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camxnoel-updates · 4 years ago

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Cameron Monaghan brought the character of Ian Gallagher to life on Showtime’s hit series, Shameless. The series aired for a total of 11 seasons after originally premiering in 2011. It ranked as the network’s no. 1 comedy, longest-running series, and had the youngest-skewing audience of any Showtime series. Monaghan also joined two legendary universes with roles in both Gotham and Star Wars Jedi: Fallen Order, which I got to ask him about too!

The final season of SHAMELESS finds the Gallagher family and the South Side at a crossroads, with changes caused by the COVID pandemic, gentrification, and aging to reconcile. As Frank confronts his own mortality and family ties in his alcoholic and drug-induced twilight years, Lip struggles with the prospect of becoming the family’s new patriarch. Newlyweds Ian (Cameron Monaghan) and Mickey (Noel Fisher) are figuring out the rules and responsibilities of being in a committed relationship while Deb embraces her individuality and single motherhood. Carl finds an unlikely new career in law enforcement and Kevin and V struggle to decide whether a hard life on the South Side is worth fighting for.

Along with the final season, fans also got a six-episode series that featured new Shameless scenes juxtaposed with a retrospective look at each character’s journey over the prior 10 seasons, titled, Shameless Hall of Shame. The first episode followed Ian and Mickey, showcasing their unique relationship and its evolution from a teen fling into a loving, complicated marriage.

I was able to chat with the actor over zoom and ask him all of my burning questions regarding the series finale, Ian and Mickey’s future, the show’s open ending, the representation his character provided to those watching, what he kept from the set, his future projects, and so much more! Keep reading to find out everything he told me.

So first of all, I want to say a huge congrats to you for wrapping Shameless after 11 seasons and bringing this character to life, who has inspired so many and that so many relate to. I wanted to ask, what has your time on the show meant to you and how would you describe how it helped you grow as an actor?

Cameron Monaghan: I mean, it’s so difficult to distill 11 years into some sort of concise answer, but it’s meant a lot for so many reasons. I think that obviously it’s been important for my career and my life in a sense of how it’s not only given me exposure but also given all of us a platform as performers to be able to tell interesting and challenging stories and to really develop and grow. Obviously, we had a couple of old pros on the show– when I say old pros, I’m not calling them old, just that they’re professionals and they’ve been doing it for a long time, but like William H. Macy, Joan Cusack, and a number of people who had very storied careers. Then we had actors on the show who had never appeared on anything prior and for a lot of us, we were somewhere in the middle, where we’d been working for a number of years, but hadn’t been given the opportunities to really put ourselves out there in such a significant way.

So being able to get an audience over the course of 11 years– and the show grew steadily, it was a marginal success at first, but it wasn’t until like season 4 or 5 that it really started to be seen by people and really connect on a larger platform, and a lot of that had to do with Netflix. When that happens we had such an influx of people kind of saying how they related to it and I think that that’s something that I’ve really taken away– I think we’ve all taken away, to be able to hear a lot of other people’s stories and how they’ve connected these stories in entirely different ways. Everyone has had different favorite characters or storylines and they have brought their own personal experiences to that, but for people to say that they feel seen or heard in some ways by these stories, I think is very special. You know, the character that I was playing was an LGBT love story, as well as a story about mental illness, and coping and struggling with that. I had so many positive responses from people regarding those things, and it was amazing to hear people’s responses. So I think that not only was I able to grow as an actor but being able to hear that response and feedback helps you grow as a human being too. I guess that’s what one of my major takeaways is.

What was that final day of shooting like for you, and how did you feel when you officially wrapped?

It was a bit surreal. I don’t think it really set in at first. It’s always funny when you wrap on a project, I feel like it comes in waves, and with something like a TV show, you start to feel it on the last few episodes of like, “Oh, wow, it’s going to be over.” You start trying to find your little ways of saying goodbye to people and understanding that these conversations are obviously not the last for everyone; we’re still close with each other, but you start to recognize that within the context of the show they’ll be your last so that’s a difficult thing. I’ve never been particularly good at saying goodbye, you know? I feel like in general, I’m kind of a person that just likes to be like, “I’m just going to walk away from it cause I don’t know what else to do really.”

So, we were shooting pretty late at night and we were all there hanging out and cracking jokes, and it was just of like, “Oh, I guess that’s it.” We all kind of looked at each other like, “Well, what do we do now?” A bunch of us stuck around for a few hours afterward, we popped a bottle of champagne, and we sat in each others’ trailers and just kinda hung out until pretty early in the morning, the next day. Then we’ve all kind of just been hanging out and seeing each other since. Everyone’s been really busy, thankfully. So we’ve been traveling and going to different cities for work, but when we’ve been in town we’ve been trying to see each other. I had dinner with Jeremy and Ethan, who played my brothers on the show last week. Noel Fisher, I just saw yesterday. I’m going to see Shanola Hampton in a few days. We’re all still staying in touch with each other is what I’ll say.

Were you personally satisfied with the ending of the show? I think it was very open-ended, which was kind of nice and left a lot open for the future. And was there anything you wanted to see for your character that we weren’t able to?

Endings are difficult in general, but I feel like, especially with a show like Shameless, which is a show about a slice of life and sort of how existence doesn’t really fall into a perfect narrative; it tends to be messy and kind of just continue in spite of itself, and it’s a stream of these little victories and these constant mistakes. So you can’t really cap off a pure ending to a story like that. I think that what John Wells tried to do with writing it is not really conclude the stories. He concludes certain aspects, but the way that he explained it to us is he wanted it to feel like if you were walking through the streets of Chicago, maybe you might bump into these characters. Maybe they’re still out there and maybe they’re still doing things. Some of us had more resolution than others.

I would actually say that the Ian and Mickey storyline was one that did have a fair amount of resolution for the final episode. It was about their anniversary, how they were going to deal with their future, and they’ve kind of figured out some sort of life with each other. There are still large questions, whether or not they’re going to have kids and what the terms of their marriage will entail in the future, but those are questions that are lifelong questions, and ones that I think that we know these characters well enough and we understand their relationships well enough that we can draw our own conclusions for. I think there is something beautiful about the fact that the audience will project what their future for these characters will be.

I think it was a challenging final season because of so many extenuating factors in the world. All shows, businesses, everything was trying frantically to keep up with a changing landscape, and the fact that we were able to make it in spite of all of those things, I think is a victory in itself; one that we are all proud of and happy with. I do think there’s still a future, years out, where we might return to these characters and explore them further. I think that I’m happy putting them to bed for now, I think we all are, but I would like to maybe check in with these characters in 5 or 10 years, and just kind of see where they’re at and what they’re doing.

Kind of like a little Shameless movie, just to play catch up for a little bit.

Yeah, I think that’s something that is kind of more possible now with these streaming networks. They’ve done it with a few series, to sometimes success and sometimes mixed results, but I do think there is a possibility of a reunion season or something like that, depending on where the show fits into the public consciousness in a few years, you know? It’s an open question, but one I’d be excited to see.

How you would describe Ian’s evolution and journey on the show?

I think that Ian has come a long way in terms of confidence and assuredness in himself and his own decisions. I think that’s what a lot of the exploration of the character was, especially in the middle seasons between seasons like 3 to 8 or 9, are this guy who sort of just doesn’t necessarily know what he wants for himself and he’s dealing with a bunch of surprises about himself that he doesn’t necessarily understand, or hasn’t really come to terms with. I think it’s amazing to see Ian in these earlier episodes where he’s kind of getting kicked around by his relationships and by his family. He’s kind of a forgotten kid a little bit. He’s like a middle child, who’s just sort of– people aren’t really looking out for him. His brother does to a certain extent, but also his brother is kind of telling him what he wants for himself and Ian isn’t as active.

At a certain point, he starts to really come into his own as an adult and as a human being. I think it’s amazing how we see him as not only a big brother by the end of the series, but also sort of– there’s something a bit paternal about him. He becomes a bit of a father figure, even a little bit in his relationships. I think it’s interesting how Mickey was always sort of the commanding force and deciding factor for so much of the series; when Ian was really struggling with mental illness and down in the dumps, Mickey is the kind of guy who was looking after him, but by the end of the series, Mickey is a bit childlike in certain ways. Ian is kind of protecting him to a certain extent, and even with his older brother, Lip, Ian is sort of looking out for him in a slightly paternal way, which I think is kind of interesting. He really comes a long way in sort of being confident enough in himself to start looking out for other people that I think is a really great quality. It makes him a character who has made a fair amount of mistakes but mistakes that we understand, and I think that ultimately he’s a guy that I understand and really relate to because he does have this quality to him.

So I have to ask you some questions about Ian and Mickey. I personally love them together, they were one of the reasons I started watching the show. In the end, as you said, we kind of get some closure, but also an open ending with them and it’s a happy one; they’re together and celebrating their anniversary. In your head, what do you think that their future holds? Do you think kids are in the picture; do you think they’re going to be parents? Ideally, what is your version of their happy ending, if you could create it?

I think that they both still need to do some work. I would say that they need to do work as a couple in their marriage still of just defining the terms of what is it that they want financially, sexually, intimately, personally, all of these things. It’s a show full of people who aren’t great at communication or dealing with their own feelings– I mean to a certain extent, most human beings aren’t, but these guys, especially, come from a rough background and they have that tendency of just kind of wanting to push that stuff down. Ian has really opened up Mickey and Mickey to a certain extent has really opened up Ian over the course of the series, but I still don’t think they’re fully all the way there. Mickey has a lot of emotional baggage when it comes to parenthood, his father, and dealing with responsibility.

I don’t know if Mickey is fully there. Hopefully, he would be one day in the future. And hopefully, Ian would be patient enough to give him the space to make that decision and to not want to rush into it. I do think that it would be something in their future. Parenthood was a huge motivating factor for Ian earlier in the series, going so far as to steal someone’s baby at some point because he wants to be a father. I would hope that they would be able to provide that for him and for themselves, but there’s no way to know, we have to sort of make that assumption for ourselves, but I think so.

Ian and Mickey have been this fan-favorite couple that means so much to the LGBTQ+ community in terms of representation. What was the moment that you personally started rooting for them?

I think it was pretty early. I was rooting for Ian from the first episode, from the pilot, but the second that Mickey gets introduced to the show, he brought such a fun dynamic with him. Obviously, a massive amount of charisma that was coming from Noel Fisher. The scenes were always fun, exciting, and felt steeped in a lot of dramatic tension. Whether or not they were destined to be together was kind of a question that still was developing. In the first season to the third season, the Mickey character is pretty rough emotionally and physically; he is at points pretty, extremely abusive in a way that is great for a character and for a story, but if I was talking to Ian as a person in real life, I would probably say, “Get the hell away from this guy. He’s awful for you.”

But within the context of the story, we’re able to get the internal life of these characters and we understand them well enough to really want to be rooting for them and see them succeed. It builds into this pretty epic love story of these characters that really do feel kind of intertwined by fate and something greater. It feels like you have these forces pulling for them in a way that you want with every fiber of your being to see it work out for them because you care for them. So obviously, Noel and I had been rooting for these characters the entire time, but it was really fun playing some of the ridiculousness of the situations of the two of them, where they were just very at odds with each other at times. It was a joy bouncing off of each other in both the highs and the lows of the character.

Is there sort of a message that you hope their love story gives to viewers that see themselves in these characters?

Well, I think the aspects of the characters, especially for Mickey, that I’m sure a lot of people relate to, and it is sort of the greatest tragedy of the character, is how he is deeply in the closet and he feels that he can’t embrace his own self and also this beautiful love because of this situation that he’s in; a traumatic home life, specifically an abusive father, and also an environment that doesn’t allow him to be what he wants to be. I guess the message that I do hope that people who are relating to that get is that there are places where you can be accepted and there are better options for you, and sometimes that takes time, but as cliched as it is, it does get better. So hopefully people are able to find these safe environments for themselves to be able to improve the quality of life and to get better situations. I hope that people find hope in the story ultimately.

Another relationship of Ian’s that I have to discuss is his relationship with the whole Gallagher family; that was a focus of the series since day one. What was your favorite part of their dynamic and playing off that?

Obviously, the chaos of the family is always really fun to play. We had these scenes that were kind of an amazing balancing act of like 8 or 9 people in a scene, all messing around with these different storylines that are bouncing off of each other, intertwining, and you have this really biting sharp satirical dialogue that all had a very specific rhythm to it and was a sort of flow that was established early in the show that was kind of kept across the entire series; one that was a genuine joy as a performer to play. But I think that specifically the relationship that I’ve always been a fan of and I love from the start, is probably– it’s definitely one of my favorite relationships on the show– was the relationship between Ian and Lip.

There’s not a lot of depictions of brotherhood and intimacy between men that are deeply sensitive, close, and uncomplicated. Those are definitely scenes that I felt very personally moved by, of two brothers who have just had a world of shit, a lot of complicated and messed up things that have been dropped on their heads that they’ve been dealing with for the entirety of their lives, but they’ve sort of made a pact that they were just gonna be there for each other no matter what. If they weren’t there for each other, who knows if they would have survived. I think that there’s something really amazing about those scenes in that they’re just very open with each other, and that’s something that’s established right from the start and was kind of one of those key relationships for the show that survived until the very last episode and that I’m very proud of, cause I do think that those are some of my personal favorite scenes of the show.

Here’s a fun three-part question: most challenging, fun, and insane storyline for you as an actor?

Most challenging would probably have to be… we reached a point in the series around season 8 and they were trying to contextualize the characters in a modern way, put them into new circumstances, but try to retain what the characters were, but they’ve moved a lot from where they originally were. We were at a point where we were getting so many new writers onto the series, and the show I feel struggled for a second, which happens with any series that’s been on for a while. It felt like there was a point where they didn’t know what they wanted to do with Ian. There were a couple of episodes where I was kind of looking at the story and being like, “What are we doing here? It doesn’t really feel like anything is happening with him and we’re kind of floating across these relationships.” I wasn’t sure what we were trying to say, but that being said, that is kind of true to life, to a certain degree, where we do find ourselves sometimes in these ruts where we don’t know what we’re doing with our relationships, our lives, and ourselves. There is a little bit of a struggle there and that is kind of real to a certain degree, and I do think having those episodes make when they started finding the way with the character and relationships again, kind of more satisfying cause he sort of loses his way and he comes back. So it was kind of a challenge, but I think it all worked out ultimately.

Craziest would have to be… so this is one that no one would even know is like a thing really, no one would even think of it as a thing, but the scene in the pilot episode, Lip and Ian jump out of like a window and they run out of a house to escape an angry parent, right? And they’re kind of running in a rush. So they run out in their socks, down the street, and it’s the middle of January in Chicago and the streets are covered in mud, water, and ice. I think it’s the first time I’ve ever felt in my life that I actually thought my feet were going to like fall off. I thought we were going to have to amputate a toe because of frostbite. We did the scene a bunch of times, and because Jeremy and I were young, we were just sort of trying to be tough, just like, “Yeah, whatever, it’s not a problem. We can do this over and over, not a big deal.” Then I definitely learned a lesson of like, when something is a problem, you have to say, it’s a problem.

Most fun… I don’t know if I can distill it to just one scene. I think the most fun was just getting to interact with all of the wildly different personalities of our show, and just kind of get to sit around and hang out with everyone. There were times that we would just be laughing so hard that one of us would start and we just end up crying, laughing. Usually, it was because of Howey cracking jokes or something like that, but it could be just the dumbest to smallest thing, but it’s the kind of thing when you become so comfortable with people, it just starts to happen. Sometimes it was just the downtime and these little small kind of boring or mundane moments that really ended up being some of my favorite experiences.

Did you take anything from the set at all?

I did. So in the final season, there’s a storyline where Frank steals Nighthawks, the Edward Hopper painting, and that was actually done in cooperation with the Art Institute of Chicago and the Edward Hopper estate. They did these really high-resolution prints of it that were then painted over by hand, and they even took pictures of the back and mimicked the way that the canvas wrapped over, the small writing, and everything. It’s a pretty damn good forgery of Nighthawks. So I stole one of those and that’s hanging up in my living room. I also stole one of the mugs cause in the show we’re always having breakfast and drinking coffee, so there are these rooster mugs and I stole one of those.

Since you’re talking to The Nerds of Color, I have to ask you about Star Wars and Gotham. What stood out to you about Star Wars Jedi: Fallen Order compared to your other work, and what did it mean to you to join that iconic universe?

I mean, what stood out pretty quickly was that it had a tone all of its own. Star Wars is a very specific tone. It has sort of its own language, pacing, style, and rhythm; there’s something very specific about it, something that I’m a big fan of. I grew up watching the Star Wars movies and that was definitely… you know, anytime that you’re jumping onto something with an active and passionate fanbase it’s going to be slightly intimidating. There’s no way around that. Thankfully, I’ve at this point done enough projects with really passionate fanbases to kind of understand what that entails, which is that there’s going to be a lot of opinions. A lot of people are really excited about things and no matter what, even the smallest things, someone’s going to be very, very angry about it. That comes along with the territory, but that’s kind of fun to a certain degree; it’s fun to hear such minutiae and being examined, and these conversations are ones that are being had on set too.

There’s so much conversation between the Lucasfilm story group, Respawn, and EA, who are the production companies behind the game, and also the cast, directors, and everybody involved are sometimes discussing, “How does a person stand? How does one get onto a speeder bike? What kind of sound does this monster make?” And there’s always a genuine deference and respect to the series. We know how much people care about it. We know because we care about it a lot, and everyone on this project are huge fans of the source material. So that was exciting to be a part of, obviously; I mean, that should go without saying. It’s so freaking cool to be a Jedi and to be the face of this massive franchise, and to be able to not only be a part of a really well-known property and part of this large project but also to be able to tell an interesting and intimate story within it. For as bombastic as all of the action is, and as big as the Star Wars universe is, I feel the story of Cal Kestis and the people that he interacts with is a somewhat smaller one and a more intimate one. It’s ultimately, at least for me, a pretty emotionally resonant one and a story that I actually very much care about and relate to. I think that was probably the most exciting part about it, was being able to within the framework of this big machinery of what Star Wars is, still tell a story that might actually affect people and make them feel things, I think was just really cool.

Could you describe how it felt to take on the role of the Joker?

Exciting, intimidating, an honor, and challenging; it’s a role that I didn’t take lightly. I understood what it was, which is that a lot of the people who were seeing me in the role had never heard of me and didn’t know who I was, and it was a way to prove myself and to show off my take of what I could do with this. It was really cool too with that show that we were getting to do something that had never really been done before with the character, which is to show multiple versions and possibilities of what that character could be, and to kind of tip our hat to some of the famous stories that came before, and then kind of give a unique spin and show off some new things with it as well.

Obviously, that show was heightened to a certain degree and kind of existed in this wacky over-the-top violent, but also slightly cartoony universe that was kind of its own little thing. That was really fun to play around with it and to totally get to do something kind of different with that, something that we hadn’t seen before. But I think it was specifically really intimidating because, at that point of casting when I performed the episode in the first season of that show, no one had played the role since Heath Ledger had posthumously won the Oscar for the role. So the only people who had touched it in live-action had been Jack Nicholson and Heath Ledger, which are just massive, massive shoes to fill and two people that I deeply admired. Again, it’s just sort of a case of respect and wanting to kind of come in, just do my absolute best with the material, and to try to pay a certain level of honor to the people that came before.

Anything you can tease about what you’re going to do next? Any future projects?

Absolutely. It’s always difficult with this stuff because there’s only so much you can say. I can say that I just shot a film that hasn’t been announced yet, but I was out of town shooting it for a while. It’s the starring role in the film, and that will come out to theaters in the near future. I’m also working on another project over the course of the next year that I will be working on and off for. Again, thanks to the joys of NDAs, I can’t actually say what it is. I have a movie that I will be doing in June and then also I’m starting to move a bit behind the camera as well. So I’m working on producing and starring in a feature in August or September. And I’m writing a couple of projects right now as well. So it’s a loaded year for the next year, but it’s all very exciting that’s happening.

#LOVED THIS #cameron monaghan #shameless #shameless us #ian gallagher #gallavich #noel fisher #mickey milkovich #jerome valeska #the joker #gotham #jeremiah valeska #mr j #cal kestis #jedi fallen order #star wars

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triplexdoublex · 4 years ago

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Alpha Omega

Pairings: Colson x Reader

Warnings/Tags: alcohol, drunk, attempted rape (colson saves you before ANYTHING happens), potentially triggering dialogue about it the next morning, strangers to friends to lovers, smut, squirting 💦

A/N: Inspired by a weird dream I had and a real tweet I read, the person Jake in the fic was actually Jake Paul in my dream (ew). If you think the beginning backstory may trigger you and just want to read their friendship turn to lovers/smut, then scroll to the 2ND time skip marked with stars (***)

College mid-terms were finally over, which meant the same thing every year: the Alpha Omega annual fraternity party! It was the biggest party on campus every year, and even though it’s not really your scene, you decided to attend this year. Maybe it was the stress of mid-terms weighing extra heavy on your mind, but you needed an escape. But now, five full drinks and some shots later, you find yourself stumbling around the drink and keg area in the kitchen with a half-empty red solo cup, wondering how the hell you're supposed to find your way back to your dorm to sleep off what was obviously a very poor decision.

“Hey pretty thing,” you hear, suddenly feeling an arm slink around your waist.

“Do I know you?” you ask, disoriented and confused as your eyes try to focus on the face of the person touching you.

“The name’s Jake,” he shouts over the music, guiding you out of the kitchen and into the main party room. “You should come back to my room, you look like you need to lay down,” he says with ill-intent, but you’re too intoxicated to argue, letting him lead you up the stairs.

Even though most of your senses are impaired right now, you can’t mistake the distinct, pungent smell of weed wafting towards you as Jake escorts you down the hall once the two of you reach the top of the stairs.

“Yo, Jake!” a voice shouts from an open door, smoke billowing out as you pass.

“Hey Cols, what’s up?”

“Nothing much, man,” he says, blowing a smoke ring as he passes the blunt to his roommate Pete. “Wanna hit?”

“Maybe later, gotta get this pretty little thing back to room,” Jake answers.

“Aye, she alright? Colson questions, quickly rising to his feet.

