#it's suddenly gotten so exponentially bad around here in the last two weeks or so alone i don't even know what to do anymore

[cinnamnt]

does anyone know where to find a movie site that even works anymore. for the fucking love of god

[jasecretsanta]

2023 Secret Santa Update

Hello, everyone!

I'd like to start with an apology: I meant to write this post several weeks ago but life, as it so often does, got in the way and I completely dropped the ball. I'm really sorry about that, particularly for those of you who were waiting around for information about this event.

Not to follow bad news with worse, but I won't be doing the JA Secret Santa his year. Real life responsibilities are definitely a factor here—my life has gotten exponentially more busy after securing a new job post-quarantine—but if I'm honest I've been toying with taking a step back for a while now. It's really hard to do an exchange with this small a number, both when it comes to organizing it in a way that participants will enjoy (wait, didn't I get them last year? And two years before that?) and when it comes to managing any inevitable snags. If someone is late or fails to produce a gift in a normal exchange, you've got numerous pinch hitters in the wings to help out. Here, it's suddenly down to just 2-3 people—or me—and consistently the last few years we've been running into snags not easily remedied.

However, I definitely don't want this to be a JA devoid holiday! My current thinking is to do something community-based with a bit more flexibility, so that participants still have the opportunity to create gifts, but no one is pressured to finish, or is tied to an individual giftee in a way that isn't working well for our numbers. So I had planned to post a list of prompts on December 1st, a mix of very broad ideas (like a genre) and more specific challenges (a pairing, trope, and line to include). Participants are welcome to fill any and all prompts they like, as well as comment via the post on those they'd particularly like to see. Spend the month making a big gift for a friend. Make fifty for the whole fandom!

Gifts would still be due December 23rd.

I'm also VERY open to suggestions on how this might work—as well as prompts! Please send any and everything to the ask box/my chat.

I know this will be disappointing to people, but I hope this middle ground is a silver lining.

Happy (Early) Holidays! Balem demands it.

[thegreenwolf]

(This post was originally posted on my blog at https://thegreenwolf.com/its-okay-to-not-hustle/)

There’s this meme going around Facebook right now, saying “If you don’t come out of this quarantine with a new skill, your side hustle started, or more knowledge, you never lacked time. You lacked discipline.” Thankfully multiple people have already skewered it, but it continues to be shared around by the sort of person who is trying to one-up everyone else, or who’s just plain clueless–or, for that matter, just trying to guilt you into buying whatever they’re selling.

Now, there’s not a damned thing wrong with self-promotion. That’s how indie artists, authors, and other self-employed folks get the word out. You have to be able to talk good talk in order to get people’s attention. But leading with this meme? Guilting people for not leaping from sudden unemployment straight into the thick of the ever-shifting gig economy? That ain’t gonna fly, Brocephus.

You Have Good Reasons to Slack

Excuse me while I dust off my counseling psych degree a sec, here. *ahem* We are in a very sensitive, turbulent time right now. We’re in the middle of a pandemic, the likes of which hasn’t been seen in a century in the Western world. We are in a hugely traumatizing situation here. Not just for the financial losses, but the fact that COVID-19 has killed thousands of people and left many more with permanent lung damage. We still haven’t gotten a handle yet on exactly how contagious this thing is, how long you’re contagious for, or whether you’re immune once you’ve had it, assuming you survive. We don’t have adequate testing, emergency rooms estimate that for every positive test there are 10-20 people out there infected and untested, and everyone with a cough is suddenly Schroedinger’s COVID case. Governments worldwide are slow to react in spite of the rising death toll. People have had friends and family die horribly from this thing in a short period of time. Even people who didn’t already have issues with anxiety, depression and other mental illnesses are feeling stressed, strained and scared–and, yes, traumatized. This image is guilt-tripping people who are actively being traumatized.

So we’re already starting with a populace that is dealing with this collective trauma, as well as whatever personal trauma each individual is experiencing. Not always easy to seize the day when you’re going through that. And I can think of a few other reasons that might further complicate this whole “Just get a side gig!” thing:

–They’re a parent who suddenly has all their kids at home, all the time, demanding time and attention and food, AND they still have to work eight hours a day from home, or maybe even more if their S.O. is unemployed/sick/etc. By the way, if someone trots out Isaac Newton or William Shakespeare or some other historical guy who managed to do epic things during a pandemic, remember that they usually had wives or servants to do all the laundry and cooking and cleaning and (if applicable) childcare for them.

–They’re disabled or chronically ill, and don’t have the ability/energy/etc. to just go and make something happen, just like that. Imagine if you just randomly got the fatigue from a really bad flu, and you never knew whether it was going to last a day or a month. And if you tried exerting yourself when you were feeling better, chances are you’d slip back into fatigue-land. That’s what a lot of my chronically ill/etc. friends have to deal with, to say nothing of issues with accessibility of resources for starting a side gig.

–They don’t have any money for the supplies needed to start a side hustle, or the supplies have been hoarded by hobbyists preparing for a Pandemic Staycation.

–They don’t have the skills for something that just requires what they already have (like, for example, writing on a laptop you already happen to own). Often these skills are things that can’t be perfected in a few weeks at home, but may take years to develop before they’re really marketable–like, for example, the skill to make a decent living on side hustles.

–They have anxiety, depression or other mental health conditions that make it hard to function even in the best of times, but even moreso in this…well…mess. Even people who were mentally healthy before are going to be developing diagnosable anxiety and depression disorders before all’s said and done. And speaking from personal experience, those of us who look successful on the outside can still be internally hamstrung by these conditions at times.

–Plus there’s the fact that we’re not supposed to, you know, leave our homes, which narrows down the field of potential side gigs by a lot.

Even doing something less financially-wrought like learning a new skill or subject takes time, energy, and sometimes money, any or all of which may be scarce for the reasons above and more.

Comparison is the Thief of Joy

I am saying all of this as someone who is arguably an expert on the side gig. I have spent the past eight and a half years 100% self-employed (and a lot longer doing it part-time) as an author and artist, able to cover all my bills and expenses, and for a time I was the primary breadwinner of a multi-person household. I have like ten different things I was doing for a living before this all hit, a pretty diverse set of streams of income, even if most of them just up and evaporated in the past few weeks. And while I’m definitely a hell of a lot leaner now than I was a month ago, I still have my head above water for the moment. So I think I know side gigs.

I’m one of the lucky ones. I’m overall healthy. I have a dog who is a lot less demanding of my time than kids would be. I have my own space where I can focus more or less without interruption. More importantly, I have the skills, the knowhow, the drive and the personality to go out and seek new opportunities. And I’m used to fluctuations in income, though admittedly this one’s unprecedented. Don’t gauge yourself by where I am now. I’ve spent twenty-two years building up my art business, my first book came out in 2006, and I’ve had a series of really good opportunities come my way that I had the privilege to be able to make the most of. I am not your measuring stick, so don’t say “Well, if she can do it why can’t I? I must suck!”

If you’re feeling crappy because you aren’t hopping to it and carpeing the diem and getting everything done, here’s what I have to say to you: Look, you just had your world turned upside-down. Job loss, scarce commodities, sudden lack of outside childcare, restricted movement and inability to be around much of your support system, and did I mention a pandemic is happening, too? Any single one of those things would be difficult for just about anyone to deal with, never mind all at once. And I don’t even know what all else has already been going on in your life–unstable or unsafe living situation, other health issues, breakups and other losses, interpersonal conflicts. You know, normal life stuff.

You’re Not Lazy, or Screwing Up, or (Gods Forbid) Undisciplined

It is totally okay if all you’re doing right now is surviving. It’s okay if you feel like you’re drowning, overwhelmed by all that’s happening both on a global level and more personally. It’s okay if all you can manage right now is to get out of bed and stumble through each day a moment at a time, struggling with a tidal wave of emotions. It’s okay if you’re just trying to keep your kids busy, dealing with a crowded home every single day, or trying to keep COVID-19 at bay. It’s okay if, instead of firing up DuoLingo or opening an Etsy shop, you spend your evenings vegging to Netflix or reading a book or playing hours and hours of Animal Crossing.

Not every moment in your life has to be about being productive even in the best of circumstances, and that goes exponentially so right now. Be patient with yourself, and be kind. You may be one of those folks who literally has to spend all their time scrabbling to try to cover the bills or get some leeway from bill collectors, and you have to dedicate your waking time hunting for resources just to try to get through this week. Believe me, I feel for you, I have a lot of friends in that situation right now, and I hope all of you can find some relief and assistance.

May I suggest something? If you have the energy for something more than the bare essentials of getting by, put that energy toward self-care, whatever you can manage under the circumstances. You can use it to recuperate, to rebuild your emotional and physical resilience. That way if things get rough again in the future, you have more internal reserves to build on. If your usual methods don’t work or aren’t accessible due to lockdown, ask others what they’re doing to keep themselves grounded in this trying time.

Just because you have more time doesn’t mean you don’t have to throw yourself right into something productive! Don’t feel pressured to just go-go-go the moment you have a little freedom to move. If you do decide you want to try a side gig, or a new skill, or learn all about some specialized topic of interest, go for it! If you have the energy and attention and opportunity to pursue something new, it can be a great coping skill during this traumatic time. Just don’t pressure yourself; keep it fun.

One last thing: I want you to save the image I have at the top of this post. And then if you see someone post that meme, saying “Come on, you lazy bums, get up and make that side gig happen! Learn new stuff! Do all the things! No excuses!” you pull out this version, and you look at the edits, you remember that it’s okay to be where you are, and you get back to doing things at your own pace no matter what someone else says. (I find visualizing stapling a printout of the edited version to the offender’s forehead to also be therapeutic, but that may just be me.)

Hang in there, okay? It’s going to be a rough time, but you’re not alone, and what you’re feeling right now is shared by so many people. So just let yourself be where you are in this moment, and we’ll see what hope tomorrow brings. And remember that whatever you’re capable of in this moment: it’s enough.

Did you enjoy this post? Please consider supporting my work on Patreon, buying my books here on my website, buying my art and books on Etsy, or tipping me at Ko-fi!

[just-my-sickly-pride]

The Night Comes Down || Brian May x fem!Reader x Roger Taylor

summary || one of the first rules you’d ever made with brian, your friends-with-benefits, eight months ago, was that anyone could back out of the arrangement at any time, for whatever reason, and then everything would go back to normal. back to how it was. and that’s fine. you have no problem with that. you’re fine. you’re so fine. it’s... fine.

rating || no smut, but some implied explicit content. warning: there is a brief scene where reader is being heavily pressured into kissing someone at a party.

word count || 9.7k

author’s notes || all good things must come to an end! so i’ve been working on this series for over a year. how did that even happen?? anyway yes this is the end of the try series. no it’s not a happy ending. i debated back and forth for a long time whether to end the series or not, but it felt too weird not to. and i couldn’t figure out any reasonable ‘happy’ way for it to end. a big big big thank you to everyone who’s stuck with me for this entire journey, or part of this journey, or even if you’re just tuning in now - thank you! and if you’re still somehow invested in this little ’verse after all this time, don’t abandon me just yet 👀 p.s. i think i’ve ironed out most of the timeline issues but don’t look too closely. this series is not my proudest in terms of continuity

masterlist

tag list: @the-huttslayer​ @scorpiogemini @redspecialty​ @supersonicfreddie​ @killer-queen-xo​ @a-night-at-the-0pera​ @rogerscupboard​

     Part of you had known it was inevitable. Another part of you liked to pretend that it wasn’t. But it was.

    It still felt like it had come out of nowhere, though.

    Brian was watching you cautiously, adjusting the grip on his laptop and workbook. “Did you… want to say anything, or…?”

    “Um…” You blinked a couple times, and shook your head. “Uh, no, I’m just… surprised?”

    “I feel like I’ve mentioned her a few times,” Brian said.

    “Once or twice, maybe,” you said. “I didn’t know that you and her…”

    “Yeah.” Brian scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah, we hooked up, like, two weeks ago, and then again a few nights ago, and we’ve been talking every day, so.”

    “Oh.” It sounded twisted, wonky, but you forced a smile onto your face, wondering why you felt so… uncomfortable hearing about this. “That’s great. And you like her?”

    “Yeah, I really do,” Brian said, and his voice sounded warm, and he had a little smile on his face, and something ugly and strange twisted in your gut. “And I want to take her on an actual date, but obviously, I’d feel a bit weird about it if I still had, y’know. A, uh, side arrangement. But you’re all right?”

    “Of course,” you said brightly. Side arrangement. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be? That’s great, Brian, really. I’m – really glad you’ve found someone.”

    “It’s been a while, that’s for sure,” Brian said with a chuckle.

    “Are you going to tell Rog?”

    Brian frowned a little. “Um, no, I don’t think that’s necessary. I never had – anything with him. And he’s already met Dani, so.”

    “Oh!” Ah, Christ, that had sounded dreadful, even to your own ears. “Where– Where’d he meet her?”

    “The other day.” Brian gave you a sheepish smile. “The morning after. She ran into him in the kitchen.”

    You pushed a strained laugh out of you. “Oh, right, yeah, great.”

    Brian chuckled as well. “Yeah, it was a little awkward, but what can you do, right?”

    You swallowed, and nodded. Your face hurt from smiling.

    “You’ll love her,” Brian said. “She’s wonderful. She’s so smart, and funny, and she’s so pretty. I mean, so pretty. Absolutely beautiful. Completely knocked my socks off when I first saw her. Can’t believe she fancies me.”

    “Great,” you said. You were saying great too much. “She sounds–” Don’t. “–so great.”

    “She is.” Brian beamed. “You’ll have to meet her soon.”

    “I’m sure I will,” you said.

    “Yeah, I’m sure,” Brian said. He sighed happily. “Well, I should head off.”

    “Yeah, course,” you said. “Me too.”

    “I’ll message you,” Brian said. “We can arrange a dinner at the flat or something.”

    “Can’t wait!”

    Brian smiled, nodded in satisfaction, and then said, “All right, see you later.”

    “Bye!” You turned around and hurried away, in the opposite direction you needed to go.

    Hmm. Huh. Right. Okay. So. Brian just. He just.

    You went to the food court and sat down at the first available seat you could find.

    You took out your phone and immediately went to message Veronica.

    Brian just

    Your thumbs paused.

    He just what? He just found someone he wanted to date, and ended his arrangement with you. On paper, not that big of a deal. It was part of the unwritten contract of it all: any person was allowed to end things for whatever reason, and there would be no consequences. A rule you had written yourself, all those months ago.

    Side arrangement. Side piece. Dirty secret. Not as good as the real thing. Not as funny or smart or pretty or wonderful or beautiful as Danielle.

    You froze. Whoa, where had that come from?

    You weren’t jealous. You couldn’t have been jealous. You’d never wanted to date Brian. You still didn’t want to date Brian. You didn’t have a crush on him, and you never had. Brian didn’t break up with you.

    So what the everloving fuck was going on in your head right now?

    You put your phone away. Nope, you couldn’t go crying to Veronica for no damn reason. This had always been bound to happen, and now it had, so you just needed an hour or so to process it, and then things would be fine. You’d go back to normal.

-

    Your idea of ‘normal’ seemed to greatly differ from Brian’s.

     You didn’t hear from him for a week. Whereas before you’d talked every other day, he went almost totally radio silent. Every meme or message you sent was either seen and ignored, or responded to with a vague Haha or a thumbs-up.

    You met up with Roger on your usual catch-up night, but you hadn’t gotten very far into anything before he stopped and said, “You’re not really feeling it, are you?”

    You made a face. “Sorry.”

    “It’s fine.” He passed your shirt to you, and he fetched his from the floor and slipped it on. “So… Brian has a date tomorrow night.”

    You frowned. “He does?”

    Roger nodded. “Yeah, he didn’t tell you about it?”

    You looked down at your hands. “Um, no. He didn’t. I haven’t heard much from him, actually. After he… ended… things.”

    “Whoa,” Roger said, climbing onto the bed. “Wait, really? With you?”

    You nodded, and suddenly felt your throat close over. But you were not going to fucking cry about it, Jesus Christ. You swallowed it down, and gave Roger a mild look of interest. “Yeah. I didn’t even know he liked Dani, and then I ran into him at uni last week, and he just sort of said, ‘Hey, while I’m here,’ and then that was it. But I didn’t know the date was tomorrow night. He didn’t tell me.”

    “I’m sure he was just distracted,” Roger said. “He gets like that with a girl he likes.” He shook his head. “Damn, he must be serious about her.”

    “Yeah, must be.”

    Roger paused, and then said, “Are you… okay?”

    You shrugged. “Yeah, of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”

    “I dunno, it’s a pretty big… thing to have ended.”

    “No, I’m fine,” you said lightly, giving him a smile. “We’re still friends. And I’ve still got you, right?”

    “Yeah,” Roger said, although he didn’t sound entirely convinced.

    “Yeah. So I’m good.” You sighed, willing away all the gross mess of emotions you were feeling. “I’m not really feeling going all the way, but making out sounds good, if you’re down.”

    Luckily, that immediately distracted Roger, and he didn’t ask any further questions. And you poured everything you had into your kisses, hoping it would distract you, too.

-

    You were hoping things would settle down for you, emotionally, over the next two weeks or so.

    But that didn’t happen. Everything grew to be so much worse. Exponentially. You didn’t know whether you hated Brian, or Dani, or hated them as a couple, or if you just hated yourself. You couldn’t bear to be in the same room as the two of them, and you hadn’t spoken more than ten words to Dani. The thought of trying to be friends with her turned your stomach. She wasn’t particularly annoying, and she wasn’t a bad person in any way, but just something about her face and her voice and her fucking presence in your life just infuriated you.

    You couldn’t get the idea out of your head that she looked like a mouse. Or a rat. Small pointy nose, big dark eyes, slight buck teeth. She was curvy, and at least a foot shorter than Brian, although it was hard to tell with the heels and platforms she always wore. Her hair was browny-blonde and long and thick, and she wore it slicked back in a pony, like Ariana Grande. Her ears glittered with delicate piercings. She liked to draw on freckles.

    She was pretty. For a rat.

    You did your best to hide how you felt about her. You thought you should’ve gotten a freaking Oscar for how well you hid it. At least from Brian. On the rare occasion that Dani wasn’t by his side, you let him talk about her, and did your best to seem encouraging.

    There was a part of you – a bigger part than you wanted to admit – that believed they were going to break up soon enough. Then things could go back to normal, and this weird hiccup could be forgotten.

    But they didn’t break up. They stayed together.

    And so you ended up ranting about it all to Veronica. You knew you were really going on about it, and somehow you kept finding things to say about the situation when you knew there was nothing really more to say. Veronica listened, to a degree. But her advice was sensible and responsible and mature and you really didn’t feel like being any of those things. You wanted to throw a goddamn tantrum.

    So you turned to Roger. Thank God for his high sex drive.

    He wasn’t completely clueless. You had an air of desperation about you that you knew he could sense, and knowing that was almost enough to make you draw away from him, too.

    Almost. But he always took such good care of you. It was selfish to keep asking him to meet up, but you felt like you would explode if you didn’t.

    About a month after Brian and Dani had started dating, you and Roger were making out on the couch. It was rough, as sex frequently had been these past few weeks, and Roger’s grip on your waist was bruising as you rocked against him. Things were moments away from moving to the bedroom, when the front door opened unexpectedly.

    You quickly looked up, a deer in headlights, and your stomach dropped.

    “Oh, sorry,” Brian mumbled, ducking his head.

    “No, it’s fine,” you said, and you’d tried to go for nonchalant, but your voice came out too sharp.

    Roger tilted his head back. “Hi.”

    “Hi,” Brian said. You watched as he kicked his shoes off and chucked his keys on the kitchen table.

    “Sorry,” he said again, shooting you a quick glance. “I’ll just, uh…”

    He hurried to his room.

    There you were, looking already thoroughly debauched, on his couch, in Roger’s lap, and Brian had just ducked his head and ran.

    You stared after him, your heart twisting around itself. He hadn’t even… He didn’t…

    Once, he would have taken one look at you and pounced on you. He would’ve begged to kiss you, would’ve torn your clothes off.

    Now, he acted like he’d walked in on Roger having a one-night stand with some girl he’d picked up at a bar. He acted like he’d never even been attracted to you at all.

    Was it really so easy for him to move on? Were you really that forgettable?

    “You all right?” Roger asked, his thumb touching your bottom lip.

    You snapped to look at him. Shit, how much had you let on? “Yeah,” you said with a smile. “Just lost in my thoughts, nothing important.”

    “You sure?” Roger asked.

    You bit your lip and nodded. “Mm-hm. How about you take me to your room and fuck all those stupid little thoughts out of me?”

    Roger paused for a moment, like he wanted to say something more, but your tongue darted out, lapping at the pad of his thumb, and you kept your eyes on his as you licked his thumb into your mouth. You watched, half excited, half relieved, as his eyes glazed over, his gaze fixated on your lips around his thumb.

     It sickened you to even think about it, but you definitely had a little voice in the back of your head that hoped Brian could hear Roger fucking you.

-

    “We should hang out,” you said to Brian. Just over a month, now. Final exams were breathing down everyone’s necks. It didn’t help your situation. “I feel like I never get to see you anymore. You’re with your girlfriend all the time.”

    You’d run into him at uni. That was almost the only way you got to see him these days. And he no longer hugged you hello or goodbye, just kept a firm, amicable amount of distance between you.

    He didn’t often look you in the eye these days, either. He shifted about whenever you talked, like he wanted to be somewhere else.

    “Mm, yeah, maybe,” he said.

    You swallowed down the hurt. “How about a movie night? Or we could just hang out, just the two of us.”

    “Um.” Brian scratched his nose. “I’m pretty busy at the moment. Maybe we could do a group thing? That’d be fun. Me and Dani, John and Veronica, you and Rog.”

    You frowned. “Me and Rog?”

    “Yeah.”

    “We’re not together.”

    Brian shrugged. “I just thought– Well, I think it’d be nice. You two suit each other.”

    “We don’t want to be a couple, Brian. What are you on about?”

    “I just think it’d be good for you, that’s all. Being in a relationship is, well, really nice, and I think maybe you and Rog should at least give it a go.”

    You were gobsmacked. You wanted to throw something, yell a stern reminder of, Hey, are you fucking stupid? Do you not remember the past eight months of our lives where you seemed perfectly content to not be in a relationship? Remember how many times the two of us were hounded by our friends about dating? You fucking hypocrite.

    But you didn’t say any of that. There was an unspoken rule that neither of you ever brought up your old arrangement. It was as if it had never existed.

    Most of the time, it seemed like Brian wished it hadn’t. Like it was some embarrassing secret.

    “Well, we don’t want that, so you can mind your own business,” you said. “And where does Freddie fit into your little equation, anyway?”

    Brian shrugged again. “He could bring a date along as well, I don’t know.”

    “We’re not going on a– a quadruple date. Jesus.”

    “Just an idea,” Brian muttered.

    “You can still hang out with friends without your girlfriend, you know.”

    Brian sighed. “Okay. Well.”

    You sighed as well, gathering yourself. You tried again. “What about a party, or something? We haven’t been to a party in forever.”

    Brian hesitated. “Well, one of Dani’s friends is having a party this weekend.”

    Not exactly what you’d meant. “Maybe a little group of us could go?” you suggested. “If Dani’s all right with it? That could be fun.”

    Brian nodded to himself. “Yeah,” he said mildly. “Yeah, that could work. I’ll ask her.”

    “Great,” you said with a smile that you most certainly had to force onto your face. You began making a quick retreat, not waiting for him to formulate an excuse. “Text me, okay?”

    “Yep,” he said, and you could tell he was already forgetting about it completely.

    But, to your surprise, that weekend, you got a text from him. Dani said it’s all right if you and the others want to come along.

    Your lip curled. It hardly sounded like Brian wanted any of you there. great, you replied. pres at yours?

    I’ll actually be having pres at Lachlan’s, Brian sent. He’s one of Dani’s friends. But I’ll send you the details of the party and I’ll see you there.

    But no one else wanted to come.

    “No thanks,” Roger grumbled. “I’ve met some of Dani’s friends. They’re all complete wankers.”

    “But I don’t want to go alone,” you whined.

    “Ask Freddie. He’s always down for a good time.”

-

    I can’t darling, Freddie texted. work early the next day. they said if I turn up hung-over or still drunk one more time they’ll fire me

u don’t have to get that drunk, you replied hopefully. just drink a bit and then go home early

    then what would be the point of going lol?? Freddie sent.

-

    “Sorry,” Veronica said. “Studying.”

    You sulked. “You can’t afford to take a break just for a couple hours?”

    “No. And, honestly, I don’t want to enable whatever thing you’re going through right now. I think getting drunk around Brian would be a bad idea.”

    “I’ll be fine,” you said. “I just want an excuse to hang out as friends, okay? That’s all. It’s not enabling, it’s supporting.”

    Veronica made a sound that told you she disagreed. You huffed and gave up. What did she know, anyway?

-

    “Hey, Dea–”

    “I’m not going to that party tonight,” John cut in smoothly, not even looking up from his textbook.

    “But–”

    “I’d rather sever my own foot.” He glanced up at you, giving you an apologetic half-smile. “Sorry. I just can’t stand being around Brian and Dani. They’re insufferable.”

    At least that you could agree with.

-

    everyone else is busy, you texted Brian. You bit your lip, debating whether to ask, but, damn it, fuck it all – can I come to lachlan’s pres and go with u guys?

    It took him two hours to reply. Yeah, sure.

    You felt sick. This was a bad idea.

    It was by far too much trouble for what it was worth to get to Lachlan’s. You were terrified of turning up before Brian and Dani, so you arrived two and a half hours after when you were meant to be there.

    That was better. It was easier to rock up when everyone was already pissed.

    And they were very much pissed. Lachlan answered the door. He was tall and stocky, with brown hair and blue eyes. The sort of guy who looked like he’d played some kind of contact sport in high school, probably football, but now didn’t have a regular training schedule, and so was slowly losing the muscle he’d once had, replacing it with beer and burgers. The sort of guy who’d lose all of his hair by the time he was thirty-five, and get married so he’d have someone to get his beers for him when he was watching the game with the boys. The sort of guy who wanted kids because he liked the thought of telling people he had a couple of boys, rather than actually wanting to be a father.

    Or maybe you were making a snap-judgement.

    You introduced yourself, and he gave you a lopsided, skeezy grin, letting you into his place. “You here all on your own?” he asked.

    Your shoulders tensed. “No,” you said. “I’m a friend of Brian’s. Dani’s new boyfriend.”

    “Oh, yeah, sure, I know that. But you don’t have anyone to bring along with you?”

    “Not tonight,” you said vaguely. “Busy schedules. Finals aren’t too far away, and all that.”

    “Yeah, sick,” Lachlan said, looking you up and down. “Well.” He gestured with his beer to the crowd. “Make yourself at home.” He shot you another grin that made your hands grow clammy. “I’m glad Dani brought you along. Can’t wait to get to know you.”

    You gave him an uneasy smile in return, and frantically looked for Brian and Dani. You found them – Dani was sitting on Brian’s lap, yuck – and fled from Lachlan.

    “Hi,” you said.

    “Oh, hey,” Brian said, and you could tell right off the bat he’d had a bit to drink already. His hand was splayed over Dani’s thigh, holding her to him, and you couldn’t bear to look at it. “Thought you weren’t gonna come.”

    “I’m just late,” you said. “Hello, Dani.”

    She gave you a polite smile, but didn’t try to engage in conversation.

    Brian didn’t even notice. He squeezed Dani a little bit closer. “Well, you gonna drink?” he said.

    Yes. Yes, you were. You held up your plastic bottle filled with Sprite and too much vodka. “Yep.”

    Brian gave you a thumbs-up.

    Dani turned to him. “Just need to go to the bathroom, baby,” she murmured, tapping his hand.

    “All right, baby,” Brian murmured back, and you only just stopped yourself from making a face. The word baby sounded clunky, uncomfortable coming from Brian. “Be careful.”

