door wider, inviting him in. You walked with him to your office to get a bit more privacy even though Wanda would be holding a glass to the door regardless. Peter moved to the chair in front of the desk but waits for you to sit first. “Did you want anything to drink?”

“I'm okay. Thanks.” You nodded. “How are you feeling? I heard a little about your job at Potts of Honey producing a podcast. Sounds fun!”

“I'm doing better just tired of sitting around here all day.” You shrugged. “My job is pretty fun. Right now, I’m producing one podcast, but I'm planning on starting another one in the future.”

“I’ve listened to a few episodes, and it’s informative and funny. I also never thought of certain brands of diapers, bottles, or breast pumps being better than other brands. And how babies can be picky about what products they like and don't like. I’m learning a lot,” he smirked, eyeing you over. “I can tell you enjoy what you do. Both, you and Wanda, do a great job with what you are sharing with the world.”

“Thanks. She’s a good talent, and those are the topics people want to hear about. I'm kinda surprised you’ve listened to them,” you admitted, eyeing him over.  

“Well, I only started listening to them a couple weeks ago, so can't call me a lifelong fan.” 

“I see. Usually our demographic gears towards women, but I’m finding more men have started listening to it. I pegged you for the kind that wouldn’t.”

“I guess, there's a lot you don't know about me either,” Peter replied with an amused smirk. “I will say I am pretty fond of the Star-lord series as your fans call it.” You stared at him with wide eyes. “I am curious to why you decided to talk about us on there?”

“It’s a relatable topic. The podcast is about people sharing experiences, so I talk about what I know. I'm not going to make something up to get people to listen. Besides, it was Wanda who started it.” He chuckled, nodding his head, remembering the first episode he listened to with you on it; the not a date date. “I heard your record label became quite the overnight success story,” you inquired, hoping to get the topic off you. 

“It’s only a success because my partners are the best. If it was only me, I wouldn’t have come close to what I have been able to accomplish in this industry. It’s a crazy business, especially when you’re trying to find new talent and some can be relentless about getting noticed. Like there's this one high school girl from Queens, her boyfriend keeps calling and sending demos. It can get pretty ridiculous.”

“You should give her a shot. She might be a nice, fresh young face to add to your label.”

“You’re probably right about that. Maybe she’s worth another look.”

You heard the doorbell ring and excused yourself to get the door. You opened it, paying the delivery guy, and took everything into the kitchen. You rested your hands on the counter and took a few deep breaths to calm your nerves. This whole thing will be over soon, and then you can go back to living your life without Peter. Why is he even here? You stepped back into your office to find Peter staring at the collage of picture frames on the wall. 

“She has your spunk, you know,” Peter stated, smirking at the pictures. 

“My what?” You narrowed your eyes at him. 

“You know that...strength, curiosity and determination. Set your mind to it, and you’ll get the job done.”

“I'm not the only one she gets it from,” you confessed, forcing your favorite boyish smile onto Peter’s face. You ignored it as best you could, and pointed at one frame from her birthday party a couple of years ago.

“This was her fifth birthday, and she became obsessed with space and anything to do with it. I swear she watched every movie about space, including Despicable me.  It was a crazy time,” you smiled at the memory. 

“Mer mentioned that you never told her my name,” Peter inquired, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.

“I didn't. I told her I used to call you Star-lord. It could be the reason she loves space so much,” you breathed with a slight smirk. “I told her everything she wanted to know about you, like how you’re a great guy with a caring heart. You love music and movies, and how you still think Footloose is the greatest movie ever.”

“It still is and will always be,” he confirmed with a straight face. “I guess what I don’t understand, is why did you only tell her the good things?”

“Why would I tell her anything different?”

“Well, the way we ended things was pretty bad.”

“If I told her the bad things and how I hated you for hurting me, she’d think I'd hate the part of her that is her father.” He nodded, realizing your reasoning. “I’m not going to brush my opinions of you on her when she didn’t even know you. I’m not going to make her think less of you because she’s never met you” You went back over to your desk, taking a seat. You let out a deep breath and bit down on your bottom lip. “Why are you here, Peter?”

“Isn’t it obvious.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Finding out I have a seven-year-old daughter from my ex’s sister, you can imagine my surprise.” You remained silent as your eyes moved to stare at the top of your desk. “I was a little freaked, to say the least. I never could keep a goldfish alive for more than a week, how was I going to keep another human being alive? I don’t know how you managed to raise her yourself, but you did. I guess I want to know, were you ever going to tell me about our daughter?”

“Yes, I was going to tell you at some point,” you paused before continuing. “I remember when Mer was about three years old, I was barely making ends meet and Gamora was doing way more than she needed, too. I was at a low point in my life, but then I got an interview at Potts of Honey and things got better. Easier,” you said, reliving the memory. “Besides I didn't want your first meeting with her to be about money. I didn’t want it to seem like I was coming after you because Walkman Records hit it big. To be honest, I wanted to accomplish something and rub it in your face,” you admitted, forcing a soft chuckle out of him. 

“Typical, YN.” He shook his head, refusing to hide the growing grin on his face. “I am proud of you and how far you’ve come in your career. You also did an amazing job raising Meredith along the way,” he admired as his smile drifted away. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for either of you.” Your eyes shot up to him.

“You have nothing to apologize for. It’s not your fault. I don’t blame you for not being there. It was my choice not to tell you about her.”

“I still feel like I owe you.”

“You don't owe me anything, Peter,” you snapped, raising your voice a bit.

“So then, why didn't you tell me about her sooner?” Peter questioned, biting his lip and keeping his eyes on you.

“I have…I have my reasons.” you sighed, looking away from him. 

“Which are?” 

“Can we not get into this right now?”

“Okay,” Peter paused, clearing his throat. “The reason I came by is I wanted to ask if um--” he sat back down, wringing his hands together “--if I could be more involved in Meredith's life. To be honest, I don’t know how to be a dad, but I don't want to be an absent father like mine was. I know it’s a lot to ask because you don’t trust me, especially with all that’s happened between us.” Peter took a deep breath before continuing, “I will take whatever I can get. Once a week, once a month, an afternoon, anything. All I want is to be apart of her life.”

You stared at him, not knowing how to answer. This surprised you. You never would’ve thought he would want to be apart of her life, let alone yours again. “Mer told me all about the little adventures you took her on while I was in the hospital,” you recalled. “It's been an earful, but every time she tells me about them, she's more excited than the last time. I can’t thank you enough for doing that. I appreciate you getting her mind off things because it’s exactly what she needed.”

“Happy I could help.” Peter nodded as a coy smile appeared on his face.

“How do you think she was doing with me being in the hospital? I mean, I got her side of the story and Gamoras, but since you spent the most time with her, you might have a better understanding.”

“I could tell at certain times it was hard on her. I don’t know if anyone else could see it, but she was scared. I mean, what little kid wouldn’t be seeing a parent like that?” Peter bit his lip, furrowing his brows at the ground. “Meredith’s a tough little girl. A lot like you in many ways. She wants to stay strong for everyone, but when it was the two of us, she was worried. I was, too.” He looked up, keeping a watchful eye on you. “All I tried to do was be there for her and do what I thought you would do in this circumstance.”

“Thanks for keeping a watchful eye on her. Gamora assumed something was going on with her, but Meredith can be hard to read sometimes,” you stated with a half shrug.

“Well, I knew her mother pretty well,” he smirked, making you shake your head at him. 

A comfortable silence fell between the two of you before you spoke up. “Mer continues to ask me about when she gets to see her daddy again." Peter's mouth twitched, trying to hide his smile. “Truth is I want you involved in her life, and since you want to be, I will not step between you two. She’s your daughter, too.” Peter broke into a full-blown grin, unable to keep the enjoyment off his face. “I was thinking instead of Mer coming to my work daycare after school, you could pick her up and hang out with her until I'm done with work. Gamora told me that worked well when I was asleep. Then after a while, you could take her one night over the weekend. Does that sound like something you would be interested in?"