“Yeah, pal she don’t look too good,” Pete coughs.

“Nah, man, that’s fucked up. She’s gooone!” Colson says getting a closer look at you. ‘You can’t talk her back to your room like this. That’s just wrong.”

“The fuck I can!” Jake retorts. “Look,” he says turning to you and lifting your slumped head. “You wanna go to my room with me don’t you, sexy?”

“N-nno” You slur, drunkenly shaking your head ‘Yes’

“See, she shook her ‘yes’,” Jake argues.

“Yeah, and her mouth said fuckin’ NO, Dawg!” Colson snaps back.

“Listen, I’m taking her to my room and there ain’t shit you can do about it!”

“The fuck there is!” Colson swings, his closed fist making contact with the side of Jake’s face, knocking him out cold.

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

The next thing you know you’re opening your eyes; an unfamiliar room and bed coming into view. You slowly sit up holding your throbbing head

“Hey, you’re awake,” says a soft voice to your right. Quickly, you turn your head in a panic to see a tall blonde sitting on the edge of the bed.

“W-who are you? Where.. Where am I?” you ask on the verge of tears.

“My name's Colson,” he reaches out for your hand. “I —”

“Don’t touch me!” You yell, scooting backwards pulling the covers up over you when you realize all you’re wearing is a thin, white, mens t-shirt. “Where are my clothes?”

“Aye, yo, it’s not like that. Relax, listen,” he stands with his hands up backing away from you. “I slept on the couch, I just wanted —”

“Where are my clothes!?” you demand.

“You threw up on them,” he answers.

“So lemme get this right … I threw up and you took off my clo —”

“NO! No! God no!” he says waving his arms. “My roommate Pete —”

“So your roommate Pete took off my clothes…?”

“NOOO! Please, just listen. I swear I was just trying to help you and keep you safe.” The desperation in his voice causes you to let down your guard a little. “I was saying, my roommate Pete. His girl. She stayed over last night and I asked her to help get you cleaned up and changed. I saw nothing I swear,” he puts his hands up again.

You sit there in silence, confused, trying to process everything he just said.

“You really don’t remember anything from last night? Do you?” He asks, stepping slowly back towards the bed.”

“No,” you shake your head, disappointed in yourself.

He cautiously begins to sit back down on the edge of the bed then pauses “Can I?”

You nod ‘yes’ and he takes a seat.

“Yo, you were in really rough shape last night. I’m assuming you had too much to drink?”

“Yeah,” you admit looking ashamed.

“Aye, we’ve all been there. I’m just glad you’re ok,” he smiles. “Me and my homie Pete were just up here smoking when we seen some dude we know trying to take you back to his room. I could tell you were wrecked. Fuck, you where barely conscious. I tried to tell him how wrong that was but he wouldn’t listen so I knocked him the fuck out. I didn’t know where your dorm was or if you came to the party with anyone and I wanted to make sure you had a safe place to sleep it off.”

“ Thank you. I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions,” you apologize.

“Nah I completely understand,” he accepts your apology. ‘That’s why I wanted to be here when you woke up, I figured you might be a little confused.”

“More than a little,” you let out a small laugh.

Colson cracks a smile, then heads to his dresser, pulling out a pair of his athletic shorts. “Here, tell you what,” he says, tossing the shorts on the bed. “ Imma head out there —” he points to the door. Let you get dressed and I’ll drive you back to your dorm. Cool?”

“Cool,” you answer with a thumbs up and a smile as he steps out the room, closing the door behind him.

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

“Seriously, thank you so much,” you say when he pulls up to your dorm.”What can I do for you? I feel like I can’t thank you enough.”

“Nothing. Any respectable man would have done the same thing,” he says.”I can only hope that one day if god forbid my daughter even finds herself in that position that someone would do the same for her.”

“Awww, you have a daughter?”

“Yeah,” he smiles like a proud father, lifting his backside from the drivers seat to pull out his wallet. “Her name’s Casie,” he says opening to her picture.

“She’s beautiful.”

“Thank you,” he says, then tucking his wallet back into his pocket. “She lives with her mom but I still see her all the time.”

“I’m glad. You seem like you’d be a great father.” you smile. “Thanks again,” you add, stepping out of the car.

“Hey, ummm, wait,” he calls out the car window as you walk towards your dorm.

“Yeah?” you turn back to face him.

“Ain’t you in that bitch Mrs. Pearson’s creative writing class with me?”

“Oh yeah,” you thought he looked familiar. “You usually sit up in the back row right?”

“If you mean ‘take a nap in the back row’, then yeah that’s me”, he laughs.

“Well see you bright and early tomorrow then I guess,” you smile.

“Yeah, see ya,” he smiles back before driving off.

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

The two of you became quite close after that. Gradually moving your seats closer and closer to be near each other in class and pairing up for projects together. You even got to meet his daughter Casie briefly once before her mom picked her up from their weekend visit. You spent a lot of your free time together.It was amazing how you could do absolutely nothing when you were together yet there was no awkward silence or moments: much like right now where you're both hanging out in your dorm just laying on your bed scrolling aimlessly through your phones.

“Oh my god why are men so stupid?” You blurt out in laughter, showing him a tweet on your phone. “This dude really had the audacity to make a whole ass thread about how to eat pussy but he obviously has no clue what he’s talking about; girls don’t squirt out of their clits!’ No wonder girls never cum and have to fake it. Ya’ll mother fuckers don’t even know where the clit IS, and I’m pretty sure squirting is just something made up by the porn industry cuz that shit never happens in real life.”

“Aye, nah I hope you aint including me in that, cuz lemme tell you, ya boy knows where the clit is! My girls always cum,” he smirks.

“Yeah, okay,” you roll your eyes. “How do you know they’re not faking?”

“Cuz squirting ain’t made up, that shits VERY real! Maybe not every time but it has happened so I know they weren’t faking,” he smiles. “You mean to tell me a guy has never made you cum?

“Uhn uh” you shake your head no.

“And you’ve never squirt... even ..uhh..by yourself...or with whatever toys you chicks use?”

“I mean I’ve cum alone, but never squirt. No,” you admit blushing. You and Colson have never discussed anything sexual with each other before.

“That’s bananas, dawg!” he exclaims, slapping the bed.

The room grows quiet, the silence feeling awkward for the first time in your whole friendship.

“Aye, uh you trust me right?” Colson breaks the silence

“Yeah, of course, with my life!” you exclaim.”Why?”

“Trust me enough to uhmm...show you what I can do?”

“Are--are you saying you wanna — “

“I wanna make you cum,” he blurts out, cutting you off. “If- if you’ll let me that is.”

“I...Uhmm..I..”, you stumble while thinking it over.

“Sorry… uhhh let’s just forget this whole conversation, okay?” he says ashamed, thinking he made you uncomfortable.

“Why not,” you blurt out nonchalantly.

“Wait!, why not, like… like you … you wanna —”

You silently shake your head yes biting your lip.

“Oh shit! For real?” He says in surprise, getting up off the bed. “Uhh, c’mere,” he calls you over to the edge of the bed.

You do as you're told crawling over to the edge, sitting with your legs dangling off the bed. “You know, you don’t gotta go easy with me,” you smirk waiting for him to make his next move.

“Good, I wasn’t planning on it,” he says, immediately flipping you over and yanking your panties off from under your dress.

“Ugh you boys are all the same,” you groan looking back at him assuming he’s just gonna start fucking you from behind. “Haven’t any of you even heard of foreplay?”

“Don’t tell me no one’s ever eaten your pussy from the back before?” he questions, kneeling down behind you.

With both hands he grabs your ass making it jiggle for him before delving his tongue between your folds, his tongue exploring every crevice. You gasp at the sensation and feel his muffled laugh buzz against your core, intensifying your pleasure. Gripping your ass tighter, he alternates between plunging a firm, pointed tongue in and out of your wet slit and assaulting your clit with a series of rapid fire kitten licks. Your legs weaken with each lash of his tongue, your body slowly collapsing against the bed.

“Keep that ass up, girl,” he pauses briefly to say. You try with all your might but it’s no use; Colson has reduced your legs to a pile of jello. Roughly he tosses you onto your back, spreads your thighs open and gets back to work. Keeping his tongue focused on your clit, he slides two fingers deep inside of you, his lengthy digits perfectly pressing against your G spot. “I can feel this pussy tightening around my fingers, I know you're close, right?” He pauses to ask cockily.

All you can manage is to nod, ‘yes’, your bottom lip clenched tightly between your teeth as you look down locking eyes with colson; the fiery passion in them is a stark contrast to their ice blue hue.

Colson quickens the pace of his fingers, the sloshing of your wetness audible as he brings you closer to the edge. Then resting his free hand on your mound he gently pulls back the hood of your clit with his thumb exposing the most sensitive part sending your body into convulsions when he rapidly flicks his tongue against it.

“Colson, FUCK!!! ” you scream out in pleasure as the most intense orgasm of your life rips through you. “Oh my god... oh my god,” you chant in pleasure and shock as you realize you’re actually squirting. Colson doesn’t miss a beat continuing to work you through your high, relishing in the mess you're making all over his face and fingers. When you finally stop twitching he removes his fingers and sits up with a smug look. He pulls off his shirt, wipes his glistening face with it, then tosses it on the floor and hurriedly starts undoing his belt.

“You didn’t think I was just gonna stop at one, did you?” He says cockily pulling himself from his boxers. “Awhh, fuck yeah, sooo wet and tight,” he groans as he pushes in, then bringing his hand between your two bodies, and begins to rub your clit as he thrusts.

“Mhmmmhhmm,” you moan, the bundle of nerves still sensitive from your prior orgasm.

“Told ya I could make you feel good,” he teases, his breath ghosting over that one reactive spot on your neck just behind your ear, causing you to let out a little squeak. “You like that?” He laughs, nipping at the same spot while his hips roll in like the tide, crashing repeatedly against the shore of your pelvis. He nips and kisses along your jawline making his way to your mouth, harshly tugging your bottom lip with a groan. Your tongue reaches out, searching for him as he pulls back.

“Fucking tease,” you whimper.

“That desperate to taste yourself on me?” He chaffs.

To be honest you’re desperate for everything he’s giving you right now; you’re body has never felt such pleasure. So when he offers his mouth back to you, you happily welcome the tart taste of yourself still present on his ravenous tongue. Your mouths move in a hungry rhythm, following suit with your hips. Your breaths and moans echo each others, increasing in speed and volume as climax nears. He can tell you’re so so close and he knows just how to get you there. He grabs your legs pulling you flush against him and throws your legs over his shoulder, keeping your thighs pinned to his chest with both arms as continues to pound you.

“Mhmmm… Yeah, Yeah, Fuck me! Fuck me!” you whine needily clawing at the sheets as you enjoy his cock from a whole new angle, slamming into your g-spot at the perfect tempo. It’s just a few more thrusts until he has you completely undone, cumming for the second time today.

“Jesus Christ, Colson” you moan breathily as you ride it out.

‘Ughggg,” he grunts loudly, quickly pulling out, your legs falling to hips as he finishes on your stomach.

“Can’t believe you were out here talkin’ ‘bout men don’t know where the clit is and no man ever made you cum,” he says mockingly after he catches his breath. “Nah, girl, you just been fucking with some losers. Gotta get you a real man like me.”

“Well looks like I got myself one now,” you smirk. “ because we will definitely be doing that again!”

“Awhhh shiiiit,” he says loudly, his hand covering his smile. “ Got you addicted to this dick already, huh?” He teases.

“Shut up,Colson-,” you laugh, chucking a pillow at him “- and go get me something to clean off my stomach.”

#mkg #mkg smut #machine gun kelly #machine gun kelly smut #colson baker #colson baker smut #colson x reader #mgk x reader #machine gun kelly x reader #EST #XX #Pete Davidson #colson baker x reader #alpha omega #AU #mgk fanfic #machine gun Kelly fanfic #Colson baker reader

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wulfies-kpop-fanfics · 4 years ago

Text

One Photo → Mark Lee [8]

↳ Pairing: Mark Lee/Reader

↳ AU: Soulmate!AU - The first touch of two soulmates permanently scars their bodies.

↳ Warning: angst if you squint, I guess

↳ Word count: 2,294

↳ Chapters: Prelude | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | You Are Here! | 9

⁙ Summary: For an end of the year photography project, you’re tasked with taking a photograph for your favourite group, NCT127, and coincidentally, discover your soulmate.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

WEDNESDAY - 8 TWO YEARS LATER

The heart of Toronto would never compare to the magnificence of Times Square in New York, but the mass amount of billboards by the Eaton Center always managed to send you into awe during your nightly trek home from work.

You looked up toward the billboards with a sigh as you waited for your streetcar, barely managing to squeeze out a smile as you saw Mark’s visage splayed along one of the electronic spaces. The night sky was too polluted with the city’s light to display any real stars, but Mark’s face was more than enough for you. For the past week, you had seen NCT127’s faces sprawled across that billboard, part of promotions for their latest global comeback. It was a brief respite as you waited for your streetcar home every night, to finally know that the day was over and that you could relax.

It had been such a long time since you’ve seen Mark in person. Even though you texted him every day when the two of you were awake at the same time and video chatted whenever he had five minutes to himself, it always felt depressing to be without him. To not kiss or touch or hug at all was torture.

Everyone knew that it was deadly for soulmates to be apart for so long, that depression would set in and even worse physical illnesses were a real risk. It was hard to be so far away and over the past year you had been let go from multiple jobs because you were constantly sick, and therein lies the problem. You simply couldn’t afford the solution to your problem. So, depression and illness it was. It took everything you had to keep your head above water, to keep your dream alive and know that one day your heart wouldn’t ache as much as it does at the present moment.

After a 20 minute ride on the streetcar, you entered your building and took the stairs up to your little hole-in-the-wall apartment, the bare minimum that you could afford after Rhiannon paid her last half of the old place’s rent. A single bed, bath and a tiny kitchen that housed a little chair and round table. Thankfully, there was enough counter space that you could place a tiny TV to watch Netflix on while you ate. You were lucky that the house had a large living room, which doubled as your studio.

The coffee table was one of the only things left from your old apartment, along with the tote of Marvel films you kept hidden below it. Atop the table now rested all of your cameras, a drawing tablet and cards that you got in the mail from Mark from time-to-time, instead of notes, binders and textbooks. Sitting against the wall across from the table was a small bookshelf and an easel with a large frame sitting on it, housing the last portrait you finished the night before, ready to be shipped to the buyer.

After… somewhat enjoying a quick pot of white cheddar mac & cheese and watching a rerun of Supernatural on your little TV, you head into your room and sit at the desk next to your bed. After starting your computer, you opened up discord and sat back in your wheely chair, waiting for Rhiannon’s status to change to green. Wednesday was the day that she had to be up early for her job, so that meant time for a 10-minute call before you went to bed and she went to work.

Next to your computer was a copy of the photo you took two years ago, of your soulmate and all his friends beneath the shedding cherry trees in High Park. You smiled at it, the memory was fond but now faint in your mind. You reached forward to pick it up, but you stopped yourself. You knew that if you inspected the photo more, you’d only miss Mark and all your friends more.

There were times where your apartment became so quiet that it reminded you how alone you really were. You had lived with Rhiannon most of your life, and that meant there was at least some noise going on at all times. Whether she had her headset unplugged when she was listening to music or watching youtube videos, she was clattering about when helping you wash and dry the dishes, or if she was walking around and tripped on nothing. She was always talking, laughing, or doing something that always let you know that she was there. Now, you had nothing.

The silence is broken and you’re startled by the calling sound from discord, Rhiannon’s icon popping up on the top of your screen. You place your hand on your mouse and click the join call button, adjusting the webcam perched on the top of your desktop monitor.

"Hey," Rhiannon was the first to speak, yawning and reaching back to pull her hair into a perfect, tight ponytail.

"Hey," you respond, watching her closely and leaning your chin on your right palm. "How are you holding up?"

"I should be asking you that, Jesus, you look like the Hulk if he got the swine flu," she retorts, and even through the grainy quality you can tell she has sympathy written all over her face. "I'm doing great, we've got two cleanings today and a wisdom teeth removal, so that'll be fun."

You scoff and attempt to smile, "I'm fiiiiine, other than the fact that I'm here and you're there, 13 hours in the future and at least one ocean in between us and an entire continent and a half. I'd say that constitutes abandonment."

"I got the getting while it was good and you know that," she stuck her tongue out at you. "You need to keep saving so that you can fly your ass out here." She squinted at the screen. "You really need to drink like… an entire bottle of nyquil, dude."

"If only it were that easy," you groan. "I don't even have a photographer's position yet. All I get is sitting at a desk and responding to emails… even with my head start, I can't find a good job and I barely make enough to keep living in Toronto." You stick out your tongue back at her for the nyquil comment. "As if I haven't been hiding a bottle of dayquil in my desk for the past week."

Rhiannon stopped what she was doing and leaned toward her camera. "You know why you can't get the jobs you want," her voice is soft, empathetic. "Mark is having trouble, too. He's been doing a lot of half days, so I don't know how they plan to do their tour with him being constantly sick."

You looked away. "I can't afford to take any more time off… I don't want to lose this job. If I do, I'm not sure that I'll be able to make my rent."

"You're going to need to take time eventually,” Rhiannon stated firmly. "If you don't get at least some of your strength back you're going to end up in the hospital like I did. Remember?"

You glanced back at your screen, watching Donghyuck wander around in the backdrop. You were beyond jealous that they got to live together.

"Maybe. I just miss you. More than I miss having a clear passageway in my nose."

Rhiannon smiled sadly at you. "I miss you too, everyone does. You'll be here soon, I promise. I gotta go, sleep well and drink plenty of water, okay?"

"Okay."

Rhiannon waved at you before her screen went dark, ending the call. The call was shorter than usual, so you presumed that she had woken up late. You zoned out a little, acutely aware that the apartment had gone silent again. You didn't want to cry, to give up after surviving for so long. You had made it this far without letting everything get to you.

You knew that your deteriorating health was because of your separation from Mark and companies saw that as a liability, even though laws had come into place last year to protect separated soulmates from workplace discrimination. You felt a tiny ping of hope when Rhiannon said you would be able to move soon, but you knew she was lying to make you feel better.

Feeling lethargic, you stand and make your way to the dresser in the corner of your room, stripping and throwing your clothes about the room. You open up a drawer and pull out a pair of sweatpants and the softest t-shirt you could find and slipped them on, wandering to your bed and slowly climbing in. You slipped off your glasses, placing them on your desk and reached forward to turn off your lamp.

You hugged your polar bear and tried to get comfortable, hoping to fall asleep quickly. You supposed you could call into work when you woke up; at least your manager was nice enough to understand when you needed a day off. You rolled over, tossed and turned, but sleep wouldn't come. Not while your phone was constantly buzzing.

"What the hell," you mumble to yourself, untangling yourself from the knot of blankets you had tied yourself in to reach for your phone. Your lock screen lit up with a photo of Mark, one you had taken two years ago of him standing in Union Station.

[Rhiannon (5)]

She sure knew how to type quickly.

Rhiannon: I'm on my way to work, I'll let you know when I'm there

Rhiannon: sorry our call was so short, I was running a little late

Rhiannon: I talked to Mark last night, did he say anything?

Rhiannon: are you asleep already? It's been like 5 minutes

Rhiannon: ok you're basically just ignoring me at this point

You: calm down bro I was getting in my pyjamas

Rhiannon: I forgot how slow you get when you're sick, I could die of boredom waiting for you to respond

You: hardy har

Rhiannon: so have you talked to mark today?

You: around lunchtime he woke up from a nightmare but I assume hes busy right now

Rhiannon: Things have been pretty bad around now, I think you might have guessed that

You: Yeah, things aren’t really that great here either, but I’m more worried about Mark… have they given him time off?

Rhiannon: Not much besides half days. He’s really been missing you. Maybe you should message him and see if he’s not busy

You: Yeah, maybe. I feel really guilty

Rhiannon: I know. I still could help you buy your plane ticket, you know. You: You know I can’t do that, I can’t take more from you than I have already. I owe you too much.

No response.

You: Rhiannon I’m sorry

You: Come on, you can’t have scrubbed in that fast!

You sighed, staring at your screen and still seeing no response from your best friend. You took a deep breath in and immediately regretted it when you began coughing up a lung, but at least you weren't upchucking your dinner. Instead, you decided to send a text to Mark.

You: mark, you there?

You close your mind for a moment, thinking that maybe going to bed even later than usual would just make you more sick in the end, but you really needed to know what was going on.

Mark: yeah I'm here babe, what's wrong, can't sleep?

You: no not really… do you have time to talk for a bit?

Mark: yeah, my legs gave out during our first practice so I'm taking a break

You: I'm sorry

Mark: it's not your fault (Y/N)

You: it kind of is, we're both dying because I can't afford to move

Mark: (Y/N), we're not dying, and it's okay, you'll be able to move soon

You: face it you know that we are… I haven't felt this horrible in a long time and I've thrown up three times today

Mark didn't respond right away.

Mark: why are you putting yourself down so much

You: I just… have a lot of regrets right now

Mark: what do you mean

You licked your lips and rolled over in bed, wondering if you should tell him.

Mark: are you okay?

You: no, I feel like this would make you hate me

Mark: I could never hate you and you know that. Tell me what's been bothering you.

You: For the past while… Rhiannon’s been offering me money. It’s honestly not much because everyone’s struggling nowadays, but it would be enough for me to fly to Korea, and I’ve felt so guilty about it that I kept saying no and she stopped offering

Mark: You mean that you could have been here faster? You: and now I feel that saying no was a really bad idea… and I.. I can’t afford anything, barely even food and now I hear that you’re even more sick than I am and I feel terrible

You: I don’t know what to do

Mark: It’s okay, (Y/N), really. I know how hard it is to take money from someone else, I’m not mad at you

You: Really?

Mark: I’m just disappointed that I have to keep waiting. You’ll be able to move soon, I promise, I promise, I promise

You: Are you going to be okay

Mark: As long as you are. Take care of yourself, okay? I’ll be there for you the second you land. Okay?

You: Okay. I… I should probably get some sleep now. Mark: Rest well, I love you

You: I love you too

You sighed, placing your phone on your desk and turning over in your bed. It was time.