    Dani leant in for a kiss, and you turned away, uncapping your bottle and taking a decent swig, grimacing at the burn. 

    Brian didn’t like pet names. You knew he didn’t like pet names. And yet this ‘baby’ thing had sprung out of nowhere, and it drove you up the fucking wall.

    You listened until the sound of Dani’s heels against the floorboards faded before you spoke. “‘Be careful’,” you muttered.

    “What?” Brian said.

    “She’s just walking to the toilet,” you said. “Not like she’s gonna get assaulted on the way.”

    Brian looked mildly annoyed. “I just don’t want her to trip and fall over and hurt herself. She’s a lightweight, and she’s wearing heels. I’m just… trying to be a good boyfriend.”

    You sighed. “Yeah, okay,” you said, not wanting to hear a word of it. You took another hefty swig of your drink. “I think I’ll, um, join the rest of the party.”

    So much for hanging out with Brian. You wanted to be near him, wanted to talk to him, but you couldn’t bear it for more than five minutes.

    You knew what it was – you wanted to talk to him how you used to. But you couldn’t do that anymore. Instead you had some weird, watered-down version of the Brian you knew.

    You joined in half-heartedly with a few drinking games, but quickly discovered that you weren’t really in the mood for getting smashed anyway.

    Brian and Dani stayed in their own little corner, giggling and whispering with each other, kissing and cuddling and being generally disgusting.

-

    You didn’t even think they’d bother coming to the actual party. But they did, and the group of fifteen or so people in Lachlan’s sharehouse all staggered along the street for about ten minutes to get to the main event.

    You’d managed to get along well enough with some of the girls, and Lachlan wouldn’t leave you alone, so you had no choice but to socialise. Which was good, in a way, because you lost Dani and Brian as soon as you walked into the party.

    Not that you particularly liked the girls you were talking to. Everyone just had such a weird vibe, like they weren’t sure if they could be bothered to talk to you, but also felt obliged to make you feel welcome. They kept bursting into laughter and you had no idea why, and no one bothered to explain the jokes. But then they complimented your outfit and asked you how your day had been, and they listened with encouraging nods and wide eyes of interest when you answered. Until someone said something that they found more interesting, and then they turned away from you when you were halfway through a sentence. It was off-putting, to say the least; you couldn’t seem to find your footing.

    Lachlan, however, was the icing on the cake. The sour, out-of-date icing on the stale cake. He flirted with you incessantly, either not picking up your clear signals that you weren’t interested, or just ignoring them. The others weren’t helping, either, egging the two of you on. A whole lot of wink-wink-nudge-nudge that you were not enjoying at all.

    You should’ve just gone home. You didn’t know why you didn’t just leave.

    But, for some reason, you stayed. Maybe you hoped that Brian would see your discomfort and come and talk to you – not that you’d seen him for the past hour – or that this strange group of people would want to talk with their friend Dani, and you’d be able to swoop in and catch up with Brian without Dani hanging around awkwardly.

    Whatever it was, it was a stupid reason.

    And then came truth or dare.

    You didn’t want to play, but you were roped into it regardless. There was a rule, you found out, that you were allowed to back out of one truth or dare, and you had to drink if you did so – but only the once, so you had to choose wisely. Someone dared you to show everyone what underwear you were wearing.

    Needless to say, you drank instead.

    You could tell that no one was very impressed with any of the dares or questions you came up with, even though your friendship group loved your questions and dares. This group seemed to like the brainless shit – if it was gross, or sexual, or nasty in any way, they were all over it. Barely anyone chose ‘truth’.

    Then it was Lachlan’s turn, and he turned to you. He grinned, and your stomach sank to the floor. “Dare you to kiss me,” he drawled, and the crowd gasped and ooh’d dramatically.

    You didn’t even hesitate to snatch up your cider, but Lachlan quickly said, “You’ve already drunk, you can’t do it twice.”

    “Well, I’m doing it twice,” you snapped, and took a swig.

    You received jeers and boos for that, and Gina, the girl beside you, took your beer from your hand and said, “You can’t do that!”

    “You gotta kiss me, that’s the rules,” Lachlan said above the sounds of everyone else.

    “I don’t want to,” you said, your voice wavering.

    “You have to,” said Savannah. “You have to, you have to, it’s the rules.”

    “Come on,” said – whatever her fucking name was. “Stop being such a pussy, just get it over with.”

    Lachlan was starting to look a bit pissed off by now. “Fucking hell, just come and kiss me,” he said. “Don’t be a bitch about it.”

    Your heart was pounding in your chest, and you could feel your hands starting to shake. “Jesus – no, all right? I don’t want to,” you snapped.

    The room felt too loud, too stuffy, too overwhelming.

    “Lachlan, just think of something else,” you said.

     “Okay, fine, whatever,” Gina complained. “Just do something else.”

     “No, I gave you a dare already,” Lachlan said sourly. “It’s not even that big of a deal, like, I don’t even know what the problem is.”

     “If she doesn’t want to-”

     “That’s the fucking rules,” Lachlan said, throwing his hands in the air like you were the one being unreasonable. “Is that not the fucking rules? Goddamn.”

     “Okay, then just kiss him already,” said whatever-the-fuck-her-name-was, waving you over. “Whatever, just hurry up.”

     “I’m fucking bored with this shit already,” Savannah said. “Just kiss him or don’t kiss him, whatever. God, this party sucks.”

     “It doesn’t suck, she’s just being a bitch,” Lachlan protested.

     “Don’t call me a bitch,” you said.

     “I’m just teasing,” Lachlan said, crawling over to you. You shrunk away from him, your heart beating like a cantering horse, and he grabbed your wrist. “One kiss, c’mon,” he said, his voice light and friendly, like you were happy to play along.

    But you weren’t happy to play along. You didn’t know if everyone was too drunk to notice your obvious discomfort, or they didn’t care, but this was crossing the goddamn line.

    “Fuck off, Lachlan,” you said, trying to pull your wrist back. You’d wanted your voice to be tough, to be assertive, but it was small and weak, and then Lachlan leant in for a kiss.

    You turned your face away. “Lachlan–”

    “Just fucking kiss me, for God’s sake, woman,” Lachlan growled, and grabbed your face with his other hand.

    You pushed his hand away, and, without thinking, blurted out the one word that your panicked brain told you would stop everything in its tracks: “Nickleback.”

    “What?” Lachlan said, and, good fucking God, of course that wouldn’t work, you were such a fucking idiot, and now you had no back-up plan, nothing else to do, and that word was supposed to stop things, why wasn’t it stopping things–

    But then Lachlan was gone, and you felt a hand grab your other wrist and yank you up from the floor, and you unthinkingly leant into the body the hand belonged to as you were led from the room and into a bedroom, and the noise around you became muffled as the door closed behind you.

    Then Brian was setting you down on the bed and sitting beside you. In an ideal world, he would have wrapped his arms around you and you would’ve been able to breathe again, like in a movie, but instead there was an awkward amount of space between you as he gingerly asked, “Are you all right?”

    You barely even snuck a glance at him. You were humiliated by what had just happened, humiliated by needing him to rescue you, humiliated by your desperate craving for his touch, his comfort. You stared at the floor, curling in on yourself, and you nodded silently. Your hands still shook from adrenaline, and you could hear your heartbeat in your ears.

    Brian sighed. “I’m sorry about them. I didn’t know…”

    You shook your head. “It’s fine,” you mumbled.

    Brian said nothing for a while, and then he reached over and patted you on the back. So achingly unfamiliar, and you felt your shoulders grow even more hunched than they already were. You didn’t think he’d ever touched you like that. Like you were a complete stranger.

    You ducked your head, squeezing your eyes shut. Don’t you dare fucking cry.

     There was a soft knock on the door, and Brian said, “Yeah?”

    You glanced up to see Dani poke her head in, and you quickly looked away again. “Hey, baby,” she said.

    Your stomach crawled.

    “Is everything okay?”

    “Yeah, it’s fine,” Brian said.

    “All right,” Dani said. You could feel her hovering awkwardly.

    Brian said your name, catching your attention, and then said, “I’ll just… let you have some time to yourself, all right?”

    You said nothing. You did nothing. And Brian stood up and left the room, closing the door behind him.

    “What happened?” came Dani’s voice from just outside the door.

    “Lachlan was harassing her,” Brian said.

    “They were just playing,” Dani said. “They’re all drunk, it’s just truth or dare.”

    “No, I know, but…”

    “You didn’t have to run in there like there was a fire and pull her out of there like that. Everyone’s going to ask me what that was all about. Where did that come from?”

    Your ears were straining to hear Brian’s response.

    “I… I just knew she needed to get out,” he said eventually.

    “She could have left if she was uncomfortable.”

    “She gets really anxious sometimes, she just freezes.”

    You realised, then, that he must’ve heard you say ‘Nickleback’. He must have heard it and immediately known that something was wrong.

    You groaned quietly to yourself, covering your face with your hands. Your ex-friend-with-benefits had heard you yell out your old safeword in the middle of a party, and had felt obliged to rush in like a knight in shining armour to swoop you to safety. Jesus Christ.

    “She’s an adult, baby,” Dani said. “I’m sure she was fine.” You heard someone sigh. “It’s sweet that you guys are friends, but you don’t have to…”

    “What?”

    “Look out for her that much.”

    “What do you mean? She’s my friend.”

    Dani was silent for a while. “Did you guys used to…?”

    The air was sucked from the room. Your ears strained to hear every word.

    “What?” Brian said, clearly thrown.

    “Did you used to date? It just seems like…”

    “No,” Brian said quickly. “No, we never dated.”

    “You’re not lying to me?”

    “No, baby. I promise you, we never dated.”

    You grimaced.

    Someone sighed again. “Okay,” Dani said. “Good. The last thing I’d want is for you to be friends with an ex.”

    Brian chuckled. It sounded forced. “Yeah, of course.”

    “I’m glad we agree. Gimme a kissy?”

    You could’ve thrown up right then and there. A kissy?

    You could hear them murmuring to each other, and Dani’s voice had a particular whiny, baby-talk tone to it that made you want to ‘accidentally’ open the door into the both of them. But then they left, and you were even more alone than before, and you lay down on the bed and curled into a ball, feeling sorry for yourself.

    It was time to go home.

-

    By the grace of God himself, Brian offered to wait outside with you, sitting beside you on the kerb, while you called a ride home. Dani stayed inside with her friends.

    “I’m sorry about… what happened,” Brian said, and you went still as a statue.

    “What do you mean?” you said softly.

    “Lachlan, and all of that.”

    You let out a breath. “Oh,” you said. “Yeah, that. It’s fine.”

    Silence. It wriggled under your skin like cockroaches.

    You wanted to touch Brian. You wanted him to touch you. You wanted Roger there, too. You wanted them to want you, like they used to. You wanted to be allowed to want them like they used to love.

    But Roger wasn’t there. And Brian barely was, either.

    “Brian?” Dani called from the front door.

    Brian twisted around. “Yeah, I’m here.”

    “Oh, okay. Just checking everything’s good.”

    “Yeah, we’re fine. Still waiting for the car.”

    “Okay. See you inside.”

    “Yep.”

    “Miss you, baby.”

    Brian chuckled. “Miss you too.”

    You waited until Brian had turned back around to face the road, and then blurted out, “Why do you let her call you that? You hate pet names.”

    Brian frowned, looking to you. “What?”

    “Pet names. You hate them.”

    “I don’t hate them,” he said.

    “You don’t like them, at least.”

    “According to who?”

    “According to you,” you said. “You told me. And you never–” You never called me anything but my name when we were fucking. “You never said you liked them.”

    “Well, I do,” Brian said. “And why do you care, anyway?”

    “I just think it’s weird,” you said, and you were aiming for casual but you knew you sounded brash. “You don’t sound like yourself.”

    “I’ve never had a girlfriend the whole time we’ve known each other,” Brian said. “You don’t know what I’m like when I’m in a relationship.”

    “You shouldn’t change who you are when you’re in a relationship,” you said. “That doesn’t make sense.”

    “I’m not changing who I am,” Brian said, his face pinched. “What has gotten into you?”

    “Nothing,” you said harshly. “I just think you’re lying to yourself. You don’t like calling her baby, and you don’t like being called baby, and I just think it’s weird that you wouldn’t just say that.”

    “Well, I just think it’s weird you think you have the right to comment on my relationship,” Brian said. “I like calling her baby. And I like it when she calls me baby.”

    “But you don’t,” you insisted. “I can hear it in your voice.”

    “What?” Brian exclaimed. “What the fuck are you on about?”

    “I know you, okay?” you snapped. “I know you far better than she does. And I know you don’t like pet names, but you won’t tell her for some reason.”

    “I won’t tell her because I like them,” Brian said. “And she knows me, too, you know.”

    “She’s known you for, like, two months! Less than!” you said. “That’s nothing.”

    “Why…” Brian floundered. “There isn’t some – time limit on these things. You can’t judge if someone knows someone better just by how long…”

    “I just don’t get it,” you said. “Maybe that’s my fault, but I don’t get how someone can just walk into your life and suddenly they’re the most important person you’ve ever met when you’ve only known them for five minutes.”

    “You’ve clearly never fallen in love,” Brian said snootily.

    “Oh, fuck off,” you scoffed. “You’re not in love with her.”

    “How would you know?”

    “You’ve only been dating a couple weeks! Come on, Brian. You can call each other baby all you like, but I know you.”

    “I like pet names,” Brian said, his voice hard. “I just never called you one because, in case you’ve forgotten, you were never my fucking girlfriend. So, for the love of God, can you stop acting like a jealous ex.”

    It was like a stab to the gut and a twist of the knife all at the same time. All you could do was sit in stunned silence.

    Brian looked at you, almost like he was waiting for a response, and when he never received one, he sighed, stood, and left.

    Your chin wobbled, your vision blurred, and you scrabbled for your phone in your handbag.

-

    Roger opened the door. “Hey–”

    You leapt onto him, kissing him furiously. He stumbled, but kept his balance, one arm curling around your waist and the other groping for the door, pushing it closed. You spun him around and backed him up, pressing him against the door, and ducked your head to suck at his neck, palming at him through his sweatpants.

    Roger jumped. “Oh, God, okay,” he said with a surprised laugh. “You’re really…”

    You nodded, and captured his lips again, nipping at his bottom lip. “I want you so bad,” you breathed. “I want you to fuck me hard, Daddy, please.”

    You didn’t wait for him to reply, and kissed him. You slipped your hands into his underwear, and he tensed underneath you, surprised again.

    You needed him to fuck you, to bruise you, to bite you. To make you feel wanted, needed. To mark you up, to make you scream, to make it hurt. You needed it so badly that your hands shook.

    Roger put a hand to your collarbones, and you thought he was going to choke you, but instead he pushed you back, just enough to stare into your face.

    “Are you sure you want to call me Daddy?” he asked unsurely. “You seem a little…”

    “What?” you said.

    “Not yourself,” Roger said. “Are you– Have you been drinking?”

    “The fuck does that mean?” you said. “I just really need you to fuck me hard, does that not sound like me?”

    “I don’t–”

    “Roger,” you cut in sharply, and then quickly softened your tone into something whinier, needier, more enticing. “Daddy. I want you. Please.”

    Roger’s frown never disappeared. “I don’t want you to call me Daddy,” he said.

    You blinked, taken aback. “Um, okay,” you said. You could still work with that. “No Daddy.” You went to kiss him again, but he held you away.

    You resisted huffing in frustration. “Roger…”

    “This is about Brian, isn’t it?” he said.

    “What?” you said. “No. Why would it be about Brian? I want you.”

    “You’re drunk and upset and jealous, and you want me to fuck you how he used to fuck you, because you miss it.”

    A slap to the face would’ve hurt less. Your hands fell limp at your sides. “What?”

    “Is that not what’s happening right now?” Roger said, his hands dropping as well. “Is that not why you’re over? You went to that party, got yourself all worked up and upset, and now you want to be fucked how Brian used to fuck you?”

    You blinked. “N– No,” you said, and you meant it, but the more Roger said it, the more you thought that maybe he was right, and you hadn’t even realised.

    “Because it’s what it feels like,” Roger said. “It feels like I’m just an outlet for you. It’s not even about you and me anymore, it’s about you and him.”

    Oh my God. You hated to admit it, but he was right. You covered your mouth with your hands, horrified at yourself. “Fuck, Roger, I…”

    “I’m ending the arrangement between us,” he said simply. “It’s not fun anymore, and it’s definitely not healthy. You need time to… I don’t even know. But you need time, and I don’t really feel like being collateral damage. Especially not with end-of-year exams literally just around the corner.”

    No. No, no, no, fuck, not this, anything but this.

    “No, Rog, please, I’m sorry,” you said. “I wasn’t thinking, I– I can’t–” You felt tears welling up in your eyes. “Please. I…”

    Roger sighed, and pulled you into a hug. You clutched onto him, and, finally, cried. “Jesus Christ,” he murmured sympathetically, stroking your hair. “This whole thing has really messed you up, hasn’t it?”

    “I c– can’t lose you t– too,” you sobbed into his shirt.

    “You’re not losing me. We’re still friends. It just… won’t be with the benefits anymore. For now, at least. Maybe forever, I don’t know. See how things go. But I’m never going to stop being friends with you.”

    Your body shook as you cried, and Roger rubbed your back, letting you ruin his shirt.

-

    The Bee Movie played on the TV, but your heart wasn’t in it. You leant against Roger, a cup of tea in your hands, and one in his. You were exhausted from crying, and you almost found yourself nodding off. Normally there was nothing more fun than enjoying the trials and tribulations of Barry B. Benson with Roger, but now not even casual bestiality was enough to cheer you up.

    Roger didn’t say much, either. You had no idea what he was thinking, although you were pretty sure he wasn’t really watching the movie, just staring at the screen.

    “I’m sorry,” you said, your voice breaking a little.

    Roger sighed. “It’s okay,” he said, giving you a soft, sad smile. “I know you’re going through a tough time right now.”

    “I don’t even understand why,” you said, your bottom lip trembling. Not again. “I never liked him like that, not ever. I know I never liked him like that. I didn’t want to go out on dates with him, or be his girlfriend, or any of that. So I don’t get why it – hurts so much.”

    “Your thing went on for a really long time,” Roger reasoned. “And now it’s gone. I can’t blame you. I…” He bit his lip. “I… kinda miss it too, to be honest.”

    You frowned at him in confusion. “You miss… Brian?”

    “I miss…” Roger took a sip of his tea. “I miss the dynamic, I suppose. We actually got a lot closer because of it. And it was fun, you know? Especially the threesomes, those were really fun.”

    You managed a tired laugh.

    “It was just nice to have… a thing, that was ours,” Roger said. “Us three, I don’t know. This thing that was ours. I don’t know if that makes sense.”

    “No, it does,” you said. You paused, and then said, “You and Brian aren’t as close now?”

    Roger shrugged a shoulder. “Not… really?” he said unsurely. “We haven’t really hung out a lot recently. I mean, we’ve been studying a lot, so I haven’t really seen much of anyone as of late, but, like, for a while, me and Brian hung out a whole lot, just the two of us. Guess you end up feeling closer when you have to talk about your feelings all the time. And when you see each other naked every so often.” He shot you a smile, and you smiled back. “But now it’s sort of in a weird place. I mean, none of us have seen him a lot, he’s just with Dani all day and night. Which makes sense, they’re in their honeymoon phase. But I do miss… that.”

    You nodded in understanding. “It doesn’t even feel like he wants to be around me,” you said in a small voice. “Like I’m not even friends with him anymore.”

    “You are,” Roger assured you. “You just… both have to learn how to be… normal friends again.”

    “And us too,” you added.

    Roger blinked, but nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, us, too.”

    You didn’t want to say it, you knew you shouldn’t say it, but the alcohol had loosened your tongue: “You gonna miss me?”

    Roger’s eyes widened for a moment, and then he took a big breath in and out, shaking his head. “Damn,” he muttered.

    “Sorry, ignore me,” you mumbled. “I’m just being sad and pathetic.”

    “You’re not sad and pathetic,” Roger said. “But I’m not gonna miss you, you’ll still be around.”

    “You know what I mean,” you said.

    “Yeah, I know,” Roger said. He sighed again. “I don’t think… it would be good for either of us if I answered that.”

    You said nothing. It felt like Roger wanted to say more, but he didn’t.

    “But…” You looked to him, and he looked to you. “Can we still be friends like before?” you asked him. “I mean, just – with Brian, he won’t even hug me hello or goodbye, he barely looks at me, he doesn’t want to be near me, I just–” You shook your head. “I couldn’t stand it if you did that, too. Can we at least just be friends?”

    Roger nodded. “Of course,” he said.

    “Yes?”

    “Yes, of course,” he said again. “I promise you, okay? I like hugs just as much as you do.”

    You nodded, reassured. “Thank you.”

    Roger threw his arm around you and gave you a squeeze, then took his arm back.

    A month and a bit ago, he would’ve left his arm there, around your shoulders. You would’ve pressed closer into him. Probably eventually would’ve lifted your head to kiss his neck, or maybe your hands – or his hands – would’ve gone wandering.

    But a squeeze was something, at least, and you were grateful for it. You told yourself you were grateful for it.

-

Three-ish months later

    The air was just starting to cool, and, for the first time in a while, you pulled on a jacket.

    It had been a while since you’d seen your flat. You’d gone home for the summer – not for the whole time, you still had rent to pay and you didn’t want to waste it, but for a few weeks – which had been a welcomed change of scenery.

    After how your previous semester of uni had ended, the last thing you’d wanted was to hang around the flat.

    It had been an uncomfortable summer. The mid-year break, last year, you hadn’t gone home. You’d told your parents it was because of the rent thing, but in reality, it had mostly been about Roger and Brian. A month off uni, and your flatmate Lucy had gone home for the break, meaning you had a free house? That had been a wild couple of weeks.

    You shook your head. Stop, you reprimanded yourself. It did you no good to reminisce. You’d had an entire summer to sort things out for yourself, to reset, and it was a bad idea to let yourself slip. You’d barely spoken to Roger or Brian all summer, just to give yourself some space.

    You’d missed them. A lot. Maybe cried once or twice. Maybe more. But that was only for you to know.

    You doubted that they’d missed you.

    The thought still felt like a stab to the gut, and you squeezed your eyes shut, shaking your head at yourself. Stop it. Stop.

    There was a knock on the front door, and you were momentarily surprised – but you knew it was Veronica. You took a moment to get your thoughts together, then hurried to the door to let her in.

    She greeted you with a joyous cry of your name and a warm hug. “It’s been so long!”

    The two of you rocked from foot to foot, and you breathed in her familiar smell. You hadn’t seen her since before Christmas.

    When the hug eventually ended, Veronica sighed happily. “Can’t believe I’ve missed you,” she said, and you laughed, giving her a backhand slap on the arm.

    “Cow,” you said.

    “So you’ve kept the same place?”

    “Yep,” you said.

    “Lucy still your flatmate?”

    “Yeah. It works well, so.”

    “No, no, she’s lovely,” Veronica said with a nod. “Did she want to come to drinks tonight?”

    You glanced towards Lucy’s room instinctively, even though you knew she wasn’t in there. “She’s not coming back until Wednesday, I think.”

    “Ah, well, answers that question.” Veronica gave you a smile. You could tell there was a question on the tip of her tongue, and you just stood there, waiting for her to ask it.

    She sighed again, resigned. She knew she’d been sprung. “I wasn’t going to ask. I– I wasn’t sure if I should.”

    “I’m okay,” you said. “I’m fine.”

    Veronica squinted at you unsurely, like she wanted to press you for further information, but wasn’t sure if it was a good idea. “Fine?”

    “It’s been a bit rough, but I’m okay,” you said.

    You’d tell her the truth soon enough. You had no willpower when it came to Veronica. But you weren’t in the mood for a whole conversation right now.

    “So you’re all right for tonight?”

    You rolled your eyes. “Am I capable of getting drinks with my friends? Yes, I think so.”

    “Even though Dani will be there?”

    “Brian and Dani have been dating for, like, five months now – and don’t say it like that. Brian isn’t my ex.”

    “Roger’s dating someone,” Veronica blurted.

    Your heart leapt into your throat. Stop. “Oh?” you said, and it sounded warped and wonky. “Since when? Good for him. Have you met her?”

    “Once,” Veronica said. “Just last week, when I dropped by the flat. Her name is–” She let out a laugh. “Actually, this is really funny. Her name is Freddy.”

    You laughed. “What?” you squawked. “Freddy?”

    “Freddy with a Y,” Veronica said. “Roger made that very clear when I met her. As if that changes anything.”

    “God, I bet that’s confusing in bed,” you said.

    “Yeah, well, I’m guessing the ‘with a Y’ part makes all the difference for Roger.”

    “Freddy,” you mused. “What’s it short for?”

    “No idea. But she’s not as hot as you are.”

    You shot Veronica a mock glare. “Roger isn’t my ex either.”

    “Still,” Veronica said lightly. She hesitated, and then said, “Have you spoken to either of them recently?”

    “No, not really,” you said, as casually as you could muster. “Look, Ron, could we just… table this conversation for later? I’m not really up to it.”

    “Yeah, of course,” Veronica said, waving a hand. “Sorry, sorry, I’ll keep my nose out of it. Let’s just go. Are you ready?”

    You took a steadying breath. “So ready,” you said, hoping you sounded more confident than you felt.

-

    Arriving at the local pub felt like coming home. The smell of beer, the roar of conversation, the bundles of people crowded around tables. The floor was sticky, there weren’t enough places to sit, and the prices up on the chalkboard on the wall were far too high.

    You scrunched your nose. Coming home sucked.

    “I forgot how much I hate this place,” you yelled into Veronica’s ear. “We need to find somewhere less popular, Jesus.”

    “I know,” Veronica said. “I’ve mentioned it to John; he thinks the same.”

    “Next time.”

    “Yeah, next time.”

    You said that every time.

    Veronica corroborated her instructional texts from John with the view in front of her in order to find everyone else. They were tucked away in a corner booth, crammed into the space.

    You’d had enough trouble as it was, trying to fit everyone into a booth. You couldn’t even imagine how you were going to make it work with two new people in the group.

    Veronica took your hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze as you neared the table.

    There was John, at the end of the booth, facing you – his eyes lit up when he spotted Veronica, and began shifting over to make room for her beside him. At the end of the table, on a chair, was Freddie. He noticed John’s line of sight, and he turned to you, his smile wide.

    You couldn’t really see the others. Just the back of Brian’s head. But that was hard to miss.

    Freddie stood up to give you a warm hug as Veronica tossed around a few ‘hello’s and slid in next to John. “Darling!” Freddie said. “I haven’t seen you all break.”

    “I know, I’m sorry,” you said.

    Freddie waved you off. “It’s fine,” he said. “I understand.” He glanced towards the other occupants of the booth.

    “Don’t start,” you muttered, and Freddie gave your arm a swift pat.

    “Speaking of which,” he said, turning. “Roger, Brian, you remember our dear friend, I’m sure?”

    You resisted elbowing Freddie in the side, giving Brian and Roger tight smiles.

    At the same time, your eyes landed on Dani and her browny blonde Ariana Grande ponytail and her mouse face and her curvy body pressed into Brian’s side. And beside Roger, tucked under his arm, was a blonde, tanned girl. Blue eyes, like Roger, but hers were light, strikingly so, and a perfect full face of make-up. Her brows were dark and bold, and her lips looked pouty and soft.

    ‘Not as hot as you were’ your arse. This girl looked like she modelled in her spare time.

    Your jaw clenched. You resisted dragging Veronica away by her ear and having a word with her.

    Stop it. Stop it.

    “This is Freddy,” Freddie said.

    “With a Y,” Roger added quickly.

    “Yes, with a Y,” Freddie said dryly. “Roger’s new flame.”

    “Hi,” Freddy said with a smile. Her teeth were very white. She lifted a well-manicured hand to fiddle with the silver chain around her neck.

    You could see the discolouration on her knuckles. Well, at least you knew her tan wasn’t real. That was something. Wasn’t it?