“Yes, absolutely, I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. I can text you the details, and we can start next week when I go back to work?”

“Yeah, sounds perfect. Thank you.”

After showing Peter out, you and Wanda got to work finishing the final touches of Peppers trip while scarfing down Chinese food. Wanda narrowed down which store sold the most of our products and scheduled a customer meetup at that location. You scheduled appointments with the realtor to view a few properties for the new Potts of Honey facility Pepper hoped to open up in New York within the next year.

“So, that Peter guy is Meredith's dad?” Wanda asked, trying to keep her voice calm. 

“Yup,” you answered between bites, jotting down some notes for Pepper to look over. You didn’t want to make a bigger deal out of this than necessary.

“You weren’t kidding about how good-looking he is,” Wanda agreed, ignoring her work.

“Hmm.”

“Bet he looks good naked, too,” Wanda winked in your direction.

“Sure.”

“Is that all you're gonna give me is one-word replies?” You shrugged, chewing your food. “Why was he here? How does he know about Meredith? Are you going to see him again?”

You took a sip of your drink, squinting your eyes at her. “One: He wants to get to know Meredith better and become more involved in her life. Two: He's known about her ever since my accident. Gamora and I agreed, if anything ever happened to me she would tell him. Three: I will see him again.”

“I bet you two are going to fall in love again,” she squealed, clapping her hands together.

“I don't know about that.”

“You never did tell me what happened between you two.”

“It's not something I like to talk about. I will talk about all the happy moments, but the breakup is something I’d rather forget. Sure, I talked about it in one of our episodes before, but I didn’t go into much detail about it. What I said on there is the extent I will go into sharing about what happened,” you stated, and Wanda shut her mouth and got back to work.

___________

AN: They finally talked well sort of. At least it’s a start! We got a little information about Meredith's life growing up and about the reader's struggles before she got a good job. Yet, their breakup still remains a mystery. Wonder what was said in that podcast she mentioned? Did it come as a surprise that she wanted Peter in Meredith's life? Do you think they will be able to co-parent together, or will it end in another disaster? Time will tell. As always thanks for reading for those that read these notes...haha! 

[talkoverfrenchfries]

Zu Goes Under

Zu had spent, presumably, all day on the latest line of toys intended to sell away. It wasn’t until the work alarm went off that he realized that he should have checked with all the other workers underground a long time ago. As much as Zu lives in an skyscraper building, it was more like his house than anything. All the work done for the company is accomplished underground.

Zu takes the elevator all the way to the ground floor. Then he went to the back room from the front door and typed in something on a nearby screen on a stand. That made the floor open up and make a platform show up. The 80s ant stepped on it and let the platform take him back down.

Zu watched as he went down the dirt tunnels, still on the platform. Everything was lit up by multicolored chinese lanterns, something of which that visually appealed to Zu. The ant demon never ceased being enthralled by them as he swooshed past them.

It wasn’t long before he made it to the work room. It was wide open space with rows of desks, someone at each one. The place was lit up more properly so that everyone there can see what they’re doing. Cool air was being blasted through the vents that were set up there. Everyone present turned their heads up when they heard Zu coming in.

Of course, they stopped working and either waved to him or, as many of them did, got up and hugged the ant demon.

“Whoa, whoa, everybody, calm down! And you were working! I just wanted to check on you guys!”

“Oh, but Zuuuuu, we’re just happy to see you!” a humanoid male with black eye sockets exclaimed. He seemed like he came from 70s.

“Yeah, there’s not that many men down here worth a damn!” A female hellhound has shouted that.

“Whoa, hey, stop with the groping! STOP WITH THE GROPING!”

At the shouted command, the demons surrounding Zu, men and women alike, made sure to back away. Though some had to be pulled away to let go at all. Most people there couldn’t help but laugh at the ant demon’s reaction. It was partly why they always did it whenever he showed up. Zu took the moments he was given taking deep breaths. Once he was done, a big ol’ smile returned to his face.

“Hello, everyone, I’m guessing everything’s been good?”

“Yeah, of course, we are! We always are down here!” A moth demoness answered.

“Well, that’s great, everyone, but I’m just gonna check on the progress you’ve all made and then I’ll get back to work myself.” Moans and groans all around. “Don’t give me any of that. You know I still spend time with you.”

“But not enough!” Someone from the distance complained.

“What can I say? I’m busy, like, all the time. Or, practically all the time. Look, if I said I’ll hang out, I’ll hang out. You all still got each other at least. Now come on, show me your progress already.”

Several workers volunteered, Zu eventually settling on the actual supervisor, who is a mix of a lioness and lizard, what with top half and tail of the former animal and legs of the latter animal. It took longer than Zu wanted to just check on progress. So many were trying to talk to him and invite him. Some even tried initiating sex. It was frustrating to Zu, especially when he had to keep everyone at an emotional distance. Eventually, the 80s ant managed to do what he wanted and was ready to bolt. However, he was stopped yet again. This time, it was by a male hellhound.

“Hey, Zu, wait up!”

“Ok, Cross, I have been stopped by practically everybody else here and I told them all the same thing-”

“I know, I know, I just... I just wanted to.. ask you something, yeah!”

Zu doubted it but decided to give the benefit of the doubt. “Ok, what is it?”

Cross got in close to Zu, the latter leaning away. The ant demon’s smile didn’t fade but it did twitch. One could probably tell only if one was looking for it.

“You let us have sex and shit if we work it around our schedules, right? Well, what about you? You join me for some...”

“No.” Zu answered bluntly, cutting him off. He definitely had no interest in doing things like that. Not with strangers, anyways.

A mocking scoff. “I knew it.”

Oh, this was gonna be good, Zu thought. He knew he couldn’t count on the supervisor to intervene; she’s too apathetic to really care about anything other than her job.

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb with me. You’re some limp dick freak, never having sex with anybody.”

“As unnatural as it may be to you, no one’s ever been dammed to Hell for not having an interest in sex whatsoever.”

“You know, it’s sad that you can’t get it up. You might as well just be a toy for people to use to get off.”

“What does it even matter to you? Surely, you can find anyone else who can and would want to have sex with you.”

“...What is that ‘would’ supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit! I can so as fuck do it whenever I want, with whoever. In fact, I’ll prove it right n-”

Zu didn’t let Cross finish, not when he sweept the canine’s legs and made him fall to the ground. The next thing the hellhound knew, the ant demon was on top of him, resting an ungloved hand on the top of the snout by the fingers, his palm hovering just inches above.

“I think you need to forget that this confrontation ever happened. Don’t you agree?”

Cross gave a nasty sneer, getting ready to flip Zu off of him. However, that was when the 80s ant pressed his palm on the snout. Then there was a flash of orange light and made Cross look in front of him in a daze.

Zu quickly got off of him, dusting himself off. The half-lioness, half-lizard woman was still looking away, still intending not to get involved. Though now she seemed a little troubled. Not that the ant demon paid it any mind.

Cross soon sat up, looking confused. “Wait, what was I doing?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing at all,” Zu replied, trying to get the hellhound out of his sight. “You just wanted to ask about making time in your day for some personal time to yourself.”

“Huh, really? Weird, I don’t remem-ah!” The hellhound was cut off when he tried to remember, the symbol of Zu’s power flashing on his snout.

“You should give your head a rest. You landed hard on the ground and felt pain from it. You might feel more pain if you try thinking too hard, like how you did just now.” Not completely the truth but at least it’s not completely lies.

“Yeah, I guess... I guess you’re right. See ya, Zu.”