#mark lee #mark lee x reader #mark x reader #nct127 #nct #nctu #nct scenarios #nct imagines #reader insert #fanfiction #kpop fanfictions #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines

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mmvalentine · 4 years ago

Text

Home is Where You Are pt 4 | Feysand

Girl next door AU. CW: domestic and family violence. Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 5

Rhys pulled up outside Feyre's apartment block, and killed the engine. But for a moment, he didn't look at her. He wanted to draw out this moment, because spending the day with her was never enough time.

They had walked slowly around the house, Feyre wanting to touch every wall and surface to say goodbye. Most of the stuff they had just dropped off at the local op-shop, since it had been there for ten years and obviously wasn't needed now. A few times Feyre had packed into a box and taken with her, found treasures of their childhood. There was even a photo album, full of Feyre's family before they had fallen apart. Her father had always shied away from those early memories. In one particular photo, Rhys and Feyre stood in the garden with their arms around each other's shoulders, best-buddy style. Feyre had laughed at them, the same height and missing teeth and in ill-fitting hand-me-downs. It had been such a lovely time, and now Rhys had brought her back to her own apartment. To Tamlin.

He had to say something, didn't he? Rhys wrestled with the dilemma. He wanted to respect her life choices. He wanted her to know someone noticed. He wanted her to be safe.

"Thanks for driving," Feyre said. "I had a great time with you." She grinned. "And you do drive like a maniac." "I always have a great time with you," Rhys said. Feyre smiled, and went to get out of the car. Rhys put his hand on her arm, and she stopped.

"Just... take care of you, okay?" Feyre smiled again. "I always do," she said. "If you ever need.. anything. If you want some company, or some hot food, or a spare room. You're welcome to come to mine, okay?" Feyre tilted her head. "Why would I need a spare room, Rhys?" "No reason," Rhys said. "I'm thinking Tamlin snores, or something." Feyre rolled her eyes. "This again." "No!" Rhys said quickly. "I just... maybe everyone needs some place where no one can find them. Maybe your house used to be that for me and I'm feeling nostalgic because you've sold it."

Feyre looked at him for a long time. "Okay, Rhys," she said eventually. They sat for a moment longer.

"Well, I guess I've got fat cheques to write to my sisters," she said. "Goodnight, Feyre." "Goodnight Rhys."

And then she was gone.

Rhys didn't see Feyre for a while after that. He still texted her every now and again, but he figured if he talked to her too much it would be kind of weird. After all, she was engaged, and he was pretty sure the stupid, bubbly feeling he got when her name flashed up on his phone was not the response you were supposed to have to platonic texts.

So he gave himself boundaries- tried to wait for her to initiate most contact, tried hard not to flirt, and even tried to sound interested when she told him Tamlin's latest health craze.

The work project she was working on wrapped up and was a roaring success. The company hosted a small event to launch the campaign, but Feyre didn't end up being able to make it. She sent him an apology, saying she was too sick to come. He told her to feel better soon, and to let him know if she wanted anything brought over.

She wasn't missing out on much, actually. Rhys found these corporate events dreadfully boring, and they all blended into one after a while. He worked for a political magazine and he truly believed in its ideals- but every so often they had to peddle to people with money, and it made him feel dirty. He stayed as long as was polite, drinking white wine he did not enjoy, and then slipped away when he thought no one would notice.

Back in his apartment, Rhys hung his jacket on the back of a chair, and undid the first few buttons of his shirt. He poured himself a glass of brandy, and sat on the couch, trying to overwrite the taste of small talk and champagne. On his coffee table, early sketches Feyre had made were still scattered about. Although he despised the events, it had been a shame that Feyre had not been able to attend, if just to get the recognition for her work. He sat up, and picked up one of the drawings.

Feyre really was an incredible artist. There was something so soft, and tender in the strokes of her brush, even in these rudimentary impressions. If he stared long enough, he could almost imagine the way her fingers smudged the page, the crinkle in her brow as she concentrated on some of the finer details. The movement in the design somehow had him imagining the sound of her laugh...

Rhys put the drawing down, and rubbed his eyes with his palm. This line of thinking was entirely unproductive. He needed to go to bed.

And then there was a knock at his door.

Rhys looked up, then looked at his watch. It was a little past midnight, who was looking for him at this hour? He set his glass down, and padded to the door. And there stood Feyre.

"Don't say anything," she said, before Rhys could open his mouth. He leaned against the door frame, and took in the woman standing there. At her feet, was a stuffed duffel bag. Her eyes were red, and she was too thin. Across one cheek bone, an angry bruise had bloomed purple and red. Rhys' heart dropped into his feet, but as she asked, he didn't say anything.

"You still got that spare room?" she asked.

Rhys picked up her bag and moved it inside. Feyre stepped in, Rhys closed the door behind her, and then very gently, wrapped his arms around her.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, as her arms came up to his back and she leaned into him. "I'm so sorry."

****

Th angst is reeeaallll but seriously my dudes we made it and I am about to get REAL fluffy on your asses. That's right, it's an angst-fluff-smut parade.

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @feysand-babies @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira @live-the-fangirl-life @maybekindasortaace @annejulianneh111 @asteria-of-mars@booksmusicandgoodvibes @burritowithfeels

#feysand #feysand fic #acotar #acosf #rhysand #mine #angst

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dustedmagazine · 4 years ago

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Slept Ons: The Best Records of 2020 That We Never Got Around To

Tattoos and shorts! How did we miss the Oily Boys?

It happens pretty much every year. After much fussing and second-guessing, the year-end list gets finalized, set in stone really, encapsulating 12 months of enthusiastic listening, and surely these are the best ten records anyone could find, right? Right? And then, a day or a week later, someone else puts up their list or records their year-end radio show, and there it is, the record you could have loved and pushed and written about…if only you’d known about it. My self-kick in the shins came during Joe Belock’s 2020 round-up on WFMU when he played the Chats. Others on our staff knew, earlier on, that they weren’t writing about records they loved for whatever reason — work, family, mp3 overload, etc. Except now they are. Here. Now. Enjoy.

Contributors include me (Jennifer Kelly), Eric McDowell, Jonathan Shaw, Justin Cober-Lake, Bill Meyer, Bryon Hayes, Ian Mathers, Andrew Forell, Michael Rosenstein and Patrick Masterson.

The Chats — High Risk Behavior (Bargain Bin)

High Risk Behaviour by The Chats

Cartoonishly primitive and gleefully out of luck, The Chats hurl Molotov cocktails of punk, bright and exploding even as they come. They’re from Australia, which totally makes sense; there’s a sunny, health-care-subsidized, devil-may-care vibe to their down-on-their luck stories. Musically, the songs are stripped down like Billy Childish, sped up like the Ramones, brute simple like Eddy Current Suppression Ring. Most of them are about alcohol: drinking, being drunk, getting arrested for being drunk, eating while drunk…etc. etc. But there’s an art to singing about getting hammered, and few manage the butt-headed conviction of “Drunk & Disorderly.” Its jungle rhythms, vicious, saw-toothed bass, quick knife jabs of guitar frame an all-hands drum-shocked chant: “Relaxation, mood alteration, boredom leads to intoxication.” Later singer Eamon Sandwith cuts right to the point about romance with the couplet, “I was cautious, double wrapped, but still I got the clap.” The album’s highlights include the most belligerently glorious song ever about cyber-fraud in “Identity Theft,” whose shout along chorus buoys you up, even as the dark web drains your savings account dry. The album strings together a laundry list of dead-end, unfortunate situations, one after another truly hopeless developments, but nonetheless it explodes with joy. Bandcamp says the guitar player has already left—so you’re too late to see the Chats live—but it must have been fun while it lasted.

Jennifer Kelly

Oliver Coates — skins n slime (RVNG Intl)

skins n slime by Oliver Coates

2020 was a year of loss, of losing, of feeling lost. Whether weathering the despair of illness and death, the discomfort of displacement or the drift of temporal reverie, English cellist Oliver Coates creates music to reflect all this and more on skins n slime. Using modulators, loops and effects, Coates employs elements from drone, shoegaze and industrial to extend the range of the cello and conjure otherworldly sounds of crushing intensity and great beauty. Beneath the layering, distortion and dissonance, the human element remains strong. The tactility of fingers and bow on strings and the expressive essence of tone form the core of Coates composition and performance. If his experiments seem a willful swipe at the restrictions of the classical world from whence he came, the visceral power of a track like “Reunification 2018”, which hunkers in the same netherworld as anything by Deathprod or Lawrence English, the liminal, static bedecked ache of “Honey” and the unadorned minimalism of “Caretaker Part 1 (Breathing)” are works of a serious talent. skins n slime is an album to sit with and soak in; allow it to percolate and permeate and you’ll find yourself forgetting the outside world, if only for a while.

Andrew Forell

Bertrand Denzler / Antonin Gerbal — Sbatax (Umlaut Records)

Sbatax by Denzler - Gerbal

Tenor sax player Bertrand Denzler and drummer Antonin Gerbal released this duo recording last summer which slipped under the radar of many listeners. Denzler is as likely to be heard these days composing and performing pieces by others in the French ensemble ONCEIM, playing solo, or in settings for quiet improvisation. But he’s been burning it up as a free jazz player for years now as well. Gerbal also casts a broad net, as a member of ONCEIM, deconstructing free bop in the group Peeping Tom, or recontextualizing the music of Ahmed Abdul-Malik along with Pat Thomas, Joel Grip and Seymour Wright in the group Ahmed amongst many other projects. The two have worked together in a variety of contexts for a decade now, recording a fantastic duo back in 2014. Sbatax, recorded five years later at a live performance in Berlin is a worthy follow-up.

Gerbal attacks his kit with ferocity out of the gate, with slashing cymbals and thundering kit, cascading along with drubbing momentum. Denzler charges in with a husky, jagged, repeated motif which he loops and teases apart, matching the caterwauling vigor of his partner straightaway. Over the course of this 40-minute outing, one can hear the two lock in, coursing forward with mounting intensity. Denzler increasingly peppers his playing with trenchant blasts and rasping salvos, riding along on Gerbal’s torrential fusillades. Throughout, one can hear the two dive deep in to free jazz traditions while shaping the arc of the improvisation with an acute ear toward the overall form of the piece. Midway through, Denzler steps back for a torrid drum solo, then jumps back in with renewed dynamism as the two ride waves of commanding potency and focus to a rousing conclusion, goaded on by the cheering audience. Anyone wondering whether there is still life in the tenor/drum duo format should dig this one up.

Michael Rosenstein

Kaelin Ellis — After Thoughts (self-released)

After Thoughts by KAELIN ELLIS

To be sure, “slept on” hardly characterizes Kaelin Ellis in 2020. After a trickle of lone tracks in the first months of the year, a Twitter video posted by the 23-year-old producer and multi-instrumentalist caught the attention of Lupe Fiasco, quickly precipitating the joint EP House. It’s a catchy story from any number of angles — the star-powered “discovery” of a young talent, the interconnectedness of the digital age, the silver linings of the COVID-19 pandemic — but it risks overshadowing Ellis’s two 2020 solo records: Moments, released in the lead-up to House, and After Thoughts, released in October. It doesn’t help that each album’s dozen tracks scarcely add up to as many minutes, or that the producer’s titles deliberately downplay the results. And some, of course, will judge these jazzy, deeply soulful beats only against their potential as platforms for some other, more extroverted artist. “I’d like to think I’m a jack of all trades,” Ellis told one interviewer, “but in all honesty my specialty is creating a space for others to stand out.”

Yet as with all small, good things, there’s reward in savoring these miniatures on their own terms, and After Thoughts in particular proved an unexpected retreat from last fall’s anxieties. Ellis has a poet’s gift for distillation and juxtaposition, a director’s knack for pathos and dramatic sequencing — powers that combine to somehow render a fully realized world. As fleeting as it is, Ellis’s work communicates a generosity of care and concentration, opening a space for others not just to stand out but also to settle in.

Eric McDowell

Lloyd Miller with Ian Camp and Adam Michael Terry — At the Ends of the World

At the Ends of the World by Lloyd Miller with Ian Camp and Adam Michael Terry

Miller and company fuse the feel of a contemporary classical concert with eastern modalities and instrumentation. The recordings sound live off the floor, and give a welcome sense of space and detail to the sensitive playing. Miller has explored the intersection between Persian and other cultural traditions and jazz through the lens of academic scholarship and recorded output since the 1960s. With this release, the performances linger in a space where vibe is as important as compositional structure. The results revel in the beauty when seemingly unrelated musical ideas emerge together in the same moment, with startling results.

Arthur Krumins

Oily Boys — Cro Memory Grin (Cool Death)

Cro Memory Grin by Oily Boys

The title of this 2020 LP by Australian punks Oily Boys sounds like a pun on “Cro-Magnon,” an outmoded scientific name for early humans. It’s apt: the music is smarter than knuckle-dragger beatdown or run-of-the-mill powerviolence, but still driven by a rancorous, id-bound savagery. The smarts are just perceptible enough to keep things pretty interesting. Some of the noisier, droning and semi-melodic stretches of Cro Memory Grin recall the records made by the Men (especially Leave Home) before they decided to try to make like Uncle Tupelo, or some lesser version of the Hold Steady. Oily Boys inhabit a darker sensibility, and their music is more profoundly bonkers than anything those other bands got up to. Aggro, discordant punk; flagellating hardcore burners; psych-rock-adjacent sonic exorcisms — you get it all, sometimes in a single five-minute passage of Cro Memory Grin (check out the sequence from “Lizard Scheme” to “Heat Harmony” to “Stick Him.” Yikes). A bunch of the tunes spill over into one another, feedback and sustain jumping the gap from one track to the next, which gives the record a live vibe. It feels volatile and sweaty. The ill intent and unmitigated nastiness accumulate into a palpable force, tainting the air and leaving stains on your tee shirt. Oily Boys have been kicking around Sydney’s punk scene since at least 2014, but this is their first full-length record. One hopes they can continue to play with this degree of possessed abandon without completing burning themselves to down to smoldering cinders. At least long enough to record some more music.

Jonathan Shaw

Dougie Poole — The Freelancer's Blues (Wharf Cat)

The Freelancer's Blues by Dougie Poole

A cursory listen might misconstrue the heart of Dougie Poole's second album, The Freelancer's Blues. When he mixes his wobbly country sound with lyrics like those in “Vaping on the Job,” it sounds like genre play, a smirking look at millennial life through an urban cowboy's vintage sound. Poole does target a particular set of issues, but mapping them with his own slightly psychedelic country comes with very little of the postmodern itch. His characters feel just as troubled as anyone coming out of 1970s Nashville, and as Poole explores these lives with wit and empathy, the songs quickly find their resonance.

The album, though it wouldn't reach for pretentious terms, carries an existential problem at its center. Poole circles around the fundamental void: work deadens, relocation doesn't help, spiritual pursuits falter, intelligence burdens, and even the drugs don't help. When Poole finally gets the title track, the preceding album gives his confession extra weight, a mix of life's strictures and personal limitation combining for a crisis best avoided but wonderfully shared. The Freelancer's Blues comes rich in Nashville tradition but finds an ideal fit in its contemporary place, likely providing a soundtrack for a variety of times and spaces yet to come.

Justin Cober-Lake

Schlippenbach Quartett — Three Nails Left (Corbett Vs. Dempsey)

You might say that this record has been slept on twice. The second recording to be released by the Alexander von Schlippenbach, Evan Parker and Paul Lovens (augmented this time by Peter Kowald) was released in 1975, and didn’t get a second pressing — on vinyl — until 2019. So, Corbett Vs. Dempsey stepped up last summer, it had never been on CD. But this writer was so stumped on how to relate how intense, startling, and unlike any other free improvisation it was and is, that he just… slept on it. Until now. Even if you know this band, if you don’t know this album, well, it’s time you got acquainted.

Bill Meyer

Stonegrass — Stonegrass (Cosmic Range)

STONEGRASS by Stonegrass

Released on the cusp of a tentative re-opening for the city of Toronto after two months of lock-down, this slab of psychedelic funk-rock was the perfect antidote to the COVID blues when it arrived at the tail end of a Spring spent in near-isolation. The jam sessions that became Stonegrass were also a new beginning for multi-instrumentalist Matthew “Doc” Dunn and drummer Jay Anderson, who reignited a spirit of collaboration after a decade of sonic estrangement following the demise of their Spiritual Sky Blues Band project. Listening to these songs, you’d never know they spent any time apart. The tight, bottom-wagging jams on offer are evidence that these two are joined together at the third eye. Anderson’s grooves run deep, and Dunn — whether he’s traipsing along on guitar, keys or flutes — is right there with him. There’s enough fuzz here to satiate the heads, but the real treat here is the rhythmic interplay. Strap in and prepare to get down.

Bryon Hayes

Bob Vylan — We Live Here EP (Venn Records)

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Bob Vylan flew under the radar in 2020 successfully enough that when someone nominated them for the best of 2020 poll in Tom Ewing’s Peoples’ Pop Polls project on Twitter (each month a different year or category gets voted on in World Cup-style brackets, it’s great fun and only occasionally maddening), most of the reaction was “is that one a typo?” Nobody had that response after listening to “We Live Here” — my wife also participates in the poll, so we just play all the candidates in our apartment, and Bob Vylan was the first time both of our jaws dropped in amazement; the song got played about ten times in a row at that point. Bobby (vocals/guitar/production) and Bobbie (drums/“spiritual inspiration”) Vylan’s 18-minute EP lives up to that title track, fireball after fireball aimed directly at the corrupt, crumbling, racist state that seems utterly indifferent to human suffering unless there’s profit in it. Whether it’s the raging catharsis of the title track or the cool, precise hostility of “Lynch Your Leaders,” Bob Vylan have made something vital and essential here, that very much speaks to 2020 but sadly will stay relevant long past it.

Ian Mathers

Working Men’s Club — Working Men’s Club (Heavenly Recordings)

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It’s been evident these past few years that I’ve retreated from music and committed myself to the slower world of books as a way of giving my mind a break from the accelerating madness outside, but I could never really leave my radio family the same way I could never really leave Dusted. Another great example why: A fellow CHIRP volunteer played “John Cooper Clarke” in a December Zoom social I actually managed to catch, and I’ve been addicted to Working Men’s Club’s debut LP from October ever since. The quartet hails from Todmodren, a market town you won’t be surprised upon listening to discover is roughly equidistant between Leeds and Manchester; the album screams Hacienda vibes in its seamless integration of post-punk signifiers and dancefloor style. It’s easy to bandy about names from Rip It Up and Start Again or even The Velvet Underground in 12-minute closer “Angel,” certainly one of the most arresting tracks of the year, but the thing that struck me immediately is that this was the record I’d always anticipated but never got from Factory Floor — smart, aloof and occasionally calculated, yet still fun enough to play for any crowd itching to move. Until the community of a dance party or Working Men’s Club live set is once again possible, patience and a fully formed first album will have to suffice. You’ll have to imagine the part where I corner you at the party to rave about it, I’m afraid.

Patrick Masterson

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haikyuu-drabble · 5 years ago

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Soulmate AU | Terushima x Reader

hi i saw this post on tumblr about a colorblind soulmate au loool and so i wrote this... technically part two is in the works but idk if im a fan of where its going but if u guys really want it then ill try to work on it haha

terushima x reader | Colorblind

word count: 2670

__________________________

Black and white. That’s what you always saw, and you hated every moment of it. You’d been wanting to meet your soulmate for years. Out of all your friends you’ve wanted it the most. Every time you thought you might have found the person, when you reached out to touch them, nothing changed. You still saw black and white.

These days, most, if not all, of your friends could see in color. You’d constantly have them describe the shades or hues of things. You’d ask them things like what color your eyes were or what their favorite color was. You’d basically torture yourself.

Your friend laughed, “Maybe you haven’t met your soulmate because they can tell how desperate you are.”

You grimaced, “You don’t really think that’s it, do you?”

“Of course not!” you friend laughed, “Can you just relax? It’ll come when it comes. The best things always come when you’re not looking for it.”

“Well, can you blame me? My curiosity is only going to get worse the older we get. The number of people who only see in black and white in our age range is only getting smaller.” You grumbled.

You friend rolled her eyes and patted you on the back, “Just focus on what’s important to you right now, and it’ll show up.”

“Fine.” you sighed.

When it was time for your next class, you bid your friend goodbye. It was a new semester which meant new classes which also meant new classmates. This could be your chance. This could be the class that you meet your soulmate and finally see in color.

When you walked in, you saw a load of girls surrounding a particular area of the classroom. You tried to peak over the crowd to see what they were crowding over. It was a male student with short cropped hair. You raised a brow wondering why everyone was so preoccupied with him.

You decided to sit far away from the commotion. The professor gave the typical syllabus lecture, and in the midst of it, he announced that there’d be a partner project. He explained, “I already assigned your partners, and I’ll post them on the board after lecture. Be sure to communicate what you want your project to be about. I’ll be asking for topics next week.”

You felt yourself getting excited. This could be it. This assigned partner for class could be your assigned partner for life. You felt yourself fidgeting from anticipation of the list.

When class finally ended, you overheard girls saying things like “I hope I get Terushima” or “how lucky would I be to get Terushima as a partner?”

Frankly, you had no idea who they were talking about, but you also didn’t really care to know.

You were in line waiting for your turn to search the list when you overheard someone calling your name. You tried to look over the heads that were blocking your view and saw the same boy who was surrounded by girls earlier. You sighed to yourself. Great.

You waved your hand, and he grinned at you. You could hear the girls whispers around you, “she’s so lucky” and “I really thought I was going to be his partner”.

He walked up to you with a smile, “So, should we trade numbers?”

“How about emails?” you suggested.

“Isn’t it easier to communicate through text?” he raised a brow.

“If I said that I didn’t have a phone, would you believe me?” you faked a grin.

Terushima laughed, “No, but for that joke. I’ll settle for your email.”

You grabbed a scrap of paper and wrote your email on it. He did the same, and you two ended up trading the papers. He smiled, “I’ll email you some topics later!”

You nodded in response and walked off to your next class. All you could think of was how much work you’d definitely be putting into this project. He just seemed like the type of guy who wouldn’t carry his weight.