    No. It wasn’t. She looked incredible anyway. Didn’t even matter that she was wearing fake tan. What a stupid thing to think.

    You introduced yourself.

    There was a pause where no one really knew what to say next.

    “Hi, by the way,” John said.

    Relieved, you gave him a smile. “Hi, John, how are you?”

    “Not too bad. Do you want to find a chair?”

    God bless John Deacon. “Let me help you,” Freddie said, and you both began wandering through the crowd together, knowing there was no way in hell you’d be able to find a chair.

    “How are you?” Freddie asked. “Actually, sod the fucking chair, let’s get a drink.”

    “Sounds superb,” you said.

    “Try again,” Freddie said when you’d gotten in line. “How are you?”

    “Fine,” you said. “And you?”

    “Good, fine,” Freddie said. “Lonely. I want a boyfriend. Everyone else is in a godforsaken relationship, so I only think it’s reasonable. Look at me, the token lonely, single homosexual in a group of straight people. Right out of an early 2000s chick flick. I may as well start wearing skinny scarves and a vest and talk about how much I love shopping. Do you think I’m sassy enough?”

    “Stop it,” you said. “If you start wearing skinny scarves, I’ll strangle you with one.”

    “If I start wearing skinny scarves, I’d practically be begging you to,” Freddie muttered.

    “I’m sorry you’re lonely,” you said. “I could be your wingwoman, if you like. We could go out together.”

    Freddie gave you a smile. “Yeah, I’d like that,” he said. His eyes scanned the chalkboard, as did yours, but it was more habit than anything else. “What did you get up to during the break?”

    “Slept,” you said, and Freddie chuckled, nodding in agreement.

    “Ate too much,” he added.

    “Yep, that too,” you said with a laugh. “Never left the house.”

    “Except to buy more booze.”

    “Or take the bins out.”

    Freddie laughed. “Isn’t summer wonderful.”

    “Oh, it’s just perfect,” you said, and it came out so bitter, with such a sneer in your tone, that Freddie cracked up. A few heads turned, but they usually did, with Freddie.

    “Did you stay here or go home?” you asked.

    “Both,” Freddie said. “Mostly here, though. Just wanted to see the family for a while, but I’m far more comfortable here.”

    You nodded.

    “Did you talk to Brian and Roger much?” Freddie said.

    You shook your head. “No.”

    That was all.

    “Well, shit,” Freddie said. “That’s all just completely fucked, then?”

    “It’s fine,” you said. You reached the front of the line, and went to order. Freddie followed you.

    You ordered a cider, then Freddie ordered a pint. “What do you think of Freddy with a Y?” Freddie asked as the bartender poured your drinks.

    “I’ve barely met her,” you said. “Didn’t know she existed until Ron told me just before we left mine.”

    “Jesus,” Freddie said. “You really haven’t spoken to them.”

    “No,” you said. “And Roger doesn’t post much on social media, either, so. And Brian posts far too much, so I know way too much about him and Dani for my liking, which is wonderful.”

    “I’m sorry,” Freddie said. “God, I’m sorry it’s all gone to shit, I really am. That’s miserable, darling.”

    “It’s fine,” you said. The bartender set your drinks in front of you, and you and Freddie collected them, weaving your way back to the table.

    “Did you… get around to dating much?” Freddie asked.

    “Wasn’t in the mood,” you said.

    Freddie said nothing. Message received.

    You arrived back at the booth. While you’d gotten a drink, you hadn’t solved the seating problem.

    You bunched up next to Veronica. It wasn’t comfortable, but it wasn’t unbearable.

    You met Brian’s eyes across the table. He gave you a warm smile. It hurt. You hated that it hurt. “I haven’t said hi yet,” he said, like you hadn’t just gone three months without seeing or speaking to each other. “How you going?”

    “Good, good,” you said, and took a swig of cider. “You?”

    “Yeah, great. Get up to much?”

    “Not really. Did you?”

    “Not too much,” Brian said. “Dani and I took a little trip south. That was nice, wasn’t it, baby?”

    “So nice,” Dani said with a cheeky, knowing little grin at Brian.

    He shook his head at her, and she giggled, then reached up for a quick kiss.

     You knew about the little trip south. Everybody knew about the little trip south. Brian had waxed poetry about it on Instagram for every single day they were away. “So lots of sex, then,” you said.

    Veronica choked on her water, and Roger burst out laughing.

    You hadn’t realised he’d been listening to the conversation.

    Dani’s face was turning tomato-red, and she hid her face behind her hand. Brian managed a good-natured chuckle, albeit a slightly forced one, and you could tell he was rubbing Dani’s knee under the table.

    “What, what was the joke?” Freddie said immediately.

    “Nothing,” you said, and turned to Roger. “So, Freddy, with a Y, how did you and Roger meet?”

    “Bumble,” Freddy said, unabashed. “About a month ago?”

    “Yeah, about that,” Roger said.

    “Yeah, Ron said,” you said. “That’s nice.”

    “So there’s…” Roger licked his bottom lip. “There’s no one you’ve got your eye on, then?”

    “No,” you said, uncomfortable. Why would anyone want you? You were messy, you were too much. You were demanding. You were easily replaced.

    You took a sip of cider. Stop.

    It had been three months, for God’s sake. Three months of no contact, and still you were left with an ugly, twisted feeling in the pit of your stomach after everything that had happened.

    None of it had even mattered. You’d always known it had had an expiration date. You were just…

    You hated feeling like this.

    “Hey,” Veronica said suddenly, raising her glass of water. “Let’s make a toast, shall we? To the new year. To– to passing our classes, and to ramen, and to… fresh starts.”

    Everyone raised their glasses, saying something along the lines of cheers, and began clinking their glasses together. You took a moment longer, but joined in.

    Veronica met your eyes to clink her glass to yours. “Fresh starts,” she said with a small smile.

    You couldn’t quite say it back, so you smiled and nodded, then took a sip of your cider.

    You could feel Brian’s and Roger’s eyes on you. You pretended to be interested in something happening across the room.

    God, you couldn’t wait for this chapter of your life to be nothing but a bad dream.

[firstdegreefangirl]

Eddie Week Day Four: Between The Sheets

Word Count: 2135

Original Pub Date: 17 June 2020

Relationships: Eddie Diaz/Evan Buckley

Author's Note: This whole thing started with a convo in @rebeccaofsbfarm's inbox, so blame/credit to her for helping me cheat my way through this prompt! Love youuuu

Read on ao3 here

Just like aways, tagging: @eddiediazweek @hearteyesforbuck  @thisissirius @hearteyesforbuck @dramamineontopofme @twinien @meloingly  @myemergence 

Eddie pushes the front door open, almost trips over his own feet trying to step across the threshold. Buck is right behind him, laughing when Eddie doesn’t pick his feet up far enough and catches his toe on the lip of the doorframe.  

“Shut up, I just want to shower and go to bed.” He grumbles, leaning both palms against the wall for balance as he toes his shoes off.  

They’d stopped at a drive-thru on the way to the house, Eddie riding in the passenger seat of Buck’s Jeep because he was already too exhausted to drive. He’d tried to wave Buck off at the mention of food but Buck ordered for him anyway, shoving a cardboard container of chicken nuggets and fries in his lap and threatening to drive circles around town until he’d eaten it all.  

The long shift had drained the last reserves of energy from the entire team, but Eddie had taken a harder hit than the rest, having spent half of the night before sitting up in Christopher’s bed and rubbing his back after a bad dream.

“I know, that’s why I had to drive you home. Thanks for the couch invite, by the way. Way better than another 15 minutes behind the wheel.” ��

“Anytime, man.” Eddie rocks on his feet as he leans away from the wall, shoulders sagging with exhaustion. “You want first shower?”

“You never leave any hot water.” But Buck’s eyes soften when he sees the way Eddie can barely hold himself up. “But you’re not going to make it if I shower first …" He trails off, and Eddie can feel him mulling something over.  

Watching Buck think is only making him more tired, so he leans his back against the wall and sighs.

“What, Buck? You going to say we should shower together?” He turns his head just far enough to see Buck out the corner of his eye.  

“I mean, we change together at work. Why not kill two birds with one stone? It’s not like I’ve never seen you naked.”  

Eddie thinks about what Buck said, processes the words as they roll through his brain. He’s all but dead on his feet, but he has to admit that there’s a certain amount of logic to what Buck is saying.  

They’ve gotten dressed side by side countless times since Eddie joined the 118, stood naked underneath separate showerheads in the open-layout shower at the station.  

Buck is right, he’s pretty sure. There’s not much difference between catching a glimpse of your buddy in the locker room and standing in the same bathtub to shower.  

Besides, it won’t be weird unless he makes it weird, right?

“True.” Eddie nods and stands back upright, careful not to overbalance himself and faceplant. “Works for me.” He wonders briefly if falling asleep in the shower would be considered “weird,” if Buck would catch him if he toppled over underneath the spray.

It would, but Buck would anyway, he decides as he leads Buck down the hall to the master bath.

They stand next to each other to undress, shoulder-to-shoulder but facing opposite directions. It’s not a production, just the way they wind up, each of them watching behind the other, having each other’s backs.  

When the water is hot enough to fog up the mirror, Eddie pulls the door back and they step over the edge to face each other under the showerhead. The air is thick with steam, enough humidity that Buck’s hair starts to curl almost right away. Eddie focuses carefully on a ringlet that’s wrapped around the top of his ear, knows that he has to keep his eyeline above Buck’s shoulders, lest he make his best friend uncomfortable.

Here’s the thing: Eddie’s never thought of his shower as particularly small. It’s got more than enough room for him to maneuver, a showerhead with more settings than he has fingers and a glass door that lets in enough light to open the space up without flooding the bathroom.

But apparently when two grown men stand in it at the same time, it’s just tight enough that Eddie has to think carefully about his every move. How can he reach for the shampoo without touching Buck’s bicep? Can he lean back far enough to rinse the suds out of his hair without invading Buck’s personal space? Can he lean back that far without falling over, on account of the exhaustion dragging through his limbs?

He can, it turns out, but he’s really too tired to have to actively think about it. Maybe Buck’s big idea saved them a few minutes, but by the time they’re painstakingly switching positions, letting Buck run his hair under the water and wash the lather from his body, he’s exponentially more drained than he was when they walked in the front door.

Thankfully, they’re both able to clean themselves up and dry off without bumping into one another. There’s enough space in the open bathroom for them to stand a couple of feet apart as they wrap themselves in fresh towels, and Eddie tosses Buck a clean pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt when he’s digging through his dresser drawers.  

They don’t face each other when they’re getting dressed, leave enough space between them again to avoid any unintentional contact. But when Buck stands up, Eddie winces in sympathy at the way his back pops. Through the haze of his exhaustion, he realizes that Buck probably shouldn’t sleep on the couch tonight, especially not if his back is already making sounds like that. A solution pops into his mind and falls out of his mouth all in one fell swoop, before he can realize what he’s saying.

“Sleep in my bed.”

Buck turns around as he pulls the shirt down over his stomach, eyes going wide in surprise.

“What?”

“Your back popped,” like that explains it. “Sleep in my bed.”

“Eddie … I’m not kicking you out of your own room.”

“No, you’re not.” Eddie nods, the fringes of his idea fitting together in his head. “It’s a big bed. We can both fit; I have a king. You’re too tall for the couch, Buck. It’s fine, I’m inviting you.”  

Eddie’s tired enough that he’s starting to feel a little drunk with it, but he’s not so far gone that he misses the way he can see Buck struggling with his options.  

He sleeps over all the time, but Eddie’s never suggested sharing the bed before. He’s thought about it, in the mornings when he can see Buck trying to work the knots out of his shoulders without Eddie noticing, but he’s always stopped himself before he says anything.

“OK,” Buck nods, but he still doesn’t seem sure. “But only until I convince you to buy a new couch, dude.”

Eddie doesn’t say anything, is suddenly too close to sleep to formulate a response. He steps past Buck, back into the bathroom, ignoring the way their bodies brush against each other as he jams his toothbrush haphazardly around his mouth. As soon as he feels like he’s at least brushed most of his teeth, he’s spitting into the sink and stumbling across the room to pull the blankets back and collapse into bed.  

His face is buried in his pillow, but there’s just enough light seeping in at the edges of his vision that he’s still awake. So he waves one arm absently behind him, hoping Buck gets the message.

“Turn th’ light ‘ff, come lay d’wn.” The pillow muffles his voice, even as it carries back to his own ears, but Buck seems to know exactly what he’s asking, because a few seconds later, the room goes black and the mattress dips beside him as Buck settles in.

“You’re sure about this?”

They’re not touching, but Buck is close enough that Eddie can feel his breath hot against the side of his face.

“Yes, Buck ‘m sure.” Eddie groans and rolls over. “We don’t have to cuddle or ‘nything. Just shut up and sleep.”  

It’s his last conscious thought, until he wakes up the next morning with an arm slung across Buck’s waist. He looks up slowly, only to find that Buck is already staring down at him, and snatches his hand back.  

“Buck! I’m-”  

“Don’t worry about it. Doesn’t have to be a thing.” Buck rolls over and stands up, and they don’t speak of it again. Buck makes breakfast, like he always does when he stays over, and they get ready to ride back to the station after dropping Chris off at Pepa’s to catch the bus.  

But it does become a thing. Buck doesn’t stay over any more often than he did before, but there’s a whole new routine now.  

It turns out that it’s actually really convenient to have someone else in the shower to give Eddie a hand with that strip of skin on his upper back that he can’t quite reach. And there’s nobody in their right mind would sleep on the couch when Eddie’s mattress is on offer right now the hallway.  

There’s no deeper meaning to it, other than the convenience of having someone right there beside him. After the long shifts, they’ll lay awake together, reassuring each other that they’d done everything they could. They always start out fully clothed, leaving a careful distance between them, but after a few weeks that changes too.

Now, more nights than not, he and Buck will wake up curled together and find that one or both of them had pulled their shirts off overnight.  

It doesn’t have to mean anything though, and every time Eddie tries to decide if it does, he remembers that he’s setting an example for Christopher, showing him that two men can be affectionate and open with each other.  

That’s it. That’s all it means.

Which is why he doesn’t think anything of it when he throws Buck’s shirt in his duffel bag before work one morning. Buck had stayed over the night before, but left before Eddie was awake so he could make it across the freeway for an early dentist appointment before work. He’d brought a change of clothes, but Eddie isn’t surprised that he was rushing to get out the door and left his shirt behind.  

He isn’t sure why it’s so important that Buck never leaves clothes behind, but that seems to be the line they’ve silently drawn in the sand.  

So he takes the shirt to the station, but Buck is already out of the locker room when he walks in. He changes into his uniform, then carries the garment out to the common area, trying not to let himself think about how soft and worn in it feels before he tosses it at the back of Buck’s head.

“Hey, you left this in bed last night. Figured you’d want it back.”  

Buck reaches up and pulls the shirt off of his head, turning it over in his hands before folding it neatly and setting it on his knee.

“Thanks, Eds.” He doesn’t say anything else, or react otherwise, but when Eddie looks around, Hen and Chimney are staring between them, mouths agape in twin ‘o’s.

“I’m sorry, what?” It’s Chim who breaks the silence, leaning forward like there’s some remarkable story about to be told.

“What?” Buck blinks at him. “Eddie’s bed is way comfier than his couch, so I sleep there now. I suppose you’re going to say it’s weird that we shower together sometimes too? We’re best friends, we don’t need boundaries.”

He sounds dead serious, and Eddie finds himself relieved to know that Buck isn’t any more hung up on how to describe their routine than he is; they’re friends who share a bed and a shower, who cares?

“It’s not weird,” Hen sets her hand on Buck’s knee, right over the shirt. “It’s just not friends, Buckaroo.”  

Buck says something in response, but Eddie isn’t sure what it is, can't make out the words over the sound of the realization ringing in his ears.

It’s not friends.

He’s still reeling from it that night, lying in bed with Buck, whose made himself comfortable tucked into Eddie’s side. Eddie’s arm is around his shoulders, fingers toying lightly with the groove where his bicep and chest are pressed together. He can’t stop thinking about what Hen said earlier, about the freight train that drove straight into his heart.

It’s not friends.

Maybe … just maybe, if it could feel like this, if it could feel more than this, better than this, Eddie thinks he might want to be more than not-friends with Buck.  

But sleep is pulling him under, so he decides that’s a thought that can wait until they wake up next to each other in the morning.

[aureumjeon]

@seventeenthingsblr: can you do 38 and 8 with Yoongi for the angst plots please?? Thank you!!

I see you, bub. 💗 Here ya go! Hope you enjoy this lil blurb. added a keep reading tag!

“I’m never letting you go.” + “All I wanted was for you to be happy.” with Yoongi.

Genre; relationship!au, badboy(?)!yoongi, BIG angst, fluff. Warnings; mention of alcohol and smoking, cursing. Word count; 1.4K

++

‘No new messages.’ Your phone screen read before you’re tossing the clump of metal to the floor. “Y/nieee,” Somi droned, her voice reeking of annoyance. She then flopped her petite body next to yours on the mattress of your bed “Are you done sulking over a boy now?” Missing your usually outgoing and talkative self, she pouted. “I wanna hang out with you so bad.” “He’s been ignoring me for a week now.” You muffled through the pillow concealing your face, each word coming out inaudible. “I don’t know what I did wrong” Your sniffles were barely muted by fabric. “Maybe it’s what you didn’t do.” She brooded sarcastically, yanking the rectangular plush off of you and chucking it to the other side of the room. She brattier that usual, you think. “What?” Your blood shot eyes squinted at the abrupt exposure to the florescent light on your ceiling. Nose equally red and lips disgusting chapped. “Maybe it is you, maybe you did something that ticked him off. Maybe he found you annoying and decided to ghost you. Maybe he doesn’t like you anymore. Who knows?” “Okay, stop. You’re not helping.” Your worry lines started to show as your eyebrows knit together, not liking her current attitude. A sour grimace imprinted on your face. “Like, at all.” “Ugh–” She frustratingly mewled, suddenly pouncing on top of you like a lioness striking its prey. Caging you between her arms that were currently pushing and fisting at the bed sheet where you laid flat. “Let’s go out. Jin’s hosting a party tonight. That’ll definitely get you mind off of Yoongi.” "No.” Your voice was stern and unyielding, reinforced with your incorruptible resolve to stay in bed all day long. “Please, Y/n! I swear it’ll be fun!”

You pushed her hovering frame and quickly cocooned yourself with the thick comforter, tucking in the edges and shielding yourself from her incoming attacks. It was essentially a game of  tug of war now, with Somi giving it her all. You were wrong to underestimate her strength because now the two of you were laughing uncontrollably at the tangled position you’ve put yourselves into.

Knowing Somi, she’d saved the best for last. With her wild puppy-dog eyes focused on you, she was soliciting her desired answer from you like a seasoned haggler. Whenever she’d put on that face, you knew you were screwed. You sighed as a sign of surrender, “Fine.” Her eyes lit up exponentially while a wide grin cuts from ear to ear. “I’m picking your dress and doing your make up.” Ten minutes in and you’re already regretting your decision. Loud music rattling up entire house, dozens of people occupying the whole dance floor and couples two steps shy of fucking each other in the living room. “I thought you said, this was going to be fun.” You say over the noise, “The only thing this party is making me want to do is go home and sleep.” Somi grabbed two red cups from the table of refreshments and shoved it in your hand. “Get some alcohol in your bloodstream. It’ll do you some good.” She winked. You rolled your eyes to the side and recognize a familiar head of silvery hair. Could it be? No, it couldn’t. But what if? Your body began moving on autopilot, abandoning your friend behind and slipping past the sea of sweaty bodies to get to where the male silhouette was. You reached the end kitchen and caught a glimpse of the same boy puffing out smoke through his lips with a cigarette tucked between his fingers. “Y-Yoongi?” You were second guessing since you couldn’t really tell if it was him by the way the smoke was still clouding over his face. As the smog around him began to dissipate, his features were finally distinguishable. “Y/n? I didn’t expect to see you here.” His cold facade never wavering even at the sight of you, you think. You scoffed at his fine choice of words “Since when have you been expecting to see me?” Fury bubbled up your in your chest and your cheeks were set ablaze. You wanted to erupt like an angry volcano, spewing out lava and rocks everywhere, obliterating everything that crosses its path. “You’re the one who’s snubbing me! I’ve been wasting my time thinking about what I might have done wrong and you’re here at some wasted party enjoying your ass away while your girlfriend has been crippled by anxiety 'cause you can’t give a damn about how she might be feeling.” There was a significant pause before you could compose yourself again after that horrible mental break down. People were already staring at the commotion you’ve caused, and it’s time to wrap it up. Quick. “And quite frankly,” You huffed, connecting you arms in front of your chest  as you continued to speak, “I wasn’t expecting to see you here either. Good bye, Min Yoongi.” You concluded that someone who’d disregard you like without reason wasn’t worth even one second of your time. You turned on your heel and faced him with your back, preparing to walk away. Before you could split, Yoongi’s already gotten his hold on you and spins you around. “Y/n,” He looked at you with vulnerable eyes, his voice was the softest you’ve heard from him. “Hear me out, please. All I need is two minutes, let me explain.” “You’ve got one.” The resonance of your voice was icy cold. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down, like he was swallowing a huge mass stuck in his throat. He was having second thoughts if he should say it or not but he pushes through, “Your parents talked to me. They said if I genuinely wanted what’s best for you, I should break up with you and leave you alone.” “And you decided this on your own without even consulting me?!” You were stunned at his confession, but the rage still empowered the initial shock. You knew from the start that your parents weren’t quite fond of Yoongi, with his reputation and all.  Though you didn’t imagine they’d go this far to ruin your relationship with a guy they know nothing about. Under Yoongi’s hard and rigid exterior past all the scars and tattoos he had, hid a little boy who’s just scared. A boy who’d rather put up a tough face than convey his true emotions; a boy who’d rather shoulder all the burden on his own than let the ones he loved suffer; and boy who’d give up his own happiness just to see you smile. Yoongi was everything but what people perceived him to be. Yoongi was your saving grace. He was your personal angel sent from heaven to make your miserable life more tolerable. He’s that little tune you’d hum in your head when your nerves got you; he’s that soft blanket you’d drown yourself in when you wanted to hide from the world. And he’s the person you’d share your whole life with. What you didn’t understand was why he didn’t tell you about it instead of making things more complicated. “Don’t I have a say in this? I’m one half of this relationship, Yoongi. Do I really mean that little to you?” You were on the brink of tears, the strain in your voice was a solid confirmation. You fought the sobs wanting to escape with the strength you had left. “All I wanted was for you to be happy.” His hand was starting to loose its grip on you, dropping weakly at his side. His eyes were heavy and swollen as he looked up at you. “And me? I’m not good for you, y/n.” “You don’t get to decide what’s good for me. My parents don’t get to decide what’s good for me.” This time, you couldn’t stop the wave of emotion washing over you like a massive tidal wave. Globules of the salty liquid started spilling from your ducts. You pressed forward into him and buried your face into his chest, his once dry shirt was now soaked with your tears and snot. “I do,” you sniffled, wrapping your arms around his torso. “I get to decide what’s good for me, Yoongi.” “I’m sorry, y/n.” With his voice hoarse and husky, he placed a chaste kiss atop your head. “This time, I’m never letting you go.”

++

Feel free to send requests!

Prompt list. 

[arken-xavier]

My Maid isnt from this world...She's A Dragon

He was gonna be late, he hadn’t meant to sleep in so late especially not on a school day but he still hadn’t adjusted well to his new home life and the train ride didn’t help him with his headache from yesterday. It was so weird he couldn’t make any sense of what happened yesterday he didn’t mean to intrude on a dragon from another world. Especially one that wanted to burn down the entirety of the human race but at least his life wouldn’t be boring at home anyway. 

Bam!! A explosion ocurred with it knocking the train off its tracks careening straight  into a building, the air filled with screams and then it all went black.

________________________________________________________________________________________________

The waxing moon had lit up his path up that lead him up a very shrouded precarious-looking trail which had left the city behind,he had been forced to use the last of his money to buy things for his friends, if friends beat you into the ground every day of the week and had you as a servent running around for them for small errands they almost always had for him. So he couldn’t afford to buy dinner today or tomorrow for that matter so here he was all alone just him the moon and a dragon with a sword through its back, the usual mountain scenery. He glanced back for a quick second to reaffirm what he had seen just a split second before and what he saw scared him pantsless there was a three-story tall Dragon…? He must’ve been hallucinating, maybe the hunger and the lack of sleep was finally getting to him. He rubbed his eyes to make sure he wasn’t going delusional but sure enough, the massive dragon was still there after a quick second of thinking he finally came to a conclusion that she happened to have a transformation quirk like ‘Ryukyu The Dragon Hero’ which had immediately sparked his interest in the green-scaled behemoth. 

“Maybe if I just ask them they might tell me a thing a or two about themselves, and why they sleep on a mountain” he mumbled out, which had been a bad habit he developed over the years of constant bullying and belittlement from his classmates. Izuku at this moment still hadn’t fully registered everything so he missed the gigantic sword that had been impaled in the giant thing’s side. If he had seen it he might’ve thought twice about approaching a dragon on the top of a mountain shrouded by the forest with nobody around especially. 

When she woke up the first two things of many that came to her mind were ‘What is this place, where am I?’ she didn’t recognize this place nor did she even know what had happened, so she looked over the surrounding area what she saw was beautiful, there were so many lights in the distance as bright and shimmering as…as bright as what she pondered? Then suddenly it all came to her the fight with the liberation army  she had fought with them previously but this time they had brought out a great number of forces just for her and they shot flaming arrows there were so many of them in the last battle she had been in she had been able to make a gateway but the man he had wielded god-tier magic and used it against her she had only been able to see it fly towards her at an incredible speed. She couldn’t recall anything after it hit her, but here she was with the sword still lodged in her with a small human boy pacing around and talking to himself. 

‘Wait what is the human doing?’  she hadn’t recognized him as a threat so until now she didn’t even notice him until he had started talking to himself which she had to admit was a little humorous but a little odd he didn’t wear village clothes so he must not have been from the other world. 

‘So where was she, well it’s not like it mattered anyway’ she couldn’t do anything even if she knew where she was and that wasn’t gonna happen while the sword was lodged in its new home which happened to be right inside her ribcage this didn’t sit well with her, at least she could toy with the human, maybe that would produce some form of entertainment. 

Izuku had crept closer to the dragon as to be able to talk to it and introduced himself it wouldn’t serve to be rude he thought. “Hi, are you awake miss-s...or mister dragon” he stuttered out while quickly catching and correcting his mistake.

“I’m Midoriya. I wanted to ask what you're doing out here?” he finally felt his nervousness and intimidation hit a peak, because while he had gotten closer to the green pile of scales that he was sure could soundly hear him he only finally managed to take in and realize the magnitude of the dragon they could just about swallow him whole if they wanted to.

It’s teeth almost the size of people he only slowly started to dawn on the fact that he could be in some serious danger with it it being confirmed only seconds after the thought crossed his mind.

“Human what are you doing, and where am I, answer me this or I shall make sure to burn your pitiful human body to a crisp” she roared at him combined with a glare that would have instilled fear in any trained soldier. While she did this at the same time she had attempted to charge at him but collapsed due to the magic from the sword. Izuku tried not to think about the words that had come out of her mouth but had taken a quick note of the sword that was hurting her and did not even attempt to register her attempt at intimidating him and instead gathered that when she was trying to stand the blade that was buried in her dragon form was the problem so without thinking about it immediately tried to ask if she needed help with the sword.

She did not think this was the way it was gonna turn out the human had noticed the magical sword that been wedged in her side and asked if she needed assistance with dislodging it. Not only that but when she noticed his reaction to her terrifying roar she was confused he wasn’t even bending over in a show of mercy nor was he groveling at her feet like other pathetic humans he merely stood  with a bright twinkle in his eyes and exuberated confidence not unlike the muttering boy that had just moments ago tried to talk to her with little success in doing so. She shook herself from her stupor and glared at the human he must’ve been a strong warrior sent to defeat her when I appeared maybe he was faking cowardice to try and lure me in. What a pathetic plan that was she could easily take on any arrogant adventurer that thought could take her head-on. Her current train of thought on how to kill the human had been put to a stop when he tried to talk to her.