At that, the demonic canine have left, leaving the 80s ant where he was. Then the latter turned to the half-lioness, half-lizard, smile just as present as ever on his face.

“Well, if that’s everything, I’ll be on my way. You know to take care of everything you need to, right?”

The half-lioness, half-lizard nodded and then went on her way. Zu took the platform that would take him back up to the surface of Hell.

Zu talks back to the lobby to check in his receptionist, a female imp who goes by Kayla Koko, or double K or Koko or Kay as nicknames.

“Hey, Kay, it’s been slow today, right?”

Kay was busy reading a magazine, not looking up as she answered, “yep. And that was your first question. Use your next nine careful-like, ya hear me?”

Zu rolled his eyes, annoyed that his receptionist actually put a limit on how many questions to ask her per day. Just because he was probably a little annoying always trying to make conversation. As much as Zu has to put everyone at a distance, it didn’t mean that he didn’t want to talk to anybody ever during his existence.

“Ok, have you checked inventory?”

“Yep. You’re gonna wanna restock. Here’s a list.” At that, the female imp had slid a piece of paper towards the ant demon. “Eight to go.” She still never looked up from the magazine, even turning a page in it.

Zu took the list and looked it over. Then he was surprised at the amount that was used up. He was gonna have to restock practically everything!”

“Are- are you serious? This much? Goddamn, shopping trips are just the worst in hell!”

“Six questions to go. And that was one statement used. Nine to go on that one.”

“Wha- those two questions don’t count! My complaint doesn’t, either!”

“Argue all you want with me. It’s just making the counters go down faster.”

Zu let out a groan, his smile still not faltering. He was determined not to be visibly upset over a receptionist who clearly didn’t know her position between herself and him. Zu decided that he needed to take care of this first. Then he can have a clearer head for dealing with Kayla.

The ant demon looked towards the front door, knowing that he’ll have to go outside just for more parts to his toys. He groaned, not looking forward to it. It is Hell so outside’s not the best place to be. Still, Zu couldn’t bear the thought of having anyone else he knows do it for him. So the ant demon gets his cards and some cash and steps out the door. He makes sure to tell his receptionist to take care of any clients who want an appointment while he’s gone.

Kayla just had to say that Zu had seven statements to say to her to go as he left.

-----------

Hazbin Hotel is property Vivziepop and her Hazbin Crew. As for all the random OCs, they were those I made up for the moment I needed them, I can’t imagine I’ll get too deep into them

[beautifulletdownfics]

harry is fine and nina is fine too: part iii

Nina's late.

She's late and thanks to the puddle she managed to plonk through when crossing the road, she also has wet shoes and socks. The rain trickles a path down the back of her neck as she tripple checks crossing the street, little smatterings making their way onto her face as her umbrella fights off the latest gust of wind.

Leaving her class this afternoon, something in her had thought it would be nice to walk home instead of jumping on the subway like she usually would. She missed the fresh, crisp air of Blackpool and some part of her liked the painful chill that sunk through her. There was something nostalgic about the cold and the wet, and she was missing England with a newfound force since seeing Rodger and Adriana the day before.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Nina calls down the hallway at the front door, “New Yorker’s don’t know how to walk when it's raining. Have you started without me?"

"Just put the meat in, don't stress," Jane was leaning up against the kitchen bench waiting for Nina to appear from the entranceway, "We said seven anyway."

The clock on the wall read 6:45pm.

Nina frowns, "I'm on dinner, I left on time, but you people lose your shit in this weather."

"We're not used to it," Jane defends lightly, "Wine?"

"Please," Nina nods, pulls off her coat and scarf and hangs them over a dining chair, "Is Sarah in yet?" she watches Jane shake her head, "I'll be right back."

Their apartment is tiny, and it's probably too small for the three of them who share it. But it works somehow. Jane and Sarah had been housemates for years before Nina moved into the tiny study, or "third bedroom". It felt nice to move into an established home unit, the three girls did their Friday night dinners once a month and Sunday brunches, and they kept up with each other's lives. It helps ease Nina's homesickness.

It doesn't matter to Nina that her room isn't much bigger than the size of her bed, with only room to shuffle around one side of it to the tiny standing wardrobe in the corner, also touching the bed. She spends most of her days out, and she has found herself suddenly comforted by small spaces. Nina hides in this tiny room on weekend afternoons. She feels as though her world is incredibly small, instead of feeling the chronic and overwhelming sprawling expanse of thousands upon thousands of miles between where she is and where she is from.

"How was work?” Nina asks Jane when she returns to the kitchen, pulling potatoes from a tub under the sink and making sure none of them rolls off the bench before going on the hunt for other vegetables suitable for roasting.

"Fine," Jane replies, "My boss went home at lunch, so we all took off early as well. Did you have a good time with your friends last night?”

Nina’s heart swelled and sunk at the same time if that was possible, “It was so lovely to see them. Saying goodbye sucked.”

Jane looks at her sadly, taking a seat at their small dining table so Nina could monopolise the use of the whole kitchen space. Nina pretends she doesn’t notice the look. She’s tried hard all day not to dwell too much on what it might mean that I was so painful to say goodbye to Rodger. She’s doing her best not to think of everyone else she’s missing too.

"Oh, this one's nice," Nina comments, taking her first sip of wine. "I didn't realise how ready for a weekend I was. I heard earlier the rain is supposed to clear up overnight and tomorrow should be nice and—“

“—I'm home and I brought cake!"

Sarah barrels down the hallway, bags hanging off her arm, her collapsed umbrella raised above her head like a weapon of war. Nina rushes across to save the cake box shoved under Sarah’s arm, the familiar stamp of the bakery Sarah is a pastry chef at stamped over the top.

“It might be a touch soggy,” Sarah says quickly, accidentally hitting the hanging light with her umbrella and scaring herself, “But we can put it in the oven and fix that.”

Nina and Jane laugh at their housemate, she’s dripping wet and yet, red-faced and happy. Nina feels a lightness in her chest that had been wound too tight all day.

Maybe it was the wine.

Two more bottles appear from Sarah’s handbag, “I called both of you, did we need wine?”

Jane claps her hands together, “No but ooh goodie. Does anyone have anything in the morning?”

Nina’s laughing, and it feels good, but there’s something just a whisper from her heart, and it’s bringing tears to her eyes. Laughing with Rodger last night had felt the same, as though she was watching something she knew would disappear again very soon and there was no way to prolong it.

“Wine is probably a terrible idea for me right now,” She confesses, chopping away at the vegetables and trying to keep her voice light.

“Nina’s homesick,” Jane explains to Sarah easily.

Sarah’s dumped everything on the floor by the kitchen door and is tugging at the outer layers of her clothing, there’s a momentary pause as she recalls Nina’s friend’s from home having been in town, “How was last night?”

“Lovely,” Nina responds, “So lovely. They looked tan and happy from their honeymoon.”

“I bet they’ve missed you,” Sarah says in the dangerously disarming way that Nina can never quite match up to the raucous, loud woman she usually is. It’s a small nudge to getting further into Nina’s head.

When she first moved in, Nina had told herself that New York was a fresh start and these two new women in her life wouldn’t be getting Sad Nina. Moving in with Sarah and Jane was an opportunity to make a life in New York that wasn’t tied up in Harry. Nina didn’t want them to know what had happened to her relationship, she couldn’t dwell on it. She refused.

But before she moved in the girls had obviously Googled her to find what they would have thought would just be a Facebook page. They had just wanted to check Nina Lawrence actually existed and was a real human, but they fell upon far more than they had bargained for.

It had been an awkward few first weeks living with them. Mainly because there was no juicy break-up story. Nina had nothing bad to say about Harry.

Not a thing.

++

He lands in New York and heads straight to the apartment.