Later that night, you were watching television at your apartment. Getting used to going back into the groove of school always tired you out. You could feel your mind drifting off when your phone pinged. It was an email from Terushima. You opened it to see what it was about, and in it were over ten topics. How… did he already come up with so many?

You read over them, and you realized that they were all really interesting things to make a project about. You picked the three that were most interesting to you and emailed him back with your response. Within moments, he’d already emailed you back and said you should meet up to narrow down which one you wanted to do. You agreed.

The next day, you went to the campus cafeteria. It was the agreed meeting place, but you forgot how busy the room got when it was lunch time. You opened your email and asked him if he found a spot yet. However, there was no response. You tried to look around for him in the giant room, and after about fifteen minutes of looking you finally found him sitting at a table in the corner. You approached the table and sat across from him. “I’m sorry. I got here earlier, but I was looking around for you the whole time. I emailed you asking you where you were, but yeah…” you veered off.

Terushima smirked at you, “If we traded numbers like I suggested yesterday, you wouldn’t have had so much trouble.”

“If I could see color then I also would’ve been able to spot you better too.” You muttered.

He tilted his head, “You can’t see color, either?”

“Either?” you asked, “You haven’t met your soulmate yet?”

He shook his head and smiled, “Thankfully, no.”

You raised a brow, “What do you mean by ‘thankfully’?”

He leaned towards you, “Life would be so boring if I found my soulmate. I don’t want to settle.”

You propped your head up with your hand, “Finding your soulmate isn’t settling down. It’s finding your partner. Your whole life changes, and you can finally see in color. How is that settling down at all?”

“You see it this way, and I see it that way.” Terushima shrugged and put his hand up for a high-five, “Kudos to us for still being free!”

You stared at his hand, “Should you really be that open to touching people if you don’t wanna find your soulmate?”

Terushima lowered his hand and laughed, “I think it’s safe to say that neither of us get along that well. I highly doubt we’re soulmates.”

“Right.” You rolled your eyes and opened your laptop to start working, “So, what topics do you think should narrow down on?”

You two talked for about an hour figuring out the pros and cons of the topics. It took longer than you expected because you guys had to refer back to the original list since some of the other topics weren’t as easily researched as others.

Before you two split up, he asked for your number, and you had to agree. It would be annoying if you continued to communicate only through email.

You were glad that you figured out what topic to write about because now you didn’t have to worry about it until your professor had approved the topic.

Coincidentally, you came to class early the day the topic was due. You grabbed your study materials out of your bag waited for class to start. Someone sat down next to you, and you saw Terushima smiling at you, “So, did prof approve our project?”

“He said that he’s going to go over it a couple minutes before class ends.” You answered.

The rest of the class started flocking in, and that’s when the normal swarming of girls approached Terushima. You sighed and collected your things. Terushima turned to you, “I thought you said we still have to turn in our topic. Where are you going?”

“Don’t worry. I need a good grade, too. I’m not leaving.” You explained.

You moved away from the crowd, a couple rows in front of your original seat. It was much too early to deal with such a loud crowd.

Near the end of class, the professor explained that he was finally going to approve topics, and as soon as you were approved, you were free to leave. Since you were sitting near the front, you were one of the first people he checked. You quickly got his approval and texted Terushima the news.

As soon as you packed your things and left the classroom, someone called your name from behind you. You turned around and saw Terushima chasing after you. Once he caught up with you, he asked, “Why didn’t you wait for me?”

“Well, he approved of our topic, and I texted you.” you held up your phone.

He checked his phone and saw the message, “Oh. I didn’t realize.”

“That’s because you were too distracted with the girls crowding around you.” You joked, “Maybe if you met your soulmate, you wouldn’t be so distracted.”

Terushima had a smile on his face, “Well, if you look at that. ‘Ms. Serious’ has jokes.”

You laughed and rolled your eyes, “It comes up on occasion.”

“Well, I know that now.” Terushima beamed, “So, where’s your next class?”

“I don’t have one actually. I’m done for the day.” You answered.

“Me either! Let’s get hangout” he invited.

“I don’t know. I’m kind of busy.” You veered.

You looked at his face and saw the slight disappointment. There was a part of you that wanted to give in, “But… I guess I can squeeze you into my busy schedule.”

Terushima grinned, “Great! I know the best place with the best bread!”

When you two got to the bakery, you grabbed some pastries. Terushima was ahead of you at the cash register, and you put your bread next to his, “I’ll pay for his food too.”

Terushima was taken aback, “What’s this about?”

You took out your wallet, “I feel bad since you found all the topics for the assignment. It had to have taken a lot of time because you got so many. So, consider this as my payback.”

You grabbed your bread and headed to a table to sit at. While eating, you got to know Terushima a little bit better. You asked, “Holdup. You played volleyball?”

“Played?” he repeated, “I still play! I’m on the school’s team.”

“How come I never noticed you, then?” you asked.

Terushima shrugged, “Maybe you just couldn’t believe such a perfect guy could exist.”

“Sure. That’s what it is.” You scoffed.

Once you finished eating, Terushima walked you to the station. Before leaving, you asked, “Next time, let’s meet up to research some sources.”

“I’m down.” Terushima grinned.

You planned to meet with the next couple of days, and after he walked you walked to the subway. You looked back one more time and saw that he was still looking at you. When he noticed you looking, he grinned and waved at you energetically. You couldn’t help but smile and wave back at him.

On the train, you couldn’t help but think that Terushima was an enigma. He was a flirt. That’s for sure, but it was strange. You thought with his direct way of speaking, you would have been able to get a grasp on him, but trying to see what he was actually feeling was more difficult thank you thought. One thing you did realize was that you got along with him more than you would ever admit.

The next day, you met up with your friend, Tendou. He hadn’t met his soulmate either, but you figured out quite early that you weren’t each other’s soulmate. You’d accidentally tripped, and he was quick to catch you. When there was no difference in your vision, you were disappointed. Sure, Tendou was a very eccentric person, but he was sweet and fun. But over time, you realized it was much better that you two were just friends.

You had told him about Terushima and the group project. Tendou stuck up a finger, “That’s the wild guy on the volleyball team, right?”

“Am I the only person who didn’t know he played for the school?” you asked.

Tendou shrugged, “Hard to say. I used to play so maybe that’s why I took notice.”

“Maybe.” You sighed.

“Well, what’s your opinion of him?” Tendou got straight to the point, “You like him or something?”

You felt your face heat up, “T-Tendou!”

Tendou raised his brows, “That’s an interesting reaction.”

“No!” you denied, “It’s not even a reaction.”

“If you say so.” Tendou snorted.

You threw your hands up, “Let’s just change the subject!”

“Fine.” Tendou shrugged again, “Oh yeah! I’m starting a manga!”

“Again?” you laughed, “Please tell me you have better ideas than last time.”

The next day, you went to the library, and you texted Terushima asking where he was. He quickly replied, “I’ll come and get you.”

Within a couple of moments, you saw him waving at you, and you walked up to him. He whispered, “I already got started and found a few references.”

Once you got to the table, you saw there were a some of books and printouts. You grabbed a book and noticed that he’d even already bookmarked a couple of pages. You asked, “How long have you been here for?”

“I’m not really sure.” He answered, “I just came here after my class. I figured I might as well since I had nothing else to do.”

“Terushima, if you keep this up, I’m going to go bankrupt from buying you those hotdog breads.”

“I wouldn’t mind that actually.” He snickered.

He sat down in his seat, and you took the spot next to him. You opened your laptop and started looking for own searches to add to the collection. You knew that this class was going to be a lot of work, but you didn’t realize that it was going to be as much as it was. You were thankful that you had Terushima as a partner to complete the paper and presentation.

While reading an article, Terushima called for your attention, “Can you look at this article, and tell me if it’s usable for the paper?”

You tilted your chair to see his laptop screen a bit better. You were reading the part that he highlighted when you felt your chair start to dangerously lean over more. You quickly gasped, but Terushima grabbed your arm and caught you and pushed your chair back on the ground. Suddenly there was a bright flash of light. You flinched from it and closed your eyes. “Are you alright?” Terushima laughed, “Good thing I caught you. You really would have been a goner.”

You rubbed your eyes, and when you opened them, things looked very different. You could see color. Does that mean…?

In almost a breath, you asked, “Do you… see that?”

“See what?” Terushima laughed, “Your life flash before your eyes?”

“No! The—” You looked over at him, and you saw his golden locks. Terushima was blond. His eyes were a soft almond color, and his skin had a slight tan to it. He was... beautiful.

He was looking at you with a confused look, and your heart dropped. You could tell by his expression that he wasn’t seeing what you saw. He wasn’t seeing in color. You knew that could only mean one thing. Terushima was your soulmate, but... you weren’t his.

#terushima x reader #terushima yuuji x reader #literally not one of my best works but i like it #so here i am posting it lmfao #haikyuu #terushima #terushima yuuji #haikyuu one shot #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu oneshot #jozhenji

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kclenhartnovels · 5 years ago

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Horseshoes and Hand Grenades, Larocque’s Introduction

As I’m finally getting some actual words done on the project, here’s a fun sneak peak into the early chapter, and Harding’s first interaction with Larocque. I feel like I’m finally finding the narrative voice, and I may be having too much fun with descriptions.

===========================

"Agent John Harding, Sr.?"

The use of his full name startled Harding out of his focus, and he jerked up so suddenly he sent half a dozen papers fluttering to the ground. They hadn't been in much order to begin with, emptied from the file box and strewn across his desk and the floor with a few of his own notes scribbled on post-its on top of them, still trying to make sense of the flood of information. He had expected some other lackey suit to be standing in the door to his office, perhaps holding another full box or checking in on his progress as they had been doing for the past couple days, but instead was someone he had never seen before. And he didn't look like a paper pusher, or a field agent. Instead of a suit, he wore a long white lab coat, immaculately pressed and clean. He had the long, narrow look of someone who had at one point been a normal proportion, but then had been squeezed and pulled too tightly through some sort of unforgiving machine. His high cheekbones angled too sharply against the line of his jaw, leaving hollows that might have been called dimples if they didn't look so severely cut. Dark blond hair curled loosely across his temples, and seemed the only thing about him not pressed and stretched into a cultivated, regimented perfection. Harding got the distinct impression that he was some sort of lizard that had decided to wear a human-suit, but had no idea how to make it properly fitted. If he saw a forked tongue, Harding was going to carve a window into the wall behind him and jump through it.

"Yes, sir," he answered instead. "That's me. Can I help you?"

The reptile in the doorway smiled, at least much in the same way a snake smiled while sizing up a cornered mouse. It was less of a gesture of goodwill, and more a yawn of fangs in preparation to swallow someone whole. "My name is Dr. Henri Larocque. I have the results of your bloodwork."

"Ah." When Larocque didn't continue right away, Harding felt compelled to speak. "Is this like looking up symptoms on the Internet? Do I have brain cancer?"

The doctor's smile widened marginally, enough to finally wrinkle the hollows of his pitted cheeks. "Quite the contrary. Won't you follow me?"

"Why do I feel like I don't have a choice in the matter?" Harding picked up a few of the papers that had fallen, returned them to the piles where (he thought) they came from, and gingerly stepped around the rest. Standing beside Larocque, he was even more acutely aware that his own suit was rumpled, his tie was loosely done, and he hadn't really slept in a day or so. He felt rather like a stray dog beside a freshly-groomed Westminster poodle.

"You always have a choice, John."

Harding flinched. No one called each other by first names here, and he wasn't sure if it felt too familial, or too mocking when the doctor said it. It was just weird. Everything about the doctor spoke something of the other, and he couldn't help but wonder if there was some sort of Lovecraftian beast lurking under the skin, rather than a simple razor-toothed lizard. "Yeah, it sounds like it. You sure I don't have brain cancer?"

Larocque led him down the hallway, past the series of windowless offices where other paper-pushers like him worked, past the open cubicles of other agents. RJ saw them pass by, and she stood to exchange a glance with him. He offered her a shrug, and gestured vaguely towards the white coat in front of him, before spinning one finger beside his temple in a gesture of insanity. When she looked genuinely alarmed, a tightness formed in his stomach. Did she know something he didn't?

The doctor pushed open a door at the end of the hall, and gestured Harding into the same small clinic room where the nurse had drawn his blood almost two weeks ago. "Please, have a seat."

The only place to sit was on the hard metal table, covered with a sheet of sterile paper, and Harding felt like a child waiting for a round of vaccinations when he hopped up onto it. The paper crinkled under his hands. The sound settled around the knot in his stomach, adding an acidity that made his teeth ache, as if he had just heard nails scraping against chalkboard for the past two hours. "So," he began lamely, "what's this about? They never said what the blood draw was for."

Larocque drew the shades on the door's window, giving them as much privacy as could be expected. Harding half waited for him to pull out a butcher's knife and begin painting the white walls with chunks of his flesh. But instead, the doctor moved in front of him, and tapped his tapered fingers against a clipboard. "How much do you know about the human genome, John?"

His teeth ached, and he realized he had been gritting them. "It's Agent Harding."

The doctor smiled thinly. "Answer the question, please."

What the fuck was he supposed to say? "I'm not a biologist. I studied French and political science. I know they finished the human genome project recently. It was all over the news." Larocque nodded, and seemed to be waiting for him to go on. He felt a frustrated sigh hiss past his clenched teeth. A headache began to throb in his temple. He hadn't slept, hadn't eaten anything that morning aside from three cups of coffee and half a bagel that he had mostly neglected after he found mold in the cream cheese. "I don't know. DNA makes us who we are?"

"That is correct." He sounded like a teacher, praising an especially thick student for finally answering a simple question, while the rest of the class snickered and flicked spitballs at them. "And we have mapped your genetic code. This is a brave new world we are entering, and you and I are to be on the forefront of this new science. You see, your DNA is holding something extraordinary."

"Not brain cancer, then?"

Larocque's impeccable human suit flickered with irritation. His nostrils flared, and a hint of color finally touched the hollows of his face. "I am certain that you are aware of the rumors of humans with powers beyond the norm? Those that can produce elements with the powers of their mind, or move at speeds and strengths thought impossible?"

"I read comic books," Harding agreed.

"This is not colorful fiction any longer, John. We may have the power to unlock and strengthen these abilities, now that we know the genetic markers that indicate a predilection towards them." He tapped the clipboard again, and his taunt body leaned forward some. "And the markers on yours are incredibly rare. Tell me, how often do you get sick?"

"Get sick?" he repeated, feeling a fresh pulse in his headache when Larocque called him by his first name again.

"Yes, how often do you contract an illness?"

The question gave him pause. "I don't know. I guess--as often as anyone."

"Specifically, when was the last time you were ill?"

"I don't know." He had to bite his tongue to keep from cursing. Professionalism had been his feedback when he was accepted into the program. He had really wanted to tell them then that they could go fuck themselves. Translators weren't in the public eye anyway. But he needed this job. He just didn't need this reptile probing him with weird questions. Fuck, when was the last time he had been sick? He could remember looking after Karen when she got colds, when she got the flu last year, and she had scolded him for kissing her, because what if he got sick next? The only thing he could remember-- "Food poisoning," he said at last. "Uh, senior year of college. Four buddies and me went to a bad choice of restaurant. They all ended up in the hospital."

"And you?" Larocque pressed.

He shrugged. "I was cradling the toilet for eight hours or so. It was miserable."

"Only eight hours for food poisoning, when all your friends were in the hospital for--how long?"

His shrug came stiffer. It hurt his shoulders to make the gesture. His stomach tightened again, knotting in on itself like a low throb of warning. "I don't really remember. They got their stomachs pumped and they were dehydrated so--a day? Two?" He could taste the lie. One of his friends had nearly died, and was there for a week. The other two spent four days wretched and pale. They had sued the restaurant and won enough money that the one who had treaded the veil decided he didn't need to find a job, and bought a house instead. Harding hadn't been a part of all that. He had never even told a doctor that he had been ill. It hadn't seemed to do any harm.

Larocque made a note on his clipboard. "And that was how long ago now? Four, five years?" he guessed.

Harding felt his shoulders jerk in another harsh shrug. It felt as if his muscles were trying to tear themselves free of the bone.

"And before that? Or since then? Any allergies?"

"Nope. Not that I've found yet. Why? Do you think I'm some sort of superhuman cockroach or something?"

"Precisely that."

Harding opened his mouth to speak, but his tongue was dry, and he snapped his teeth shut again. What the fuck was he supposed to say to that?

"What about injuries?" the doctor went on. "Any broken bones?"

"I broke my arm when I was a kid. I got a papercut this morning." He held up his hand to show the mark on his finger, but the line was so thin it was nearly invisible, and the skin was barely torn. He had a hard time finding where it had happened to begin with. "Fuck, I was in a car accident two years ago and had a concussion. Ripped my head open on the steering wheel." He tilted his head slightly, running his fingers along a scar just at his hairline, faded and smooth. "I'm not a man of steel or anyth--can you back up?"

But Larocque had closed the distance between them, and took Harding's head between his thin hands. His fingers were cold. Harding tried to pull back, but he was held like a vice, and the doctor inspected the scar with such intensity that he had to wonder if the reptile also possessed laser vision or something.

"Fascinating," the doctor breathed at last. "A scar this healed would take decades for a normal individual. You had stitches on this wound, yes?"

"Twelve staples."

"Incredible. The marks have completely vanished. If your body already possesses this sort of accelerated healing, then it should only grow stronger once we begin the treatment."

Harding finally jerked himself free of Larocque's probing hands, and all-but fell off the metal table to get away from him. "The fuck do you mean, treatment?"

"I have your paperwork to sign first, of course. We will need your informed consent to begin." Larocque's dark eyes were glittering, and he had the giddy appearance of a schoolboy that had found a particularly large worm on the playground, and couldn't wait to pull it apart to watch both ends wiggle bloody death throes. "I'll have it all sent to your desk. I suggest you finish your current project quickly. We start treatments on Monday."

Tag list:

@fatal-blow @gingerly-writing @rrrawrf-writes @pied-piper-of-hamlet @inkstarlight

As always, let me know if you want to be added or removed!

#excerpt #writeblr #horseshoes and hand grenades #harding #larocque #hippocrates #honestly this book is going to be so much fun just because it's very much harding's voice #and he's so snarky #and so weird #i love him #he's so YOUNG here

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incomingalbatross · 5 years ago

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Fic: The Adventure of the Spontaneous Physician

I wrote this snippet of “Modern Holmes AU” a while ago, but I’m feeling the urge to post it Today Specifically (Easter euphoria? maybe), even though it’s more a first chapter than a real story. So... If you have any interest in seeing my idea their modern-day first meeting, here it is! :P Length: ~2800 words Characters/Pairings: John H. Watson MD, Sherlock Holmes, OFC. Gen. Warnings: Absolutely none Summary: The call of adventure is heeded. This leads to a meeting of friends in a Starbucks, and from there to another such meeting in St. Bart’s Hospital.

It was a fine spring day in London, and Dr. Meredith Lynn, OB/GYN, was feeling the pull of Adventure.

She wasn’t feeling it terribly strongly, mind you… But it was enough to have her get off the Tube a stop or so early, and walk the rest of the way to St. Bart’s in the fresh air. And when she passed a little hole-in-the-wall Starbucks she’d used to frequent in her student days, the urge for spontaneity was easily enough to break her routine and send her in for a drink and a pastry. In her just-over-three-decades of life, she’d learned to embrace moods like this one, and to find satisfaction in following where they led.

Having made her order, however, she paused. She had time—that same adventurous mood having sent her off with an early start—but did she want to sit here, or venture back out into the sunshine?

Brow furrowed, she scanned the tables for an empty spot. A young couple—two mums chatting—a single man on his computer—

Wait.

Something about the solitary young man caught her attention. She looked more closely. He was in a slightly ill-fitting suit, browsing the web with a condensation-coated frappucino next to him and a dark look on his face. But, expression aside, that face was familiar…

She lit up, threads all slipping into place suddenly, and hurried to his table. “John Watson!” she exclaimed, standing over him.

He looked up, startled, but quickly smiling. “Meredith?”

Meredith grinned, pleased he remembered her—it had been years, and they’d never been particularly close, but clearly the bond of a shared residency was a lasting one.

“The one and only!” she chirped. “Fancy meeting you here, Dr. Watson.”

He laughed, still a little incredulously. His look of open delight, though, proclaimed she was a pleasant surprise—he’d always worn his heart on his sleeve, Meredith remembered, and she was glad to see that that guilelessness hadn’t disappeared.

“Really!” he agreed, smiling. “I haven’t even looked for anyone from the St. Bart days since…well, since I got to town. What have you been up to?” Then he paused, expression flickering with sudden self-doubt. “Or, sorry, are you on your way to work or someplace? I wouldn’t want to keep you—”

But Meredith put an end to that by sliding into the seat opposite him. John had always been a good sort, and she was glad to catch up. And besides that…well, between his earlier gloom and his enthusiasm at seeing her, she rather thought he could use some company.

So she smiled and said truthfully, “Nothing but time. My first consultation’s not till—ooh, over an hour from now, and I’m still at Bart’s, so it's just ‘round the corner.” Setting her coffee and her scone decidedly on the table, she said, “So tell me! How’ve you been?”

He brightened, closing his laptop to give her his full attention. (Always the gentleman, John.) “I’ve been… Well.” He half-shrugged. “A mixed bag, I suppose. Not so bad now, really, but…”

He trailed off, and Meredith bit her lip in concerned attention. She’d thought, when she saw him, that he wasn’t looking well…

He shook his head, smiling at her as if in apology for his brief silence. “Well. Did you know, back in the day, that I was planning to sign up with Doctors Without Borders?”

“Hmm…” Meredith frowned. “I may have. Not sure, sorry.”

“That’s all right! Anyway, I did. Filled the qualifications, signed up, and got sent out last summer… It was pretty brilliant, actually,” he said earnestly. But then he gave a rueful grimace. “Then I got shot, sent home, and put on disability pay this winter.”

Mer’s mouth hung open. “You got shot?” she exclaimed. “Good lord, John, how bad was it? Where?”

He pulled back a little at her unthinking reaction, looking as if the attention made him uncomfortable. “Shoulder, but it’s not too bad,” he said quickly. “I mean, my leg doesn’t work properly either, just as a bonus, but neither is debilitating… I can get through daily life all right, now, and I can work as long as it doesn’t demand too much fine motor control. Doesn’t even hurt too much!”