“Hi dragon I’m sorry that I woke you up I just wanted to know what you're doing up he-here” he stuttered out he was nervous the thing could have clawed him in half and he knew that it showed but he tried not to let that stop him from talking.

“And i-it also looks like your hu-hur-hurt could I help you get rid of tha-that sword... it looks like it hurts.” Izuku knew that the dragon could not move because, for whatever reason the dragon had, it had a very dim glowing sword that was a growing darker and darker the longer he saw it. 

“Human you think you can even touch a holy sword without even having immense magical energy I can’t decide if you're either brave or stupid,” she sighed “but carry on try it if you want but you won’t be able to” he wouldn't be able to pull it out a regular mortal with evil intentions would be killed when in contact with it that’s why it made so powerful she’s lucky she hadn’t committed seriously evil acts or else the sword would’ve killed her on contact she grew tired of the mindless chatter with her subconscious and she pulled herself out of her thoughts and eyed the human with curiosity he had begun to climb up her scales and was nearing the sword, what she saw next surprised her he had begun to pull on the ginormous handle and it was coming out slowly but it was she couldn’t her eyes he was a pulling out a magic sword one of the most powerful 

Swords if not the most powerful, the strongest of wizards could not even hope to wield and even with the magical power, they are only able to summon it against an opponent and cast it at them. 

Izuku was not having a good time trying to climb the back of a dragon the scales were hard and made climbing also exponentially harder but he managed to reach the sword and he had begun to pull it out which didn’t seem super hard it because well it wasn’t super heavy nor did it try and kill him but he did feel a strange tingling feeling going down his back an throughout his body and then with a flash of light the sword popped out and was somehow immediately absorbed by his skin which left a small tattoo of a sword. 

“Dragon I don't think you’ve told me your name yet?” she looked at quizically I just rather call you by your name then just dragon,” he said after the spectacle that they just witnessed. The dragon just looked at him irritatedly before saying their name apparently it was Tohru and she didn’t have a surname and she was a female. 

“Well, what just happened?” He really didn’t know what to expect from that and he certainly did not expect the sword to explode much less for some type of energy burst to come out with it and then all of a sudden get sucked up into his arm.

“You… you just absorbed god-tier magic” she couldn’t believe the boy Izuku, at least that what he said his name was didn’t know what god’s sword was it’s been a universally known spell but only a few worlds even believed such thing existed. But he managed to hold one of the most single-handedly powerful spells ever cast but could also absorb the magic that it carried with it.

Izuku's head was confused and jumbled as his body was, Magic? She was talking about magic like it was real, maybe she was a cultist and was trying to recruit him for her plan. 

“Miss Tohru, what do you mean by magic?” Izuku looked at her skeptically the dragon lady was talking about it like it existed he needed to help her out so he kept asking questions

 “...that’s not possible, magic isn’t real it doesn't make any sort of sense, and how did that thing with the glowing happen how about that try to explain that” she continued and tried to convince him that the sword was magic but that didn’t make any progress because magic didn’t exist therefore that thing couldn’t have been magic it must have a quirk that was the only possible explanation he said and apparently everyone in this world had one. Tohru had tried to convince the green head to show him his superpower but he wouldn’t open up about it so they came back to square one except both more knowledgeable about each other's circumstance in this situation apparently he had come for a stroll and ended up here.

And she had been shot out of the air with magic, she refused to give up on the fight about magic if it was real or not.

She was going to transform to shoot a bolt of lightning out of her palm without a quirk because that was the only way he would be convinced. 

“Okay, Izuku I’m gonna have to transform into a human to do this so i can do this” She didn’t know why she had such a strong urge to show him she could do it it wasn’t anything special to her but it felt different this like she was seeking his approval. 

“Yeah I'm ready, start when your ready” he still felt weird when she called him by his first name it was the first time in forever so he felt a slight bit embarrassed and with that he had begun to back away to avoid being hit with lightning.

It started first with an ancient-sounding language he couldn’t understand and then his vision was filled with black and then as quick as it came it left leaving behind a bolt of lightning going straight into the sky. He couldn’t detect a quirk being used, it was real, Magic it was there before his very own eyes it existed he had a chance,

He could be a Hero…

Look for the continuation of this book on

Fanfiction.com ArkenX

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[lokifiction]

Run to Me, Runaway

Category: Fanfic

Rating: Mature

Notes: This chapter is hella whumpy, so this one is dedicated to all of the whumpers in the Loki fandom! (Tbh,this whole fanfic is a big ball of whump, but..........we’ll get to that later.)

Warnings: Mentions of blood and depictions of sickness

Masterlist

First Chapter

Previous Chapter

Chapter Eighteen

Loki watched in horror as Camryn’s body seemed to fold in on itself and she crumbled to the ground, his heart stopping as her head hit the gold with a sickening crack. Not sparing a single thought to the behavior befitting the king he was just crowned as, he pushed gawking feast attendees aside, rushing over to cradle her limp figure in his arms. He called out to her, but her eyes remained closed, her face paling to a dangerous shade, so white she seemed to be almost blue.

“Send healers to my chambers,” Loki barked at the nearest guard, standing up with Camryn still in his grasp. The guard dashed away and Loki fled the dining hall without so much as a glance towards the guests that called queries at him, only preoccupied with the way Camryn shook violently in his arms, childlike moans escaping her lips.

“I’ve got you, darling,” he whispered, struggling to keep his voice calm as he entered his apartments and pushed into the bedroom. “I’m here. Don’t worry.”

He wasn’t sure if his last comment was directed at her or himself.

After gingerly laying her on the bed, Loki pressed his palm to her forehead, finding her skin hot to the point of burning. He pulled his hand away and fussed about trying to make her as comfortable as possible, wondering what brought on a fever so severe so suddenly. He  desperately wanted to do something to help her state, but there was nothing he could do until the healers arrived and determined what exactly was ailing her. Even so, he was completely unable to keep still, so he began to remove her gown, replacing it with a lightweight nightdress, her eyes fluttering open as he fastened the buttons up the front.

“Loki?” she whimpered, her voice cracking.

“Yes, love?” Attempting to remain calm, he pulled the blankets up to her chin and placed a hand on her burning cheek. He studied her features to try and figure out for himself what was wrong, noticing her now coal-black eyes ridden with a confused and muddled fog, her perpetually pouting lips dry and cracked, crying out for water.

“Wh-what happened?” she mumbled, tone barely over a whisper, eyes drifting closed and open then closed again.

“Well, during the feast, you fainted of a high fever.” Loki stroked Camryn’s hair, hoping to provide her some comfort. “The healers are on their way. Hopefully they’ll be able to determine the cause and restore your health.”

Suddenly alert, Camryn’s eyes widened as she sat bolt upright, only to fall back onto the pillows, her arms too weak to support herself. “During your coronation feast?” she gasped.”What about the ball that was supposed to follow, and the festival that’s going to be thrown over the rest of the week?”

“They can be postponed.” Loki took her clammy hand in his, pressing a quick kiss to her fingers. “Your health takes priority over everything.”

She nodded dismissively, putting her hand to her mouth and beginning to cough, the action sending tremors up and down her body. When she pulled her arm away, the sleeve of her nightgown was dotted with red, sending chills down Loki’s spine. She whimpered and turned wide eyes to Loki, features contorted in alarm. Thankfully at that moment, there was a knock on the door that preceded the entrance of two middle-aged healers, along with their head, Eir.

“My king.” she dipped into a slight curtsy before approaching the bed. “How is she faring? I’ve heard so much gossip in only the past five minutes.”

“Not well,” Loki all but whispered, fearing that if he said it aloud, it would make the danger of Camryn’s condition true. However, he had been close to Eir since he was a child. She had treated all of his ailments, from minor cuts and scrapes from fights with Thor, to life-threatening, heat-induced illnesses that he had no idea the origin of at the time. Oftentimes, when Frigga was away or busy when he was a child, Loki would spend his time in the healing room, hovering behind Eir’s skirts, asking questions about everything she was doing and begging to be taught the healing spells she knew.

“I’ll see what I can do.” Eir’s piercing blue eyes scanned Camryn’s form, her expression a well-practiced mask of warm indifference.

“Wait, I remember you. From when I thought Loki was dead-” Camryn attempted to sit up once more, but again fell back onto the bed and placed a shaking hand over her eyes. Loki adjusted her pillows so that she might be in a more comfortable position.

“Call me Eir, my dear.” She motioned to her two assistants, then positioned herself at the edge of the bed, conjuring a holographic orange cradle with countless moving monitors, beginning her examination.

“Has she been vomiting at all?” Eir inquired, pressing a weathered hand to Camryn’s forehead.

“Not that I’m aware of,” Loki replied, standing by awkwardly, hating that he had to stay out of the way.

“Well, damn.” Eir frowned. “I had my suspicious that she may have that awful sickness that plagued Asgard in an epidemic so many years ago- the one that you and Thor caught such bad cases of that you had to be sent to the countryside for six moons. It would be a ghastly diagnosis, but an easy one; one that we would know how to fix. But it appears that we’ll have to get creative.”

Loki crossed his arms over his chest and began to worry his finger at his lip, fear growing exponentially as Eir’s assistants returned, one carrying a large basin, the other a stack of washcloths.

“Thank you, girls.” Eir motioned for the basin to be placed on the bedside table and dipped a cloth into the water, wringing it out before passing it onto Loki. “I can tell you’re desperate for something to do, so sponge her face and neck with that, and wet it once again when it becomes warm.” As Eir continued her examination, she caught sight of Camryn’s sleeve, picking up her wrist and inspecting the stained material. “You’ve been coughing up blood?”

“Just the once,” Camryn replied weakly, the expression on her face clearly reading misery.

At that, Loki hurried from wringing out the cloth to Camryn’s bedside, running the damp fabric over her forehead.

“It’s going to be alright, love,” he whispered. “We’re going to find something that will make you feel better.”

After a while longer of toying with the monitors and muttering to herself, Eir waved her hand to make the cradle disappear, then produced a vial of clear liquid from the pocket of her powder blue uniform.

“I’ve no idea what her diagnosis is. She has a sudden intense fever and she’s coughing up blood with no other symptoms to tie those two together, so I can’t treat anything definitively.” Eir looked from Loki to Camryn, who was leaning into Loki’s hand as he ran the cloth over her cheeks. “But give her this and make sure she sleeps, and her fever should subside by the morning.”

“Thank you very much for all of your help.” Loki took the vial and set it aside. “I think I can handle her care for the night.”

“I agree.” Eir gave him a slight smile, patting Camryn’s hand. “I’ll leave you to it, then. I’ll be back midmorning to check on things.”

Once Eir left the room with her assistants, Loki deflated, finally able to drop his barely maintained air of regality. Using seidr to transform his armor into something with more mobility, he settled onto the bed next to Camryn’s only half-lucid form, bringing her to attention with a gentle caress on her heated cheek.

“Here, darling.” He placed his arm around her shoulders and helped her into a sitting position. “This should help you feel better.”

He positioned the vial at her lips, and she drank obediently. Once the contents of the vial had gone down her throat, she coughed once and abruptly stopped herself, eyes watering as she fought the unpleasant experience to follow.

“It’s alright.” Loki rubbed her back, taking a fresh cloth from the table and holding it to her mouth. “Go ahead and cough, love. You’ll feel much better if you get it over with, and perhaps you’ll cough up whatever illness this is.”

She stopped fighting, then, and began to cough once again, so hard Loki feared she was going to get sick. When she was finished, she slumped against his shoulder, shaking like a leaf. Loki discarded the stained fabric and planted a kiss on her forehead, helping her lie down and dragging the blankets up to her chin. Using all of his strength to mask his concern, Loki walked to the other side of the bed to sit right next to her with his feet on the floor, continuing to dab her forehead and cheeks with the cool cloths, the action soon lulling her to sleep.

***

As the night progressed, Camryn’s fever only seemed to crawl higher and higher. Her rest progressively became more fitful: first, she began to murmur something indistinct, then she started to roll back and forth on the bed, seemingly unable to get comfortable, which soon grew into full on thrashing and crying out, blood leaking from her nose. At that, Loki, who had been trying to calm her the entire time, pulled her to his chest and shushed gently, but she was simply unconsolable and half unconscious.

The monitoring spell that Eir had placed in the form of an orange orb on the nightstand, however, was flashing rapidly, and soon she burst into the room with a frantic expression, tying the belt of her dressing gown.

“What’s wrong with her?” she gasped, observing the scene with wide eyes.

“She seems to have gotten worse.” Loki felt Camryn’s hot, frantic breaths on his neck, and again attempted to calm her, to no avail.

“That doesn’t make any sense.” Eir bustled over to the bedside table, wetting a cloth and draping it around Camryn’s neck, but the moment the wet fabric touched her skin, she began to shiver with chills. Loki draped a thick blanket around her shoulders and kissed the top of her head, so concerned with her state that he no longer worried about proper appearances.

“I don’t know what could possibly be wrong. In every case I’ve used that antidote in, no matter how severe, it’s worked perfectly.” Desperately wanting to do something to help, Eir seized a hairbrush from the vanity across the room and combed through Camryn’s wild hair, twisting it into a tight braid before replacing the cloth around her neck. The moment Eir let go of the fabric, however, Camryn let out an ear-splitting scream and began to thrash once again, sobbing all the while.

“Loki!” she cried, gasping for breath. “Loki, make it stop!”

“Love, shh, shh. I’m right here.” Loki tried to swallow the panic in his voice as he gently held her head to his shoulder, rocking back and forth. “I’m right here, shh.”

Her sobs faded out at suddenly as they came as she relaxed in his arms, eyes dropping open but completely unseeing, her mind far away, if there at all.

“Please, Eir,” Loki begged. “I’ll do anything. Please, help me get her well. It’s killing me to see her in such a state.”

“I want her well, too. She’s different, in a very good way. She’s a soul I don’t think you or Asgard should lose.” Eir rose from the side of the bed and gave her dressing gown a definitive shake. “I swear to you, my king: I’m going to tear apart every book we have, research every antidote, herb, and spell in the nine realms, and find something to make her well. I won’t rest until that happens. If you’ll excuse me, I would like to get to it immediately.”

After Eir dashed from the room, Loki pried Camryn from his body and laid her back onto the bed, continuing his seemingly useless attempt to cool her skin. He placed wet cloths behind her neck and across her forehead, but they seemed to become hot almost the moment they touched her skin and had to be changed. Loki kept a damp one in his hand, dabbing it across her cheeks and eventually unbuttoning a few clasps from the front of her nightgown and dotting her chest with the cold water.

Those actions soon began to break his heart, however, for every time a fresh washcloth came in contact with her skin, she moaned or whimpered, grappling at the blankets as if looking for more. After a few hours, it seemed as if every blanket in the palace rested upon her bed, and every washcloth had been wet and placed on her skin, but her shivers only grew more violent, and her fever only climbed dreadfully higher.

[book-boys-are-my-guilty-pleasure]

Imagine: Having a love-hate relationship with Four, but eventually falling for him.

Request: The request was WAY too long for me to put in here, but it’s for @itsritinha06

A/N: Obviously, Tris doesn’t exist in this, and we’re also going to pretend that initiation lasted a lot longer than it actually did in the books/movies!

Warning: Pregnancy, arguing, too many time skips lol

You were sat at the dinner table with your parents and it was the night before your aptitude test. You knew you were supposed to talk about it, but you couldn’t help yourself, you had asked your parents if the test hurt, and from there the conversation went further, “What do you want to choose Y/N?”

“I haven’t put too much thought into it, but I’ve always felt like I was born to be a Dauntless,” You reveal hesitantly.

Your mother stares at you in shock, “No. There is no way my daughter is getting Dauntless. I’d be alright with anything but Dauntless.” You stare at her, surprised by the sudden outburst, “Those adrenaline junkies are nothing but trouble Y/N! You’ll be killed within the first week!”

“I’m not as weak as you think mom,” you mumble, “Besides, what if that’s what I get for my aptitude.”

“Your aptitude isn’t final,” your father explains, “You’re still free to choose.”

“If I were to pick something that wasn’t my aptitude, I’d end up factionless.” You roll your eyes and excuse yourself from the table, getting sick of the conversation. You could here your parents mumbling about you as you walked to your room, but you didn’t care, you were already lost in thought about how amazing Dauntless would be.

You jolted awake from your test, shaken up by the man who was accusing you of lying about the person in the wanted ad. You turn to the woman who was administering you test, she was a Dauntless with a tattoo of a large raven, “You need to go home.”

“What was my result?”

“Dauntless,” She states, “and Abnegation.”

“What?! That’s impossible, I’m only supposed to get one result!”

“Well you didn’t, they call you Divergent,” She explains in a hushed tone, “you can’t tell anyone, not your friends, not your family. Am I clear?”

“Yes.” You turn away from her, head spinning because of the storm of thoughts.

That night, you lay awake, wondering what you wanted to do with your future.

You stood in front of the five bowls, still unable to determine what you really wanted. Your choice or that of your family.

In the last second, you drip your blood over the sizzling coals.

“Dauntless!” Cheers erupt from that the group, and everyone else just watches solemnly.

You joined them at their seats, and realized that this was your new family.

The man on the roof, Max, told you that in order get into Dauntless, you’d have to jump. You volunteered to jump first, knowing they wouldn’t kill you on your first day.

Upon landing on the net at the bottom, you were helped up by a very attractive man. Without a word, he helps you out of the net, “What’s your name?”

You’re silent for a moment, and he just stares at you as if you’re stupid, “Y/N.”

“First jumper, Y/N!”

Over the next few weeks, the interactions between you and Four had gotten even more spiteful, he was constantly rude to you, and you could never hold back your sassy remarks either.  

One afternoon, you were in the training room throwing knives, you missed one -it just so happened to be the one Eric was watching- and Eric made you stand in front of the target, asking Four to throw knives at you. Everything was going smoothly until he nicked the side of your arm, Eric instantly let you go, but it hurt like a bitch.

“What the hell was that?” You hiss once everyone leaves. Four just raises his eyebrows in response, “You cut me.”

“I know I did, it was the only way he’d let you go.”

“Don’t expect me to thank you.”

“I don’t, but do expect you to act like a rational person,” He chides, stepping towards you in a threatening manner, “I don’t know what you were thinking joining Dauntless, but if you don’t learn how to respect authority around here, you’re going to be out before you can say the word ‘factionless’.”

You glare at him for a moment before turning away, “Asshole,” you mutter under your breath before walking out.

This wasn’t the first time an encounter like this happened, and it sure as hell wasn’t the last either. Four was an ass, and it didn’t matter how attractive he was, if he thought he could try to order you around, he had another storm coming.

Things between you two didn’t change until the night of capture the flag. You and Four were on the same team, and spent most of the night not fighting. You actually got to know Four and realized that he wasn’t as bad as you made him out to be.

After that night, the two of you got closer, he was more encouraging in training, and sometimes he’s even offers you extra help after classes.

It was the day of your fight against one of the roughest initiates in your year, and as confident as you were about the skills that Four had taught you, you were nowhere near as good as the boy. He had you pinned to the mat within minutes and he beat you to a pulp. Training ran late that night due to the fights, and being the stubborn person you were, you refused to go the infirmary, you just sat in the training room, suffering through the pain.

Once class ended, Four decided he’d take you back to his apartment and fix you up himself. Your attraction to him had grown exponentially so you had no complaints. After cleaning you up, he even offered to let you stay the night, which you accepted gladly.

That night you awoke to find Four missing from his side of the bed. Seeing as it was the middle of the night and you couldn’t fall back to sleep, you decided to go look for him. It didn’t take you long to find him in the far corner of his living room, working out. He was wearing a pair of joggers and a black tank top, which revealed some of the tattoo on his back. You leaned against the wall and bit your lip, the sight was intoxicating. His rippling muscles, the ink brushed along his skin, and the droplets of sweat that covered him was enough to make any girl fall to her knees.

He eventually got up and saw you, “Y/N, did I wake you?”

You gently shook your head, “No, definitely not.”

“Are you alright?”

“Uh, yeah I just need some air.” He nods in response and leads you out to the balcony.

You stand in silence for a while until he finally asks you about why you chose to transfer. One thing leads to another and you fall into a deep conversation about your feelings about everything that was going on.

“Can I see the rest of your tattoo?” You suddenly ask.

He’s hesitant for a moment but he obliges. You can’t help but let out a gasp when he takes his tank top off. You gently touch his back and trace the design with your fingertip. He lets you examine it while he explains the story behind it.

He turns around and is about to put his shirt back on when you surprise him with a kiss, he’s taken aback at first, but it doesn’t take him long to reciprocate. The kiss is rough and full of passion, your hands filling their way up and down his chiselled chest, and his fingering through your hair.

Without breaking the kiss he leads you back to his bed and lays you flat before hovering over you, “Are you sure?”

You simply nod, breathless and unable to speak.

The days that followed your night of passion were silent and awkward. Four refused to talk to you, in fact, he wouldn’t even look at you, and you had just about had enough. You had tried to talk to him multiple times, but it was to no prevail.

One night, you were in the Pit and had a few drinks in you, so you decided to confront him, “Four? Can I talk to you?”

He sighs and for once, he actually follows you out of the room, “Alright what?”

“What?! Four you haven’t spoken to me in days!”

“And...?” You raise your eyebrows at him as if to say ‘Seriously?’ “We slept together Y/N, it’s not a big deal, I’m sure you’ve done it with plenty of people before.”

“What the hell Four?!” You shout, unable to believe that he just said that.

“I know girls like you Y/N,” He rolls his eyes, “Just forget that it happened and move on to the next one.”  

You instantly slap him and storm away. You were furious but your heart was hurting as well, you had trusted this man and you had truly started to care about him.

A few weeks had passed since your fight with Four, and you hadn’t tried to interacted with him since. For the past few days you had been feeling sick and barely had the energy to walk around, let alone get into another fight with him.

You rarely ever got sick, for the first few days, you thought it was just a common flu, but then you started thinking otherwise.

You were currently in the bathroom, waiting for five minutes, as it said on the back of the box. It felt like the longest five minutes of your life. Finally, your phone alarm went off, indicating the end of the five minutes, you stand up off the ground and pick up the small stick, “Positive,” it read. Your heart instantly dropped and you sank to your knees, not knowing what to do.

“Y/N?” Your best friend, Christina called, knocking on the door, “Are you okay?”

You opened the door and simply gestured towards the test. She read it and sighed, sitting down next to you and holding you, “Are you going to tell him?”

“I don’t know Chris,” You breathe, trying to hold back your tears.

“You have to Y/N, I know it’s hard but he’s the father, he has to take some responsibility, it’s only fair.” You nod in agreement.

Four’s POV

I sit on my couch, after a long day of work; I’m just getting comfortable when I hear a knock on the door.  

I open the door and see Y/N standing there, oh God, “Y/N.”

“Four,” She nods. She pauses for a moment and sighs, “Look, I need to talk to you, and it’s actually important this time.”

I invite her in, I don’t know why I treated her how I did, I did truly like her, but for some reason, it was hard for me to convey. I thought it may have been because of my past with my parents, but I just couldn’t help but push her away. She stands in front of me, wringing her fingers nervously, “What is it?”

“Four... I-er I’m pregnant...” It takes a moment for it to register, but once it does, I sink on to the couch.

“Wh-what?! How?!”

“You know how!” She snaps, “I don’t know what to do okay...”

I sigh, “We’ll figure it out, I-I just need to be alone for a bit.”

She nods and leaves the apartment. I can’t believe this is happening, I never really wanted to be a father, especially not this early.

The next few days went by without interactions with Y/N.

Today, however, was the day everything changed. She hadn’t told anyone about the pregnancy yet, so she was sent on a patrol mission with me and a few others.

We were rushing through the woods when I heard a cry from behind me, “Four!”

I turned to see Y/N surrounded by a group of factionless, one of them holds a knife to her throat. I rush up to her, “Let her go!”

The man with the knife gives me a disgusting grin, “What’re you gonna do lover boy?!”

I aim my gun directly at his head, “Let. Her. Go.”

He presses he knife closer to her throat, breaking the skin and drawing a little blood, “P-please, I’m pregnant,” she whispers.

This distracts the man for a split second, long enough for me to shoot him. He instantly drops to the ground and the others scatter. I rush up to her, “Four...” Her face is pale and she falls limp in my arms.

“Y/N!” I shake her gently. Thankfully, I can feel her heartbeat and breath. I lift her in my arms and carry her back to the rover.

I sit in the waiting room to the infirmary, my body is shaking from nerves and my hands are sweaty. The doctor finally comes out and I shoot up from my seat, “How is she?”

“She’s fine,” She reassures, “And so is the baby. We cleaned up her wound and she mainly just passed out because of fear. She’s awake now and you can see her.”

I rush into the room and sit down next to her, taking her hand, “I’m so sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” She says gently.

“Not for this, for everything,” I quickly explain, “I’ve been an ass to you Y/N. I care about you, I really do, but I’ve never felt this way about anyone and I just didn’t know how to deal with it. The truth is, I want this. I want to be with you, and I promise to take care of this child with you.”

She smiles up and me and gently touches my cheek, “Thank you Four.”

“Tobias.”

“Huh?”

“That’s my real name and you can call me by it if you’d like.”

“Tobias,” She smiles before carefully pushing herself up to give me a gentle kiss.

End.

Masterlist // Rules List // To-Do List

Forever Tags: @nekodemon73 @2toastersbang @beahippie23 @addie-baby  @hells-helvig @roseslovedreams    

Divergent Tags: @buried-in-books  @alltoowhalee13

[goodfortune-au]

Good Fortune (Soulmate AU) Chapter 16: The Bubble

Slowly but surely, April became May. Spring began to flourish within the town in the form of light breezes and fragrant flowers, and just as the local flora thrived and prospered, so did the relationship between Angel and Pennywise. His visits had become as regular and routine as the days of her full-time job, and she could not be happier for it. It was almost like a fairytale; Angel would wake to his voice in her ear, she would slip out of bed and get ready for work. She would walk to the library, would feel the warmth of his hand enveloping her own along the way; she would work her shift, she would sometimes encounter him waiting for her when she took her breaks. He would talk to her and make her laugh, he would promise to come back to her when her shift was over. She would spend the rest of the day waiting with bated breath for her shift to finally be done, and then as soon as the clock struck five she would punch out and hurry home, not so much for the sake of safety anymore as much as for her own breathless excitement. While she waited for him to return from wherever he had wandered off to, she sometimes wondered just what he did in his free time when he wasn’t making his visits. She wondered more than ever just what he was, who he was, and who she was by extension. She tried not to let those thoughts get to her too much though; she was enjoying all of this far too much to be of rational mind now. They were in a perfect little bubble together, and she wanted more than anything for it not to pop. And then, just as her mind would start to drift off…

“Hello, my darling.” He would say in a low, gentle tone, often behind her.

“Pennywise!” You could always hear the smile, the unabashed glee in her voice. She would immediately stop what she was doing to turn around and hug him. Time would stop as they both embraced each other, Angel pulling him toward her as tightly as possible, letting all worry and trouble melt away from her flesh with the feeling of silver silk within her fingers. Pennywise, in turn, would return the gesture with a protective sweep of his hands around her back, would feel her shivering ever so gently against him out of relief, out of excitement to see him again. He would relish in it, the taste and scent of her joy, just how trusting she was of him, an entity whose origins and history she truly knew nothing about, yet she willingly gave herself to his care anyway. How delicious it was to savor, the secure knowledge in that she was growing increasingly more accustomed to his presence, was even starting to crave it and yearn for it. He would pet her hair, a silken hand brushing elegantly down the chestnut locks that fall over her shoulders and he would hum, would always sing the same song with throaty vibrations that would echo deliciously through her body.