It is a minefield of Nina,. He brought it when they were together. Harry sold his place in Los Angeles— because she hated it there and would never travel with him if that was the destination—and instead, he got this apartment in New York.

She always loved this city, and the time they spent together in this apartment was always fun and romantic and settling. Hearing that Nina had moved here had been shocking, but it wasn’t a surprise she had picked New York.

Where Harry’s house in London is old and homey—with nooks and crannies, ornate finishes and a pleasant, comforting undercurrent of quintessential Englishness—the flat in New York is modern and sleek, with an open plan concept that makes Harry feel artistic and languid.

The first thing Harry does when he arrives is open three windows and take the cover off the baby grand piano Nina was furious at him for buying at the time.

He props open the cover and then sits at the bench, lifting the lid off the keys. The smell of the internal wood wafts over him slowly, and Harry tinkers with a few notes before making himself more comfortable in the seat and finding a familiar melody to play through.

He owes her his ability to play the piano so well now. Nina taught Harry herself, and now everything from his posture to the way he no longer watches his hands is wrapped up in her gentle voice, patiently correcting him while holding up his chin with delicate fingers.

Harry watches the pins inside the instrument flick in and out as he plays, striking the corresponding keys, and finally, he has the first hint of doubt hit him about being in New York.

What is he doing? If she needed or wanted him in her life she would have reached out, Nina knew she could call him for anything. Didn’t she? She had to know that.

The thing is though that Harry needs her. He’s tired of missing her. He needs to hear her voice—see her—because he misses her so much that he’s forgotten what not missing Nina feels like. What was it like to just come home and know she would be there? He wants to go back to being able to get through a writing session without having a panic attack.

In eight months of separation, Harry’s not managed to record a single song to completion. He barely makes it through singing through the demo versions. All of it is about her, and it’s like his brain can’t comprehend or sit with the knowledge that Harry and Nina are done, and he’s only ever going to be writing old memories, not making new ones with her.

Hearing from Rodger had scared him. Harry’s worried that Nina isn’t happy. Whatever Rodger saw that led to him calling Harry must have been significant.

Harry’s fingers stop on the piano keys suddenly. He has to call her. Rodger sent through a text after their phone call with Nina’s new phone number. The number Harry has saved wasn’t even right anymore.

The new one is a US number, and Harry’s hands shake, but he knows he has to do it.

He hits call and immediately wants to scream. He’s on his feet and repeating ‘fuck’ under his breath when someone—Nina—picks up.

“Hello, Nina speaking.”

Fuck.

“Nina … It’s Harry.”

“Harry?” Her voice breaks in such a subtle way he nearly misses it, he drops his chin to his chest and shuts his eyes.

“Yeah. Hi.”

Nina doesn’t say anything.

“I’m in New York, and I’d really like to see you.”

++

Nina’s glad she only had one glass of wine at dinner.

Sarah and Jane have both stopped speaking and are watching Nina with her phone to her ear, not saying anything. They heard her say her ex-boyfriend's name over the conversation about who was going to win The Bachelor.

“Nina?”

“Nina?” Jane repeats what Harry just said in her ear.

Harry.

Nina stands and walks to her room. She shuts her eyes against the closed door and tries to swallow her heart back down to its place.

He repeats her name again and then waits a moment, “Are you there?”

“Yep … You’ve got shows?” Nina hadn’t seen anything about him playing in New York, but then she’s never been brave enough to have a Google news alert for him. She’s scared of what she might see.

Harry coughs, “No. I’m here to see you. If you’ll let me.”

“Let you?”

The notion was almost as ridiculous as the idea Harry might have flown to New York purely to see her.

“You can say you don’t want to,” He sounds hurt, and Nina hates herself for it.

She shakes her head and sits on her bed, “Sorry, I … When will work for you? I’m free most of tomorrow—”

—Tonight. Can I see you now?”

Nina’s petrified. She has no idea how this is happening, how it went from being a Friday where she did all her Friday things and then came home and made Friday night dinner with her housemates, and now she’s on the phone to Harry, and he wants to see her.

She’s dizzy from adrenaline and Nina’s sure the instant she sees him she won’t be able to hold off the tears. Even hearing his voice sets her missing him on fire and fills her with longing.

“I can come to meet you if that’s easier …”

“It’s late,” He says gently, “I’ll come to you. Send me your address?”

[energonalucard]

(Story) Anger Management

Is this another cross post from my AO3?! Why, yes! It is one indeed! But this one is older and ha a lot more going for it all around the plot section. Because it’s based on actual plot and is just one thing I really want to explore, in a kind of way. Basically Madic from the Soldine and Orangeman series, but when he was first imprisoned. Yes, I know, he probably ran out of the chemicals that made him go Mad in the first place when sitting in the cell and started to gain a bit of his senses over time. This, is a small bit of that in my eyes.

another story that was partially inspired back in the day by @girzapata6​ and my Psych professor, mostly on our Sociopath unit. :D

✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿

Relationships:

Demoman & Medic (Team Fortress 2)

Orangeman & Madic (Freak Fortress 2)

Characters:

Demoman (Team Fortress 2)

Orangeman (Team Fortress 2)

Medic (Team Fortress 2)

Madic (Team Fortress 2)

HECU (GMod)

Soldier (Team Fortress 2)

Soldine (Team Fortress 2)

Additional Tags:

Prison

Anger Management

Anger

Therapy

Depression

Starvation

TF2 Freaks

Regret

Angst with a Happy Ending

Heavy Angst

Alcohol

Sensory Deprivation

Anxiety

✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ Summary:

In Evo City's HECU base, Freaks that harm the city are housed here upon capture. One such catch is Madic, an ex-medic who murders based upon his unpredictable bursts of anger.

And now he's hit rock bottom, refusing food and barely drinking water. Orangeman watches mournfully--as an old teammate of Madic's--as he shrivels away in Anger Management.

✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿

Notes:

This is set after "Soldine vs. Madic" but before "Enemies of Old" and "Operation: HECU Correctional Facility".

So, yeah. Check them out to understand this story first! Or don't... But I recommend it! :)

✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿

Anticipation. Adrenaline. And, anxiety. Worry. Nervousness. Unease. Pity. This place. Anger. Madic looked down at his a gloved hands with deep thought. He flexed his fingers as he waited for his counselor to arrive to work, finding his fingers stiff from gripping the arm of the chair too long. He looked around the bright lit room and noticed some materials his counselor must have left behind in his haste to get home before their show came on last night. Madic tried not to think about it. Tried not to think of anything from the outside world he once thought trivial, and now would crave simply for stimulus. Madic tapped his chairs arms in anticipation as time crawled around him like a Spy lying in wait. He couldn't tell what day it was anymore, and he could barely tell if it the sun was out anymore from being locked in a cell for so long. He used to be able to tell when night fell and when the sun rose by the changing of the guards in his cell block. But when two guards started complaining about the numbers of hours they worked and how many of them died in a month, the shifts became erratic along with the people who'd visit him. Some guards were nicer than others, like Ruben and his long talks about the outside world... even if it was mostly the rising political party HECU didn't want to see in power. Some guards were neutral, doing their job and leaving when they were supposed to and ignoring Madic and the drunk Demo freak that always blubbered in the cell across from him. And some guards caused Madic to spring in his cell like an enraged monster in how bad they treated him, usually causing a team of guards to come in and tase him if he didn't settle down. Madic was sure the only reason he could understand English anymore is because of these guards and his counselor, and he hated and feared the fact he couldn't seem to muster his own conversations anymore in German. Maybe his brain was simply fried from all the chemical abuse he performed on himself, maybe his brain saw his native German as a hindrance to his situation and simply hid it away. He gripped his chair harder, feeling uneasy and nervous in the large monitoring room that served as his chamber for anger management. He jumped out of his thoughts, and his skin, when the giant metal door that separated him from the human staff opened up. A person, clumsy and in the ugliest winter sweater Madic has seen to date, stumbled in with a cloth bag and the biggest smile they could muster. "Sorry, sorry!" They said and slipped on one of their loafers that had got caught in the door, dancing to put their shoe back on. After they entered, two guards came in after the counselor, making the rooms calm demeanor turn serious when they stood at either side of the door, guns at the ready in their hands. Madic had long gotten used to the procedure and shifted in his seat as the counselor settled in their seat across from him. The bag hit the floor and Madic cast a glance at it. The cloth bag was large and brimming with tools to help him in whatever therapy method they had today. On top was a stack of ink blot papers and a unmarked leather bound book Medic couldn’t make out very well. A diary, perhaps? He glanced back at his partner, and his face shifting in annoyance. "What took you so long?" Madic hissed, glaring at the person as they digged in their bag. "Your usually more professional." "Sorry, I just had the longest night." They said cheerily, pulling out a clipboard and a green pencil. "That show I was talking about, remember? The power went out at my house and I went to a friends not too far away to watch it, and I fell asleep on their couch by accident..." They trailed off to laugh and Madic felt his lip twitch downwards. He was never in a good mood, he was the Madic for a reason. His blood pressure shot up at random intervals just by looking around and being able to think about stuff. It wasn’t that he hated certain things, but it was just in his nature to find find the bad in everything. That fueled the fire of his already existing emotions and personality and caused him extreme amounts of rage. Or so his counselor says. They said a lot of things to him and sometimes about him while he’s in the same room. It’s taxing not to rip them to shreds for it.