His face had fallen, though, despite these hopeful words, and it was plain to see he was hurting on some level.

“It’s just that I can’t go back, you know?” he said after a moment. “Maybe not ever. And I know I could be much worse off, but it’s…disheartening, I guess. All that work, and I got less than a year of doing what I wanted to do with it.”

Looking at him, Meredith frowned. She could only imagine the disorienting upset of having your entire life’s plan forcibly torn apart like that… But it hurt to see a man like John H. Watson looking so adrift, so done.

“Hey,” she said, leaning forward. “Whatever…whatever you’re meant to do with yourself, you’ll find it. If not Doctors Without Borders, something better. You’ve just…” She fumbled over her words, torn between trying to say what she really felt and wanting to avoid empty-sounding platitudes. “You’ve got more ahead than behind, John,” she said finally, earnestly.

He blinked, looking unexpectedly touched. “I… Thank you,” he said, the empty look fading. “I do feel that myself, at least some of the time… It’s just frustrating, you know? I’m not terribly good at planning ahead to start with, and now my one big plan’s just…thrown out, and I’ve got to make another?” He sighed, stirring the sludge left in his cup with an idle straw. “Having something out there is all well and good, but finding it…” He snorted, one corner of his mouth curling up in a rueful smile. "Need somewhere to start, you know. Can't make bricks without clay."

Meredith blinked at the odd choice of phrase…and more, at recognizing it.

"Y'know," she said, "somebody else said that to me just yesterday? The bricks thing, I mean."

John looked up. "Oh really?"

She nodded. "He was complaining about rooming, though. Something about needing either more money or a roommate, and how impossible it would be to get either." She rolled her eyes tolerantly, thinking of her labmate's dramatics.

"Well, I can relate to that, too," John said, laughing and taking a drink. "Before anything else, I need a halfway-affordable place to stay, and that's…not easy."

"No…" Meredith trailed off halfway through her wry agreement, struck by a sudden thought.

"Why not room with him?" she said.

John blinked, startled. "I—sorry? I mean, I wouldn't mind a roommate, of course, but we don't know anything about each other—I don't even know his name!"

But Meredith just grinned, the idea having now firmly taken root in her mind. It would be good for John—he clearly needed company, and something to take him out of himself, and this set-up would certainly provide stimulation.

And as for her labmate… Well. She was sure he'd have a fit if he ever heard her say this, but occasionally he seemed lonely, too. And you couldn't find a more considerate friend than Dr. John H. Watson…

So she just said, smiling over the rim of her coffee cup, "His name is Sherlock Holmes. Now you know!"

"…Sherlock Holmes." She watched him turn the syllables over. "That's quite a name."

"He's quite a person." She took another sip of coffee. "An odd sort, definitely—very bright, and sometimes very impatient with us mere mortals who are less bright and can’t keep up, but not unfriendly. Lives in his own world, a bit, I think? Not sure what he’d be like to live with…but he’s good company when he decides to be.”

“An eccentric genius?” John suggested, smile lighting up his eyes. “Sounds interesting, at least. What is he, exactly? Another doctor?”

She laughed. “Oh, no. Truthfully, I don’t know what his thing is—he seems to be some sort of perpetual grad student, but I couldn’t tell you what in! No, we just share lab space occasionally—I’m assisting on a research project in post-natal care, did I mention?”

“No, congratulations! What’s it about?”

Meredith started to answer…then checked herself and looked at her watch.

“If I start answering that,” she said, with a grin, “we’ll be here until you’re bored stiff and I’m late for work. But here’s a thought—walk with me to Bart’s? I can talk your ear off on the way, and then maybe we can find Sherlock Holmes and I can introduce you before my first appointment.”

He grinned. “Sounds brilliant, if you don’t mind. I’d like to meet him, even if we don’t end up working as a flatshare.”

They gathered up their things and set off—the conversation, as they walked, bouncing between Meredith’s work in London and John’s experiences abroad. He had a gift for storytelling, picking out the drama or the humor or the human interest in events; but, unusually, he had an equally strong gift for listening. All in all, the rest of her commute passed far more quickly than Meredith would have expected when she got up that morning.

She paused outside the hospital. “Hang on…” She turned to John with a rueful smile. “I should’ve thought of this before—I suppose part of me was thinking you still worked here—but I think I’ll need to leave you for a bit. Sherlock Holmes is probably in the lab, and…I can’t get you in without a badge.”

John’s eyes widened. “Oh, right! I’d forgotten that too.” He frowned, lost in thought. “Where should I wait for you, then?”

“Hmm…” Meredith tilted her head. Her first thought was the lobby, but she felt there must be something better. Somewhere quiet, public, enjoyable…

Ah. Hm. “Pathology Museum?” she suggested. “Have you been lately?”

“I haven’t, actually,” John said, brightening. Ah, so she remembered correctly—he had been the one who liked the place, back in the day. He was a bit of a nerd, wasn’t he? “I heard they’d been doing more remodeling, though. How does it look now?”

“I don’t really know,” she said, smiling. While Bart’s Museum of Pathology was fascinating, she supposed, from a certain point of view—certainly the layout was nice, and they had a vast variety of artifacts from the hospital’s centuries of history—it was all a bit too odd, and sometimes morbid, for her own tastes, and she rarely visited it herself.

Still... “I’ll walk over with you,” she decided. “Then next time someone asks me that, I’ll know the answer!”

John laughed, and they made their way in and up to the museum’s third-floor location.

“Come to think of it,” she remarked, as they entered the open floor of the museum, with its multiple mezzanine levels running around the walls and its glass roof above (it really was a nice place, if you ignored some of the exhibits), “this seems like exactly the sort of place Sherlock Holmes probably hangs about in.”

And then she stopped, surprised—because there, bending over one of the glass cases in the middle of the room, was a tall figure that could only be the man himself.

He showed no sign of having noticed their arrival, so Meredith steered John over.

“Dr. Lynn, hello,” Sherlock Holmes said without turning. “Aren’t these exhibits fascinating? Look at this old doctor’s bag, here. Imagine how much it has to tell us… I wish I could open the case and take a closer look.”

Meredith looked down, seeing that the case did, indeed, hold an old-fashioned doctor’s kit, black bag and all. “I have to admit,” she said, “I don’t get much out of museums… I’d love to meet the man who owned the bag, but the bag itself doesn’t make much impression.”

“But can’t you see they’re practically the same thing?” Sherlock Holmes said enthusiastically, turning to face her. “If you could really get your hands on the bag, really examine it—oh, hello.”

He’d finally noticed her companion, she saw; his sharp gaze had locked on to this new figure, and flickered rapidly over him from head to foot before meeting John Watson’s eyes.

He blinked; and then smiled one of his genuine, spontaneous smiles, and held out a hand. “Sherlock Holmes,” he said. “A Doctors Without Borders veteran, I see? Impressive, especially when you’re also a friend of Dr. Lynn’s. I’m interested in the flatshare if you are, Doctor…?”

“John H. Watson,” John said, shaking his hand automatically. And then he blinked, eyes widening in belated, vaguely awestruck shock. “But—hang on, how did you know all that?”

Sherlock Holmes grinned. “Oh, I’m perceptive,” he said easily. “But look, you’re a doctor, and one who likes stories—what do you think of this bag?”

He turned back to the exhibit, and John followed his lead. “…It’s fascinating to think about,” he said slowly, looking down at the faded black bag. “All the things it must have been carried through, how the man first got it… All the lives that may have been saved with the tools inside it.” He sighed. “If only you could learn those stories from the bag itself.”

“You might be able to,” Sherlock Holmes said. “If you studied it well enough.” His fingers tapped out a staccato rhythm on the glass case. “But you came to talk about rooming together, yes? The rooms I’ve been looking at are on Baker Street—two-bedroom, a little out of the way but not far from the Tube, and a good building. Do you have pets, or smoke?”

John shook his head.

“Perfect!” he exclaimed, grinning again. “Fair warning before you commit, though—I have a tendency to get into odd hobbies, chemistry being my most consistent one. Would you be all right with occasional home experiments?”

John just laughed. “Yes, that’s fine.”

“Good, good. My other major drawback as a roommate—or so I’ve heard, anyway—is my moods. I have a tendency towards depressive episodes, and although they’re never major, and they only last a few days, they can be uncomfortable for those who have to share space with me.”

“I would think,” John said slowly, blinking, “that they’d be more uncomfortable for you.”

Sherlock Holmes looked startled, then laughed. “I suppose so,” he allowed, “ but I don’t have much of a choice about them—and, no, before you ask, I’ve never gotten a solid diagnosis, and yes I did try before the whole ordeal became more trouble than it was worth. But anyway, they’re not dangerous and they’re not triggered by those around me, so all I need is some space. So what do you need me to know, Doctor?”

John thought for a moment—smiling, as if amused by the other’s bluntness. “Well,” he said, “I got shot up in Afghanistan, so I’ve limitations on how I can use my arm, and I’m going to both types of therapy. I also don’t like parties, and… Ah, right. I was called a Puritan a good few times in college, so if you’re likely to have, er, anyone overnight…?” He flushed a bit.

“Good Lord, no,” Sherlock Holmes said instantly, with a snort. “And if you aren’t either, that’s an added draw—I don’t like strangers in my space much, myself. Should make life easier for both of us, yes?”

“I’d say so,” John agreed, clearly relieved. “It sounds as though we’ll have a quiet flat.”

“So it seems. Although…” For the first time, he looked concerned. “How do you feel about the violin?”

John laughed, looking surprised. “My favorite instrument, believe it or not,” he admitted. “Although it does depend on the player…”

Sherlock Holmes laughed too. “That’s fine, then,” he said assuredly. “When would you like to look at the flat, in that case? I’m free today…”

Meredith, who had ostensibly drawn back to examine an old plaque on the wall—although it was really too worn by age to read anything except the date, which commemorated something to do with “New Year’s Day 1881”—watched them both, and smiled happily to herself.

They had clicked, and even more thoroughly than she had expected them to. Both men’s postures were loosened, and they had begun talking easily and animatedly already. There was a warmth to Sherlock Holmes’s voice, and a spark in John’s eyes, that she’d rarely seen before in either.

She hummed to herself, remembering the call of Adventure she’d felt that morning. It had faded, now, leaving behind a welcome bounty of drink, food, and unexpected reunion for her, and leaving her to her life until it came again…

But as she looked at the two young men her spontaneous walk had brought together, she rather thought their Adventure had only just begun.

#Sherlock Holmes #holmes #watson #fic #my fic #watson is a sweet awkward nerd and i STAND BY THIS #also bart's pathology museum is 100 percent real #(though i threw in the doctor's bag for Appropriateness)#so how could i pass it up?#friendship #baker street

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juniperwindsong · 5 years ago

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Necessary Monsters (9/16)

A/N: This chapter and the next were originally one, but the length got away from me and it had to be separated. So this story has been changed to 16 chapters (guess that can be good or bad news depending on how much you want this story to be over).

Summary: Better sense is screaming at Felix that this is possibly the worst idea he's ever had, that he's about to undo all the progress he's made. But though his better sense has maintained the upper hand most of the last year, thirty minutes with Juniper is enough to send it packing to the very back of his mind...

“Allow me to introduce my son, Felix.” The Rosier Patriarch offers the young woman’s hand to his son, who accepts and bends over it stiffly, making eye contact for only the briefest second. "I believe you two have quite a bit in common. I'll leave you to chat."

Felix twists his mouth into what passes for a smile at these sort of society parties, while inwardly he groans. His father's attempts to facilitate interactions with pure-blood girls are usually more adroit. But with his first year as a Dragonologist in Peru a success and with no plans to return to England anytime soon, Felix supposes his father is getting a bit desperate.

Felix glances at the clock on the mantle, mentally calculating how much longer before he can leave without disturbing propriety.

"You are an alchemist, then?"

The voice, low for a woman and shaded by a light, lilting accent, startles Felix, as does the unusual question.

"I beg your pardon?"

"An alchemist," the young woman repeats. She's the same height as Felix and meets his eyes steadily. "Your father is sure we will have much in common, you and I. I assume that means you are an alchemist, also?"

Felix permits himself the smallest of smirks. "I'm afraid not. My father is under the impression that being pure-blood is the only important commonality between any two people."

"I see." The young woman flicks dark, wavy tresses over her shoulder and smiles, revealing a dimple in one cheek. "Then we have one thing in common after all. My parents are also, as the English say, old-fashioned."

She winks. Dark lashes flutter over dark eyes, and Felix takes his first serious look at Aurelie Dumont.

Felix knows he would not usually be permitted to sequester himself in a corner, making interesting conversation with a single person while the party drags on around him. His father pokes his head round the corner every quarter hour to scrutinise the pair of them, but this is more amusing than annoying to Felix. For once, he’s in the company of someone else who notices and understands and laughs quietly alongside him. Felix spends the entire evening with Aurelie, who stays long past the fashionable hour, and when she finally takes her leave, it's with the promise of a letter to follow.

Aurelie does write, and Felix writes back. It isn't the comfortable, easy correspondence he shares with Juniper; it's something altogether different. It's titillating, exchanging flirtations with a beautiful, intelligent woman, interested in Felix in a way no beautiful, intelligent woman has ever been before. And it isn't long before the desire to see her again wins out. Leave from Peru isn't easy, but Felix manages, trekking miles to designated apparition points to visit Aurelie in France whenever he has time to spare, sometimes for only a single evening.

In spite of their mutual interest in each other, their first time together is awkward and unnerving. Felix does his best, but he feels certain he has not quite met Aurelie’s well-established standard; something about her desire for distance through the night and her rapid retreat the next morning. As with everything in life, Felix resolves to work harder, do better, and eventually achieve his customary level of perfection. He does what research he's able, pays more attention to the fireside conversations of the other men on his team, even daring a few well-placed and casual questions.

But instead of becoming more comfortable with time, each liaison seems to drive them further apart. Felix began to dread the uneasy silence that sags between them as they lay next to each other in the dark, and is always relieved when Aurelie takes her leave swiftly afterward. Her interest in him seems to cool distinctly as the year progresses. She has absolutely no desire to visit him in Peru, and can no longer even feign an interest in dragons or his work, except to mention rather pointedly in one curt letter how "all that" will need to be wrapped up before they can be married.

At this, Felix balks. He's always known this was the endgame for the two of them - he has a shrewd idea both families have already decided on dates and divided up holidays - but the idea of abandoning his newfound freedom for a lifetime laying next to this woman, cold and beautiful and sharp as a diamond, is utterly terrifying. Instead, Felix throws himself into his correspondence with Juniper, who points out that Aurelie isn't the only eligible, pureblood woman in the world. She reminds him he's hardly done any serious investigation into the subject, and encourages him to hold out.

"There's got to be at least one pure-blood girl out there with a passing interest in dragons. It'd be a shame for you to settle for someone that can't appreciate all your talent," she writes, in a letter Felix folds and unfolds so many times the parchment eventually falls into pieces he has to tape back together. He can’t stop re-reading it. The words make him glow. Aurelie's early letters teem with tantalising coquetry, but Juniper simply declares her compliments like established points of fact. If Aurelie is a diamond, then Juniper is a dragon egg; rougher and hotter, a different sort of object altogether, but infinitely more precious to Felix.

Felix can't imagine Juniper ever permitting a chilly silence to blow between them as they lay in bed together. Juniper, with her easy laughs and natural way of setting people at ease, would know exactly what to say to make those moments beautiful and memorable, even if he doesn't. They're hard for Felix to picture with no good point of reference, but he feels instinctively that nights with Juniper would be better.

Which is what makes the aftermath of their brief tryst so much harder to bear.

Felix returns to work as usual, but there’s an ache inside him he cannot soothe, like a miniature dragon tooth lodged in his flesh. Unbearable waves of longing and pain beat against him every minute of the day, exhausting him and keeping his fractured nerves on fire. True focus is impossible. He's caught between an unquenchable thirst for Juniper and resonating, bitter anger for the way she’s treated him. After every sacrifice he’s made for her, Juniper is unwilling even to try. He didn't know it was possible to hate and love somebody so fiercely and simultaneously.

I don't want things to change. Her words kick at his already bruised brain. Somehow, in spite of everything he had done, he still had not been good enough. On some level, Felix knows it must be his fault. He should never have let that night occur. He had rushed in senselessly, swept away by emotion, just as he had the night she'd been attacked. How might everything have been different if he'd only listened to his common sense? The regret makes him physically ill.

Juniper's first letter arrives a week after his return, and Felix can't prevent his heart leaping into his throat when he recognises the hand-writing. For a few wild minutes, as he finds a quiet spot and tears into the envelope with shaky fingers, he's convinced everything will be fixed. Surely Juniper will be fit to burst with desperate apologies and confessions of feelings she was too muddled to express before. But as Felix scans the lines eagerly, his hopes are dashed. It's a few dutiful paragraphs about Juniper's return to the Khanna tree farm, her reconciliation with her friends, some minor improvement in her hands as she focuses on her healing once more, and her subsequent decision to return to school. She's breezy and pleasant, as if nothing remotely intimate had ever passed between them. Felix throws the offensive parchment into the fire, then spends the evening meticulously reassembling the ashes.

His late night craft project makes Felix late for the next day's shift, and it’s a testament to his genuine enervation that he doesn't even notice. Nor does he notice the eyes of his Senior Dragonologist following him as he wanders into the Peruvian Vipertooth habitat an hour past his scheduled time. Felix goes through the motions of inspecting his dragon, instructing his team of assistants in a weary, hollow voice, entirely oblivious to his superior's expression of growing concern. It isn't until Felix fails to notice the tell-tale signs of impending flame from the mercurial young Vipertooth and has to be yanked out of harm’s way by a terrified assistant that Luis Rashbold steps in. Barking orders over his shoulder to the rest of the team, Rashbold heaves his junior dragonologist out of the fray by the back of his neck, and half-drags him across the grounds to a carefully concealed paddock.

The simple covered lean-to serves as a hidden observation deck for researchers and other less daring visitors to the Reserve. One long window looks out over the grounds, offering a splendid view of the team of wizards now stunning the legs out from under the rampaging she-dragon, but the paddock's various enchantments prevent anyone outside seeing within.

Rashbold tosses an indignantly spluttering Felix onto one of the paddock's three-legged stools.

"Alright, talk," demands the bulky dragonologist, looming over Felix, fists on hips.

Felix straightens on the low seat, glaring at Rashbold with what little dignity he can scrounge up.

"What are you on about?"

"Pack it in that," Rashbold scolds. "You nearly had it back there! A blind streeler could have dodged that flame, yet my junior dragonologist wants the aid of a bunch of teenagers to keep himself kickin'. What in Merlin's name's going on with you?”

Felix rubs the back of his neck mulishly. "I'm just..tired. Not enough sleep last night."

"Rubbish. You've been shirty and careless for a week now, ever since you got back from your little furlough. You can't possibly be this bad at your job, or you'd never have survived Peru."

Felix pushes off from the stool brusquely.

"It won't happen again," he assures his superior, voice dripping with obsequious sarcasm, but Rashbold refuses to be goaded.

"It will," he replies coolly,"If you don't get whatever's eating you off your mind. Keep this up and you're going to get yourself killed. And you can't even imagine the paperwork nightmare that is."

Felix says nothing. He squares up against Rashbold, calculating his chances of successfully pushing past the much larger man and reaching the exit.

"It's that girl, isn't it. The one you went to see?" pries Rashbold doggedly, ignoring Felix's murderous look. "I can put two and two together as well as the next bloke. She turned you down, didn't she? Or called it off?"

It's no good, concludes Felix bitterly; even if he were in peak condition, there's no way he could draw his wand on Rashbold before the brawny man knocked it from his hand. Instead, Felix emits a noise somewhere between disgust and exasperation and storms off to the window. He watches the technicians conduct routine scale care on the now unconscious dragon, and waits for the heat in his face to cool. He doesn't really expect his little tantrum to defeat the obstinate Rashbold, and he braces himself for further inquisition. He’s therefore caught off guard when Rashbold speaks again in a voice oddly gruff and choked, as if trying to force a soothing tone through a throat not constructed for it.

"C'mon, mate. It happens to the best of us. Nothing to be ashamed of. It's hell, but we've all been there, haven't we? It’ll be right."

Tears, something Felix has managed to avoid for so much of his life and now finds himself constantly threatened by, prick at the corners of his eyes. He wishes Rashbold would yell at him or berate him, even draw his wand. Felix has defences for all of those things. He has no armour for this sort of camaraderie.

"You don't know what you're talking about," Felix tries to snarl, but it comes out too wet to be threatening.

There's a pause, then the scrape of a stool being pulled across ground, and the creaking protest of wood as Rashbold settles his bulk into it.

"Alright then. Tell it me."

It's neither sarcastic nor saccharine. Just a plain invitation. And words slip out from around the growing lump in Felix's throat before he can even decide what to say. Ironically, it reminds him of conversations with Juniper in his final year at Hogwarts. She, too, had a knack for wrenching Felix's voice from him without his conscious consent, as though she knew a secret password to his thoughts he didn't know existed.

To Felix's own astonishment, he finds himself confessing nearly everything to do with Juniper, from his first inkling of feeling for an unlikely fourteen year old, to his arrival at her Quidditch match, and the horrid mess that followed. But when he reaches the final part of the story, something stops him short. Some piece of well-honed propriety simply will not allow him to discuss that with this man he barely knows.

"I didn't know where else to go so I took her back to the Leaky Cauldron and I...we... had a discussion. I...made it clear how I felt about her, that I loved her. But...she said...she didn't want things to change."

Felix takes a deep shuddering breath. All this uncharacteristic openness makes him woozy and in need of a sit, but he isn't ready to turn and face Rashbold just yet. He hears whining notes of concern from the stool indicating the large body on it has shifted positions.

"Nah, you don't."

Felix cocks his head, wondering if he hasn't understood Rashbold around his heavy accent.

"Don't what?"

"You don't love this girl," declares Rashbold broadly. It's such a strange response to everything Felix has just said that it takes a minute for him to interpret it as an insult and allow defensive anger to rear its head.