Oranges and lemons, say the bells of St. Clements…

“How was the rest of your day, sweetheart?” He would always ask when they pulled away from each other.

Angel always dreaded that, the end of the hug. He always felt so warm; the sensation of that familiar warmth traveling through her body was addicting. She would spend what felt like an eternity just clinging to him, treasuring the feeling of him, so real and tangible that she could sometimes hardly believe it. Ever since that fateful night on Valentine’s Day, Angel had spent every day afterward in complete and utter bewilderment at his presence. Everything from his repeated manifestations to his supernatural behavior had her in a befuddled stir; she almost felt the need to pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. But no, despite it all, he was quite real, and it was truly as though such a dream had come true. His aura was so pleasant to her, almost like his soul was simply resonating with hers, their respective essences two halves of one whole intertwining so perfectly with one another. It felt so right being with him that she awaited the break of their embrace with a sort of subdued melancholy; the second they parted and the warmth left her body she would resist the powerful urge to simply return to his arms. There almost existed some kind of magnetic pull between them, a surge of something she could only perceive to be otherworldly existing in the both of them, an itching to stay with the other at all costs. Maybe she was just imagining it; maybe it was all in her head. Or maybe, just like him, it truly was real, and she just didn’t understand why yet.

“F*cking terrible.” She would admit with a long, drawn out sigh when she stepped away from him to continue what she was doing. “Work was annoying- the librarian kept getting on my case for the smallest shit imaginable.”

Pennywise would always recline or otherwise make himself comfortable somewhere, whether it be the couch, a chair at her dining table or sitting directly on her bed. If Mayor Jello was nearby, for whatever reason, he would quickly make himself scarce and disappear from the room. He would listen intently to her woes and give her his undivided attention, wanting to make clear to her more than anything that he valued what she had to say. After all, that would endear himself to her all the more, to establish himself as someone who listened to her when very little people in her life so far had allowed her the courtesy.

“Mmm, you haven’t done anything to get on her bad side, have you?”

“Of course not!” She would exclaim, usually amid prep work at her kitchen counter. “I don’t screw around at my job, it only gets me into trouble. When I was working the Bassey Park fairgrounds, I was the only one who got caught if I sat down during my shift.”

“How scandalous.” He would smirk.

“I know, right?” She would scoff. “It didn’t matter that I was the only one who emptied out the garbage cans at the end of the day, or wiped down all the stalls, or cleaned bird shit off the picnic tables, my bosses still had it out for me. That old bat has it out for me, too, I’m pretty sure. Ever since I lost that book last year she’s hardly let me see the end of it.”

“Hmm?”

“Oh.” She stops for a moment, suddenly sheepish. “Guess you weren’t… Around for that. I lost a book forever ago when I checked it out from the library. Some BS historical documentation of the town, guess it was… Pretty rare.”

“Ohhhhh… I see, I see.”

“But I don’t even remember losing it. To be honest, I don’t particularly remember much from that time in general. I guess ever since… Georgie went missing, I fell into a bit of a funk. Still haven’t… Completely come out of it. Grief does weird stuff to you.” She continues chopping, or peeling, or mincing. “Or I guess… Depression does weird stuff to you too.”

He comes to plant a kiss atop her head. “I know, my dear. That’s why I’m here now.”

She smiles at him, blush staining her cheeks. “I know.”

Angel had “clued” Pennywise in about Georgie very soon after they had started talking, some weeks ago when their relationship was just beginning. Who he was, how she had known him, how she thought of him as her own little brother in a fashion. Had told him all about that time in her life, when she was just starting out at the library and how, for a short while, things really felt as though they were changing for the better. How things had only seemed to start going downhill ever since that day he’d gone missing, how it made the kids as well as herself feel broken up and disjointed, how it had made a dark cloud of gloom descend over the town’s collective heads.

How the disappearances hadn’t stopped ever since that day.

Pennywise had known very well about all of these things, but there was nothing he could do for the time being except feign ignorance. No, let her tell him all about the boy, let her regale him with silly little tales of her with those brat children. Let her think for the time being that he was a force apart from that which brought this miserable little town cowering on its knees. It would all come in time. The time was coming for her to learn of who he truly was, but he couldn’t very well simply bring it up in conversation. No, there needed to come a catalyst of some kind, some kind of crossroads to shock her system and forcibly make her cope with the knowledge. He knew it to be a dangerous and risky situation; he knew that, as much as he had made great strides in winning her over, she could be just as easily lost if she responded badly to the revelation. He knew she was a girl of some considerable moral character; he’d known just how much the death of that abhorrent child on Halloween had gotten to her, the survivor’s guilt she had endured for both that and the disappearance of the shopkeeper on New Years. He’d known how much the loss of that little child on the day of his awakening had broken her up in ways she didn’t even realize. He did truly regret that, if he were honest. Had he known the significance of that boy in particular, he’d have selected someone else to take for his first meal. It was true that his role within the town would be an unsavory pill for her to swallow, but it would have been all the more easier for her to grapple with if he’d not taken him. How stupid and impetuous of him, but he would hardly ever admit to such a lapse in judgment. It didn’t matter either way, because he was going to get what he wanted one way or the other.

He allowed himself consolation in the knowledge that, whatever she had endured before, it would surely be different now that he was here. He knew who she was, knew that she was prone to these so-called depression funks, frequent and staggering declines that would have her losing all purpose at best and the will to live at worst. A pattern as a result of patent dissatisfaction with her life, in the routine in which she was mercilessly confined to, monotony she wished so badly to break. Add grief to all that and it was exponentially worse; the poor dear was truly having a rough go of it all this time around. But this time around was different. This time around, he was here. Pennywise was that change she so desperately craved, and he was a change so unlike anything she’d ever seen before. Never before had a paradigm shift so powerful as he come to her on bended knee, offering her the world on a silver platter. Never before had she been treated as anything other than a nuisance or an outcast by society, never had she known such love and had it so genuinely reciprocated. He knew how desperate she was to keep that love, knew she was starved for it and knew she wanted to savor it as long as she possibly could. She expected it all to go wrong eventually, he knew that. And it would, just not in any way she could have ever expected. He was going to make sure this discovery would traumatize her so in that she would seek his comforting touch instead of cowering away from it in fear, for the instinct would be so deeply ingrained she would not be able to stop herself anymore. He would make sure of it.

But no, not today. Not even tomorrow. The time would come, the opportunity would present itself and when it did he would simply make his move. Though she adored what they had, the relationship between them growing more with each passing day, there were still certain aspects she was missing out on, things she wanted but didn’t dare to ask for. And he didn’t push it, because he knew some part of her wasn’t ready for it. Physical affection like hugging or spooning wasn’t off the table; it was just enough to familiarize her with his touch without taking things to the next step. But that next step was coming, and though he could taste that she wasn’t yet comfortable enough to go through with it, to accept it, he knew that hesitation to be growing thinner and thinner by the day. The first kiss… How intimate an exchange, and one he had been dangling in front of her for weeks. Whether it be neck kisses, cheek kisses; whether it be long, lingering looks in each other’s arms or moments of unbearable tension between them, he would simply not allow it to go any further. He knew it was driving her crazy, he wanted that. Even if she wasn’t comfortable with kissing yet, he knew some rebellious part of her yearned desperately for it all the same, and he was delighted to encourage that part of her. Once she was suitably ready for it, and at a time when she needed it most, he would make his move.

Angel had wanted so badly to kiss him, it was something she’d wanted ever since she’d started developing feelings for him watching that silly television show. Back in those days, when all she could do was look at his face through the screen and long for something she never thought she’d be able to have, it was simply torturous. It was such a frustrating feeling, it made her feel helpless, like she was drowning in a sea of painful, shameful longing that she could never escape. And yet, despite all, what bliss it was to look on his face and imagine the hypotheticals; how they would feel pressed together in that moment, sharing in each other’s warmth. They would talk together, laugh together, sway together in each other’s arms. They would fall silent looking into each other's eyes, the tension between them untenably excruciating and then, slowly, one would dip forward and their lips would touch. These were thoughts she would entertain on a daily basis as she got ready in the morning, as she worked her shifts, and as she crawled into bed at night. Hardly a single day passed in which Angel wasn’t plagued with such everpresent wanton desire. Why, then, was she so hesitant to kiss him, take the next step; why was she so powerless to ask for that which would make her so sublimely happy? Hard to say. Call it insecurity on her part, perhaps; Angel had grown up ingrained with the cruel assertion of others that she was disgusting and undesirable. Forget Valentine’s Day, every day outside of that was almost just as bad when there were boys oinking at her in the halls at school, pretending to ask her out and girls calling her fat and ugly in hushed whispers during class. That kind of thing was hard to ignore, as much as her family tried so hard to get her to dismiss those things on those tough nights when she would sit on the floor in a crumpled-up heap and cry her eyes out. Even as she matured she was still haunted by all the words of her peers; she’d spent a time in high school brazenly pretending to ignore it all, shove it back in their faces by wearing the most outlandish things imaginable and spurning their hatred, but as times got tough again she would find herself dressed in increasingly less bold color, almost as though all the joy was being sucked right out of her. All the years of rejection were simply impossible to overlook, and now that she finally had something treating her like she wasn’t the most repugnant thing on the face of the planet, she was… So deathly terrified of doing anything that might jeopardize it. They were in a perfect little bubble together, and she wanted more than anything for it not to pop. What if she tried to kiss him, and he simply rebuffed her? What if he laughed in her face, what if he was revolted by the mere thought? There was some part of her so ill at ease about the thought of pushing him away that she wasn’t comfortable at all in making the first move. No, she wanted him to do it instead. At least that way, she would know that this, all of this, wasn’t just some ridiculous delusion on her part. It was safer.

The fear of rejection steeping on her lovely form was a taste as sweet as wine to Pennywise, one he couldn’t help but savor silently. He couldn’t help it, it was just so tantalizingly delectable on his ancient palate, her fear a flavor so different from the rest of them that it called to him, beckoned to him. He was the only creature on this earth and in existence who was worthy of tasting it, of feeling it dissolve on his tongue like the most cloyingly spun sugar, and though he would not deliberately seek it out, not yet, he could at least delight in sampling that which was born from her own misgivings and insecurities. It was an offering that would sate him for now, but only make him hungrier for what was surely to come. Oh, the delicious little cat and mouse games he longed to play with her. How he longed to take her in his arms, share in the wonderful pull of their mutual tension, a little tacit agreement brewing between the both of them before he released her, before he sent her on her way with a single, simple objective; don’t get caught. It was a primal game Pennywise was well-seasoned in playing, but despite all the years he’d been playing it with his chosen victims, it would be different with her, different in a way Pennywise had never truly experienced. And he would surely win. He always did, and when he did he would delight in the spoils that waited before him, spoils he had been waiting to savor for eons; a mate, veins hot with adrenaline from having been found, the blood rushing to her face as she looked at him with desperate, wanton desire and begged with her eyes for him to take her as she lay pinned beneath him. And take her he would. Oh yes, he would give her what she wanted, would give it to her until she was screaming and howling with pleasure into the night, in the cold air of the cistern beneath Derry. He smiles when he thinks of it.

But not now. For now he would simply bide his time and wait, for he knew their relationship was not without hurdles to surpass. He could not give himself to such pleasures until she knew who he was and still trusted him despite it, despite every rational thought in her head screaming for her to get a grip and leave that which brought such pain and suffering to her hometown. She would betray her morals for him, would forsake everything she ever knew to be with him, destined to be his lover and take all that he has to give her not only in compliance, but in willingness to make him happy. He knew how desperate she was to cling to that which brought her own happiness, something which had shown her such generosity and compassion in her greatest times of need, and he would exploit that for all its worth. He would milk her desperation to please him and reward her effort by lavishing her with the utmost love and attention and praise. He had kept up his encouragement of her passions and hobbies as the months progressed, and when she had down days, he was there to offer her comfort and consolation. It was the least he could do for her; after all, she would eventually give herself to him completely, she would belong to him in every sense of the word. She would love him, she would cherish him, she would take care of him. And Pennywise always took care of that which took care of him. Always.

Though Angel was thoroughly distracted with her relationship, she was nonetheless still slightly unnerved by the continued disappearances within the town. The police were still no closer to apprehending the perpetrator of the crimes, not that that particularly mattered to Angel at this point. Given everything she’s seen and heard and experienced, she was fairly certain at this point that whatever was causing all the strife and morbid happenings within the town was no mere man; it had to have been a monster of some kind. The most damning indicator of this was what had transpired on the night of Halloween, where she had bore the unfortunate burden of lying captive witness to the death of Patrick Hockstetter, who had completely disappeared by the morning after. And she knew it was his death; judging by the sounds, the raw, shrill, piercing screams, he was being savaged by something. She did find it strange that the police found no evidence of his body near the Kissing Bridge, not even so much as a single drop of blood. It was all very puzzling, but she couldn’t very well deduce the mystery on her own, no matter how often she was forced to think about it.

So she’d come to Pennywise with questions; whether or not he’d known anything about who was causing it, if he had any power to stop it, if… If he’d had anything to do with it. Pennywise would always deflect the questions. He wouldn’t lie to her, but he wouldn’t tell her the truth either. He would always come around to the same conclusion, would placate her anxiety with the assertion that she was safe, that he wouldn’t let anything happen to her, not now, not ever. And though this was almost enough to soothe her troubles, there was still a part of her that stewed with worry for the children, for the Losers, who were just as vulnerable as anyone else to this threat.

“Pennywise I… I’m so scared. What if it… What if it gets them? I can’t… I can’t even think about it...”

She would shake like a leaf as she confided in him, would cling to him like a fear-soaked babe fresh awake from a nightmare, and then one day when the town was haunted by one too many chilling disappearances, she had started to beg, implore him to do for them as he had done for her, pressing her head into his chest as she sobbed and cried.

“...Could you… Protect them too? You’ve kept me from harm all this time, and they mean so much to me… Please… Please… ”

He would shush her as he petted her hair, would soothe her with trilling, chirruping insect song, would hum with pleasure as her sniffles gradually tapered into silence within his hold, as the hours passed between them. And he would reassure her, would tell her exactly what she wanted to hear.

“I’ll do as you say darling, I’ll do whatever makes you happy, you have Pennywise’s word.”

But that did not make him happy. No, it made him rife with dismay, to know that she was still so attached to the little shits, the only ones who stood in the way between him and his ultimate happiness, what he had been waiting for years upon years upon years for. It dismayed him so to think of her so committed to their safety that she might… Reject the revelation of who he was, might turn away from him and toward them in her grief. He doesn’t like that she’s so involved with them; she belonged to him. Only him. He wanted her to care about no one else, nothing else, and he wanted to work on slowly eroding their bond. He wanted so badly to eat the little brats, just pick them off one by one until they were gone from this world, nothing more than an irritating afterthought. Nothing would bring him greater satisfaction than to deprive her of that which distracted her from her purpose, her betrothal to him, being promised to him and him only. Yes, he would do as she beseeched him to do; he would hold back from taking them. The time would come when he wouldn’t have to anymore, and he waited with impatience for that day, but that day was not now. She still had yet to come under his spell completely and irrevocably, she still had yet to find out who he truly was and accept it. When she did, and she inevitably would in time, she would not care for them or their wellbeing anymore, she would stand idly by as he disposed of them once and for all.

As the month of May progressed, she continued to keep the company and counsel of the Losers, who slowly but surely came back to continue their visitations following the… Incident that had occurred on Uno night some weeks back. They’d been worried for her but did their best to shrug off her strange behavior, writing it off as simply an anomaly, and in time it had been all but completely forgotten. The school year was winding to a close and they naturally had a number of tales to tell regarding their misadventures. In time, the Losers had even gradually brought with them a couple brand new additions to their group; short and stocky sensitive sweetheart Ben Hanscom who harbored a passion for building things and Beverly Marsh, a snarky, tough-as-nails wildchild with fiery red hair to match her temperament. They were a natural fit for the group, had stumbled into it one day via an altercation with Bowers and his gang of thugs and been welcomed in with open arms. The kids were all too eager to induct a couple new faces, for they all knew very well that there was safety in numbers. With the growing coalition of Losers and the promise of Pennywise to watch over them, Angel felt more and more at ease despite the daunting atmosphere of Derry.

“Show ol’ Anj your battle scar, Ben.” Richie says boisterously in the living room that night. They had sought refuge at Angel’s house following the big standoff.

Ben hesitates before hiking up his shirt. There’s a crudely carved H for Henry Bowers etched into the soft flesh of his stomach.

“See that shit?”

“Whoa, Bowers got you good, huh Ben?” Angel says leaning back, arms crossed. “I swear, that kid is a f*ckin’ timebomb if I’ve ever seen one.”

“Yeah, Angel used to have the worst time trying to keep him in line.”

“Were you a teacher or something?” Ben asks, pulling his shirt back down.

“Oh no.” Angel laughs. “Couldn’t pay me enough for that shit. I was a TA.”

“The only one worth a damn. Richie recalls, fishing through a bag of Doritos for the perfect chip. When he finds one suitably encrusted in cheese dust he continues. “Used to charge for answer keys. Five bucks a quiz, ten bucks a test. I had an A in math for an entire semester because of her.”

“I kind of remember that.” Beverly speaks up. “It was a rumor floating around the halls for a while, but I never had that class. You really did that?”

“Had to make a little pocket change somehow.” Angel sighs. “But those days are over, sad to say.”

“Yeah, now she’s a boring old working stiff. Can’t protect us from the big kids anymore because she’s got a serious full-time job now.” Eddie laments.

“Hey, I’ve got bills to pay. I can’t get by just by babysitting four kids with extremely bad luck.”

“Make that six kids with extremely bad luck now.” Stan says with a smile evident in his voice. Everyone laughs. Bill pats Angel sympathetically on the back.

Angel would never mention Pennywise. To tell the truth, she saw absolutely no point in it, and it seemed an affair best kept private anyway, at least for the time being. After all, the children didn’t have much business knowing the intimate details of her love life, so she kept it to herself. That wasn’t even getting into the aspects of his existence she didn’t even know how to explain, like all the gifts she had received for months from a mysterious benefactor, how he had courted her without her knowledge through said gifts and came to her in her dreams, how he finally wound up introducing himself on such a sordid occasion when she needed it most. Besides, she rather enjoyed that she had something just for her that she didn’t have to share with anyone. It felt intimate, it felt special. This thing, this… Relationship she had with him, it was all so new. She truly didn’t know how to explain it to anyone, not even her family and least of all the kids. Her family… That was a matter all its own she had no idea how to address. She knew they would be ecstatic she had finally found someone, a… Boyfriend of some fashion, but he was a clown, and most bafflingly of all he clearly wasn’t human. She doesn’t even know how to imagine bringing him to visit with them, didn’t know how she could possibly explain herself to them. How would she explain the way they’d met? Would she have to lie? Of course she would.

Pennywise’s patent lack of human qualities was growing more apparent by the day. She’d known from the moment he’d come to her that he was not of this earth, but as the days continued and she’d spent more time with him she was growing more and more aware of that fact. She didn’t necessarily mind; she’d always wanted something… Different in a significant other, not that she ever imagined in a million years that she’d get what she wanted in such a bizarre fashion. The way the gifts he’d given her were inexplicably left in convenient places for her to find, the way he effortlessly infiltrated her dreams and her mind time after time after time, the way he was able to make himself puzzlingly appear on the TV and touch her without physical presence were all very convincing indicators of just such a revelation. It didn’t bother her; she found it fascinating, she found it enchanting. He was just so wonderfully interesting, and she loved to simply marvel at everything he could do.

But yes, in addition to all of this, there was more to him, and she was seeing it all with each passing day. He would make the strangest noises. There was of course the insectile chittering she could hear emanating off of his form from time to time, but sometimes when he was watching the Derry local news, a low, rolling, rumbling growl would rise in his throat, something raw and primal and animalistic that seemed to shake up through the floor like an earthquake of some kind. She interpreted it as dismay on behalf of the disappearances. He would sometimes change his size; though he normally stood at a towering seven-foot stature over her, he would sometimes appear even taller than usual. He’d come to cuddle with her one day in a hulking, massive form that had taken up most of the living room and dining area, and she’d been so taken with his colossal appearance that she had dropped her things by the door and immediately gone to join him. She had fit snugly within the curve of his arm. And most interestingly of all, he would shapeshift himself when she would make art; would act as a model for her ghoulish creative endeavors and mold his face into gruesome shapes for her pieces. She adored this quality most of all, found it… Attractive, in a sense. She’d grown up quite fascinated with the morbid and the grotesque, and knowing he could assume such forms only drew her in to him that much more. It was becoming more apparent with each passing day that he seemed perfect for her in so many ways. She was… She was in love with him.

There was, of course, a small part of her that was still slightly paranoid, though. Despite how perfect things were, despite the bubble, she had a slight niggling sense that things were just a little too perfect, like there was mold and maggots beneath all the saccharine cake and frosting of their relationship. She was afraid some kind of shoe would drop, a realization would come to light which jeopardized the idealistic nature of their rapport and she would be left with the rotten taste of it all. Watching him day after day, keenly observing little hints of monstrous behavior, some part of her was scared. Asking him questions about the dark presence within the town and coming back with repeatedly inconclusive answers, some part of her was slightly intimidated. She knew her suspicions to be an absurd notion after all he had done for her and all he had continued to promise to do, but some small part of her feared it all the same. Yes, despite the purity of their dynamic, all the love and trust that had been established so far between them, some part of Angel… Feared that he was the monster.

That was ridiculous though or, at least, that was what she would tell herself. Pennywise was sweet, he was considerate and compassionate, nothing at all like the thing that had seemingly brought such pain and suffering upon the town. He was protective and gallant, he was her guardian angel and he’d vowed not to let anything happen to her or the children so, honestly, just how could she justify laying such baseless accusations against him? So he was a little on the inhuman side. That meant nothing. Absolutely nothing. It didn’t mean he was a monster, and it certainly didn’t mean he had ill intentions. And though it was selfish and wrong of her to think such thoughts, a small, indifferent part of her conscience made the admission that, as long as she and the kids were safe, it really didn’t matter much whether he was the monster or not. She personally had nothing to worry about, she knew she would be protected from it, and that was all she needed to sleep soundly at night. It was terrible, and she dared not admit it out loud, but it was a thought she harbored all the same.

Pennywise knew of these thoughts, knew all about how they were plaguing her mind and consciousness day after day after day. How could he not when, after all, he’d been the reason for all the dissidence in her head? Exposing some of his own monstrous traits had not been a thoughtless mistake on his part; no, no, Pennywise had done just such a thing on purpose and with the explicit intention of making her familiar with the unsavory revelations she’d soon be contending with. He wanted her to see those sides of him, wanted her to not only see them but accept them, even if it was still hard for her. After all, when all was said and done, she would not only abide his wicked transgressions but openly aid in them as well, even if it was not a transition made overnight. He couldn’t wait for the day when she could join him at his side in his hunts but in the meantime he needed to take the necessary steps to slowly introduce her to the idea of her purpose. He knew that he had already come along quite a ways in this particular endeavor. He knew that she liked cuddling in the crook of his massive arm, found herself silently stirring with something deliciously wanton she didn’t quite understand at the sounds of his snarling growls at the TV. Knew that she loved seeing him take monstrous forms for her little art projects, that she was little more than thrilled to find that he could appeal to such macabre corners of her psyche by visualizing such morbid things. He could already taste her willingness to justify his role within the town in the name of preserving her own relationship, knew that to be indicative of a darker, more twisted side to her that lay dormant, waiting to be awakened, one he would try in earnest to rouse from its slumber. She was meant for him, she was, and this was the reason why, beyond anything else that had been made apparent to him so far. No one else in this shitty little existence could find such things so attractive rather than polarizing in a significant other, could accept such beastly behavior for the sake of love and love alone. Angel truly was something special.

It was the middle of May when she was beginning to reach her breaking point, and Pennywise could sense it, could taste it. It drove him positively wild, but one wouldn’t be able to tell that by his composure; no, by all appearances, Pennywise was positively cool and collected. He was able to keep a lid on things with the greatest of ease, play the part of the suave and charming suitor for, after all, he’d been preparing for this for eons. He’d been imagining these precious moments for so many years, and now that they were within his reach he intended to savor each and every one. He would only get to experience these things once, and the way it all melted on his palate was worth all the hard work, the excruciating months spent looking on her from afar and wishing he could simply hold her in his arms. That first night they’d spent together was such bliss for him, it took everything he had to take everything slow and not move too quickly. If he’d gone too far in their first real meeting he’d risk putting her off. He had showered her in physical affection but had held off from giving her anything concrete, anything of real substance. But regardless of how much he forced himself to hold back, he had basked in the flavor of her innocent desire, in the way she gave herself to his embrace completely and utterly, how she’d fallen asleep in his arms, her gentle breath syncing with his alien heartbeat. Pennywise was not one often capable of such unabashed emotion, but the way he’d felt her stirring contentedly in his hold was enough to make the eldritch beast swoon. How delighted he’d been, to have won her over so easily. Such easy prey.

And it was getting easier by the day. Pennywise found keeping her favor was exceedingly simple at this point. She gobbled up his attention like candy, would talk to him eagerly every day when he would come to visit, would obey his every little command, the way he subtly directed their conversations or beckoned her to sit with him on his lap or simply encouraged her to accept his compliments. It was all a very nuanced manipulation on his part; every interaction was a calculated step in his overarching plan. She was all too excited to oblige in all of it, too moonstruck to consider ulterior motives or devious angles he might be playing at. No, to her, he was her guardian angel, her knight in silken clownsuit; she adored him, she idolized him. He had given to her what she had built up in her mind as the be-all-end-all of human existence, reciprocal love and affection she had never known her entire life. And he had decided he would not delicately introduce his true presence in the town. He would make sure the epiphany disjointed her at her core, would force her to confront it at her most vulnerable, at a time when she was least likely to reject it. It would be a hard pill to swallow for sure, but with all that he had achieved in their relationship thus far, he was all but certain she would eventually come around to it.

Angel was so positively consumed by the honeymoon phase of their relationship and so reassured by his vow to keep a protective watch over her and the children that life was progressively becoming easier to cope with again. The bad wasn’t gone, and of course she wasn’t immune to hard days, but hard days were easier to bear when he was there at her side, cheering her on with a syrupy sweet voice and a winning smile. Pennywise knew that constant attention and approval was the key to winning her heart, and he was content to lavish her with the utmost validation and deference until she would do nothing but hang on his every word. It wasn’t as though he was doing it just to win her over, either. No, she was his queen, and she deserved only the best, from him and from anyone who had the privilege of making her acquaintance. She was the lone sunbeam in an otherwise dim and bleak horizon, the only thing upon this plane that Pennywise would spare of any mortal pain and suffering. He would not hurt her, he would always treat her with the greatest gentility and care, would only treat her roughly when she explicitly asked for it, when she desired it from him. And he would, always, always give her what she asked for, if she begged and pleaded for it sweetly enough to garner his honest consideration. He would spoil her, he would pamper her, he would give her the world. He loved her.

She was getting better as the days went by. It had started out rough; even in her lovestruck elation she was still in the midst of a bad depression spell, and it was evident in the way she behaved and conducted herself around him. When he had first started talking to her, he had an awfully difficult time trying to get her to accept compliments. She would always deflect them or reject them outright, and she often avoided eye contact with him. Her hair was often disheveled at best and greasy at worst, and a lot of the time when he would come to visit he would find her in the process of gorging herself on unhealthy foods, which she would very quickly try to hide from him upon his arrival. It would make her gain weight, and it was something she was clearly upset about. She would wear a lot of the same things when he came to her, and he found that she dressed very unremarkably in general as a result, a stark contrast to what he knew of her wardrobe patterns in high school when she was of a little more self-assurance. He would never remark on her weight with any negativity, he would simply reaffirm his attraction to her whenever she was feeling inadequate, would tell her just how much he liked her curves, that she was so delightfully soft to feel pressed against him. It was with all his attention and unflagging positivity in regards to her that Angel found herself with her head lifted a little higher every day, her confidence increasing until she found herself rediscovering joy in things she had long ago lost passion in. She had even started dressing a little bolder in response to his flattery, finding his words so addicting that she had started reintroducing color and vibrance back into her ensembles. Gone once more were the days of drab, baggy turtlenecks and long, draping skirts that hid the form; Angel was bolstered, so out came the blouses, the mesh, the fishnet tights and the flaring miniskirts once more. And Pennywise loved all of it.