The counselor jotted down something after his response to their story and Madic heart jumped in their chest. Wait, they were already starting this? Okay, they were getting down to business today.

The person's smile wavered a bit and put the clipboard and pencil down, the pencil laying strategically over whatever they had written on the bold black line. Now that got Madic paranoid, had they made that up to test him? It wouldn’t be the first time HECU played him, and certainly was not the last, but Madic hated it when they tricked him or ran experiments on his well-being. That’s what this person was here for, after all, so why ruin it by causing distrust between the doctor and the patient. Or so they say, Madic had no idea if this person was even a real doctor and not a random friendly guy off the street they just employed to fool him...

His body must have given away some signals at his heightened state of tension, for the counselor raised both hands gently onto the table to show they weren’t going to do anything. “Woah! I’m simply recording the time, I swear.”

Madic flexed his hands on the arms of the chair, feeling stupid and flustered from his accusation. The counselor lifted up the pencil and, indeed, it showed a time and date on it. Madic's face flushed even harder, his eyes looking at the table in dismay.

The counselor didn’t let him stew for long as they smiled sheepishly at him. “It’s my fault, sorry. I forgot your paranoia, my friend.”

“We’re not friends.” The ex-doctor sneered and straightened himself in his seat. He didn’t like being patronized, sure he had anger issues or whatever, but that gave nobody the right to just pity him. He was capable of amazing feats.

“I see.” The counselor said and pulled their gloves off slowly. “And I assume you are not referring to me as a doctor either, still…?”

“You are correct.” Madic said and kneaded his nails into the seat’s arm. Of course he wouldn’t, because this man was no actual doctor.

“All right then, let’s get started, then.” The gloves went into the bag and out came the images of his previous crime scenes. He could tell by the label on the folder that read "Madic" and a list of numbers. Oh god dammit.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷ divider ⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶  

Orangeman watched with his cup of coffee as Madic rolled his eyes at the images and therapist in front of him. He watched as the Freak, strapped to the chair from his feet to his arms, slowly watched as the man flipped through the pages and tried to get a response out of his patient. Orangeman knew these tactics, it was a remorse tactic to see if the Freak was sentient and capable of changing, and Madic was proving himself uncooperative by staring right through the images he was show. The giant metal room he was in was being monitored by six scientists and seven guards, including the ones inside the room, and he was still being recalcitrant.

Orangeman drank a bit of his coffee-Scrumpy concoction and watched as the Freak made a very pissed off face at a certain picture, turning away. The monitored conversation picked up the ex-doctor saying that wasn’t anything he’d done, and processed to not look at the picture until another one covered it up. The therapist jotted something down and continued on from there, sliding pictures into view to get a reaction. Orangeman’s coffee-alcohol mixture tasted bitter in his own mouth as the Freak looked pissed again and said that was not his doing again.

Bloody hell, what were they showing him? And what was this kind of exercise?

A scientist to his right twisted a nob and the demolitions expert heard the sound of a machine beeping in rapid bursts and papers rustling. He followed the noise, and found a heart monitor off to the side with Madic’s prisoner number and class type on it, beeping faster than usual with the scientist writing something down as they watched it. A small machine under it was writing lines after lines on a piece of paper and had the same colored wires as the ones leading into the wall and into the girdle around the Madic’s abdomen and arm strap.

A polygraph, what the hell? He heard of interrogations going like this, but what were they even doing with this information? Madic was in here for anger management, why was he hooked up to a polygraph? He’s both glad and upset he wasn’t a scientist to get to understand what they were doing to the Freak.

He watched on, sipping his drink, as Madic was questioned and shown images for some reason. The mercenary either answered with a humm, grunt, or a declaration that it was not him who did that. It almost reminded Orangeman of those tests in the optometrist when they ask which on of the two lenses you can see better out of, but far more scary and surreal.

Once the final picture came up, the therapists hesitating with this one, Madic’s eyes roamed the page like a man who recognized something in the picture but couldn’t place his finger on it. He stared through this picture like he did with the many others and Orangemen was almost keen on leaving the man to do his therapy before the ex-doctor grunted in his throat, almost like a wounded animal and tried to shift away.

Over the monitor, he heard, “I’ve never heard that before.”

“Shut up.” Was all that answered them.

The therapist turned the picture around and looked at it themselves, ignoring what Madic had just told them. “What’s wrong with this picture? Is it… the bodies? As a doctor, I don’t think you’d be squeamish, maybe it’s something else…”

“You know damn well what’s the problem.” The Freak hissed and pulled at the restrains on the chair, making it whine in protest. All the machines inside the room with Orangeman started to beep louder and faster, the scientist scrambling. “Tell me, what is that photo? Why are you showing me these? I don’t know anything… I’ve been stuck here for god knows how long.”

Orangeman saw the guards in the room train their guns on the Freaks body, their laser sights putting a small red dot between the Freaks eyes to scare him. Orangeman knew they wouldn’t, they hadn't actually needed to kill a Freak in so long and he’d be damned to find out if Madic can regenerate, much less die . There was no way they’d shot him without repercussions.

The monitor spoke up again. “You don’t remember these places? These people?”

Madic scoffed again. “If your going to tell me I did every single one of these, I don’t want to hear it. I am not going to apologize and I am not going to tell you how I feel, I am not telling you anything. I’ve had enough of this pseudo-science experiment and…”

“This was a baby Madic.” The therapist said, looking at one of the photos in the pile before showing it, Madic sliding as far away from it now as he can. “On one of your rampages…”

Orangeman wanted to spit out his coffee and run. He was half-scared they were going to show him a picture like they were showing Madic, and was about to run away from it. Orangeman saw a lot of things dealing with Freaks in Evo City, having a large population of humans in such a small area meant you were bound to see something new everyday if a Freak came along. But Orangeman had never been on one of those missions to send help to those in a crisis, he was sent with Soldine to deal with the monster ruining lives. He’s never actually seen much of dead children and babies, and would like to keep it that way.

How could Madic do such a thing? Orangeman all of a sudden didn’t know what he was feeling. It was a swarm of discernible emotions, and he felt a little woozy just standing there. Should he appeal to have Madic removed from therapy and into confinement? He felt that was too rash, Madic was clearly recoiling from the photos but...