"Yes, I do!" he protests, whipping around to face Rashbold defiantly. The bulky man has his long legs kicked out in front of him and his arms behind his head, in a supremely relaxed manner that Felix is sure must be for show since he can't possibly be comfortable balancing all his weight on that ridiculously small stool.

"Nah, mate. You love the idea of this girl," Rashbold explains, and his need to appear so at ease in the face of Felix's heart-rending story makes Felix's blood boil. He stares daggers at Rashbold, but the older man only continues coaxingly, "C'mon, mate. You couldn't even name two things you liked about her beside what? She's smart, kind, beautiful? Anyone you catch the bug for sounds like that. I'm not insulting your girl." He holds up a conciliatory hand, catching sight of Felix's flared nostrils. "I'm sure she's lovely and all, when she's not being a bit of a drama queen, but the rest? All that stuff you love about her? It's all made up in your head."

Rashbold suddenly sits up, propping his arms on his knees. "Tell me this. What's her favourite colour, your girl?”

Felix blinks. "What?"

"Her favourite colour," Rashbold repeats, very slowly and deliberately as if to a small child "The colour she likes best. What is it?"

It's such an insipid question, Felix actually snorts before giving his memory a quick scan. A favourite colour? Surely that had come up naturally in conversation once, or been mentioned off-hand in a letter? But if it had, Felix can't call the information to mind. Panicking slightly, he grabs hold of the colour she sports in the majority of his memories:

"Green! She's always wearing green."

A supercilious smile crosses Rashbold's face.

"That's house colours mate. Not the same thing.” He changes tact before Felix can argue. “How does she take her tea, then?"

This time, Felix pales a little. He's seen Juniper drink tea, on multiple occasions. Had she put anything in it? Probably. He's never noticed.

"How about a favourite meal? Or favourite Quidditch team?" Rashbold inquires, that infuriating smile still playing about his lips. "Do you know where she lives? Her parents’ names? Do you even know her full name?”

"What does any of that matter?” Felix bursts in agitation, "That's all - that's just...little things. They’re not important."

"No, mate." Rashbold shakes his head, the condescending smile replaced by a look of uncharacteristic earnestness. "That little stuff, that's everything. That's who people really are. A bunch of little quirks and preferences and opinions all jumbled together. If you don't know all the little things about someone, you don't really know them at all. Just an idea of them. It’s like fancying a celebrity in a magazine. You don’t love them as a person, you just love their picture and all the stuff you’ve imagined about them."

Rashbold stands, ignoring Felix’s open-mouthed umbrage, and brushes off his trousers briskly. “You'll be right, mate. Trust me. Give it a few weeks, it'll all fade and you’ll be back in business. Just try not to get yourself burnt to crisp before then."

He claps a burly hand to Felix’s shoulder briefly, dark eyes twinkling, before striding from the paddock.

Righteous indignation toward Rashbold takes the place of Felix’s regularly scheduled misery for the rest of the day. What does Rashbold know about him and Juniper? Absolutely nothing. And it isn’t his business anyway, great nosy git. And what was he, Felix, playing at telling the older man things he’s never confessed to anyone before? This whole situation must truly be driving him mad.

But for all his justified resentment toward Rashbold, part of Felix can’t help but feel touched at the older man’s interest in him, his willingness to sit and listen to what Felix had to say. It's a rare enough occurrence. The only other person who has ever been quite so conscientious about Felix's emotional well-being was, well, Juniper.

And Rashbold's blunt words suddenly click into place in Felix’s head.

What if he's right? thinks Felix as he tosses and turns on his camp bed that night. After all, aren’t his favourite letters from Juniper the ones where she talks about him? Complimenting him? Comforting him? Ruminating on their correspondence, Felix realises they hardly ever discuss Juniper herself, beyond her illicit Cursed Vault adventures and his constant admonitions that she stay safe. He’s always thought he knew Juniper better than nearly anyone, that was why he loved her, after all; but maybe what he really loved was having someone who cared about him.

Felix rolls over and folds his arms behind his head. What does he know about Juniper, then? Well, that she’s impulsive and reckless, talented, but with a rather short attention span, shrewd as any Slytherin when it comes to solving mysteries, yet somehow oblivious to anyone or anything that doesn’t matter to her at that moment, including schoolwork. Nearly the opposite of him in every way, when it comes right down to it. The more Felix mulls it over, the more he realises the Juniper he's in love with is mostly fantasy, a character he built in his head. The loss of which might be disappointing, but it's nothing he can't recover from because, in the end, it isn’t real.

It isn't real.

Felix repeats this idea like a mantra until sleep rescues him from further thought. And for the next months, he applies the phrase like a burn salve against his thoughts every time longing or grief threatens him.

Juniper’s letters keep coming; every week at first, then every month once her final year of school begins. But for the first time since his graduation, Felix does not write back. He reads her accounts of her continued recovery and her inevitable adventures and practices maintaining an appropriate emotional distance.

Juniper informs him of her resignation as Slytherin Quidditch captain in favour of Skye Parkin, thus ending her illustrious school Quidditch career. It isn't real, Felix scolds the subsequent wriggle of pleasure at the idea of her spending significantly less time with Murphy McNully or Charlie Weasley.

Juniper is drawn back into the Cursed Vaults, as always, matching wits and wands with R once again. It isn't real, Felix reminds himself as worry for her safety guts him. She's a talented witch, fully of age, able to make her own bad decisions and it's no skin off his nose if she's hurt.

As the year draws to a close, the pain begins to fade, like scar tissue closing over a wound; until he can think of Juniper and feel nearly nothing, so long as he doesn't prod his feelings too forcefully.

Christmas comes and goes. Juniper tactfully neglects to mention their plans to see each other over the holiday in her December letter. Felix feels slightly guilty. It's the first year since he left school he hasn't sent her anything for Christmas, but he puts it out of his mind. She has plenty of friends, he assures himself, he doubts she'll even notice.

The new year drags on bleak and chill. For whatever reason, The Reserve doesn't fill Felix with the same elation Peru did. For the first time in years, he's stuck in one place, and largely alone, with nothing to occupy his newly acquired free time. For something to do, Felix begins to write. Publication is a requirement before one can apply for a Senior Dragonologist position. For the last four years, Felix has kept a notebook full of ideas and research topics for papers and even books he tells himself he'll write when he has the time. Now he does. He spends most of his spare moments writing and researching, but his enthusiasm for the enterprise quickly wanes.

As much as he tells himself he shouldn't, Felix misses talking to Juniper. Occasionally, he toys with the idea of replying to one of the letters she continues to send. It's been enough time now, he hardly feels anything at all toward her. What could it hurt? Only it's been so long since she heard from him last, Felix can't think of any way to begin a letter without addressing his extended silence, and the reason for it, and all his attempts end up crumpled in the waste bin.

True, Felix's fire for Juniper has been essentially smothered, his iron self-discipline has seen to that. But he can't help the occasional fantasy of Juniper appearing at the Reserve unexpectedly, concerned about his silence, and throwing her arms around him in joy the way she had after the Quidditch match last spring. He reminds himself dutifully that it isn’t real love that generates this, just a desire to feel something, anything to break up the monotony of time cards and paperwork. But he allows it, if only for something to occupy his mind. Which is why, as he tromps through the dirty snow after his shift one particularly blustery morning, Felix doesn't immediately register the sight of Juniper waiting for him at the end of the path as real. She trots about in place, arms wrapped around herself, clearly freezing. Her head is tucked into her chest, hiding from the wind as best she can in her inadequate coat, so she doesn't notice Felix's tentative approach.

"Juniper?" he asks in disbelief.

The young woman looks up and smiles; a lop-sided grin Felix would recognise anywhere. She stomps through the snow toward where Felix has stopped in his tracks. His brain is no longer able to control his limbs, every cell engaged in reconciling Juniper's presence with reality.

"What - how-" Felix splutters as she marches nearer until she’s close enough for him to make out the individual snowflakes dotting the top of her head. "What are you doing here?" he somehow manages to ask.

"Waiting for you. Or that’s what I’m doing out here in the cold anyway. That man from the office - your office, I mean -he said you'd be back soon so I thought I’d try to catch you."

Felix's mouth opens and closes like a fish, while Juniper shivers and hunches deeper into her thin coat.

“Can we talk somewhere else? Warmer maybe?”

A dream, this must be a dream, thinks Felix. He's dreaming he's at the Reserve's only pub, sitting just across from a windswept Juniper attempting to breathe life back into her frozen fingers. The barman deposits two mugs of the locally popular warm, spiced Butterbeer, and Juniper wraps her hands around it gratefully. Felix can only stare. After a minute of strained silence, he pulls his mug toward him and takes a long swallow. The liquid scalds the roof of his mouth. Which has to mean he's awake. Which means Juniper really is here, in front of him. A bubbling excitement brews in his chest that his mantra cannot extinguish.

“The real reason I’m here,” explains Juniper into her mug, “is...for a job interview."

Felix chokes on his second sip. He coughs into his hands while Juniper stares determinedly at the table, clenching her Butterbeer so tightly her knuckles are white.

“You’re a dragonologist now, then?” asks Felix once his spluttering subsides.

“No,” Juniper says, still refusing to meet Felix's eye. “I...wanted to apply for the open healing position here. I’m doing better, quite a bit better, actually.” She nods at her hands wrapped around the mug, and it registers to Felix for the first time how still they are. “But St Mungo's only offers a limited number of intern positions to students out of school, and I know I won't score near high enough to get in. That was really sort of my whole post-school plan, on the off-chance I ever made it out alive. So I'm looking into alternatives, and Professor Snape mentioned this job. Apparently, the qualifications for healers here are a bit lax. I guess they sort of...take anyone they can get, so I thought I'd apply. But... I wanted to talk to you about it first.”

Juniper's words seem to be reaching Felix's brain on a delay, so she has time to take another long swig of Butterbeer before Felix has processed her final statement.

"About what?" he asks belatedly.

"About the job. I mean...I won’t take it if you don’t want me to."

"Why...wouldn't I want you to take a job?" Felix asks slowly. Some combination of the cold and the surreality of Juniper's very presence makes him feel slow and stupid. He can't understand what she's asking of him. Juniper finally lifts her head fully, her expression unreadable.

"Felix, you haven’t written all year."

It's Felix's turn to stare into his frothing mug. He raises it to his mouth, hiding as much of his face as he can.

"Yes, about that. I’ve been rather busy. I'm so-"

"You don't have to apologise," Juniper interjects hastily. "I understand. Completely. I didn't mean - I mean, I deserved it, and... you've had all this to get used to and I'm sure it's really overwhelming. I only meant - you know - this is your space, and if you don't want me to...intrude on it, I won't."

Pink patches that have nothing to do with cold appear on her cheeks as Juniper hides herself in her coat, and something about her obvious discomfort starts a primal fire inside Felix's stomach. It's a feeling he hasn't had in so long, and it jumpstarts his sluggish mental faculties.

"Not at all," Felix tells her. Juniper shoots a confused look at him and he clarifies, "I mean, I don't mind. At all. In fact, I think it's an excellent idea."

Juniper makes a valiant effort to raise her eyebrows. "You do?"

"Yes," Felix replies, an almost giddy smile appearing on his face at her familiar expression. He hides it behind a hand, tilted in front of his mouth in a gesture of thoughtfulness. "I think it'd be good for you to get out of the country for a bit. You'd do quite well here. You're not scared of dragons, good under pressure. And we can't seem to keep a healer."

"Yeah, that's what the director said. Guivré."

"You've met Guivré ?"

"Yeah, for the interview." Juniper leans forward in her seat, warming to their conversation. "He didn't even seem to care about the fact that I haven't taken the NEWTs yet, and he didn't ask anything about my marks. Wouldn't even look at my transcripts. He just asked about the Cursed Vaults, mostly. And that time with the common welsh green in my third year."

Felix no longer bothers to hide his grin. "That sounds about right. That's exactly the sort of person he is. He believes experience is a better teacher than education. So, you've already had the interview, then?"

Juniper colours once more and retreats back into her coat. "Um...yeah. Yeah, I did first thing this morning. Sorry, I did want to talk to you first, but-"

Felix overrides her apology. "Did he mention whether he liked you for the job or not?"

Juniper takes a shallow, shaky breath. "Yes, actually. He - he said it's mine if I want it." She tries to purse her lips over a proud smile. "But I told him I had to think about it."

"Take it."

For the first time that day, Juniper meets Felix's eyes.

"You’re sure?"

"Positive."

Both their faces flush with heat at the memory of the last time this word passed between them. Felix looks away first, clearing his throat.

"Alright. I will then," Juniper says. "Thank you.” She takes another sip of butterbeer, holding the mug close to her body as if relishing the heat or the ability to keep the mug upright, while Felix's brain goes to war.

Better sense is screaming at Felix that this is possibly the worst idea he's ever had, that he's about to undo all the progress he's made. But though his better sense has maintained the upper hand most of the last year, thirty minutes with Juniper is enough to send it packing to the very back of his mind where its screams sound more like squeaks, leaving Felix free to revel in the sense of elation blossoming through him at the idea of living in close proximity to Juniper once again.

"So," Juniper interrupts Felix's musings, " Guivré didn’t mention where people live while they’re here? Does everyone...apparate in, or...?"

"Some do, yes. There’s limited housing on the Reserve itself, but there's a few buildings they've turned into flats. Dragonologists generally have seniority, then the assistants and researchers and everyone else."

"Oh." Juniper falls silent, picking at a spot on the table with a fingernail, and it takes Felix a minute to understand what her nerves are about.

"I'm sure I can get you a place on the grounds. In case you'd rather not apparate."

"I can," she insists. "If I have to. It's not a big deal, it's just...I'm not really supposed to do it all the time, and-"

"It's not a problem," Felix assures her. "I'll figure something out." He basks in the glow of Juniper's wide, grateful smile. And a brilliant idea occurs to Felix that makes his demoted better sense absolutely livid.

"You sure about this?" asks the nervous young assistant, staring at the proferred key as though it were likely to turn into a snake and strike him.

"Yes, Lambton, I'm sure and please don't ask again," says Felix trying hard to keep exasperation from his voice. He dangles the key out to the gawky teenager.

"But...you're sure this is allowed? The Upper Flats are for proper dragonologists. Won't I be out of place?"

Felix grits his teeth. "Don't you want to be a proper dragonologist yourself one day?"

"Yeah, o' course."

"Well, then," Felix cajoles, "how better to learn than to live with proper dragonologists? You can make friends, get extra help on your research. It'll be a major stepping stone for your career!"

" 'Spose that's true..." Felix watches the boy's dull eyes light up slowly at the prospect. He reaches out for Felix's key and fishes in a pocket for his own.

"But...why would you want to live in the Lower Flats?" Lambton asks, holding his key out to Felix. "They're absolute shite, you know."

"Never you mind," snaps Felix, snatching the key from Lambton's twitchy fingers.

Those Dragonologists wishing to save a bit of money and be as close to their dragons as possible are usually put up in the Upper Flats, an old but dignified building that had probably once been a large manor house before the Reserve bought the land. It's nearly always cold, and not lavishly furnished, but it passes for comfort and the Dragonologists have little complaints; or if they do, they simply move on as soon as they're able.

The Lower Flats is the cruel moniker given the ramshackle building just down the path from the Upper Flats. No one knows what, if any, sort of building it had been before the Reserve got hold of it and added on stories and side rooms with whatever materials were to hand, but it now has more in common with Frankenstein's monster than any traditional forms of architecture. These flats are given to assistants and researchers, or any Reserve staff members or visitors the director wants to get rid of. Lambton, being the most recent addition to the Reserve, had a top three-bedroom flat all to himself. However, once another new low-level employee arrived, such as a healer, he'd be forced to share. That is, until Felix graciously offered to swap flats with the young man for reasons Felix is well aware of and is determined not to think about too closely.

Felix has heard assistants complain long and often about how the building ought to be condemned, but he's always assumed them to be exaggerating. Right up to the moment his foot smashes through one of the rough hewn planks serving as stairs. It takes Felix a disproportionate amount of time to reach the top floor, as he carefully circumvents the more wobbly "steps", presumably held in place by magic, but not a particularly trustworthy sort. At the top of the winding staircase, he nudges what passes for a door open with his foot. The wood slab separates from the frame with a horrid screeching sound, swinging inward to reveal squalor Felix was previously unaware humans could live in.

He gulps as he steps inside with exceptional caution. There a disconcerting number of burn-holes in the floorboards. The walls are covered in an uneven layer of green fuzz that on closer inspection appears to be the remains of old, peeling wall paper. There's a sofa in the great room that's predominately springs, and a simple unlikely mattress is the only furniture provided in each of the bedrooms. But even the thick layers of cobwebs decorating the corners isn't enough to kill Felix's growing excitement. It'll be work, but he's always been excellent at those household-y sort of spells, and it will give him something to occupy his time until Juniper arrives. Felix settles into his renovation project in higher spirits than he's had in months.

Unable to wait for June to reveal the news to Juniper, Felix starts up their correspondence once more. He informs her he's found her a room on the Reserve, and mentions in passing that it's in the same flat as his, neglecting to illuminate any of the circumstances that have made such a happy coincidence possible. Juniper's response is as enthusiastic as he could have hoped. She makes the expected number of jokes about his newly reinstated status as her live-in prefect followed by a more serious assurance that she's "really glad" to be near him again. Felix is just worrying his cheekbones might fracture from the force of his smile when her next line forces the bottom out of his stomach.

"I forgot to mention I have a friend who'll be coming to the Reserve this summer, as well! He got a job as a junior assistant the same time as me, so I imagine he'll be living near us if there's room. I've mentioned him before, not sure if you remember. Charlie Weasley?"

Chapter 10 | Masterpost

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a-silent-symphony · 5 years ago

Text

Metal behemoths Nightwish: “David Attenborough wrote to personally decline appearing on our album”

The arena-filling group's golden-lunged singer Floor Jansen talks album nine, Swedish lockdown and why the world's greatest conservationist turned them down

With the exception of maybe Rammstein – and we’re only quantifying this statement because they own flamethrowers and we do not – no band in European metal can rival Nightwish for their popularity in mainland Europe.

Formed in Kitee, Finland in 1996 by top hat-wearing keyboard player Tuomas Holopainen, the band welcomed Dutch-born singer Floor Jansen in 2012, by which point they were seven records into their career. The addition has seen the symphonic metal band become bigger, grander, more expressive and increasingly ambitious. She’s such a force that she’s become a Dutch TV personality, appearing on the musical talent showcase Best Zangers.

Their recent ninth record, the infuriatingly stylised ‘Human. :II: Nature.’, is their first double-release, the second half featuring lush orchestral music over the band’s core metal. Listen to album highlights ‘Harvest’, ‘How’s The Heart?’ and ‘Noises’ – rarely has a modern metal band’s music been infused with such power and glory. Tellingly, despite being released within the very centre of storm COVID-19, the record entered the charts of Finland, Spain, Switzerland and Germany at Number One.

With that in mind, we decided to check in with one of Europe’s favourite heavy metal bands. Your guide for the duration will be Floor Jansen and her massive lungs. She will roar and you will quiver…

Hello Floor. Can I tell you what I really like about the new Nightwish album? There’s so much misery and ugliness everywhere right now, and yet your record is so ornate, grandiose and – dare I say it – hopeful…

“We were definitely going for that. There are so many different instruments on the record and so many different parts. Nightwish is quite complex music, really, and so it was important for us to have real emotion in the songs; something that cut through everything. The dynamics were really important to us. The songs needed space. Sometimes what you don’t put into a song is as important as what you do. There are nine songs on this record and eight orchestral suites. Without dynamics it would have been a very relentless listen.”

Can we go way back? I don’t think it’s any exaggeration to say that your voice is properly, brilliantly amazing. When did you realise you could sing like that?

“I guess when I was a teenager. There was a school production of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat and I auditioned. I didn’t get a very important part in it. You know how it is – the popular kids get all the best parts and that wasn’t me. But even just being stuck in the background, I absolutely loved it. I didn’t know I was any good, though. I was pretty badly teased at school, so my confidence was quite low.”

Do you want us to fuck someone up? Why were you teased?

“I was taller than everyone else and my dialect was different. I was just… different.”

Do you think that experience has had any lasting impact on you?

“I do… but, to be honest, only really positively. I can’t say I look back fondly at those years and certainly not at the people who were doing that, but I do think I stand on more stable legs in adulthood because of it. I don’t want my daughter [three-year-old Freja] to have to go through that, though.”

Do you ever have the classic revenge scenario where you’re standing onstage in front of thousands and thousands of people screaming your name and think, ‘Well, I won, didn’t I?’

“All the time. Especially now I’m on this Dutch TV show that has really increased my popularity in the Netherlands. I sometimes wonder if those people would even remember me and I don’t spend that much time thinking about them. You have to live for yourself – I’m almost 40, y’know!”

Tell me more about the TV show. I love the name! Beste Zangers!

“It translates as Best Singers! It’s not a contest or anything like that. It’s a collection of singers of different styles and backgrounds who sing each other’s music to one another, or collaborate on cover versions of songs that have inspired us. It’s a really nice show, and all about a love of music. It’s prime-time Saturday night television and it’s completely changed my life! It’s really benefited Nightwish too. We were already doing well in Holland and playing arenas, butt it’s definitely increased our profile, which is brilliant for me after 24 of nobody in my home country paying me any attention!”

The new Nightwish record was released on April 10, making you one of a tiny number of bands who can attest to the realities of releasing an album at the epicentre of a global pandemic. How has that been?

“We were one of the very first bands who had to cancel a tour. We were actually supposed to start in China. I should be there right now. Very early on we realised that the tour wasn’t going to happen, even though the illness was at that point contained in one continent. Then the global fuck-up that resulted in an illness becoming a pandemic happened. I still can’t believe that it has happened, really. It feels so incredibly unnecessary…”

I’m detecting you have an opinion about how this has all played out? You live in Sweden, right?

“I do. I emigrated five years ago, from Holland.”

Sweden’s approach to handling the virus has been very liberal – there’s been no mass lockdown, as there has been in elsewhere in the world. Do you think they took the right approach?”

“Partly. At the same time, I’m not a scientist, so what do I know? It’s all about following the science.”