It had bled over into her work routine as well. Sure, the daily grind at the library never changed, and sometimes it got a little boring, but the possibility of seeing or hearing from Pennywise always put a smile on her face. She would always get the same stupid, dopey little grin when he crept into her mind; she would feel warm, she would start to blush, she would get restless at thoughts of him. Thoughts of his voice, thoughts of those eyes boring down into hers. Thoughts of just how tall he was, how his hair in the shadows was a gorgeous auburn that burned fiery orange when it finally caught the light, how crisp and immaculate his makeup always was, that it never seemed to smear. Thoughts of the way he would talk to her, how kind and charming and funny he was, the sing-song lilt when he would purr her name. The way he would rock her in his arms when they were alone… The way he would feel pressed against her at night… All the chemicals, all the tension between them over the weeks and yet he still hadn’t kissed her. It was driving her positively insane. She knew it to be ridiculous on her part; if she really wanted it so bad, shouldn’t she just reach out and take it? But she couldn’t for the life of her be so bold. Though Pennywise had restored bits and pieces of her confidence, this was nonetheless an area in which she had little knowledge or experience, and of course there was still that part of her that was deathly afraid of rejection. She wanted it from him, wanted more than anything to feel his lips against hers, velvety soft and wet, wanted him to take that leap for the both of them and bring them into a new level in their relationship. She wanted more intimacy, she wanted to share herself, she wanted to know more about him.

She’s getting lost in thoughts of him as she works one Friday afternoon, letting delicious musings carry her on light feet as she walks through the rows of tidy bookshelves, cataloguing returns. The pile yields many of the same books from days and weeks before, popular reads that would get checked out on a regular basis that she’d grown accustomed to seeing in the bin every now and then. And the patrons are largely the same as ever too; the library was prone to attracting only a certain ilk of Derry’s population, either students who took their academia at least a little bit seriously and seniors who often had nothing better to do, sometimes frazzled parents who needed someplace to bring their child that would occupy their fickle minds. She’s humming a song that’s been stuck in her head all day ( The Ghost in You by the Psychedelic Furs), looking forward to the end of her shift with a kind of pleasant, stirring excitement. She wears her favorite silk sweater with a chic checkered circle skirt and colorful argyle socks, and around her neck is the pearl heart and the necklace he had given her for her birthday. It jingles delicately with every step she takes, when she bends down to place another book back in its designated row, and when she turns around to grab another book from the pile. The library is expectedly quiet, so she’s left to carry on in her fantasies undisturbed, the only sounds in the room being the gentle sound of turning pages and the mechanical whirr of the AC unit overhead. She’s nearing the end of the pile for the day, she almost looks forward to taking the front desk again so she can sit down and rest her feet for a while. The librarian is nowhere to be seen; she can only assume that she’s off attending to some important matters she need not concern herself with. She simply continues in her duties, her thoughts drifting through elegant pictures of her dashing suitor, and she feels the heat creeping across her cheeks again at the thought of him. She finds herself drifting off, her eyes glazing as she thinks of his towering stature, his beautiful smile, and she pushes the cart forward--

“Hey.”

She snaps back into attention, her eyes shifting back into focus as her fantasy is brought to a screeching halt. She almost thinks she hallucinated the voices behind her, but then she hears the giggling. She turns around. There’s a group of three boys standing before her in a loose circle. They looked to be roughly Bower’s age, or even a little older, and they all wear a leering sneer on their faces. She can sense the judgement in their collective stare as she backs up into the cart.

“I… C-Can I help you..?” She stutters. She wonders what they could have possibly been laughing about. Was there some sort of “kick me” sign taped to her back or something?

“I knew it was you.”

“I… Huh?”

“You’re that chick Henry always talked about.”

She feels sick. Time suddenly slows to a crawl as she stands before them, and she knows she looks stupid just staring back at them but there’s nothing else she can do. She’s frozen to the spot. She knows what’s coming.

“Didn’t I tell you she looked familiar?”

“Yeah, he was always going on about some bitchy lesbo TA, always getting him into trouble at school. Said she wore the tackiest trash imaginable.”

“That has to be you, right? I mean, god, look at that skirt with those socks. You’ve gotta be a fag if you’re gonna wear shit like that.”

Where was Pennywise? Where was anybody? She’s desperate for someone, anyone to come to her rescue, save her from this awful situation before it got too out of hand.

“He said you had a big mouth too. Why aren’t you talking back, huh? Scared of a bunch of boys, you flaming queer?”

All those hurtful words are pelting her like bullets and she’s speechless with disgust. No one comes to her aid, no one even seems to register what’s going on, even as their voices rise to regular speaking volume. They all continue in what they’re doing, simply negligent or at the very least patently oblivious to the current happenings. All she can do is keep taking steps backward. She’s abandoned the cart, she’s inching back towards the south wall of bookshelves, but she comes into contact with something solid behind her. A hand snakes up her skirt to grab her ass and she squeaks helplessly, biting back a yelp. When she whips around again she finds another one behind her, and there’s a chorus of derisive laughter from the gaggle of boys. This one is bigger, stocky and intimidating. His breath reeks as he leans down to whisper to her, seemingly so no one else could hear but she knew better. She knew better.

“You’re pretty hot for a dyke, you know that? I bet I could change you.”

“Bet we all could.” One of them chimes in from behind her. She shivers with revulsion. Her mind is screaming for anyone to intervene but there’s only silence from the rest of the room. Not even the librarian, who had the habit of manifesting at truly the worst of times, was anywhere to be seen. She wants Pennywise. She’s begging for him in her mind; she wonders where she is, she’s frantically trying to will him here, thinking that if she tries hard enough he might just show up and take care of them for her, protect her. Where’s Pennywise, where’s Pennywise? God, where is he? She feels the tears prickling in her eyes, and the boy laughs meanly, the rest of them joining in. When it dies down the boy leans in again with an insidious whisper.

“...When do you get off, sweetheart? I’d like to get off with you.”

And that’s it. That’s all she can take. She kicks into fight or flight mode and shoves past him, and she runs, runs all the way into the bathroom in the employee lounge, ignoring the laughter behind her as she does so. She runs in, slams the door shut and locks it, her heart pounding restlessly in her chest. She can’t come out, won’t come out. The tears well in her eyes now and she sinks down onto the tile floor. One sob comes gurgling out of her throat, and then another, and then before she knows it she’s bawling into her hands, stifling her fear and misery as much as she possibly could in the closed off confines of the bathroom. That cold fear is still spiking through her veins and she cannot assuage it even as she rubs her arms pensively and takes deep, shuddering breaths in through her runny nose and out through her mouth. And through it all she's half-expecting Pennywise to come to her in the way that he always did, give her that telltale sign that signified his arrival, but all she felt was cold, so cold. She knew she should have stood up to them but she was just so scared. It didn't matter how much he had built up her confidence or how bold she appeared on the outside; she was still the same timid, scared girl on the inside, too afraid to do anything that might put her in any real danger. She almost wished she could still be that brazen girl of her high school years but that girl was mostly gone; she'd had it simply beaten out of her over the years with harsh, biting words and cruel cold shoulders. She could put on a brave front for the kids, but when she was alone she was just some shrinking violet, a wallflower that no one would pay attention to because she was just so plain and unremarkable.

She’s so afraid that they might have followed her back there, she just spends eternal minutes cowering in the bathroom, imagining dark hypotheticals that have her shaking like a leaf in turbulent winds. They had… They had threatened to… She’s sucking in heaving breaths through her lungs as she hyperventilates, trying to push the thoughts out of her mind and wishing, hoping to god that Pennywise would come to her. Just where was he? He wasn’t in her head, he wasn’t even whispering to her, he was completely and utterly AWOL. She had gotten so accustomed to his regular presence that she hadn’t stopped to consider that he might be completely absent in such a pressing situation. He was her guardian angel, just what use was he if he couldn’t even be here to protect her? No, no, that wasn’t fair. She chastises herself for thinking such awful things. He was more than that to her, he offered her so much more than a vow of protection that she couldn’t possibly take any of it for granted. Perhaps he was busy, perhaps he was caught up in something else. He did seem to have something of an agenda, even if she hadn’t any idea what that agenda was. She wished she knew more about him, wished she understood him more. She wished she had any clue who he was.

She lets her sobs taper into sniffles and then she gets up from the floor to drag herself over to the sink. She turns on the faucet and splashes cold water on her face, rubbing her reddened eyes and cheeks until they were no longer wet with tears. She lays her head in her hands and sucks in a deep breath through her nose, and then she blindly reaches for some napkins to towel off her face. Once her face is dry she blows her nose, and then she stares at herself in the mirror, small and feeble and powerless behind the mirror glass. She hates the way she looks, she hates it, hates the slope of her jaw and the curve of her nose and the perpetual bags under her eyes. She finds herself wondering just how Pennywise even found her attractive at all in the first place when she was just so… Ugly. She tries to push those thoughts away but they make themselves prominent nonetheless in her vulnerable state of mind, her mind rationalizing that maybe Pennywise finally came to his senses and left her behind just like everyone else eventually did, and that’s why he wasn’t here. It wouldn’t surprise her. It would hurt, but it wouldn’t surprise her.

She knows she can’t stay in the bathroom forever, as much as she might like to, so she takes a heaving deep breath and carefully opens the door. It creaks ever so slightly as she does, and she steps back into the employee lounge. The boys surely had to be gone by now, she assumed they all must have left after they’d had their fun, had no other reason to stick around in such a dull place. She hopes more than anything that they are, she hadn’t the strength to face them, not after how mortally embarrassing the first encounter was. She hates herself for not standing up to them; had it been two or even three years earlier she might have thrown it all back in their faces, carelessly and capriciously insulted them back all in an attempt to maintain bravado, but she wasn’t that person anymore, as much as she wished she was. All that confidence was simply gone now; it didn’t exist as long as there were still people in the town to ostracize and ignore her, as long as she was crushed under the existential weight of adult life, as long as she felt this way. She wanted desperately to be that person again, for herself and for Pennywise. He deserved someone infinitely better than her, not that she could ever admit that out loud to him. She found herself so gobsmacked on a daily basis that he wanted to be with her, that he liked her at all, that he enjoyed her company and seemed to genuinely want to see her. Not that that seemed to matter now, she thinks bitterly as she walks down the steps back into the main room.

She forces herself to go back to work, forces herself to pretend that she felt normal as she comes back to her unfinished returns. She looks around warily, scanning over the space, over every shelf and every perceivable nook and cranny of the library before she lets her gaze lower back down to the cart. They seemed to be gone now, she couldn’t see them anywhere. In fact, the library itself seemed to be relatively barren at this point save for a few lingering students. She breathes a sigh of relief, finding herself comforted at long last by the silence and the fact that her shift was almost over. She’s resolved to get through the rest of it in one piece; she almost dreads taking the front desk again out of fear of interacting with anyone else for the rest of the day but being able to sit down and properly collect her thoughts is a much-needed reassurance. Then she’ll be able to clean up and go home, and leave this terrible day behind her. Maybe she’ll even see Pennywise. She hoped, anyway. She gives a cursory glance to the rest of the books in the pile. They’re mostly nonfiction titles; a few textbooks and a biography or two, but there’s a couple mystery novels and even a western/fantasy epic about a tower in the mix. She takes her sweet time putting back every selection, thinking that for all her trouble she was more than entitled to taking things slow for the rest of the afternoon. She moves with the cart at a leisurely pace, taking deep breaths to ease the lingering anxiety in her head. The pile

is slowly dwindling into nothing, and with the lessening load the clock is ticking further and further past the hour.

She finally reaches the end of the pile, and there’s only one book left, a rambling historical document that could only belong in one place; the archives. Though it was by far her least favorite place in the library to go, she could at least admit that she wouldn’t be bothered by anyone down there; it wasn’t exactly accessible to everyone else. If you wanted anything from the archives you had to ask for it from the librarian specifically. People often didn’t do this out of genuine interest in the history of the town, it was mostly just students doing school projects that required them to do a little halfhearted digging for the sake of adequate grades. She didn’t envy them in the least. She replaces the cart in its usual storage space and musters a big yawn, sparing a glance at the clock overhead. Quarter to four. In no time at all she’ll be taking a broom to the floors, dusting and wiping down all the bookshelves before collecting her things, clocking out and making her journey home. She always liked cleanup time; there was something about mundane tasks like that that allowed her to free her mind of any and all complicated thoughts. She’s all but forgotten the boys by now as she walks, document in arm, through the back rooms of the library and around to the winding staircase that leads down into the archives. She can hear the librarian click-clacking away at her typewriter in her office and she pays it no mind, simply continuing on her way and counting the tiles in her mind. As she meanders along she thinks of Pennywise, wonders if she’ll be seeing him at all when she came home. Who knows, maybe he wasn’t there because he was thinking of surprising her. He did like to do that sometimes. Maybe she was being irrational. Pennywise hadn’t abandoned her, he wouldn’t do such a thing. He… He loved her, didn’t he? She at least liked to entertain the thought. She starts to get warm at the thought of him, and as she makes her way down one flight of steps that warmth only increases. Not in any way that was sweltering or unpleasant, just in a way that swept over the entire body like a comforting blanket. It was the feeling she’d gotten so accustomed to, when he would hold her in her arms or whisper sweet things to her; when she could simply feel his presence, be it through a waiting gift or his own ethereal manifestation. She’s more than attuned to all of this by now, she’s even starting to think that maybe this warmth is a sign that he could be down there waiting for her. They would, after all, be all alone in there, and he loved it when they were all alone. Maybe he would… Maybe he… She blushes at the thought, at the thought of something that she’s been screaming for silently in her mind for weeks every time they came together, at every unbearable moment of tension between them. She wanted it so bad she could hardly stand it.

As she nears the archives she starts to feel that dopey smile creep across her face at the vivid images in her mind, at the tingling warmth that washed over her body with every step, but it sours ever so slightly when she hears a noise. She hears something down there, and she stops. A rat, maybe, or a raccoon? Some kind of pest, most definitely. Angel was the kind of girl who was wary of wild animals like that, not knowing what kind of diseases or contagious infections they might carry or spread, but she couldn’t just… Shirk her responsibilities because of a little childish fear. Her heart pounding in her chest ever so slightly, she decides to brave the darkened corridor anyway and she continues her way down the steps. The noise only gets louder but curiously enough she still feels that warmth. She rounds the corner, making her way towards the last flight. She tries not to think of whatever might be lurking in the shadows, she simply lets her eyes scan lazily over the document in her hands in an attempt to distract herself. It sounds like wet, it sounds like chewing. It sounds like… No, she wouldn’t even entertain the thought. She just keeps walking. She hears her own echoing footsteps as she ambles down the final stairs to the archives, and the picture of the darkened room gets a little clearer as she nears it. The warmth is still there, seeping into her bones and she can almost feel him, though she has no idea where he could possibly be. She makes her way down the last few steps and lets her eyes flicker upward once more to scan over the room. Cold lightning strikes her veins when she sees it.

[therewithasmile]

periculum

AU: in which Sara Ryder was aboard the Nexus instead of the Hyperion. She finds herself in the middle of the Uprising and the target of the rebellion, until a certain Latino pilot saves her -- bringing adrenaline and danger she never realized she craved. 

an: will probably expand on this but I don’t know for how long. I just wanted more Reyes Vidal. 

She remembers seeing him at the bar, with slicked black hair and hazel eyes. His fingers play with the rim of his glass, swirling a dark liquor in a languid motion. He notices her first, and his lips curve up into a half-crumpled smile. Charming, she thinks, and there’s something youthful in his visage. She can’t help it; she’s mesmerized as he lifts the glass to his lips, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows, and he lowers his drink with half a sigh and another glance. But she’s not here to be picked up by some handsome man, Latino when it still mattered. Sara Ryder pulls her fingers through her caramel-brown tresses and looks away deliberately, trying her best to ignore that stare that follows her as she picks her way through the bar. And yet halfway through the night, in between the delicious swirl of alcohol and haze of thoughts half-formed as a result, she can’t help but to glance back at the stranger – and the one instance of contact sends electricity cracking down her spine.

.

When the first rounds of gunfire break out, Sara Ryder had – quite honestly -- seen it all coming.  

She ducks when a ping rings out, and she swears she can hear the woosh of a bullet fly too close to her face. Ryder leaps over a crate and slides down, gritting her teeth as she feels the burn of her civvies against the glass flooring. But her desperate lunge hadn’t gotten her far enough, and with a slowly dawning realization, as if in slow motion, Sara realizes she’s still in the cross-fire, too liable to get shot, and if she knew any better – she’d be the first one dead.

That is, until hand firmly grasps her collar, and before she knows what’s happening, she’s yanked out of the way. Just in time, too, as another gunshot rings out, echoing loudly in the mostly abandoned atrium, and the sound of angry voices swell in her absence. Sara herself barely catches her breath before she whips her head around, the cool rush of biotics already focused to her clenched fists, ready to attack –

Until she locks gazes with hazel eyes.

There’s a brief bewilderment in his face, too, eyebags carved deep into his skin as if he hadn’t slept for days. And yet, they crinkle as he smiles – that same crooked smile that she remembers so fleetingly – and his eyebrow arches before he speaks.

“Attacking the person who saved your life?”

Sara exhaled through her nose, lowering her fist. “Sorry. And thank you,” she added as an afterthought.

“No harm done,” says her mysterious saviour, and as she suspected, his voice had a light Spanish accent that she vaguely recalled hearing back in the Milky Way. And then the warmth in his eyes suddenly cools, and he presses his back against the crate that he’d all but shoved them behind, peering around the corner with a grimace. “Didn’t think this was all going to start today,” he says, and it’s almost conversational. “I had a feeling, but not for another week at least.”

Sara thinks she knows what he’s going on about, and she watches as he draws his gun, the magazine hissing as he ejects the clip and smacks a new one in. “Sorry about the roughhousing, by the way. Now, shall we?”

So maybe she doesn’t really know what he’s on about. “Excuse me?”

“We’re getting out of here,” he said unflinchingly, not even turning to acknowledge her as he peers once more around the crate. “Unless you want to stay here and get caught in the crossfire.”

As if on cue, another gunshot rings out, pinging in the hyper-modern atrium of the Nexus. Sara narrows her eyes, despite all of it. Her hands jump to her holster, until she bites back a curse. Of course she didn’t bring her gun – she hadn’t for a couple months while she’d been awakened on the Nexus. Because she trusted the Initiative – and yet, judging by the amount of gunfire she’d heard in the last ten minutes, that was not a sentiment shared by many.

“I’m not going anywhere with someone I don’t know, even if he did save my life,” she says firmly. The dark-haired stranger finally looks back at her, gun cocked and another half-smirk on his face.

“Of course, where are my manners? Reyes Vidal – pilot. Oh and you don’t have to introduce yourself,” he adds. “You’re quite famous on the Nexus aren’t you, Ryder?”

Sara purses her lips. Of course. Vidal’s smile only grows at her scowl. “I’ll keep you safe,” he says, almost diplomatically. “You’re the reason the Rebels have finally opened fire – and it would be terrible if something bad happened to you.”

‘Like my father?’, Sara can’t help but to think bitterly, lip curling at the thought. Her father, who hadn’t shown up yet at the Nexus, who’s absence, along with the Hyperion, was the cause of panic in the first place. She knew what she represented, what her lineage meant, and yet to think that the rebellion was caused because they wanted a shot at her? Sara could see from Vidal’s face that he was watching her process the information. After giving her a few more moments to digest the information before he stood up from his squat. “Time to move, Ryder.”

And with that, he sidled over to the other side of the crate, raising his gun and aimed forward. While her feet may have followed him, her mind was still reeling, trying to process the information. So the rebellion started… because of her? It doesn’t make sense, she thought, as she took the stairs in twos as they ran down to the shuttle system.

“Keep watch, will you?” Vidal’s voice interrupts her from her thoughts, and Sara blinks.

“I’m unarmed,” she says, and she allows her eyes to drift from the jut of his chin and linger on the gun still in his grasp. As if to make his stance more clear, Vidal’s grip only tightens around the grip.

“Now Ryder, I would think that a biotic is simply incapable of being unarmed,” Vidal replies smoothly, but he doesn’t say much as he turns around, omnitool out, fingering codes quicker than Sara could really register. So she sighs and closes her eyes, that ice-cool sensation spreading from her implant and flowing into her limbs. The power concentrates into her hand, and as she clenches it into a fist, she feels the energy spike, as if growing exponentially in her fingertips. But luckily, no one seems to be trying to reach the shuttles – at least right now – and the metallic hiss of the shuttle doors behind her informs her of the successful override.

“You have the codes?” Sara mutters as she unclenches her fist, feeling the power in her fist disperse from its build up. Vidal only turns and smiles, that same oddly crooked smile that she begins to suspect is more than merely mischievous.

They duck into the shuttle after his gesture, and it takes another fancy fiddling with his omnitool before the shuttle doors close. The air around their shuttle vibrates as Sara feels the mass effect technology power around them, and before she knows it, the familiar muted roar of sound faint in her ears. Vidal sighs and leans against a windowed pane, pushing his fingers into his temples.

“They’re trying to kill me,” Sara says slowly, and this time – the implication does sink in. Maybe the gunshot wasn’t random at all; maybe the bullet that was close to skimming the top of her skull was meant to sink between her eyes. Maybe she had always known, and was in denial because – if she were alive, maybe it meant her Dad was. And Scott. And the Hyperion.

Yet she knew the underlying murmurs of doubt, growing louder and louder as days blurred to weeks then months, as hope fizzled to almost a stop upon her awakening. And it was all because –

“—You carry the Pathfinder name,” Vidal said, and for a moment, his voice actually sounds a bit tired. “And yet this is unsurprising – we were always doomed to revert to a carnal understanding of the world. As if you’re a royal princess.”

“And if the rebels kill me, they overthrow the Initiative.” Sara can’t keep the bitterness from her voice, and suddenly she wishes for nothing but a familiar gun, nestled in a familiar holster, to be around her hip. She’s so naïve, she thinks – when she had first awakened, there was lively activity. Happiness, hope, because as the Great Alec Ryder’s daughter, maybe she could fill his shoes when he’d been gone for so long. She’d trusted the Initiative, because it was her people and maybe, just maybe, her father’s baby – and the last thing she’d ever expected were those people she trusted, that were handpicked by her Father and his collaborators, would point a gun to her face.

“Thank you.” Her voice echoes oddly in the shuttle, displaced by the sound of their shuttle whooshing through the network. Vidal only glances at her before flipping his gun to the side.

“Don’t thank me yet,” he says, almost gravely.

The shuttle doors slide open with a cheerful ding, and the still-flickering blue-purple silhouette of Avina greets them with a wave. Her robotic voice begins to go off, welcoming them to the Docking Bay, but she ignores the wind-chime, overly-enthusiastic voice of the VI and Sara instead raises her fists, pivoting to cover as Vidal begins to move.

“Military training, I like it,” he whistles. And it might’ve been coy had it not been the fact that he’s pointing his gun forward too. Sara merely scoffs, her eyes peeled for the briefest signs of movement. Vidal’s steps suddenly stop, and Sara would’ve crashed into him had his slim fingers not caught the tip of her elbow. She’s only confused for a few moments, as a gravelly voice that was unmistakeably human growls out only two words.  

“Surrender Ryder.”

Sara readies her fist, but Vidal’s fingers press more urgently, as if telling her to stop. She feathers an exhale and chances a glance as far as her miniscule head movements and peripheral vision allows – and she sees a man pointing a gun at Vidal and, with she realizes with a jolt, two other men flanking his side doing the same. Sara doesn’t understand what’s fueling Vidal, and she half expects that hand on her elbow to suddenly twist and thrust her in between. She can’t trust anyone here – not without her gun, not without her father and brother by her side.

But Vidal doesn’t suddenly throw her over. Instead, he says a very firm “No”.

And he fires just one round, the sound like a cracking whip and deafening to Sara’s ears. Yet she stills her mind and ignores the ringing that suddenly surrounds her, muscling her instincts in order as she releases the buildup of biotic energy at the other two men. This time, there is a sickening crunch as the two men are thrown backwards – and, to Sara’s shock, two more shots ring out as her targets crumple to the ground, dead.

“I do like your military training,” Vidal says, but Sara ignores him and smacks his arm instead.

“You didn’t have to kill them!”

“No?” Vidal doesn’t seem taken aback, only icily calm as he regards her, hazel eyes no longer warm or amused. “They were going to kill you. And I believe I said I wouldn’t let that happen.”

There’s some sort of expression that crosses his gaze, and for a moment, Sara’s sent back to the time they’d seen each other in the bar. With a jolt, she realizes she can finally place what that feeling was – the odd electricity that shot down her spine, the haze in his eyes that made her heart stutter erratically. It’s danger.

Part of her isn’t sure whether she should be swooning or on her guard, but Vidal seems to not pay much mind as he takes several leaping bounds forward and glance down at the bodies that he’d shot at point blank. He merely curls his lips instead before turning expectantly to her. Doubt begins to seep into her mind – she knows she’s doing something reckless, and certainly her brother would have a lot to say if he could see her now.

But he’s not here. And nor was dad. And she was done being the naïve little girl who was defenseless and too trusting on the Nexus.

Sara merely nods, and another expression flashes into his hazel eyes. There’s another small upturn of his lips as he raises his gun once more, leading her towards the civilian headquarters.

And in what could have been several hours or merely heartbeats, they arrive at the crossroad. But before Sara can question it, Vidal veers to the left, away from the civilian headquarters and towards –

“—The cargo bay?”

“Hmm?” Vidal turns, eyebrows knitting together in an expression that did not fool her. Ryder plants her foot down, though, and refuses to move even as his lips part.

“You’re leaving?” Sara manages.

“Well of course I am,” Vidal responds, as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world. “The Nexus is going to be a shithole – well, more than it already is – and it’s not like staying here will benefit me at all.”

Ah.

She’s stupid, Sara realizes, and though she had just moments ago told herself she was too trusting – she’d done it all over again. Sara always knew she wasn’t ready to be the Pathfinder; she knew that there was too much trust in her and she was simply too trusting. She didn’t even realize she trusted him until now, and if anything it was just another wound, another betrayal during this entire mutiny.

“You’re a rebel.”

“Not quite,” Vidal says. “I’d prefer opportunist.”

“Well, thank you for taking me this far,” Sara says firmly, and before he can take a step towards her, she raised her already-blue fists in anticipation. “I wish you luck getting off-world.”

And there it is again, that half-smile that, now, was much more dubious than she’d originally pegged it to be. “Did I forget to mention?” She notices now that he’s no longer holding his gun in both hands, but merely ­one; in the other she can faintly make out the glean of metal. An EMP, she realizes, and she knows she’s too late.

“I’m kidnapping you, Ryder.”

.

By the time Sara wakes up, she realizes with a jolt that she’s on a ship. The safety straps dig uncomfortably into her skin as she tries to wiggle and test her range of movement, both of which proving to be on the fruitless side. With a jolt, she realizes that what’s beyond her range of vision isn’t blackness, but the yawning abyss that was the galaxy.

“Vidal?” She snarls, and a bit of surprise overtakes her as the man himself twists his head around the edge of the pilot seat.

“Ryder,” he merely says, and Sara hates that nothing in his voice is apologetic.

“Let me free.”

“By all means,” Vidal says pleasantly. “You’ll find the release clasp to your right.” Sara blinks and looks down – and she seethes when she sees what he means: the red, innocent release button, tempting like a big button she knows she shouldn’t push. “Sorry for the tightness; didn’t want you to hit your head while you were passed out.”