A small gag of disgust sounded across the monitor. “Stop, I know what it is.” Madic barked, slipping back like a kicked dog baring its fangs. “Your chalk out lines and the clothing gave that away…”

“We have the photos of the family, here” The therapist pulled out two more and Madic looked less startled by these, but with no less revolution. “These are the…”

The therapist was cut off by Madic who was speaking softer now, “The parents, yes. I can tell.”

“Yes?” The therapist said, and shuffled the pictures around so Madic could see them all. “These are all taken from crime scenes off the mountain you lived on. I’m sorry I had to show you these, really. I never want to do this to any of my patients, it's a travesty and a low blow.”

“But it's your job. And their monitoring me.” Madic said and looked away. His eyes trained on the guards who had seemingly backed up back into their places at the door. “And your still not a doctor.”

The room was silent, all but a fan was quiet and still, and finally, the therapist sighed. Through the monitor, Orangeman heard the therapists sigh and put all the papers into a cream colored folder before pulling out a book with stickers hanging out of it as bookmarks. “Alright. We’ll continue as usual from here.”

“As normal as me wearing a girdle and wires?” Madic asked and let his back slump, he must be trying to mess with the readings to be cheeky, lowering the tension.

“As normal as always.” The therapist said and opened up the book with a loud pop of the cover.

Orangeman saw the two begin to do something in the book and Madic listen as the therapist droned on. The Freak was a sight to just stare at sometimes; graying skin and mysterious darker grey patches over veins you can see through his light colored skin, irises almost a pale and dull blue that seemed to disappear into a sickly green-white when he went berserk, his eyes were bloodshot around the rims, and his teeth are pasty white and felt like you were watching a horror movie villain with their stainless teeth. Does this man look like he could kill a helpless family? Yes.But does Orangeman know enough about this man now to feel remorse, pity, and reluctance to give up his treatment. Maybe.

It was hard to tell. He wasn’t drunk enough yet to deal with most of his problems and his job right now. His coffee had cooled off a while ago, so he chugged it and the alcoholic contents down before it got cold.

Shit, it wasn’t enough. He felt seemingly still conscious enough to feel his growing panic grow even more. His thoughts were a bit jumbled but it wasn’t enough to deal with this kind of nonsense. He sat down on a swivel chair a scientist had evacuated earlier and pulled out an emergency flask of vodka. This was going to be a hard day to deal with.

He barely had a second to take a drink before the familiar silhouette of Soldine and a HECU officer stepped into the room. This wasn’t good. Orangeman let the liquid he had in his mouth slid down his throat swiftly as he looked up at the two, making eye contact with the correctional Officer alone as Soldine refused to shift his gaze from the door that Madic was housed behind.

“Mornin’, ye two.” Demoman waved and gave them a suspicious eyeing. “Wha’ brings ye down here while therapy’s happenin’?”

The correctional Officer let Orangeman stand up before addressing him firmly, and stiffly. “We’re here for the Madic, we’re taking him to the medical wing as per ordered by the Chief Medical Officer. I was hoping we’d find you before you were… intoxicated, to help us escort him.” The man ruffled his tie like it was some symbol to scare Orangeman into submission. Like hell it did.

“I’m fine, I can do meh job jus’ fine.” Orangeman said and stood next to the RED cyborg that was staring forward. “No need to run me away.”

The Officer didn’t seem convinced but allowed Soldine to address the operative in his metallic voice. “The Freak known as Madic has severely lost weight and is slowly dropping in performance. His recovery is to be halted this evening after the scientists have monitored how his lack of proper nutrients is effecting his body…”

Orangeman listed as Soldine started to list off what they were measuring for and felt his singular eye widen in shock. The bloody man was starving himself? Why? The Madic never seemed like a self-punishing type with all his fits of rage he’s had in his cell after a few rowdy guards made him go berserk. Orangeman went numb again, unable to process what he was hearing for a second before slowly growing more pity and sorrow for his ex-teammate. Oh bloody hell.

“... blood pressure, heart health, durability, arousal…” Soldine continued on, but stopped as Orangeman started to let random blubbering out when he said the last word.

The Officer wasn’t having it today. “It means attentiveness, don’t be unprofessional.”

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷ divider ⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶  

Madic looked at his hands in the binds of the chair and let the situations he had been in throughout his life, swallowing a bit of spit his mouth caused when he thought of a few things that started to make him angry. His counselor slowly let out their own breath and took a deep breath again across from him, teaching Madic how to control his breathing if he ever felt angry. Madic knew the biological factors getting angry made a person do; intense breathing, adrenaline, slowing of the non-fight or flight response systems, incoherent thought processes, and more; but he’d never been… in control long enough to not cause harm. Hell, most of the time, he fueled the anger subconsciously to make himself angry and to feel the power…

But still, to make something subconscious you had to have made yourself start doing it consciously and willingly. Madic didn’t know how to process that exactly, as he couldn’t remember being voluntarily angry, just angry in the end.

He took a deep breath as he felt stressed and his blood pressure picked up, only soothing himself enough to remember what his counselor told him. Don’t think about what has brought you down… it's already done, and you can’t undo it. Just think of his eventual freedom, his eventual recover…

He took a deep breath once again, holding it a second as his mind raced again but with images of… just anything really. Things that didn’t mess with his current state. Solitary in the barn of Harvest in Fall with all of its crisp smells, the freedom of walking the streets again with no fear, a bed…

He just relaxed, holding his breath a bit longer...

And the air was scared out of his lungs as the door behind the counselor screeched open like an eerie horror movie door. The two soldiers stood at full attention and the newcomers all filed into the room by the doorframe. First came in a correctional Officer in his grey bulletproof vest and multi-purpose belt for handling Freaks, looking as bit of a mood ruiner as ever. Next came Soldine, the cyborg making the most annoying robotic noise as he moved with his shorter legs, much to Madic’s discomfort. Orangeman was next, the Scot wearing not his normal jumpsuit and armor but a two piece tracksuit and a simple bulletproof vest, suggesting he wasn’t on duty just yet.

The room was quiet all except for Madic’s rustling in his chair as the Officer looked at his counselor. It was awkward even after the officer began to speak, making the room more tense.

“We have already discussed why I’m here, counselor, and we’ll be taking your charge now.” The Officer said and the two soldier’s at the door marched on over to Madic, being rough as they undid the restraints around his body and chest.

The counselor, much to Madic’s current chagrin, simply put everything away and looked at Madic with the most regretful blank stare he had ever seen. This situation was not helping his rising blood pressure, and he felt light headed as well as they cuffed his wrists together and hefted him up onto his own two feet. He could stand under his own weight, but the blood rushing in his ears told him he was luck these men were basically dragging him by now.

“May I appeal to follow?” The counselor asked the Officer quietly as Madic was escorted out.

“You may.” The Officer stated and waited to leave the room until Soldine and Orangeman made meat shields in front of him to follow the escorted Freak. “But do not interfere.”

“Wouldn’t think of it.” The counselor sneered. “Sir.”

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷ divider ⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶  

“My, my.” The CMO sang, clicking their tongue on the roof of their mouth as a reflex. “What  have you done to your body this time, mein freund .”

Madic didn’t even glance at the doctor, because he couldn’t. His body was laid flat on his back and his limbs were spread out across the bed he was strapped down upon. Sure, the restraints weren’t made of metal and holding each limb like he was some criminal and were actually made of a hard rubber that simply held him at his waist and ankles to avoid him getting up, but it still felt weird. He had one of the rubber straps on his forehead and had let it stay there in place even if the CMO in the room didn’t care if he took it off. He just let it be for the sake of reason to just stare, and breath.