I’d like to remind you that there’s a species of beetle named after you. Last year scientist Andreas Weigel named the newly discovered insect Tmesisternus floorjansenae. It’s fair to say you have more scientific credibility than almost any other heavy metal singer…

“Okay – well, in lots of ways the Swedish approach makes sense to me. Sweden is a big country with not that many people. It makes sense to me that the approach would be different to in the UK or back in Holland. Then again, a big city is a big city, whether it’s in Sweden or anywhere, and if people from the cities start moving away then I think we have to be careful. During Easter there were people everywhere near where I live, on the Gothenburg side of the country, next to the sea. Sweden is a big enough country that there’s enough space for people not to be locked down – but you head to a touristy place anyway? That I don’t get. It’s stupid.”

Speaking of space – you’re married to Hannes Van Dahl, the drummer in military history obsessed, Swedish metal titans Sabaton. Onstage he plays his drums sat inside the cockpit of a tank. I presume you have badass military stuff lying all around your house?

“Oh, everywhere. All over the house.”

Really?

“No!”

I heard that you have horses, though. It doesn’t seem fair to me that you’re allowed to have horses, but your husband can’t have a battleship in the garden…

“Oh, he doesn’t mind. Horses are nicer than war. I have two – Lily, named so after my mum, and Auri, named after my bandmates’ Tuomas [Holopainen] and Troy [Donockley]’s side project – and also a character from The Kingkiller Chronicle series of fantasy novels by Patrick Rothfuss.”

I think it’s fair to say that you’re not the only member of Nightwish that bloody loves nature. The band just teamed up with the conservation charity the World Land Trust. Tell me about that…

“They’re a great organisation. The video for the last song on the album, ‘Ad Astra’, was filmed in conjunction with them. They work to preserve our planet by buying up areas of land and preserving them. I think it’s hypocritical that we’re telling Brazil that they need to save their rainforest when European’s have absolutely decimated their own. But at the same time, we really do need to save the rainforest or we’re facing a climate crisis. The World Land Trust works with governments to find alternative financial outlets for local people to stop logging and deforestation. You can’t just say to people, ‘Stop doing this’. You need to consider the human impact, then the environmental one. We found out about them via David Attenborough being a patron…”

Please tell me he’s a fan…

“We tried to get him to speak on the album. We wrote him a letter and he wrote one back, declining, but it was very impressive that a man of his stature would write personally to us and explain that he just didn’t have the time right now.”

You can’t like all animals, Floor. There must be one you’d like to see eradicated from the face of the earth…

“No! I love all of them. I love cats. I love dogs. I love birds in all their splendour!”

C’mon…

“Okay, okay… I don’t really like snails. We grow vegetables and they eat my crops. They’re disgusting. I don’t wish them death, though! I just wish they’d go somewhere else!”

#Floor Jansen #nightwish #Human. :II: Nature.#2020 interviews

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yes-kassiopeia · 5 years ago

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Few words about my inactivity

Hey everyone,

I want to take a moment to address my absence here and on my writing accounts on Wattpad/AO3. First of all, I am deeply sorry for the lack of activity. I feel like I let you down. I know most of you probably don’t think anything about it. But I am quite hard with myself in general, so this is still how I feel.. I’m feeling guilty about saying that I’d post new fics and updates, but didn’t. I’ll try to make amends and actually do the stuff I promised. I think you also all deserve an explanation (another long post ahead).

At the end of November I decided to quit my job. We are were actually reaching the end of my contract, and my company said they could renewed my contract if I wanted too, but I choose to go. I wanted to travel, to go abroad for about a year. And I needed time to prepare this and give it my whole mind, while still having the security of my job let me lay back on that. So I started to search for a job all December but realized it wasn’t the best period of time, with Christmas holidays and Summer break in the south hemisphere. I kept searching in January but had no luck. I really wanted to write during this period but I felt like I had no right to spend large amount of time on it, while I still had no job and that was my absolute priority.

Mid-Junuary, a close member for my family, who was ill with an infection for over a year but the doctors treatment didn’t work well, had a bad relapse. As I was jobless at this time, I spent a lot of time take care of them. They ended up being hospitalized, as living at home was nearly impossible anymore. This hospitalization actually led doctors to find new information about the infection and a new possible cure.

Sadly, early February, on the day they were supposed to go out of the hospital and come back home, they had a stoke (unrelated to their illness). They were transferred to a neurology specialized hospital. But even they couldn’t save them. I lost a close family member, out of the blue, on the day they were supposed to come back to us.

My parents were coincidentally out of the country at this time. So I personally had to take care of the family reunion, the funerals and all that, along with my grand-mother (who is the f*ck!ng strongest person on earth <3 ). It was hard. It still hurts to think of them. I miss them.

But I guess, after the rains, always comes the sun eventually. At the end of February, after more then threes months and literally hundreds of resume send, I found a job! Abroad, for a year, as I had dreamed it. Even better, it’s in on of my dream destination, Oregon, USA!! I started my visa application right after, in the beginning of March. Unfortunately, in the next 20 days, the whole world was shook by the SARS-COV-2 virus and the Covid-19 illness. This put a serious shade to my plans. As for now everything is still maintained as my departure for the US is for mid-June and I’d start working in the 1st of July. That’s still quite a bit of time ahead of us and I hope the situation will be under control then and everything will go as planned.

After all this time of stress, I hope I can find in this quarantine the calmness (pun intended) to start writing again. I had tried to force myself to write in these past months. But going back to it now, I hate it! x) Which is unusual for me... but I really find it horribly bad! And I can’t let you read that. I’ll work on that and post it went I’ll come to terms with this fic (Surrender 2). I have plenty of other ideas and projects, but I just didn’t allow my self to work on them as it felt too much of a hobby, in a time I had other priorities. Hopefully this can change now. I’ll do my best!

Lots of love,

Kassie <3

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thewarriorandtheking · 5 years ago

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Stuck With You

Imagine being stuck in quarantine with Thorin...

Just a quick sketch I wrote while sitting around in airports last week

Warning: Isolation fluff

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

Thorin Oakenshield was restringing his harp. He had quite lost track of the last time the strings had been changed, some were so stretched he could not properly tune it. As he attached each string he tightened it carefully, listening until it was true. It was one of those tasks that couldn’t be rushed, so now was a perfect time. There was some kind of sickness sweeping through the cities of Men, it was in Esgaroth and in Dale. Thorin and Kaylea had unknowingly ridden through those towns on their way to Erebor and though they were unaffected, the Dwarven healers in Erebor insisted they stay isolated. They did not want the sickness to spread to the Lonely Mountain. Thorin was rather enjoying himself; he had no objection to setting aside the responsibilities of his kingdom for a time, and he had a bench full of jewelry projects waiting for his attention.

Kaylea Wolf looked up from the knife she was sharpening. “When you get that finished, are you going to sing me a tune?”

“I might,” Thorin replied, smiling at his wife. The first few days of isolation had gone by quickly, as they worked with their ship’s computer to find a treatment for the virus. It had been Thorin’s idea to put it in the water supply. If the sickness came to Erebor they were ready. Now Thorin could sense Kaylea was getting restless, if he didn’t find a way to calm her nerves she would soon be like a tiger in a cage. He thought a little music might help.

Thorin tightened the last screw and ran his fingers over the strings. He so seldom had the time to play anymore, he always seemed to forget how much he enjoyed it. He made a few more adjustments, then let his fingers pick up a melody that had been popular in Erebor recently, followed by a few songs from Dorsai. As he played the music carried him away, when he stopped to stretch his fingers he realized he did not know how long he had been playing. It must have been quite some time, Kaylea was now stretched out on the couch, eyes closed, the silver beads in her golden hair sparkling in the lamplight.

“I could listen to you play all day,” she sighed, not opening her eyes.

“Your turn to serenade me now,” Thorin said.

Kaylea chuckled. “I have no talent for music, you know that.”

“Nonsense. I have heard you sing, you have a voice any Elf would envy.”

“The Queen does not feel like singing today. She commands you to continue.” Kaylea still hadn’t moved or opened her eyes.

Thorin picked up a cushion from the bench next to him and threw it at her. “The Queen does not command the King,” he laughed. “Don’t make me come over there.”

Kaylea blocked the cushion from hitting her in the face. “Are you threatening me?” Her eyes sparkled with amusement. She threw the pillow back at him. Thorin caught it and hit her with it again. At the same time Kaylea grabbed one off the couch and followed the first pillow with a second. Suddenly they were grinning hysterically, smacking each other with the soft cushions, as loose feathers floated in the air around them. Thorin took Kaylea down first, as she hit the floor she swept his legs out from under him. Thorin fell heavily next to her, raising a cloud of feathers. He wrapped her in his arms, laughing.

“I win,” he said, brushing her hair away from her face.

“How do you figure that?” His wife asked, running her hand up under his shirt.

“I made you laugh,” Thorin leaned in and kissed her, pulling her tight against him. “If you are this grumpy after four days, I hate to think I will be stuck with you for a fortnight.”

Kaylea chuckled, fingering one of his braids. “I don’t suppose the King could decree himself immune from this virus and get us out of here?”

“Why would I do that? I never get you to myself for this long,” Thorin smiled at her. “Dwarves are hardy folk, we are not prone to the many illnesses of Men. I very much doubt Erebor will even be affected; the healers are just being cautious.”

Kaylea’s eyes narrowed. “So, you set this up to keep me prisoner?”

“Would I do that?” Thorin grinned slyly, his hands running up her body. “And I don’t want a prisoner.”

“So, what do you want, husband?” Kaylea slid her hands down his back and into his trousers.

“A happy wife,” Thorin kissed her neck, then started working his way down. Kaylea writhed with pleasure at the touch of his lips on her skin. Even after so many years together Thorin’s touch still sent thrills through her body. Smiling she grabbed his wrists and rolled him onto his back, sitting on his stomach she pinned his hands down.

“What will you do to keep your wife happy, I wonder?”

Days later Thorin walked through the apartments looking for his wife. He had been working on a necklace for her and wanted to check the length. A whole section of the royal residence had been set aside for them so they had plenty of space to move around. He came upon a trail of bloody footprints and followed them to find Kaylea at the table in the sitting room with a glass of water. She was in her close-fitting training clothes, a sheen of sweat on her chest and shoulders.

“My love, what have you been doing?” Thorin asked, pointing at the floor. Kaylea looked at the floor and then at the bottoms of her feet.

“Just some weapons kata. I guess I went a bit hard.”

Thorin shook his head at her and went to the bedroom to retrieve his medkit. Did everyone who married a Dorsai have these problems? Do you not think it might be time to stop if your feet were bleeding? He took a seat at the table and looked at Kaylea expectantly until she put her feet in his lap. He took a bit of cell-foam and spread it over the raw spots, massaging it to form a new layer of skin.

“What am I going to do with you?” Thorin sighed.

“Do you really want me to answer that?” Kaylea looked at him over the top of her glass.

“Should I tie you up? I wonder if that would keep you from hurting yourself,” Thorin worked the knots in her foot with his thumbs, his mind running down a pleasant path.

“It could also be entertaining,” Kaylea added, rubbing her other foot against him.

“It certainly would,” Thorin grinned wickedly at her. “But we are only a few days from a fortnight, I could probably get the healers to let us out. The sickness has not come to Erebor.”

“No,” Kaylea replied, relaxing as Thorin worked on her feet. “I was just thinking we should stay another week.”

Thorin looked up at her, genuinely surprised. “I thought you hated this!”

Kaylea smiled at him. “It has become a kind of challenge, it reminds me of things I learned in my early days of training.”

Thorin scowled at her. “Why is everything about training to you? Can’t you just enjoy having time with your husband?” He dropped her feet and sat back.

“Let me finish,” Kaylea sat forward, grasping his hand. “I did hate it at first, but it forced me to slow down and examine why I am always rushing around. I have been reminded that every day is unique; this day will never come again and I must strive to appreciate every moment.” She reached over to touch the side of his face. “I love you, husband. There is nowhere I would rather be than with you, no matter what we are doing. I am just sorry it took this period of confinement for me to realize it.”

Thorin leaned forward and kissed her, sweat on her skin always made her smell like desert sand. “I love you, wife. Even though you do drive me crazy,” he leaned his forehead against hers. “Can we really stay another week?”

“Of course,” Kaylea said. She looked down the table at the necklace Thorin had brought with him. “What have you been working on?”

“Ah! I think you will like this one,” Thorin got up and moved around behind her chair. The necklace was indeed spectacular; a row of intricately-worked wolf’s heads, each with a sparkling row of stones flowing from its mouth. Thorin stood back, eyeing it critically, counting the tiny flaws that only he could see. Kaylea went over to the mirror by the mantlepiece. The stones were a bit bigger than Thorin usually used in her jewelry, although quite subdued by Dwarven standards Kaylea felt blinded looking at it. But she knew how much pride her husband took in his work and had learned to look thrilled to wear it.

“You have outdone yourself this time,” she said. “It looks perfect.”

Thorin frowned, he came up behind and put his arms around her, looking at the necklace in the mirror. “There are several things that need to be changed,” he said. “But the length is right.”

Kaylea leaned back against him. “So, what shall we do tonight? You still owe me a rematch on the chessboard.”

The King chuckled. He knew one day he was going to regret teaching her that game, but right now she could not beat him. He ran his fingers over the necklace, then down her body and between her legs. “I have a better idea. How about we get dinner sent up and cuddle by the fire?”

“Sounds perfect,” Kaylea said. “I will hit the shower. What shall I wear for dinner, my king?”

“Just that necklace, my love.”

Read more adventures of The Warrior and The King on AO3 & FanFiction. Also on Wattpad.

@crazytxgradstudent @theelvenvalkyrie @emrfangirl @robertdowneyhiddleston

#thorin fanfiction #thorin and oc #thorin oakenshield #the hobbit #fanfic #true love #thewarriorandtheking

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mcjickson · 5 years ago

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THE CONSTANT

I think about Edith Fuller a lot. Edith Fuller, if you don’t remember—and there’s absolutely no reason you should, all things considered—was a wunderkind kindergartener who qualified to represent Tulsa in the Scripps Howard National Spelling Bee. You know, the one for eighth graders. At 6, Edith was the youngest contestant in the history of the Bee, and as such was the darling of the media covering the event. And with good reason—as she had no idea of the relative enormity of her achievement, she carried herself with the infectious humility of a genuine 6-year-old, not a media darling. She was basically the Bad News Bears of the Spelling Bee: a scrappy little towheaded upstart that you couldn’t help but root for. She made the final round of competition but caught some brutal words early in the day, and spent the rest of the event doing insanely adorable color commentary and interviews. And then the tournament was over, and Edith went home with her family and back to being a 6-year-old. I could not wait to see her come back as a first-grader. I was so very excited to see how far she could get with another year of study under her belt, so when the next year’s finalists were announced, I immediately searched the list to find her speller number. And she wasn’t there. She hadn’t qualified. There was no joy in Mudville; first-grade Edith had struck out. I felt a slight measure of relief for whichever 8th-grader from the greater Tulsa region had pulled off the upset. Turns out it wasn’t an eighth-grader, though. It was a dapper little 3rd grader in a bow tie. Young Sal Lakmissetti had done the impossible and knocked out America’s sweetheart. I was happy for him—until I read about how it happened. One of the reasons that watching the Bee is so emotionally involving is that the tension between the spellers and their occasionally overbearing parents can be so heart-wrenchingly intense. Edith had been a respite from that—her parents seemed to have been surprised that she had developed those skills. Sal’s dad on the other hand, had gotten indignant when Sal lost to Edith in Tulsa the year before. So he hired the previous year’s tournament champion to give Sal private lessons for a year. You know, the way you do when you want your 3rd grader to trounce a 1st grader in a contest for 13-year-olds. Not for nothing, but that is basically the plot of the movie Bad Words. Sal’s dad had turned him into Chitanya Chopra. I wonder if Sal’s dad knows how to spell “autofellatio.” I wonder if Edith had been heartbroken when she lost the Tulsa bee. Turns out, the next year she wasn’t interested in participating at all. And her dad didn’t push her, because it wasn’t about him. Edith Fuller’s dad got it right, and he just let her be a second-grader and pursue whatever her enormous second-grader heart wanted. I was ecstatic she didn’t return, that she was out there getting to be a kid. The funny thing is, I’m not really obsessed with spelling per se. What I am obsessed with, however, is the raw human drama of watching painfully awkward home-schooled kids on ESPN. There’s no denying the hilarity of some of their more awkward moments. But the real reason to watch is to marvel at their bravery. I’ve heard it alleged that the #1 most commonly held phobia in American adults is a fear of public speaking. And yet year after year, some of the most sheltered kids in America gather in a hotel in DC called The Gaylord (because these kids aren’t bullied enough, I guess), and walk up to a microphone before millions and risk entire-hometown-disappointing embarrassment. Wanting to more fully understand what these kids go through, I let my family talk me into entering an adult spelling bee sponsored by the local library. After my initial disappointment that “adult spelling bee” didn’t mean it was a four-letter-words contest, I got fully enthused at the prospect of competing, and even had our friend Scott design a t-shirt for me to compete in, emblazoned with a bee illustration and the mantra that governed my participation: “Edith Fuller is my constant.” By “constant”, I was referencing what was maybe the best-ever episode of Lost, a self-contained narrative about a man searching for the love of his life across shifting time periods. The usual complications of time travel narratives were overcome by the idea that in order for him to find his true path, he had to serve as a “constant” to remind other people what their true purpose was. My true purpose in entering the bee was to try to have the kind of come-what-may attitude that made Edith shine. And that’s largely the way it went down. I breezed through the first few rounds with ease, the words got hard in a hurry, but I acquitted myself nicely. After a solid initial hour that whittled a field of about forty people down to six, I was relieved when I got thrown a softball for an umbrella-drink-loving goober like me: daiquiri. Which I promptly misspelled. I’ll never forgive myself for snatching defeat from the jaws of victory, but I’m always happy to throw that t-shirt on these days. Of course, now, a couple years removed my own bee experience, it’s more evident than ever to me that when I throw that t-shirt on, Edith Fuller is a codename. A transparent alias, at that. I’m sure you have a person in your life that serves as your constant: not necessarily your partner or best friend (though it could be), but the person you go to when you need to be reminded of who you really are. What you’re really about. Who believes in you with no agenda. I’ve been lucky to be that for a few people—I was my brother Patrick’s constant, for instance. And while Declan’s always been my wartime consigliere—there’s no one more clutch in a crisis—Delaney has always been my constant. They say having kids is like living with your heart outside your body, and that has always hit me at a cellular level. I don’t talk about it often—or ever really—as it’s not something that happened to me, or that I went through, it’s Delaney's story. But for context I need you to know that when she had a debilitating mystery affliction a couple years ago, she was put through a series of tests for terminal illnesses. Those tests came back negative, but for a little while I had to confront the possibility of losing my baby girl and it nearly fucking broke me. Thank jeebus, the folks at the Mayo Clinic were able to diagnose her malady, and it’s something she had to learn to live with, and cope with, and thrive with. And she’s done all of that, admirably, but it required her to delay college for a frustrating year. Given the ways we’ve all been sidelined lately, it’s done me good to remember the ways Delaney got through her involuntary gap year with grace. Multiple creative projects. Tending to the care of small things. Finding ways to breathe through the worst of it. And leaning on the people who love her most. And I’ve treasured her as my constant like never before, and spending time with her got me through being 2x4’ed by my avowed best friend. (There’s been some good-natured conjecture by well-meaning friends as to whether the most recent playlist was indeed a break-up mix. First of all, I don’t want to knock whatever any of you have do to get over somebody, but listening to a bunch of songs that rub your nose in the loss just isn’t my thing. There’s no denying that when I sequenced the songs, I was struck by the lyrical subtext that emerged, but they weren’t selected for that purpose. In fact, most of those songs were in the playlist before I found out what had happened. But it merits a thoughtful inquest, in any case. You poor bastards.) And I guess that’s the thing. There’s something legitimately sad about when your best-laid plans and most fervent desires don’t work out the way you envisioned, especially when it was completely out of your control. (And dear readers, as you well know, most things are out of our control.) But maybe, just maybe, if you can somehow keep your eyes open for the joy you find on the detour, and have a sense of where—or more specifically who—your true north is, you might wind up writing a better story than the one you had planned. And maybe this new story was the point of you all along. I love the thought that right now, in all likelihood, Edith is doing something that's simultaneously challenging and entirely age-appropriate. Which, in a very real way, will be her trophy for not participating. I don't think Edith's done with the Bee, but I'm also not sure I would be heartbroken if she was. And I absolutely believe that, much like Delaney, Edith has more in store for us than we could ever imagine. Even in the middle of missing my people—and especially my North Dakota hussy constant—I have to say that being reminded of who I really can be has me feeling like one of the Bad News Bears myself these days, with all the swagger of Ahmad stepping up to the plate in the Astrodome: “Back up, suckers. I feel good.”