After the internal debate, Sara absolves that nothing else could really be worse right now. So when she presses the red release clasp, she’s a bit surprised to hear the belts hiss quietly as they retract from her figure. She rubs along the indents of her arms and legs where the bindings had particularly dug in, and she stands up, bracing one hand on his chair, the other cloaked in blue biotic energy.

“Turn it around,” Sara hisses, each syllable punctuated by another pulse of blue.

Yet Vidal doesn’t even blink, his eyes never leaving forward. “You know how to pilot a ship? Because waving biotics can be misconstrued as a threat.”

The complete uncaring in his voice only irks Sara further, as she now clenches the fist in warning. “Turn. It. Around.”

“So you can continue to be treated like royalty, so the Initiative can continue worshipping you like you’re their hope, until yet another section breaks off and becomes another rebellion?” Vidal responds coolly. And without warning, he turns his chair; Sara lifts her hand before she’s yanked along with it. Instead, she’s treated to an icy-hazel glance. “I’m doing you a favour, Ryder,” he says in a tone that exudes finality, but Sara isn’t having any of it.

“Is that why you saved my life?”

“I am an opportunist. I saw an opportunity, and I took it,” Vidal says dismissively.

“I’m supposed to thank you, then.”

Her captor sighs, running a hand through his hair, before reconvening at his lap. “You have no obligation to follow me once we land in Kadara. Although I advise you do,” he says, and Sara somehow knows he’s being dead serious. “The locals don’t take to the words Initiative or Pathfinder very well.”

The local Angara haven’t been the most receptive to human contact, Sara knew; worse were the Kett. She’d learned that the first settlements on Eos ended in extermination thanks to that species, and it only served to irk her more knowing that she – her family – could’ve prevented this. If they weren’t lost in space aboard the Hyperion.

“The bottom line is,” Vidal is saying, “the Initiative and the Nexus is over. For all of us. But especially you – because they’ll keep you around and you’re always going to be waiting for the Hyperion. You’re here now, in Andromeda, and it’s time you started living.”

The words sit oddly in Sara, in a way she doesn’t quite understand. And there’s danger in his eyes, those hazels eyes and slick black hair and oddly crooked smile. There’s also an odd promise, too – one that Sara herself doesn’t understand and yet, despite her really trying, she can’t find herself to actually be mad at him. Maybe it was because she knew he was right, or maybe it was that odd spark she could feel that made her limbs burn and her veins sing. It’s all so different and compelling and captivating and Sara thinks that maybe, maybe, this danger was something she’s always been craving, even back then at the bar when their eyes first met.

She swallows.

“Just get us to Kadara.”

And judging by the way his smirk never falters as Reyes turns back around, Sara knows that he’ll do just that.

[burndownthehousetonight]

((WHO’S READY TO POP OUT A BABY WITH @last-of-my-bloodline))

Things seemed normal at the meeting, running over the usual safety n’ security of thing, a few minor arguments over what was best n’ what was terrible for the details of the current moment, even the occasional talk of what things will be like once things settle down for once. Light simply listened to the details n’ the arguments, sometimes amused by their sometimes odd arguments, yet his worry came when he felt oddly discomforted out of nowhere. 'Was it something I ate?’ He thought though tried to ignore it for a while.

"... ...Restrictions on entering the central city have decreased too much. Have you noticed the influx of weapons salespeople at the bazaar?" An elderly tapir man said in the midst of yet another debate.

"The bazaar has gotten larger on the whole, Lucid." That particularly dour Wolf Light didn't care so much for seemed to be on the minority team of this argument. "You could say the same for any vendors present."

"Yes, Fawlist, anecdotal proof is meaningless," Altitude added. "but import restrictions have gotten lighter exponentially as of late, that's the important part."

"A band of tentails with access to superweapons doesn't NEED to sneak in their weapons." The wolf shot back.

The argument was cut short by a strange, out of place popping sound. The tapir seemed to be the one to place the source. "Light, did you spill something?" He said, noticing the floor near his feet.

His ears suddenly lay flat to his skull, his discomfort more obvious. “No…I think Cassio ain’t waiting anymore,” Light replied, flinching a bit. “This was not what I had in mind at the moment.”

Security briefings were cut short immediately.

The castle servants dropped their daily tasks rushed to grab a wheelchair for the young king. They were only supposed to dig it up closer to the due date, they weren't expecting him to go into labor weeks early! This search was futile, as the castle guards who were helping Light's walking quickly came to the conclusion it would be faster if they carried him outside. There was already a small crowd of castle staff and family following Light to a bench out in the front courtyard.

"The ambulance is on it's way," Altitude assured him, annoyed at the lack of a certain castle resident. "Focus on your breathing. Where's Manic gone to?"

"Manic left with Scourge early in the morning," the castle guard informed them. I.E., they were out doing their usual thievery.

"Oh, lovely." Fawlist spat out in anger. "Light, how bad are your contractions?"

Hissing slightly he grumbled something under his breath he glanced over to Fawlist. “There is still time between… I really didn’t expect this, hopefully there is little delay,” he replied again. His mood was a bit goofed up with this situation.

He then looked to one of the guards. “Can you find them?” He asked, not sure where the two had wandered off to in their thieving hour. ‘This one is definitely a handful already, they can't even wait for daddy to get home,’ he thought with slight amusement. Where was the father, exactly? It was one of his normal 'dates' with Scourge. Find an awful person. Find their house. Rob 'em blind. Manic left his phone on, no one else was even in the house. That didn't stop him from getting angry, of course. "What do you mean, his water broke?" Manic whispered into the phone angrily. "Then fix his water yourself, this is kind of a bad time, dude." Through the phone, his tapir adviser could hear Scourge motioning and saying something to Manic. Disbelief turned into genuine, strong surprise, and Manic fumbled the phone to his face with the sound of something falling in the background. "Uh... What hospital's he at?" Manic asked, not sure what to think. Were they actually being born, right now? Right then and there? "Come on, just grab what you can and go!" Manic commanded, not even bothering to grab anything else. Lucid hung up his phone as soon as the ambulance began to approach. Light kept thinking about what a handful this pup was already, n’ it's just begun for its mischievous life. “The triplets were less trouble then you are…” He whined slightly as he tried to keep going. “Heh…how far are they?” He asked them, unsure. The tapir reiterated the question and handed the phone over to Light, most of the castle help staying behind as the ambulance pulled away. Inside, there was only Light, Shadow, and a handful of paramedics. "Light? That you, babe?" Manic said, clearly flustered. He could hear the van being turned on in the background. "Babe, I'm only like, two towns over. That's what, twenty minutes? I'll be there soon, hang on tight." The other door slammed shut. "He alright?" Scourge said loudly in the background. "Yeah, I think he's fine!" Manic almost yelled, not knowing what to think. He was actually going to have a kid in a matter of hours. "You okay? He's not making too much trouble, right?" He gave a slight chuckle. “At least we know he’s a lot like you, mischievous when he wants to be,” he said in a non-offensive meaning. “We are fine at the moment, Cassio just has terrible timing I swear. Guess they got sick of listening to the meeting earlier that they just had to interrupt it.” Light chuckled again at the thought, though he hurt a little. "I mean, I don't really blame him." Manic was feeding the joke, sure, but he wasn't laughing. He was more joking on instinct than out of actual humor. Crap... How was he supposed to get down to the hospital?! He wanted to be there for Light, what could he do? Even if it was just twenty minutes, that was a hell of a wait. "Tell you what, I know a shortcut. I'll be at the hospital in ten minutes." Manic said, motioning for Scourge. "I'll be there as soon as I can get there, alright, babe?" Manic's 'shortcut' wasn't a shortcut at all. Him and Scourge switched seats. He normally wouldn't want to deal with Scourge's reckless kind of driving, but he was willing to make an exception. The car revved and Scourge was rocketing towards the freeway, pushing the limits of the van and probably going tens of miles over the speed limit. “Alright, but do try to be careful,” Light replied over the phone. He knew even ten minutes was a lot of time to pass, he only hoped they would be fine n arrive soon enough.

Shadow huffed, partly nervous. ‘Boy this was definitely a wake up call for us,’ he thought nervousl,y but he was sure even with the puppy being with little early he was fine. It didn't take long for the ambulence to arrive at the hospital. It seemed the rumor mill ran fast, and streets almost seemed like they were empty in anticipation of the ambulence rushing to the hospital last second. It seemed the plans to have a home birth weren't to be, nothing was ready save for minor details. And sure enough, the king was given priority in the hospital and rushed to the birthing wing. The hospital wings looked clean and gorgeous after reconstruction efforts, just as one would expect from a nice hospital. What wasn't expected was the birthing room. It almost felt like... a cabin home. It was clearly decorated to look and feel warm and inviting, with the rustic furniture and medical tools seamlessly disguised as simple fixtures. The only giveaway that this was actually a hospital room was the bed which, while looking quite nice, still had the same plastic frame and tilted shape of a birthing bed. Doctors rushed to the king's aid, asking rapidfire questions and taking tests to make sure this truly was birth. There was no doubt, of course. The head delivery nurse was brought in as Light's assistance for the process, guiding Light through every step of the way carefully and gently. By the time Manic and Scourge had run in, Light was already positioned on the birthing bed, with the nurse checking the heart rate of the child. Manic dropped a backpack to one of the chair, landing with a heavy thumb. "Oh my god, Light!" Manic said, running up to the side of the bed and grabbing his hand. "Holy- Oh my god, what happened? You're alright, right?" “Relax Manic, this isn’t the first time I’ve had pups, remember. I’m fine,” he said, nervous only slightly. “It was an unexpected curve-ball cause he didn’t want to wait two more weeks,“ Light said softly, trying to keep calm n’ deal with the phase like he had before. N’ thankfully this time he ain’t expecting a set of three. Manic sat down on a cushioned chair, and pulled it up to next to Light. He held his hand as the middle aged reindeer wrote down some information on his patient. "Oh my god... I'm fucking terrified, Light." Manic said, with a weak but genuine smile. "So fucking- This is a real thing, you've got a real baby coming." He laughed lightly, pushing back his quills nervously. "Ooooh man..." Scourge sat down near him and gave him a pat on the back for comfort. "Relax, he's takin' it well." Scourge said, mildly scared himself but at least hiding it. "So how long's this take? He comin' out in an hour or summat?" "Birthing times vary from patient to patient," the nurse informed them. "But normally for a second-time parent, it should take eight or nine hours. The doctor should be in shortly, uh... your majesty." He said, clearly not sure if the term was appropriate. "Are you sure you can handle it, babe?" Manic said, wrenching his hand around Light's. "Like, I know it's supposed to be hella painful." “I know you're worried, but this is considered nothing compared to when I had to birth the triplets…” He winced slightly with a small groan. “But even still, it still kinda hurts just as much I swear…” He said with a heavy sigh, letting his head lay back. Manic scooted closer and gave Light a kiss. "Don't worry, we'll get you on every birth drug thing if you want." He said, trying his best to give Light comfort. He was used to cuddling, and he certainly wasn't going to do any of that here. "Or we could just go all civil war and you can bite a stick, I'm sure it'd be fiiine." He said with his normal stupid face. Things started relatively tame. Sure, the contractions weren't any fun, but they were far apart enough that Light seemed able to relax more. As well, they were able to listen to some music, even watch just a bit of TV, and all around calm down after the initial drama. But as the second hour turned over, things had begun to get worse. The pushes were hitting faster and harder. They had to focus mostly on Light's body to try and keep him comfortable. And unfortunately, Scourge was starting to leave the room more and for longer. Manic never left Light's side, knowing that this was his fault. It was his fault for pushing Light too far months and months before, and he had to make sure Light suffered as little as possible. "Are you sure you don't want more of that stuff?" Manic said. "What are they called... epidurals?" “I’m not sure how much I can take that can still be safe,” he said, eyes closed for a moment. “I know you're worried n’ I was never a fan of this part, but I’ll be fine…so will Cassio.” Light managed to say past labored breathing. “Heh, you're just like my brother was, worrying if I’d be fine through out this.” He gently placed a hand over Manics trying to help calm him down. Manic wasn't sure if he was helping Light or if Light was helping him anymore. One thing he was sure of was that, as the labor did begin to get more intense for Light, Scourge was staying out of the room more, and Manic was getting angry. "Shadow," Manic said, "Can you go get Scourge back in here? I don't- I don't wanna leave his side right now." If it weren't for that, Manic would have marched out there and chewed out Scourge in a second. Nodding he left to go look for green n’ find out why he has been leaving so often n’ for longer periods of time. With a sigh he eventually found the green hedgehog. “Is something bothering you Scourge?” He asked him, being mindful at the moment to let him have some space. When he'd find Scourge, he would be sitting near some vending machines in the front hall, wearing a sweatband and with his jacket removed. He had clearly returned from a jog of some kind, and was having a bottle of water. There was a genuine sadness to Scourge's glare that Shadow hadn't seen from him before. "'ts nothing." Scourge lied, quite baltantly. He could tell Shadow wasn't budging. He wanted to growl and fisht Shadow, but he couldn't. It would only hurt Manic and Light. So he motioned for Shadow to sit down next to him. "Manic fuckin' loves kids," Scourge grumbled, loudly opening the wrapper to a granola bar. "We always joked an' talked about having a kid together. Even found a doctor who thought he could help... fucking insane as he was." He chewed for a moment, speaking through mouthfuls. "He's finally havin' a kid... with someone else. Cassio ain't my kid. Manic's having some kid with some guy he's known for a year tops, an' not me." Sitting with him, Shadow listened quietly for a moment trying to figure what was wrong, n’ once he knew he simply shook his head. “Has it ever occurred to you yet that Light really wanted you n’ Manic to be happy again? Yes he’s having a pup with Manic, but that isn’t stopping him from allowing Manic to still be with you.”

Shadow looked up to the roof. “He knows you love Manic, n’ he’s learned that Manic loves you as much as him, yet he wants to keep from being a rift between that. Why do you think he asked if you could help him with caring for Cassio even if the idea bugs me a little? I know his intentions well enough without adoption, or some mad experiment. What are the odd of you getting that shot of raising a child with him?“

He knew that might have been a little rough, but it was true their records may prevent them from adopting for safety reasons. “Manic is worried n’ a little angry with you at the moment for leaving the room.” Shadow simply put out with a nervous chuckle as he didn’t wish to push his luck with them really. Scourge was aware they couldn't adopt. As thieving as they were, they weren't going to steal an entire child, that would be psychotic. And experiments... it was a nice fantasy, but Finitevuses were no one anyone could trust, especially now that they were more or less responsible for one's death. He was living with Manic and raising a child with him... He was living with Manic and raising a child with him. "Bet he is," Scourge said with a grim chuckle. "At least this time, our kid'll have someone who ain't fucked up to raise him. An' you'll be there, too~" If he was going to give Scourge an off-handed insult, Scourge was gonna be absolutely up front with his. He sighed, grabbed his granola bar... and picked up that heavy back they'd run in with. It was still clunking around, but Shadow could now hear a large rustle of food packaging inside on top of the normal clunking. "Stopped at the machine, Manic 'n me stress eat." He said, walking back towards the room. "How's Light doin'?" “Don’t be too hard on yourself. If anything things may take a brighter turn for the good for you,” he chuckled slightly aware of the sounds he heard, but said nothing. “I’m no better when I’m stressed, I’ve just gotten a little better at resisting thanks to my friends…though I’m tempted to grab one anyways.” His ear flicked about the question. “As good as any one is in labor, hopefully its over soon enough. This sort of thing always made me nervous with him.” "God damn..." Scourge said, seeing Light as they walked into the room. Even if his body was only preparing for the actual birth, the contractions and movements were clearly painful. He was going to be putting up with this for hours more? And this wasn't even the actual birth? Scourge walked straight up to Manic to hug him... and drop the bag and offer whatever vending machine snacks he might want to cope. "He already told me everything," Scourge said, not feeling good but at least not as bad. "Sorry, babe." It was excruciating for them all, and as more time passed, Manic was starting to eat more and more at the sight of Light struggling. He truly felt helpless watching him feel pain like this. He was now leaning near the bed, holding one arm around Light and cuddling him as much as he could to give comfort. Shadow knew he had to be close with how hard its been on Light. “Do you think he’s close, doc?” he asked. Light had been struggling to focus past the aches n’ pains, but he was thankful still for the company n’ comfort. "Your triplets must have been quite hard for your body," the swan doctor informed them. "He's adjusting very quickly. He's almost ready for birthing, but he's going to need to dialate a while longer." That last hour of preparations was particularly brutal. Scourge started leaving the room again, but not out of jealousy. Scourge couldn't keep watching Light twitch and groan in pain like he was. He certainly wanted this labor to just end in a second, but only so he would stop being so pained. But by a combination of constant support and help, the hour inched past. The nursing assistant was starting to be joined by more help, the doctor in the room staying by mostly as extra help for the young king. They could hear a few chatters among the nurses, who were getting more anxious. Manic's grip on the kings hand was almost a vice grip and Shadow actually expressed some shock when the nursing assistant turned to her helper for a second opinion. "Do you think he's ready to push?" Shadow still looked concerned with him, but had to trust the doc when he had given finally the go ahead. Light knew this was going to take some effort,but he only would need to do this once rather than three like before. ‘This is gonna be over soon’ he thought. Final preparations were made while the nurse got into position. "Okay, Light," the nurse said, "You're ready to start pushing the baby. We need you to focus on your breathing. In... out... okay, push." It was agonizing. It felt easier after birthing three kids, but it would have been nigh-on impossible for it to feel worse. It didn't take long before the first push was already over, and Light was panting in his bed. Manic seemed utterly terrified for him. He placed his hand near Light's mouth. "I'll share the pain, babe." Manic said. "Just bite down when you wanna scream, I've had hella worse." He gave Light another kiss. "We're almost done... we're almost done." The baby had far to go. The nurse looked up for just a moment. "Alright, push." Light was nervous about hurting Manic as his teeth were not exactly normal n’ he didn’t wish to cause any scarring on his friend/love, gritting he did as told, but avoiding to hurt him. Shadow glanced off to where Scourge went as he was concerned with him, but didn’t force it as he would get him after this is over. "'Ts already started?!" Scourge was shocked when the door was opened. He could see this wasn't preparing anymore, this was the real deal. He didn't know what to do, other than stand around in shock. What was he supposed to say?! He ran up and sat near Manic, patting his back and watching as he withdrew his hand when he realized Light wasn't taking the offer. His body was given another short break, to let him recover temporarily, and Manic just sat to the side and held his hand. "The head is visible," the nurse informed him. "If you're ready, we need to keep pushing." Manic only wished he could have helped more. With a aggravated grunt, he gave one more attempt to finally get over this hurtle. In a short period later, he finally felt the pains subside n’ only then did he give a sigh, his ears faintly alert to the small sounds. "Three pushes?" The nurses said among themselves. "The baby's already crowning," the head nurse informed them, holding his hands out. "Just a few more pushes, Light. Breathe in... and push!" The closer the baby got, the more painful it became. Every step was making it worse, every moment getting exponentially more painful as the baby came closer and closer to being delivered. He had to scream and writhe in the pain, Manic lending his arm as something for Light to sink his claws into. Every ounce of energy was focused on this one simple, torturous task that was testing the limits of his mind and body...! ◇        ◇        ◇        ◇ Scourge was the only person in the room aware of the throngs of residents of the nation, near and some far, intermingled with reporters of all kinds desperate to get some word about the royal birth. The crowds were kept at back for the safety of the king for hours and hours, after the sun set. The crowd hushed and cameras flickered as Fawlist left the building, a script in hand. Royal guards stood at either side. "On this day, the first of September, at 10:16 PM," he announced grandly. "We humbly welcome our future king, the fourth born child of his royal highness King Scourge Lightwing. The prince is fifth in line to the throne. May the new prince Ignis Cassio Lightwing live long and one day hold a glorious reign!" The crowds cheered outside the hospital, but not a word crept through the silent halls up to the king's room. The plastic holds on the bed had been removed, most equipment gone, leaving the room homely. Light and Manic were now facing one another head on as they lay on the bed, Manic holding his arms around Light, and Light with his arms wrapped around the new prince. He was silent right now. His skin was the same light green of Manic, with bits of dark green hear his tips. The most obvious signs he was the prince were the black marks under his eyes, which he had yet to open, and the tiny pair of folded, colorful wings with green and purple feathers, as well as the vibrant cyan of his father's eyes. He rested safely and quietly between them both, peaceful in his first few hours of life. Thought worn out, he was a bit stubborn to rest just yet. He gave a lighthearted smile “Heh…early but strong. I’m sure he’s gonna be quite the unique one of the house, don’t you think Manic?” He asked, gently running his fingers over the mostly downy fuzz wings, before yawning slightly. Shadow had gone back to the castle earlier to inform his mother n’ the assistants whom had to resume work even in Lights poor timing. Scourge had left into the hall to give the two as much time alone as they needed. There was no one else, just Manic, Light, and Cassio. "I can't believe he's gonna be a part of the castle," Manic said. If he wasn't so tired, he would have been energized and ecstatic. "You actually made an entire... person." He said. He took his hand off of light, and ruffled the quills on his head subtly, to minor reaction. Manic couldn't stop smiling at the sight of his child. All issues of the king knowing a thief were gone from his mind. All that was left was pure love for their child. "He's gonna be the best member of the castle," Manic finally said. "He's gonna be an awesome kid." With a soft chuckle, he let his head rest on the pillow. “I agree, yet what his personality will be like depends on how we raise him, n’ I am sure he’ll get along well with Severante, Trental n’ Victoria.” Feeling the fatigue, Light had begun to drift off to sleep, knowing they were safe n’ that the hardest part will start first thing tomorrow. “I hope Scourge is alright with lil Cassio.” "I almost don't wanna fall asleep," Manic said, yawning as he spoke. "Doctor's are gonna have to take him for testing... I just wanna lay here and hold him..." Manic let Light relax. He lifted Cassio and laid him on top of the king's chest with one arm around him for support. He rested his own head on Light's shoulder. "G'night, little dude..." Scourge just stayed outside and waited. He'd seen the child. He knew they wanted space. And even in spite of what Shadow had said, that jealousy was still there, eating away at him. As the doctors pryed Manic away from the recovering king in his sleep and carried Cassio away for testing, he waited as close to the baby as he could get. Cassio was on the small side for a newborn, but he was healthy. Healthy and well... ... When Light would wake up that next day, he would be in the same recovery room. Manic would by laying near him asleep, Cassio would be being tended to by the midwife in a bassinet, and Scourge himself would be asleep on the visitor's sofa. When he did wake, he chuckled lightly when he heard Shadow speak up. “Good morning sleeping beauty. Sorry if I am here already, the triplets wanted to see you.” Sure enough the three almost three year old pups were nearby. The eldest sat patiently while the other two were eager n’ energetic.

“I’m sure they couldn’t wait to see me n’ their younger brother,” Light smiled gently as he sat up carefully, mindful not to disturb Manic too much, though that didn’t go as planned with Trental leaping onto the bed the two were on. And right onto Manic's hand. Manic seemed to grumble in his sleep and roll over, rubbing his face. It took a moment for everything to come back, and for him to realize what was happening was real. "Heeey, Trent, you wake me up?" Manic asked with his normal smile. He started to shift up and force himself awake. Manic was just as entranced with the baby having their temperature taken. "Good morning, Light." Manic said as the last child bothered Scourge awake. "Guessing they just wanted to see the new dude? How're you doing, that looked like torture." He gave a soft chuckle again as he noted Victoria was the one disturbing Scourge at the moment. “Who knows with them at the moment, a lot makes them curious, but I’m feeling better today.” He smiled to Manic. “Usually takes a day or two, depending on when I’m feeling completely better."

Light found it amusing with each of his pups. Victoria looked a lot more fox than hedgehog, while the boys Severante n’ Trental were both more hedgehog save for their multi tails. Cassio even had a more floofy tail, but he always felt bad as Tren was the only one without wings with his kids. “I’ve got quite the household don’t I?”

Shadow smirked. “I am sure this is nothing you can’t handle, just another worry for the workers once Cassio starts walking or flying. Whichever comes first.” He replied, taking note of the doc returning possibly to inform Light of Cassio’s health. "We're going to need to give Ignis some more vaccinations," the doctor informed Light. "Standard procedure. All our tests are showing that the prince seems to be perfectly healthy." "Wait... He could be this little waddling baby nugget, and just take off one day? Like, he starts flying when he's young?" Manic asked, not knowing what he would think of seeing Cassio flying around before his legs were strong enough to walk. Victoria had managed to annoy Scourge awake. (An impressive feat, with how often Manic tried the same thing.) The sudden piles of children shocked him initially, but the more he looked, the more he could tell he didn't have reason to worry. The kids were excited, maybe a bit too excited, and Light and Manic seemed genuinely happy at whatever the doctor was telling them. There was a little bottle warmer placed near the bed just for Light's stay, as he couldn't breastfeed the child. So when the new child wanted to cry, he was placed gently into his arms, and quickly sated with a nice bottle of milk. "Scourge, come over here, check out the little dude!" Manic said. Scourge stood up, interested in his lightly-feathered wings. Light chuckled slightly as he heard what Shadow said. “It's rare to see a winged child take to flying before they are walking, but Severante was one. Shadow had to bring in our Gatelift friend Zonic to help me out with keeping an eye on him, took us till just a few months before you came into the picture to get him to walk instead of flying everywhere,” he said calmly.

Shadow shook his head. “Thankfully he won’t be able to fly till his wingspan is similar to his height, otherwise the weight is too much for them, but they sure as hell do try n’ it is a cute sight.”

Light then looked at the tiny little fluff nugget that was Cassio as well as the triplets. Scourge just had to convince himself it wasn't entirely the child of Manic and Light, just long enough. It was a kid he had with Light, but he loved him that whole time. He searched for him that whole time. He loved him for as long as he knew that Light was pregnant. He knew they were going to raise this kid with him around. And even then, it still had the traits of Scourge. The dark green tips of his quills and the way it fell behind his head... There was a bittersweet happiness to the moment. Even if it wasn't genetically his child, he was going to be raised like Scourge was his dad. He'd be the father he never got a chance to be to his own son with Fiona. It was like a bizarre determination had been dug up from deep inside his mind. Manic would have said something the moment he noticed Scourge's stare, but Cassio mewled, and Manic's heart could virtually be seen melting at the sound. "Hey, Light." Manic said lifting Cassio as gently as he could. "Could Scourge hold him for a bit?" “It would be rude if he couldn’t,” he said before he looked up to Scourge. “N’ if he wants to he’s welcome to.“ Light knew from the other's energy that he was still partly still on that old thought, but he’d consider it a step if he could help Light with caring for Cassio now. Manic didn't need to read Scourge's energy to know what he was thinking. Scourge was hesitant at first, but he reached over and picked up Cassio gently. There was a bizarre fragility to it all. Scourge's hand was larger than the child's entire head. His eyes were clamped tight. Some strange maternal instinct seemed to have been dug up, making him almost want to protect the kid, even if he would absolutely never admit it out loud. One of the baby's tiny hands gripped around Scourge's finger for comfort. His expression didn't change, but Light could feel a genuine pride in the sight. "He's cute," Scourge said simply, handing back the child and glossing over how he was feeling. “True he is,” Light said calmly as he carefully accepted the child, gently stroking the small infant. All the while, Shadow looked up to them n’ then to Cassio. “Knowing you Light, you will have him wait till he’s five years before you let the lessons start,” he said, chuckling lightly as Light huffed about the mention of teaching.

“You know I would prefer him to wait n’ learn through some form of play,” he said. His brother was serious about having a well taught family. "He's not even a day old," Manic said, pouting heavily towards Shadow. "Let him be a baby. I don't wanna start planning for college or whatever, I just wanna meet him." He reached out his hand, hoping Cassio would grab his fingers like he did with Scourge. "Hey, little guy. You wanna relax and cry and not worry about working on a doctorate thesis?" The other kids seemed entranced by the child. They were probably old enough that Shadow was going to start pushing lessons for them, too. Hell knows how that was going to play out. "Did you see all the people who were outside last night?" Manic asked. "They seem to want to meet this little guy, too." Shadow chuckled at their reactions to his remark n’ shrugged. “Just saying,“ he said before getting smacked with a pillow from Lights direction.