“I can understand the melanin drop in your pigmentation, as you’ve been locked inside for over two months. But I’m surprised at how you managed to change your tyrosinase enzymes in your eyes, very creative. Not only that, but whatever is swimming in your veins is very fascinating, if only I could get you to share your secrets…” The doctor continued, talking to the air wistfully. At least this guy can learn to take a hint after a while of bugging him and only getting his request denied. “I haven’t seen you personally since you got tazed two weeks into your stay, so I’m very glad to get to see you again… just not under these circumstances.”

Madic looked around the bright light above him and let his eyes adjust as the doctor bent down above him, his familiar looking face almost uncanny to his own. Madic will never fully understand, ever, how so many people in the same profession… ex-profession as him and look the same as him. But, that’s just one of those mysteries he’ll try to dig up when he’s…

… Free. He’ll never be free, that’s the problem. It was hopeless to think like he was, it was…

He took a deep breath… and closed his eyes. Calm. He felt the rising pits of anger at his circumstance and let his breath go. He continued to this as he waited for it all to be over.

“I mean; your underweight and your water intake is below average, your obviously skipping meals or eating only wheat products, your stomach lining is normal but on the verge of shrinking…” The doctor said, accent thickening as he went. “I can’t believe they allowed you to get this bad. It’s not much: losing twelve pounds in a month, but 8 pounds is the most I will accept as healthy and you were the weight healthy for your age. But I’m sure we both know we can get you back in proper order in no time… but there is the lingering possibility of this happening again.”

“No, we’re slowly working on his mental health,” Madic heard his counselor near the edge of the room, and he was glad to hear a voice on his side for a change. “I just… didn’t spot the signs he wasn’t eating properly.”

“Of course you didn’t, its not your job to weigh him.” The Officer said in the corner of the room as well. “That’s our scientists job before your allowed to see him.”

“Yes,” the doctor agreed suspiciously, “the scientist who directly report to you everyday. If I didn’t need this job, I’d insinuate something, sir.”

“Its best you don’t.” The Officer said, toneless.

“Yes sir.” The doctor agreed dismissively and started to scribble something down on a clipboard.

Just. Breath.

A soft beeping noise filled the room, and only Madic seemed jostled by the sudden noise. He opened his eyes and looked at the group of four people in the corner, the Officer rolling his sleeve over top of a watch he was done reading. Soldine's shoulders straightened and Orangeman never stopped staring at him, his therapist was glaring at the man in a uniform but in the back of the group.

"Team of zombies, spotted in the third back alley, Waails’ Street, off Evo City's underbelly." He sighed, obviously not amused he has to put off something as simple as Madic's predicament for later. "Soldine, Orangeman. We're rolling out from the garage in an hour. Get ready."

"Yes sir." Soldine saluted and started to follow him out the door, escorting his counselor out as well.

The doctor beside Madic was gone as well it seemed, he knew the Chief Medical Officer was a slick and sly army medic, but it was fine with the Freak. He looked about the room freely, but his head still restrained by the rubber strap and making his neck put in work.

This is fine.

What wasn't fine, was Orangeman just staring at him from the corner of the room like he had nowhere to be but here. He had a job to do and -- obviously -- the ex-medic wasn't really apart of that. He shifted on the bed and worked out his stiff arms. Why did the CMO have to be so through...?

Probably because he worked with dangerous Freaks for a living -- the supernatural or metahuman beings that can do amazing feats -- and has patched up more humans then Madic's hit his head on the bars of his cell since arrival.

Now your using your head! He heard his imaginary counselor say in his head and felt amused that now the strange person had shown kindness to him and stuck up for him, that gained the not-doctor a place in his mental psyche.

See, your capable of--

"I know the food ain't great, and I know its depressin' here, mate," The man in orange finally spoke, "but ye can't just not eat."

"Why? You offering to be my meal again?" Madic smiled and remembered their fight in Madic's old lab atop the mountain nearby. It had been fun, seeing a Demoman running around his base as prey instead of... of...

Families. Teenagers camping. Men practising mountainclimbing as a hobby.

Shit...

"No, far from it, lad." The man in orange had his face scrunched up in disgust at the idea if going through that again. "Jus'... Ye had a problem mate, ye caused a problem an' now ye have to fix it..."

"Fix?" Madic hissed. This hunter had no idea what he was saying, obviously. "I don't have to fix anything; as you can tell from my file I left no one alive that I've meet except you and that cyborg. So, I don't think I can fix anything here."

The silence that followed after the Demoman in his track suit pulled a flask was pounding in Madic's ears. His ear's were ringing again, and he took deep breaths as he watched the Demoman swig whatever he had in his backup flask. Madic's mouth watered a bit at the memory of the beverages he used to not savor with a Spy who had offered it from so many years ago. He nearly regretted it when he found himself watching the Demoman pull the flask down to glance at him, being caught staring.

"Ay, want so?" Orangeman offered but shook it a bit to measure what he hadn't drunk. "Almost gone, could use a new brand anyway. Smirnoff isn't mah thin'."

At the mention of the name, Madic perked up. "How are you still standing after that drink?"

"Lad, if I can drink five bottles ah whiskey before passing out then vodka ain't gonna do me in with this little flask." Orangeman said, slightly prideful at that.

"I don't believe you." Madic said in full belief that he was right. "Probably not even vodka."

"Offer still stands." And he shook his flask to symbolise he wasn't lying.

Madic looked around for the CMO and finds no one. The man was probably trying to worm his way into the mission roster to get a sight of the zombies running around in Evo City. He couldn't blame the man if he was, he had once been the same way before he learned he had enjoyed healing more then hurting.

How that changed.

"Fine. What do I have to lose?" Madic said calmly, but felt jittery from all the nerves he had. Vodka. An outside world pleasure was being offered to him. To hell if it was a trick, he literally had nothing to lose. If he can have his head blown off, then poisoned vodka won't have any lasting effect.

"Alrighty then." The demolition expert said and walked over to Madic, seeing the twitching of the ex-medic from this luxury.

Orangeman hated this places treatment of the Freaks. Yes, they were super powered and dangerous when not kept safely contained, but they were still needing of basic rights. Somewhere along the way, someone in the seat of command had allowed Madic to spiral into despair and not eat. And they should know to, since they have to come by and take his ration plate from Madic and someone had bound to notice.

But no. Nobody had told anyone. His counselor didn't even know what he had been going through. And the CMO had done all the connecting he needed to feel even more weary of all this prison stuff. Sure, Madic needed the therapy and they were capable of giving it to him before they let him loss again, but it needs to be done ethnically.

And Madic needs to survive this place, first and foremost. It was unlikely the HECU would change simply for one Freak already making progress towards freedom.

As Orangeman put the flask close to the restrained Freak, he barely tipped it before making a humming noise in his throat. The Madic looked at him with disdain; he probably thought Orangeman was about to use his vulnerability against him or do something else Spy would do in this situation. Orangeman tried not to get offended, because Madic has been through some devious things while in HECU.

He looked at the Freak, mind already made up long ago at what he wanted. "I'll let ye drink..." He said sweetly, shaking the bottle gently. "If ye eat everythin' they give yah from now on, and take better care of yahself. This prison is only temporary, and I see the change in ye. For better."

Madic blinked. That was unexpected. His facial features warped into an expression of sheepish discomfort. The idea wasn't unpleasant, and the thought of the liquid fire before him made him crave some food so long ago by Engineer that he felt his stomach growl heavily. Maybe he might just be fine...

Maybe he wouldn't. He didn't know how long he'd felt that hollow and aching feeling in his chest, but all he knew was every thought of who he killed or families he ruined made him gag at food, push away water, and chase away sleep to wallow in his cell till Ruben the security guard was on shift or he meet with his counselor. Was he going to be fine?