#edith fuller #the constant #delaney #the point of me

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punkscowardschampions · 4 years ago

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Liam & Edie

Liam: get out of work early, I need your help Edie: alright Edie: what are we doing? Liam: I finished a 🎬📽🎞 & it has to be screened tonight at a specific time Edie: do you know what cinema you wanna infiltrate Edie: like, max capacity blockbuster moment or a more independent arthouse style? Edie: I have ideas for both, if you don't already Liam: gotta be sold out seats for max exposure Edie: looking up whatever dumb superhero shit is on right now Liam: put the word out for me too, yeah? 📢 you've got more 👀 on you Edie: of course Edie: keep it vague but intriguing? Edie: what's the angle Liam: my sister is Edie: your sister? Liam: she's 16, would've been Liam: today Edie: the film is for her Edie: not a hard sell Edie: every twat loves a party Liam: every twat's forgotten about her already Liam: I have to do something Edie: I'll get all the people there I can Edie: 16 is a big one Liam: I'm looking for a cake to blow up Liam: big enough to splatter lots of rows but not too huge to sneak in Edie: really do need a pram Edie: if you do wanna go big, my ma has a kiln, easy to bake in and quicker Edie: I could put it in a backpack or some ridiculously oversized handbag my sister has Liam: you're amazing Edie: you or the audience haven't tasted the cake yet Liam: be more fitting if it tastes bad Liam: like we're shoving bittersweet down everyone's throats Liam: & in their faces Edie: that's easily done Edie: toxic hazard here we come Edie: how long have you been working on the vid? Liam: a while Edie: are you happy with it? Liam: there's no more time left to do edits Liam: I gotta get it out there, like I said Liam: 18 is gonna need something bigger Edie: timing is key Edie: did you talk about it Edie: what she'd want to do Liam: looking that far ahead wasn't something she let herself do Edie: that's fair Edie: I haven't looked that far ahead before Edie: we'll make it special Edie: something she'd approve of Liam: there has to be some way to throw a party after that's not the standard gay shit Edie: an anti-party Liam: yeah, without being ☢️ & barcode tattoos about it Edie: so a disgusting cake, what else can we fuck up Edie: bastardized 🎈s are almost a given Edie: maybe we can play some party games Liam: use your talents on the happy birthday song Edie: I'll do my best for you both Edie: did she believe anything happened after you die? Liam: she wanted to come back as someone else, show up back in my life just when she reckoned it'd gotten settled & boring Liam: but I don't think she really believed that, just didn't want me to turn into one of those twats Edie: yeah, most people want to believe something like that Edie: some continuation Edie: but the percentage who genuinely do, I don't know Liam: a lot of shit she said was for my benefit of my ma's, I don't know if she knew I knew that but I did Edie: Yeah Edie: but through reassuring you, she was probably trying to give herself that same comfort Edie: again, whether it worked is unlikely, but we keep going 'til we don't Liam: yeah Liam: I have certainty in her not wanting everyone to act as if she was never here this fast, I'm going with that Liam: her friends, a lad she liked, they're supposed to give more of a shit Edie: we'll make them remember Edie: I was thinking Edie: she'd be in transition year now Edie: they're always having bollocks seminars and lectures Edie: that would be easy to hijack Edie: well, not easy, but we could Liam: you're so fucking smart Liam: I didn't even think Edie: it'd be a way to get the ones who won't hear our call tonight Edie: which are arguably the ones who need a lesson in caring more so Liam: keep it going like pass the parcel Edie: a project worth the waste of time that whole year is Liam: then a holiday, me & you Liam: where we won't waste any time Edie: are we going to find a holiday home? Liam: did you like living with me? Edie: so much Edie: I wanna live with you properly Edie: all the time Liam: then yeah, we'll find a holiday home & when we get back you can move into mine Edie: really? Liam: our mas will both have shit to say about it but so do we Edie: if they're really going to object to that degree Edie: we'll work for enough money to rent our own place Liam: & sleep wherever else we have to until we've got that Edie: as long as I'm with you Edie: I miss you when I'm not Liam: I wanna be with you all the time too Edie: maybe if we split our time between mine and yours, they wouldn't even notice Liam: they can tell themselves they're keeping a better 👀 on us if we do Edie: yeah, and it's not 'as serious' as moving in together Edie: in their minds Edie: guess it'd be better if we were going 'round sleeping with anyone and everyone Liam: I've had more offers since I got a girlfriend than before Liam: must be a shared view between our parents & lots of the girls at school Edie: 😡 Edie: adds to them feeling something if they get to fuck someone over at the same time as, I guess Liam: I'll never hurt you or let anyone else do it Edie: I know you won't Liam: I love you Edie: I love you Edie: no one is gonna stop us from living the life we want Liam: [a pic of a pram he has stolen for her to fill with stuff and there's a birthday pinata in there currently like oh hi] Liam: I found this for you Edie: 😍 Edie: Baby! Edie: you got me wheels Liam: I couldn't stop thinking about you struggling with a heavy backpack Edie: You're so sweet and I'm so excited Edie: is what's going in the pinata a surprise? Liam: I was gonna tell you but lets keep the excitement going Edie: is it 🕷s Edie: or 🦷 Liam: do you know where I can get that many 🦷? Liam: that'd be a great idea Edie: 🤔 Edie: maybe a vet's dumpster Edie: think people dentists study 'em Liam: maybe my ma kept our 👶 teeth Liam: I'll have a look Edie: Mine kept hers Edie: you'd need quite a few to make an impression Liam: the fake blood I'm gonna add will help Liam: but you're right Edie: there's loads of roadkill around mine Edie: could get that for the 🦴🦴 Liam: I don't know if I want you touching it though Liam: you could get sick or something Edie: I've got gloves Edie: the only illness they had was potentially bad eyesight 🚗 Liam: you've gotta be careful, baby Edie: okay Edie: for you Edie: how else can I help you though? Edie: the cake is in Liam: keep thinking, all your ideas are perfect Edie: I wanna be Edie: what about spiking the drinks, but not in a fun way Edie: or is that too 👿 Edie: just a laxative or something, nothing mad Liam: it don't matter, we won't drink it Edie: I definitely won't Edie: don't even miss any of it Liam: we need something that'll make them 🤮 she did lots of that Liam: only fair Edie: what does that 💊🧪 wise Edie: too much salt is a dead giveaway with one sip Liam: charcoal is probably too big a giveaway too Liam: & you can't get ipecac no more Edie: 😕 ugh Liam: we'll have to settle for the laxatives Edie: they'll make themselves sick all on their own Liam: you did make a fucking disgusting cake Edie: you don't even wanna know what I put in it 😏 Liam: I want all your secrets Edie: you can have everything Edie: [a gruesome list of god knows what] Edie: it smells so gross cooking right now Liam: don't make yourself 🤮 Edie: I'm getting some fresh air Liam: what can you 👀? Edie: from here, the pond Edie: which also smells, so I might need to go look at the 🍅🥔s growing instead Liam: go decide on your outfit Edie: what do you want me to look like? Liam: beautiful Edie: nothing more specific? Liam: nah, not until I've seen what you come up with Liam: you test well Edie: 🤞 Liam: 😍 Edie: that's what I want Edie: always Liam: I want you Edie: I can't wait to go away with you Edie: are we going to the sea Liam: we can Liam: we can go anywhere you like Edie: I just wanna watch the sun go down under the waves with you Liam: you watch that, I'll watch your face while it does Edie: You're so Edie: you make me feel like a person Edie: a real one, that matters Liam: you matter to me, Eds Edie: I'm not used to this feeling Liam: you know I'm not either Liam: we'll get used to it Edie: it's like I believe you but I can't believe it Edie: if that makes sense Liam: I get it Liam: I do need you to believe me though Edie: I do Edie: you're just perfect Liam: nah, I'm not Edie: to me then Liam: whatever's wrong with me, we're good together Edie: we're going to make a perfect baby Edie: that always feels like a person Liam: I'm gonna love it even if things go wrong Liam: I need you to know that too Edie: I know you will Edie: and I believe that Edie: I wouldn't have agreed if I didn't Edie: you won't be able to not love your own child Edie: even if it's hard Liam: & I'll wanna be with you, perfect or not Liam: whatever else happens Edie: we can do it Edie: I love you and I want it to work Edie: I wanna be a good mum and give the baby all the love and attention and everything it could ever want and need Edie: that is so much more than most people have Liam: the baby is so fortunate to have you for its ma Liam: you've done everything right already & its not even here yet Edie: I wanna do it right Edie: I can't imagine doing it wrong Liam: I know you will Liam: you set your mind on shit & it gets done, that's how you are Edie: makes me sound like an assassin Edie: don't hate that Liam: I don't hate thinking about you holding a 🔪 Edie: next video Liam: it'll be on my mind until then Edie: I can give you a preview Edie: if you show me the fake blood Liam: [does obviously] Edie: 🤤 Liam: I made extra for you knowing you'd be into it Edie: That's just one of the reasons we work Liam: are you gonna give me the rest of them? Edie: I'll start on the list but I don't know if it'll ever be done enough to be conclusive Edie: and I'd hate for you to think I'm not serious Liam: that's another reason why we work Edie: see, they keep adding up Edie: good thing I didn't commit to tattooing it on me Edie: run out of space so quick Liam: I don't think her video is done enough Liam: I don't know what to do Edie: You'll regret it if you miss her birthday, I think Edie: you'll have chances to add to it and improve on it every year if you want Edie: it's a tough one to know what's enough on, yeah Edie: 'cos what could be Liam: if it's shit I'll have ruined her birthday Edie: do you think it's shit? Liam: I can't tell Liam: I can't feel anything Edie: I can watch it before you show it Edie: or you can just do it Edie: they aren't going to forget it though, regardless, and that's what you want, yeah Edie: for them to remember her Liam: you've gotta watch it on a big screen Liam: I'll watch you & I'll know if it's good or not Edie: okay Edie: I won't tell you I know it'll be good Edie: cheapen my actual reaction Liam: 👌 what do you wanna tell me instead? Edie: another reason we work is you're talented and creative too Liam: I have to try to bring something to the table if we want a perfect baby Edie: you mean aside from how insanely hot you are Liam: its gonna look like you so that don't count Edie: maybe it'll get to be tall like you Edie: my 10 year old sister is already taller than me Liam: you only wanna be taller for kissing me Liam: there'll be a no dating rule until they're like old enough to properly move out Edie: might save your back, that's all Edie: they won't need to, they'll be happy with us Liam: I've already saved yours with this pram, I'm not bothered about mine Edie: but I am Edie: I'll invest in some stilts Liam: & have you snatched up by the circus, nah Liam: don't matter if its twins in there, I'll pick you all up Edie: 🥰 Edie: you make me look and feel like that emoji, legitimately Liam: [a picture of some random people he's sneakily taken a photo of while he's out and about and changed so they have no eyes because he misses and wants to see her rn] Edie: ooh baby Edie: 👁s would be a great pinata filling Liam: have we got time to turn 🍇 or some gay shit into 👀 like a ma on halloween? Edie: OH Edie: speaking of mas Edie: just had a 💡 Liam: what? Edie: she has mealworms to feed the 🐦🦅s Edie: too late for the cake but how perfect Liam: genius Edie: my next idea was going to get some caviar but I don't think my wage is stretching that far Liam: I could steal some Liam: dunno where the fuck from though Edie: bet they don't have any at the spar Edie: there are tadpoles in the pond but I'm not murdering them Liam: the worms will work Liam: I'm on my way to yours, how long til the cake is cooked? Edie: you're coming here Edie: 😄😄😄 the excitement is only going ↗️ Edie: about 10 minutes, though a bit of burning can't hurt Liam: I thought you'd like a hand with decorating Edie: I'd like to see you Liam: you miss me too Edie: so bad Liam: I know Edie: come see me Liam: I kept the secret for as long as I could but I'm nearly there now Edie: no secrets, right Liam: I don't want there to be Edie: I'll tell you everything you wanna know Liam: tell me what we're doing tomorrow Liam: after this Edie: we're gonna get in the car and drive 'til we get somewhre we want to stop Edie: and we'll get fish and chips and ice cream and play on the beach and then we can talk about bringing the baby back and doing it all again Liam: the baby's face when it eats ice cream for the first time Liam: & feels what sand is like Liam: we'll film it all Edie: 🥺 Edie: I feel like I might cry? Liam: everything we don't remember any more we'll do again with our 👶 Edie: there's so much good stuff to relive Edie: stuff we didn't get to do too Liam: yeah, there's lots of shit I've not done Liam: I used to feel properly awkward about it Edie: just 'cos my childhood was weird in an 'exotic' way doesn't mean it weren't too Edie: there's loads of Irish childhood staples that we didn't have Edie: we'll make that list too, for the 👶 Liam: I can't think of a better way to start the baby book Edie: I'm gonna do it for your birthday Liam: yeah? Edie: I've got a feeling Liam: that might be knowing that I'm outside Edie: [dramatic run out] Liam: [we know he's as extra and would immediately stop whatever he's doing/ drop whatever he's holding so they can kiss dramatically, don't get a hole in that pinata yet sir] Edie: [ah you crazy kids, dunno where the rest of the fam is tbh] Liam: [100% gonna say he puts her in the pram and pushes her into this gaff like a giant nerd, so imagine her just squished in there please] Edie: [LOL adorable, try not to break it already] Liam: [you probably don't have time to do pram repairs on top of everything else lads] Edie: [we got schemes honey] Liam: [if you don't draw on each other with icing pens when you're decorating this cake I don't wanna know either of you] Edie: [my boo has put her foot down] Liam: [all the tattoo practice and ideas in any possible artistic medium thank you] Liam: [we all know what saucy behaviour you'll be getting up to as soon as he gets there though] Edie: [but the softest ever tbh 'cos a tough day and you just wanna make sure he's okay] Liam: [honestly there's only so busy you can keep yourself boy, we all see you] Edie: [not gonna force you to talk on it but also gonna be clear it's an option] Liam: [he's just trying to get today over with as if tomorrow and on any other day he won't think about it, oh hun] Edie: [mood] Liam: [where is his mother? what is she doing rn? those are my real questions] Edie: [sad things don't think about it Liam: [anyway we know the vibe so is there anything else you wanna make a point of happening rn before we skip to the aftermath?] Edie: [hmhmhmmm we can probably skip] Liam: [everyone gonna be cross at you lads] Edie: [I like to think the fam was there earlier so they were already moody, but then you come back with the police and you're gonna skip town tomorrow so lol] Liam: [his poor mum having to go down the garda station when she's already living her best life, likewise gonna be in a great mood] Edie: [safe to say you will not be invited back tonight gal] Liam: [Rio is gonna tear Liam a new one cos he was all I'm gonna look after her it's chill when they last talked haha] Edie: [oh lordy] Liam: [I just hope they got to do all their creepy plans before the police ruined it] Edie: [or at least the important ones, and that it went well in that people are talking about it] Liam: [gotta let you have that] Edie: [tis important and a mood] Edie: how's your ma now Liam: she's still going Edie: I thought she'd like it Edie: if you explained what you did Liam: she likes what we did but not how Liam: she don't understand that playing it in the sitting room wouldn't work Edie: she wants to keep it all private Edie: if people feel uncomfortable it's only because they should Liam: we know that Edie: is she more 😭 or 😤 Edie: one is easier to deal with Liam: it's both, at the same time for a while Edie: that must be so exhausting Liam: it's just what she's like Edie: you've not really known her any different? Liam: I must have, but I don't remember Liam: not clear enough Edie: I'm sorry Edie: if I could've taken the blame harder, I would've Liam: I don't want you to take any of it Edie: I don't care about getting into trouble Liam: you will if it sticks next time & you maybe can't earn as much cash Liam: be the perfect ma you've set your heart on Edie: not at the sake of you though Edie: it's so unfair I couldn't take my fair share Liam: you did, you weren't there for the shit I did before that got me my talking to from the 🐷 Liam: it's about her not you Edie: yeah, I know Edie: wish we'd saved the pinata for them though 🐷🤮☠ Liam: we'll make a 🎬📹 I've still got the rave masks Edie: Yes Edie: it's the least we can do Liam: you'll feel a bit better at least Edie: no, it's not about me Edie: how do you think it went, before they showed Liam: you thought it went decently I could see it in your 👀 Edie: it did Edie: it was beautiful Edie: but did you like it? Liam: I reckon she would've Edie: she'd be proud, for sure Liam: yeah Edie: but I am, whilst I can't guarantee that Edie: I can this Edie: are we still going tomorrow Liam: I'll show up, if you can't get out send me a 6 Edie: I'll get out Liam: safely Liam: I'm not gonna watch you fall out your window Edie: I won't, babe Edie: no guard dogs here Edie: they can't keep permanent watch Liam: no 🔥🌉 either though Liam: your ma must already hate me Edie: I'm not staying though Edie: I'll pretend to listen to them Liam: I understand baby, I don't want to be here Edie: I want to take you to the beach Liam: we'll go then Liam: smooth it over after if we have to Edie: I don't know how to care about making them happy, never mind doing it Liam: all you need to do is say what they wanna hear Edie: wait 'til they hear about the baby Liam: we just won't tell them until your 🤰 makes us Edie: but 'til then Edie: literally who knows what they want Liam: we know what your sister wants, she told me Liam: we'll base it off that, be good Edie: 🙄 Edie: she's a fine one to talk Liam: don't you wanna behave with me & for me? Edie: for you, not them Liam: I'm only asking you to do it for me Liam: so they won't be getting in our way Edie: what do you want me to do now then? Edie: tell me Liam: explain why we did it but pretend you're sorry that it got out of hand Edie: alright Edie: I'll hate every second of it but I'll do it Liam: I'll make it up to you Edie: tell me how Liam: 💍 Liam: I'll get you one Edie: you already got me a pram Liam: that was for the 👶 too, I wanna give you something that's just yours Edie: oh Edie: will I have to hide it too though Liam: as long as you don't bury it Edie: we could pretend it's not THE 💍 Edie: put it on a different finger Liam: you've still got great ideas after earlier Liam: you really are a genius Edie: Hardly Edie: I'm just trying very hard to be very good for you Liam: you don't even have to try Edie: I do when it means having to hide how I feel about you Liam: nobody can say shit about me promising to marry you one day Edie: they say all kinds of shit Liam: you don't have to hide that we're in love whatever they say Edie: I never will Edie: they know I am, that they can't change that Liam: if you don't wanna be good we can leave tonight Edie: you're right that it'll make shit easier Edie: I can ignore them Liam: I don't care about shit being easier if you're not happy Edie: I am happy Edie: they might not be happy with the way it's come about but they can't harp on it too hard without making me miserable Liam: I couldn't have done everything today without you Edie: I'm glad I could do that for you Edie: that's how it should be Edie: is going to Edie: I've got your back, you've got mine Liam: yeah, like a family Liam: me & you are, however long this baby takes to show up Edie: there's nothing you could ask that was too much of me, seriously Liam: not a test this time Edie: can handle it either way Liam: I know 👀 Liam: but I can't handle missing you more than I do, if you wanna like be a huge bitch to me or something like Edie: I could try if you wanna be less loveable for a sec too Liam: one sec I'll have to try & stop thinking about how alive you were tonight first Liam: & find a less gay way to say it than that while I'm working on it Edie: you say gay, I say workable lyric or tat inspo Liam: when you've filtered it through your 🧠 it'll be right Liam: all I know is beautiful wouldn't be good enough Liam: 🎇🎆 Liam: either Liam: I think the closest would be when you get a puddle of petrol, all those colours, that kinda bullshit Edie: I wish I could tattoo that onto me Edie: a bruise would be closest to that Edie: but I wish I could see me how you see me more Liam: I'll start filming, see what I can do Edie: you have a year 'til my birthday too Liam: lots of chances to get footage then Edie: be good for the baby too, when it grows up Edie: see we loved them before they even got here Liam: we'll record as much as we can Liam: starting at the beach tomorrow Edie: we'll make a sandcastle dreamhouse Edie: and find the perfect shell to start a collection for them Liam: I don't think I've ever made one Edie: 1/8 ratio water to sand is a good start Edie: then it depends if you want the castle buckets, or a plain one so you can sculpt it yourself Edie: add seaweed, shells and pebbles, et voila Liam: I'm gonna look for enough shells to make a mobile too Edie: 🌌🧠💡 Liam: maybe we can make it sound on top of looking nice Edie: if we find some driftwood too, that would be 🔝 Liam: we'll go back if we don't Liam: until we do Edie: if we like it we can move there Liam: what kind of 🏠 do you want? Edie: one that's the perfect size for just us three Edie: and always feels cosy and like a home and is the place you actually always wanna come back to because it's that comforting Liam: 🗺❌ Liam: I'll take you hunting Edie: maybe we'll find another to takeover when we're down there Liam: lots of them are holiday homes now summer's over they'll be empty Edie: and not everyone invests in good security, even though they're rich enough to Liam: pick the one you like best, I'll get us in Liam: most people don't bother changing their alarm codes from the default Edie: right Edie: they kinda deserve it Liam: if you're not gonna treat your shit like you want it, someone else will take it Liam: why not us Edie: 9️⃣9️⃣9️⃣ Liam: how long can we stay this time without your ma calling that number herself? Edie: when we're on our way, I could tell her we've gone Edie: rude of her to stifle our creativity 📹🎞📼 Edie: but if we give her something, she might freak less Liam: you got any 🎁 in mind? Edie: you mean getting her a stick of rock or? Liam: whatever works Liam: you know I'll do it Edie: It's not even you, they admit they don't know you Edie: maybe we give them the chance, when we do come back? Liam: 🎲 Liam: alright Edie: it might be totally unbearable Edie: I make no promises to the contrary Liam: you don't have to, you'll be there Liam: unbearable is when you're not Liam: like now Edie: I know Edie: it hurts my heart not being with you right now Liam: if my ma decides to stop, I'll call you Edie: do Edie: I'll get out of here as soon as I'm physically able Liam: me too Liam: even if it means I'm waiting outside for you 👀 Liam: 🛰🌏 Edie: You can wait outside my window any time Liam: 📹🎞📼 Liam: 🤫 Edie: 😳 Edie: everything you do is hot Liam: I'm thinking about you whenever I do anything, maybe that's why Edie: I won't dispute that Edie: even though you definitely deserve more credit Liam: you can give it to me when the credits roll on your film & you realise what you look like to me Liam: & that everything I do is to turn you on or make you smile, laugh, all that happy shit Edie: I don't know what I ever did to deserve you Edie: but I'll be a better person from now if it means I get to keep you forever Liam: nah, don't change a single thing Edie: 🤏 😈 🤏 😇 Edie: got it Liam: we won't show every 🎬🎞 to the 👶 Liam: or every 🎤🎧 either come to think of it Edie: got to have things to protect them from Edie: may as well be us, not actually a threat Liam: [sending her all the cute baby videos such as when they eat a 🍋 etc like this will be us because we can't be dealing with our mother popping off anymore] Edie: [sending her stuff of the twins 'cos that big sister evidently lol] Edie: him* soz babe Liam: [Grace would die if she knew] Edie: [when you are 10 and MORTIFIED honey] Liam: [when his ma is having a breakdown and he's just spamming the bae with random adorable baby content from the internet casually] Edie: [so sorry to your ma but also not sorry we did] Liam: [he can't handle all your emotions gal I'm soz, we're living our best fantasy life here instead] Liam: [I vote this happens until he can actually call her and thus end the convo cos we know they highkey enough to do that]

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