"Alright." Madic conceded. Unsure on the inside as he answered, "I accept."

"I'll take yer word on it, mate. Ye get all the rest of mah flask before I leave for the mission." Orangeman said, forcing a smile on his face. "Cheers!"

As he tilted the rim onto the Madic's lips, the vodka trickling down as slowly as the Demo can allow it to not choke the Freak and not stop pouring. The guy had to be years out of practise of handling alcohol, so Orangeman tried to be as generous as he could.

"Chug! Chug!" He said, slightly elated at the scrunched up face of the ex-medic trying to drink it all without coughing. "Ye can do it."

And with a harsh flick of his wrist, the bottle was turned so all that was left in the bottle could no longer hide and slid into the Madic's mouth. As soon as the drops stopped, Madic turned his head to the side and coughed.

"My head..." The Madic coughed lighter now. "Is laying down. You could have drowned me!"

"Sorry!" The Demo said sheepishly, but with no regret as the Freak's face flushed from the alcohol. The flush was a familiar pink against the pale grey skin, almost making him look familiar in complexion. "At least it was vodka, right?"

"Go fight your..." Madic let out a small cough to clear his throat this time. "Zombies, Cyclops."

"Yer very welcome." Orangeman jokingly mocked and put his flask away for refilling in a bit. He turned on his heels with a small wave as his departure to the strapped in Freak.

There was no telling if Madic would listen to his request, or honor his promise from here. Orangeman just had to hold hope for the man.

Yes, man. He made up his mind about the ex-doctor now, and he wasn't drunk yet. He was going to do great things, he just needed to give the man something to hope for.

Even for the simple things. Even if its slowly.

[chloemill]

On threesomes, tacos and The Office

Well, it’s been a while, hasn’t it? (-me, every single goddamn blog I write) I’m not going to wax poetic on my lack of motivation because, well, I do that every single post and also every single day in the prison of my own mind BUT! Here I am. Let’s just get on with it.

As most of you know, I am single. [thunderous applause from the crowd] please… please, thank you so much, please let me finish. After a solid consecutive five-ish years spent in back-to-back relationships, before which I’d been a crippingly insecure college student content to desperately make out with whatever pasty and emotionally stunted upperclassman would squeeze my boob, I’d never really dipped my toes into the dating app world until the last seven months or so. And I have to say: I am… well? I’m disgusted. It’s no secret that women on the apps match with exponentially more men than the other way around, and given what I’ve seen of men’s profiles, it’s not hard to see why. Men are out here in the virtual streets acting like goddamn buffoons and still expecting sex to be bestowed upon them. It’s a travesty, and nevertheless, it persists. It’s often said you need to be the change you wish to see in the world. So I’ve decided to take matter into my own hands. I present to you: my definitive list of dating app pet peeves.

- The Office quotes. I have to get it out of the way first, or it’ll gnaw at my soul. We all love The Office. It’s one of the greatest comedies of all time. So great that every fucking idiot this side of the Mississippi lists it as one of their top three TV shows. Cut it the fuck out. No mention of it! No “assistant to the regional manager”, no “looking for the Pam to my Jim”, no “Employed at: Dunder Mifflin”, please, for the love of God, shut the fuck up. At this point I’d honestly rather see a blurry, unhygienic and unsolicited dick pic than read “Bears, Beets, Battlestar Galactica” in some mediocre looking Brayden’s profile. Oh, and if you think you’re off the hook because you quoted Parks and Rec instead? You’re fucking not, Tanner. Watch another show.

- “Kid not mine!!!!!!” Yes, my instinct was that a 24-year-old named Brett on a dating app created for the primary purpose of fucking strangers was going to upload a picture of his infant child as his main photo for which to attract female mates. I’m glad you clarified

- Grown, of age, adult, matured, human men using Snapchat filters and/or boomerangs. This might be the biggest one of all, and that’s saying something. A photo of a man with an artificially round cherub face and giant virtual sparkly anime eyes or, even worse, a squinty boomerang trying desperately to accentuate his weak jawline… sends a chill down the spine. I hate to perpetuate gender roles, but I feel I’m justified in saying straight men aren’t allowed to use Snapchat filters. And boomerangs are only for hot girls making kissy faces and clinking their drinks together - at this point, it’s basically cultural appropriation to use them if you don’t fit that profile. Please, I beg of you, summon a shred of goddamn dignity from the depths of your broken soul and delete the boomerang.

- Jumping off of that last one: emoji use. Again, I mean, I hate to impose the confines of traditional masculinity on anyone, but the monkey-covering-his-eyes emoji has never helped anyone seal the deal. I mean that.

- “Not looking for anything serious” Chad, you have the Macklemore haircut and are wearing American flag swim trunks. I promise you, no one assumed you were looking for something serious

- Mentioning tacos/pizza/[insert delicious and popular food item here]. Look, I am a feminist, and in the spirit of equality I must point out that women pioneered this trend and still perpetuate it heavily - a pattern sociologists have termed the “touch my butt and feed me tacos phenomenon”. However, men have latched onto it in what I can only assume is an eleventh-hour attempt to draw in this demo. Please cease and desist. Everyone likes tacos, Caleb

- The other day I saw a guy on Hinge say his ideal dinner guest was Peter Kavinsky and I’ve never seen anyone else say that but honestly fuck you dude. Fuck you

- When guys are trying to stay anonymous and post a low-quality shirtless torso pic without showing their face…? Has anyone ever actually swiped right on that? I kind of respect the blind confidence, but still.

- ”[insert height here]… because I’ve been told it matters” stop with the qualifier, just tell us how tall you are and go, you coward. Honestly, I think the ideal male dating app profile for me is just 3 grainy vaguely attractive pictures and “6’3” as a bio.

- “In town for the weekend… show me around?” Firstly, that sounds absolutely harrowing. Secondly, I’d respect you more if you just said “in NYC for 24 hours and trying to get it in” than pretend like you’re searching for Sacajawea to show you the new world. It’s NYC. Google it

- Any of the following descriptors: easygoing, laid-back, outgoing, “loves travel/fine dining/yoga/hiking/Netflix/some other generic hobby white people like to talk about”, intelligent, chill, fun, low-key, “up for whatever”, hard-working, humble, etc. These are not bad qualities per se, but anyone who describes themselves as such is 110% guaranteed to be deeply boring.

- I was just swiping to find some more overused descriptive phrases and someone’s bio was “the Earth is cylindrical”… you have my attention, sir

- Guys with accents specifying in their profile that they have an accent. I cannot tell you what an enormous boner killer this is. Do you know what’s a huge turn ON? Being into a guy and then meeting him for the first time and realizing he has a sexy ass accent. You know what’s not a huge turn on? A random English dude you didn’t match with leaving you a 45-second Instagram voice DM (this is a thing somehow) in which he hits on you and then goes “oh… and yeah… I have an accent. Crazy, isn’t it?” Yes, this really happened. Still accepting thoughts and prayers.

- Couples looking for threesomes. This is a delicate process and making a joint profile with “she’s bicurious. He’s straight. We both like kissing girls. Looking for someone to explore with :)” is not only cringeworthy as all motherfuck, but completely ineffective. Listen, I get it. I get that after four years, Tommy and Kayleigh are trying to spice things up. Order a pair of fuzzy handcuffs on Amazon and leave me the hell out of it. Also - every single one of these couples has a very… wide male/female attractiveness margin. Kayleigh can hit me up on her own.

I’m going to stop here because I’m just making myself depressed at this point. It’s really a jungle out there. The truth of it is we’re all braver than the goddamn troops every time we swipe, and I salute each of you out there in the trenches with me. May your monkey emojis be infrequent and your threesome requests be infrequent-er! If worse comes to worse, there’s always arranged marriage.