“Ah go pester your boyfriend, brother, I’m sure he’s wanting your attention.” Light retorted though chuckled slightly as he eventually left. “I know, but they need to wait till we are ready to return to the castle before they get any photos of Cassio.” It was like instinct that the baby tried gripping his fingers, letting off a few more light mewls. "I know," Manic said. "I just can't wait 'til they see how cute he is and get jealous of us both for having him." Light was soon going to find his quills getting yet another ruffle. "And Shadow's gonna be like his third dad..." He looked over at Scourge, surprised to see him looking over. "With Scourge, he's gonna have four dads. That's gonna be... That's gonna be kinda chaotic." Cassio was moved closer into Light's arms, Manic not removing his finger from his grip. "I don't know why I was so nervous. This is gonna be amazing." “For first timers it's always expected to be nervous of the unknown, but that is part of the adventure, n’ Cassio’s has just begun,” he purred lightly as he glanced over to Manic. “Just wait, things are just getting interesting.” He said with a lighthearted chuckle. Manic just tilted his head up and looked at Scourge. "What are you thinking, babe?" He asked with a smile. "You ready to be the cool dad?" He looked down at the child. He suddenly had something this... helpless near him, and he had no idea how he would handle this situation. He knew it was coming, yet nothing could have prepared him. "You know I am," Scourge said, not even sure himself.

[undertheaethier]

GoV Ch. 6: Core Exercises

Yana apparently knew where she was going, because she led me out of the courthouse and to the Office of Law Enforcement and Criminal Justice like she owned the block.

“Hey, Yana--are they even going to let us in there? I’m on a very tight leash, and you’re--”

“A convicted criminal, yeah,” Yana said, grinning unabashedly. “Don’t worry, we’ll just tell them Veryn sent us. And if they don’t buy that, we’ll find Tarrow.” She said the last part only grudgingly.

“Um, do you guys have a problem with Tarrow, or something?” I asked. I remembered how Kovit had seemed disgusted at the idea of Yana working with Tarrow, and Veryn’s refusal to enlist his help.

“Pfft. He’s just a jerk,” said Yana. “No real problem with him besides his entire personality.”

“He seems pretty nice to me,” I said, trying not to sound defensive.

Yana shrugged. “He’s pretty. I don’t know about nice.”

Upon entrance to the building, we were stopped by guards, but as Yana had predicted, simply telling them that Veryn had sent us to use the training rooms was enough for them, as soon as we’d shown them ID. Yana showed them a card that I’m pretty sure had been issued to her in prison, and I apologetically showed them my driver’s license. Luckily, they’d laughed instead of accusing me of anything, and we gained entrance without any further ado.

I looked around the office spaces and hallways as Yana led me through the building, looking idly for orange hair or dawn-colored wings, but saw no sign of Tarrow. Finally, we came to a door with a sign next to it in letters that I now sort of recognized. Oinaret. I wasn’t sure what the word meant though. I asked Yana and she looked at me in surprise.

“Wait, you weren’t kidding about learning Elvish?” she asked.

“No. Veryn found me some books last night and I started teaching myself.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Last night? Are you a quick learner, or what?”

I couldn’t help but feel a little proud. “Well, language is kind of my thing. It’s what I studied, in school back on Earth.”

Yana leaned against the wall, looking at me curiously. “You were a scholar?”

I laughed. I’d certainly never thought of myself as one. “I guess. I was a student. I study language, and I can speak eight human languages.”

Yana laughed. “Wow. That’s pretty incredible, I only speak two. Elvish and Dryidic. What did you plan to do, knowing so many languages?”

“Oh, well--” I stopped. Good question. My stomach sank. I’d thought about it before, of course, my career options, but I’d never really settled on anything. What would I do with all of my languages? Would I teach, or work for the state department? I could work for almost any branch of the government or law enforcement, as a translator or a linguist. I could study history from a linguistic perspective, or study ancient languages, trying to put millennia-old puzzle pieces together? Maybe I could try to help out with that Voynich Manuscript thing.

But what was I thinking? Of course I wouldn’t do those things now. Now, in a realm where none of my languages were spoken or used at all… I felt suddenly very heavy. Years of work were worth very little now.

Mom and Dad had made sure I learned German while I learned English. In daycare, I learned Spanish from my teachers and classmates. I’d gone to a private institution for elementary school, where they taught French. In middle school, I’d taken Latin as an elective. In high school, I studied Greek and Arabic. In college, I’d studied Korean and Russian, and I’d started learning Mandarin and Japanese just last year. I’d had plans to continue learning after graduation, to make myself more hirable, and had thought about learning Portuguese, Hindi, and Dutch. Now, what was that worth? I couldn’t practice any of those things here, and there was no point in continuing my learning of human languages. There was probably no way to even do so--how many scholars here studied Dutch? But hey--I’d had no plan to begin with, right? What was I even really giving up?

Maybe everything?

“Hey. You okay?” asked Yana.

I bit my lip. “Yeah, I just...I just realized how arbitrary it all is now,” I admitted. “My passion, all the work I put in...it doesn’t mean anything here.”

Yana looked concerned for me. “Well...maybe it does. Studying language will probably help you learn Elvish, right? And there are some scholars here who study human languages.”

“Really?” I asked, hopeful.

“Sure! Really hard stuff,” said Yana. “Three of them are studied in almost every university, even if they’re only used for anthropological stuff. I think it’s English, Russian, and...Mandarin? I don’t remember. I never learned any of them myself. It’s considered pretty niche here.”

Well. Maybe I could get some help with Mandarin after all. And in fact, if there were people here who studied English and Russian, I could still potentially teach. Maybe I wasn’t hopeless after all. And if those didn’t work out, I could keep learning other languages. Once I knew Elvish, I could expand to other languages. Who knew how many there were here, considering how many races there were?

Much more hopeful, I smiled at Yana. “Thank you,” I told her. “That actually helps to hear.”

She smiled back. “No problem. You ready?” She gestured toward the door. “Oh. It means ‘exercise room,’ by the way.”

“‘Oina’ means ‘exercise’ and ‘ret’ means ‘room’?” I asked.

“Oina is actually just an abbreviation for oinavar, but yes. Exactly.”

I nodded, feeling empowered. I could do this. No problem. “Yeah, let’s get to it.”

Firstly, Yana wanted to establish that I had muscles at all, it seemed. I confessed that I wasn’t much of an exercise nut. I usually ran a couple of times a week, and I did yoga more often, when I was feeling stressed or as a way to fall asleep. She said they had something similar to yoga, called Kof-gua, that had come about in Serura, and seemed content with what I could do.

She prescribed some weight-lifting and more running, but otherwise wasn’t disappointed with me, which increased my confidence exponentially. I’d been sure Yana had been going to immediately dismiss me, but I found that whether she was pleased or not by my state, she was a pretty good teacher. She was legitimately encouraging, though at times a little brash, switching between methods of being gentle and reassuring and being demanding and degrading to try to get me to do what she wanted me to. Whatever it meant about me, or her, it seemed to work.

Once she had mapped out a basic regimen, she said we were done for the day, and that we could work on skills like speed and quiet when she could verify where we were allowed to go--like a park, or a forest, or a shopping center, for instance. The exercises she had planned to develop those skills sounded kind of fun. She wanted me to be able to pickpocket, sneak up on someone who would be watching for me, creep through a forested area without making noise, and find escape routes in all kinds of environments. She said we would work with the daggers later.

By the time we were leaving the gym, I was sweaty and tired, and though I had plans to meet with Yana for dinner later, I was very much looking forward to a bath and a skim through a grammar book first.

We were walking back through the main office of the building when we ran into Tarrow. Kovit and Yana’s professed dislike for him had settled into the back of my brain like an itch, but it seemed to dim when I again saw his charming face, especially since he seemed excited to see me. They must not have known him as the kind faerie I had met yesterday, in the context of the law officer who’d been so gentle and welcoming throughout my arrival here.

“Emrys!” he greeted. “Oh--oh, damn, I don’t have a mouthpiece--”

“It’s okay, I can understand you just fine,” I replied. “Veryn gave me a language potion.”

“Oh. And--you took it?” he asked, seeming almost horrified, an escalation of the reaction I was becoming used to.

“Yes. I thought it was easiest.”

“And you’ve been busy, I see,” he said, looking me up and down. Remembering how sweaty I was, I internally flinched, but Tarrow didn’t seem offended by my appearance.

Tarrow’s eyes flicked to Yana, and he seemed even more put-off. “Well, well. Yana Sirinal. I didn’t know you were out of the basement. And you’ve already run into Emrys.”

Yana gave him a tight smile. “I can tell you’re overflowing with joy at the good news of my release. Yes, Emrys and I know each other. Veryn has tasked me with training her.”

Dark amusement spun in Tarrow’s eyes. I could tell he was trying not to smirk as he replied, “Has he? Really. Well, he has always extraordinarily admired your skills as a thief. When considering the need for stealth and deception, I’m sure he thought of you immediately. I hope Emrys learns what she needs to from you.” He put a hand on my shoulder in an almost protective manner. “While maintaining a healthy respect for the law, of course,” he said jokingly, giving me a wink.

My face was warm. I tried not to smile, and failed.

“Of course,” said Yana. “The whole team is committed to lawfulness. Working for the Council is serious business, after all.” There was a fakeness, a shallowness, to her tone that was equal parts nauseating and amusing.

“The whole team.” Tarrow raised his delicate eyebrows. “Oh, don’t tell me Veryn’s gotten the band back together. How...interesting.” Now, he didn’t stop himself from smiling. He seemed to take great enjoyment from whatever idea he had.

He turned his full attention back to me again. “Well, Emrys, I hate to tear you away from your new friends, of course, but is there any chance of you being free tonight? I’d love to help you continue to transition to the culture and atmosphere here.”

I felt a tug in my gut. I’d always been bad at this--turning down one plan for another, especially when I really liked the sound of the new plan. But my instincts told me to stick with Yana, no matter how disappointed I was at the idea of not spending the night with Tarrow, and getting to know Eben.

“I’m really sorry, but I actually have plans with Yana,” I said with a grimace. “I hope you understand. But I really would love to get together another time.” I tried to sound earnest. “Let me know anytime you’re free!”

Tarrow’s smile grew strained again, but he laughed. “Of course. As I said, I don’t want to hinder you from getting to know your new...colleagues. I’m here most days, so you can come find me whenever Veryn’s not working you to death. Let me know if you want anything.” His hazel eyes were glued to mine.

“I will, thank you,” I replied.

“I hope I get to see you again soon, Emrys, I’m so glad we ran into each other.” He dragged his hand away from my shoulder in a sort of caress, his face actually a little red, and I found myself flattered. Maybe my interest wasn’t one-sided.

“See you soon, Emrys,” he told me with a more genuine smile. He looked back to Yana and nodded. “Yana,” he said curtly.

“Tarrow,” she mimicked.

Tarrow gave a little wave and walked around us, heading toward the staircase at the back of the floor. I watched him go, appreciating his wings, among other things, then turned back to Yana. She was giving me a look I was surprised to be on the receiving end of. Usually, I was the one giving Daphne, or one of my other acquaintances the incredulous look of bemused disapproval that said Do not go to that frat party instead of studying for your midterm, or If you sleep with that guy, you are going to regret it. I thought her look was probably meant to convey something more akin to the latter. I felt my face grow redder.

“Don’t give me that look,” I said, turning my face away.

Yana shrugged, smirking a little. “I’ll look at you whatever way I want, pay it as little mind as you care to.”

We parted a few minutes later in the foyer of the Courthouse, with a promise to meet in the same place in three hours. To be able to keep track of the time, I asked Yana how the electrical system worked, so I could charge my phone. I showed it to her, and she laughed.

“Oh, we haven’t had anything like that in ages. Check the desk drawer in your room, or ask one of the servants for batteries.”

“Batteries?”

Yana held out her wrist to me and showed me what looked like a watch or an exercise tracker. She took it off and showed me the underside. There was something like a patch on the back of the band, bright blue with a symbol on it, possibly a logo.

“These are disposable batteries,” she explained. “They should work for a few months before they run out of stored energy.”

“That’s incredible--how do they work?” I asked, unsure I’d be able to fully comprehend the answer.

Yana snorted. “No idea. I’m a thief, not a scientist.”

With that, she waved to me, and I found my way back up to my room on the sixth floor, even more excited for cleanliness.

Yana had been correct about the desk drawer--I hadn’t even thought to look in there, but I was still struggling with the idea that this was my room. Despite the fact that it appeared the room was available for my use indefinitely, it had a hotel-like feeling that kept me feeling distant from it, and slightly uncomfortable. I hadn’t been about to rummage through drawers that didn’t feel like mine. But inside, I found pens, paper, a whole package of maybe thirty of those little battery patches, and a device like the one I’d seen the guard at the prison using.

I attached a battery to the back of my phone, and immediately, the phone began charging. Impressed, I turned to the other device. I put it on the desk and stared at it. It was a flat board of a material that was neither plastic nor metal, but was metallic black. I curiously double-tapped it with my pointer finger, seeing no buttons, and a lighted screen like a hologram appeared on the surface. There was no lock, and it just allowed me onto a menu screen. Everything was in Elvish, and I was a little too overwhelmed by the sheer amount of options and words I wasn’t familiar with to try to investigate further. I double tapped the margins of the menu screen, and the lighted screen disappeared back into the plain black surface.

I stood and was heading toward the bathroom when I noticed that the top drawer of my dresser was just barely open, and I didn’t remember leaving it that way. Not suspicious so much as curious, I opened it, and found several sets of underclothes. Surprised, I opened the second drawer, and found clothing that appeared to be pajamas, light and soft gowns, long shirts, and silky pants. The third drawer was full of shirts, tunics and tank tops and other soft, loose types, and the fourth drawer had more pants like mine, thick leggings and ones that reminded me of athletic wear, slicker material in brighter shades. Beside the dresser, where I hadn’t been able to see from the door, there were three more pairs of shoes: black, thick-soled plain slip-ons, a sleek brown and green shoe that reminded me of a tennis shoe in how it laced up and appeared to provide arch support, and a pair of plain, buckled black boots. I was glad someone had thought to give me more clothes; I had been about to go take a bath without a care in the world, not thinking about the fact I only owned one set of clothes and I’d already used them.

When I was clean, I painstakingly combed through my hair and changed into an outfit like the one I’d just shed, this time black pants with a red shirt and I decided to try out the boots. They looked cool, but if they were the kind of shoes I’d be expected to wear when the action got real, they were definitely the type that would need some breaking-in.

I spent some time looking through one of the grammar books, but found my mind wandering.

Tarrow seemed like such a bright and pleasant person. How could the others have such a low opinion of him?

Veryn appeared to have a sense of justice, in how he pitied enslaved humans, yet he’d chosen to use only criminals for a very important mission specifically to spite the Council, and he’d manipulated someone he called a friend so that from the outside it would appear she couldn’t refuse to work for him, even when he’d made a decision that would hurt her. How could I actually trust him?

Tirin and Kovit appeared much more laid back than the rest, but honestly, their flirtation had made me uncomfortable, and while I was interested in getting to know them, I was put off by some of their behavior. Would I be able to get along with them?

And then Yana. I liked her. There was something about her that I found inexplicably relatable, or at least understandable, and I found myself wanting to know more about her--especially when it came to all this business with hers and the others’ criminal status. She didn’t exactly seem to be keeping it a secret, but she hadn’t told me anything willingly to help me to know the story. But while Tarrow made me happily nervous, Veryn put me on edge and challenged me, and the other two objectified me, Yana seemed to just want to talk. To do her job, and get to know me. She seemed open and honest and genuine. I decided that if I could trust anyone, it was her, thief or no.

[flauntpage]

Good Vibes… But Maybe Too Good? Thoughts After Flyers 4, Sabres 1

Tyrell Goulbourne was sitting in the locker room, taking off his pads and packing them in a bag.

This was an indicator that Goulbourne, unlike the rest of his Flyers teammates, wasn’t getting a chance to go on vacation as the Flyers entered a bye week that mandates a full 120 hours off (five days) before they are required to undergo any team activity (The Flyers next practice isn’t until 4 p.m. on Friday).

And yet, here was Goulbourne, all smiles, willing to talk about his NHL experience and the potential to have it continue as soon as the weekend.

I’ll get into my conversation with Goulbourne in a bit, but it’s rare that you see a guy getting sent back down to the minors in such a good mood.

Ahhh, a winning hockey locker room is a unique atmosphere – especially one where you’ve won a few games in a row, or 11 of 16 after a 10-game losing skid – all of which is the case for the Flyers following a not pretty, yet efficient, 4-1 win over Buffalo yesterday.

There’s the woooing as the player of the game is presented with the Ric Flair robe. There’s loud music. Guys are willing to talk and talk at length. There’s a lot of smiling and playfulness.

There’s even some over the top answers to questions, like:

“The feeling is we are very close to the playoffs right now,” Jake Voracek said. “I was reading somewhere that some people felt this team should get blown up during that 10-game losing streak. We didn’t, and we’re staying patient and we’re in a playoff position right now, so that’s good for us.”

Slow down Jake. Or, as Dave Hakstol likes to say, put it in park.

Look, the team should feel good about itself. They’ve played good hockey over the past three games. They were even, for a brief moment, tied for the final Eastern Conference playoff spot yesterday afternoon before the Penguins jumped back in front of them with an overtime win over Boston.

But, they need to put this whole thing in perspective:

There’s a long way to go. Forty games in fact. To say you are “feeling” close to the playoffs is a little disingenuous. A lot has to happen for the Flyers to be a playoff team. I’ll explain why after this short list.

Not sure anyone suggested “blowing the team up” but there were several of us – and my hand is raised here too – who thought a coaching change could be in order. And frankly Jake, even when you guys are winning, there are systemic things that we see watching a game where we have to wonder what the heck is going on? Why do you sit back in your 1-2-2 trap with a one goal lead? If pressuring the puck and creating turnovers is how you got the lead to begin with, why not stick with it? Lineup decisions are troubling. The penalty kill is way too passive. There are myriad reasons to question the process and the implementation of strategy, even in wins.

The team deserves a lot of credit for “staying patient” or weathering the storm, as it were, and not plummeting into a deep dark place after the 10 game losing streak. But to just dismiss the fact that this team is capable of losing 10 straight games just because it stuck together and has had a decent run since is turning a blind eye to the streakiness and inconsistency that has plagued this team all season.

Look, I don’t want to come off as the curmudgeon providing the buzz kill on the Flyers latest success… I know, too late, right? But, I’d rather be realistic and gladly be proven wrong later, than jump on board a roller coaster while wearing a blind fold now, buying into a sugar rush of excitement only to be let down by the end of the ride.

As I mentioned in No. 1 above, there is a long way to go. The Flyers went 11-4-1 in the past 16 games just to get back within striking distance of the playoffs. They’ll need to duplicate that over the next 16 games just to be in one of those wild card spots heading into trade deadline conversation.

Then, after that, they’ll likely need a similar record over the next 16 games to maintain their position. I don’t want to go off on another tangent about the loser point in hockey, but it so adversely affects playoff races that deficits as small as two or three points take much longer to overcome, even if you are playing well.

So, for the sake of argument, let’s say the Flyers will be battling both New York teams, Pittsburgh and Carolina for the two Wild Card spots in the Eastern Conference. Sure, New Jersey or Columbus could slip back with a bad stretch or Detroit, Florida or Montreal can get white hot and jump into the race from further back, but let’s say two of the bottom five teams in the Metropolitan Division make the playoffs.

The Flyers sit three points behind the Rangers and one point behind the Penguins at the moment.

Ironically, the Penguins, Rangers and Islanders all are on bye this week as well. So the standings won’t fluctuate this week. However a much-improved Carolina team has three games – all tough ones. They play at Tampa Tuesday and then a home-and-home with Washington Thursday and Friday. Being realistic, let’s say they go 1-1-1 in these three games. Just like that, the Flyers would be three points out of both playoff spots again.

Carolina would have lost two-of-three, yet gained separation over an idle team. And yes, the Flyers would have two games in hand, but now those games in hand become must wins, and not – “oh we can get a point in one of them.”

The next 16 games end February 16 for the Flyers. It’s a brutal stretch, with 12 coming against teams with better records than the Flyers and 10 of which on the road. But, for the sake of argument, let’s say the Flyers go 9-5-2. A respectable record. Maybe even an optimistic one considering the competition.

That would make the Flyers 28-20-10 for 66 points through 58 games. To be in a playoff spot on the morning of Feb. 17 among the five teams we discussed, the Flyers would need three of these four things to happen:

New York Rangers (16 games) get fewer than 17 points.

Pittsburgh Penguins (15 games) get fewer than 19 points.

Carolina Hurricanes (18 games) get fewer than 20 points.

New York Islanders (17 games) get fewer than 20 points.

Is that possible? Yes. Is it likely that three of the four teams will play around .500 or worse? Not really. The Penguins are the two-time defending Stanley Cup champions after all and they are just beginning to hit their stride. The Rangers are the Rangers – it’s the same story with them every year, and they’ve been much better after a dreadfully slow start to the season. And Carolina is the analytics darling – a team that is improving exponentially because of their embracing of advanced hockey data.

But again, let’s say this happens. Let’s say the Flyers move into a playoff spot by a point or two ahead of the others on Feb. 17. What has to happen in the next 16 games?

You guessed it, it has to happen all over again. In other words, a team that is wildly inconsistent, has to suddenly flip a switch, through a very difficult portion of their schedule no less, and has to suddenly become incredibly consistent for a long, long stretch of games.

Now, ask yourself, is that likely? Are you happy the Flyers persevered?

This is why the 10-game losing skid can’t just be forgotten, or thrown out because the Flyers have negated it with an 11-4-1 record since.

It’s really hard to make the playoffs in the NHL, despite the fallacy that it’s easy to get in. It was at one time, it’s not anymore. In fact, I can argue that it’s harder to make the playoffs now in hockey than any other sport.

Simply put, the format used to allow fourth place teams in a five-team division to make the playoffs. It’s how a team like the Minnesota North Stars finished 27-39-14 for 68 points, made the playoffs in 1991, and made an improbable run to the Stanley Cup Final.

Nowadays, you need to be at 90 points just to be in the conversation and there have been seasons where the No. 8 seed had 95 points.

In the NFL, 8-8 and 9-7 have gotten into the playoffs plenty. Heck, even a couple sub-.500 teams have gotten in the playoffs in recent seasons.

In the NBA, .500 or sub-500 gets in frequently. Especially in the East.

And since the addition of the fifth wild card team, in baseball, now you only have to be around .500 to be in contention in September.

No more in the NHL.

Does that mean we should just cancel the rest of the Flyers season? No. There’s a lot of good that can still happen. Claude Giroux, Voracek and Sean Couturier are all going to be in contention for end-of-the season accolades. Shayne Gostisbehere could become the first Flyers defenseman to lead the NHL in defensive scoring. The young players will continue to develop (if they play… *cough* Travis Sanheim *cough*) and this team just might make it interesting and make a playoff push, which could be great.

But let’s not get ahead of ourselves right now. There’s a long way to go. Just six days ago the Flyers were so upset with their own performance they called up Tyrell Goulbourne to play five minutes a night and start hitting people. And of the three wins, one came against an Islanders team that has allowed at least four goals in 10 of it’s last 13 games (1-9 in those 10) while another came against the worst team in hockey – Buffalo yesterday. Even the St. Louis win, which was a good win, came against a good Blues team that admitted after the game they weren’t prepared to play. So, there’s that too.

Goulbourne

Not a full-time NHLer yet, Goulbourne didn’t get the luxury of a few days off like the rest of the Flyers. He was sent back to the Phantoms. He’ll continue to practice this week with the Phantoms and play for them in a home game Friday night.

Goulbourne said his first two games have been an amazing experience and that he hopes to be back with the Flyers for their game Saturday in New Jersey.

Goulbourne had two plays of note in his two games. Of course, there was his first shift where an open ice hit against St. Louis captain Alex Pietrangelo forced a turnover that let to a Scott Laughton goal on Saturday. Then yesterday, he chased down a loose puck for a breakaway:

Goulbourne turns on the jets but couldn't get it on net. http://pic.twitter.com/zGVHYpwIpi

— Sons of Penn (@SonsofPenn) January 7, 2018

Here was our conversation:

ASF: Hey Gilly (that’s his nickname), nice wheels on that breakaway.

TG: Thanks, but that shot though… I don’t know what happened.

ASF: It was a little wild.

TG: No, I mean, I really don’t know what happened. Was the puck on edge?

ASF: (looking at the replay on my phone) It’s hard to tell. It doesn’t look like it. But it may have been wobbling a bit.

TG: OK, because truth be told, I can’t lift a backhander if my life depended on it. And that was waaaaay over the net.

ASF: Yeah, it looks like it just took off.

TG: It was so bad that when I got back to the bench, I looked at Lappy (Assistant coach Ian Laperriere) and just went like this [He throws his arms straight into the air like a referee confirming a good field goal.]

ASF: (seeing him pack up) I guess you don’t get the same break as the rest of these guys, huh?

TG: Nah. I gotta pay my dues first. It’s good though. This experience has been awesome. I can’t wait to come back.

ASF: When do you think that might be.

TG: We’ll see. Maybe Saturday.

He’s a really great guy. I think he’ll offer more than, say, Zac Rinaldo did, but I’m not quite so sure he’s as talented as Ron Hextall makes him out to be. Flyers fans should root for him to be an impact fourth line, glue-type player. He’s quite likable.

Kimmo Timonen

Not that this has anything to do with the current team, but Timonen told me yesterday he will be doing color commentary for Finnish TV for the the ice hockey portion of the Winter Olympics in South Korea.

“I just got my flight booked today,” he said. “First I have to go to Atlanta. And then from there it’s a direct flight.”

When I asked how long that flight is Timonen said, “Only 16 hours. It’s a short trip.”

Timonen said he has done television a couple times here and there since retiring but this is the first time he’s actually going to be calling games from a booth.

I asked him if this is something he always wanted to do and he said, “Not really.”

The guy’s deadpan humor has always been one of the best in the building.

He did say he is looking forward to it though because without NHL players, it is going to be a very competitive tournament with a lot of teams having a realistic chance at a gold medal this year.

  Good Vibes… But Maybe Too Good? Thoughts After Flyers 4, Sabres 1 published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv

[stephanmasnyj-blog]

Kevin Morby on Getting Famous, Los Angeles, and What It Means to Be an Artist

“Hey sorry I missed your call” is the first thing that slips out of Kevin Morby’s mouth as we begin our phone conversation. It’s Memorial Day and Kevin is getting ready to begin his US tour at The Observatory in Santa Ana. The tour will take him throughout the United States until August, where he will then tour Europe for the remainder of the Summer. Throughout our conversation Morby is refreshingly thoughtful, often pausing mid-response in order to articulate his thoughts correctly. This sense of articulation and thoughtfulness have helped his songwriting abilities grow exponentially, with Singing Saw quickly becoming one of the most beloved records of 2016. Below is our conversation — as well as photos from his recent show with his band at The Observatory — for your viewing pleasure.

SM:Thanks so much for taking the time to talk today. You’re beginning your tour at The Observatory this week right?

KM: Yeah so this week; on Thursday.

SM: Excellent, well we're all very excited to see you there. It feels like Singing Saw compared to your other records has gotten more acclaim and recognition compared to your other records. Do you notice that on tour? Do media reviews or things like that validate the process?

KM: I mean a little bit. It's like you can't not notice you know? I just did my first tour on the record in Europe and it's just... the amount of people at the shows compared to my last tour there has gone up in most cities by around 400 people or something. It's funny usually at most shows I'll say "Who here by a raise of hand was at the show last year when we were here?" And like four people will raise their hands. So that makes a huge difference.

SM: It’s funny how that works. I feel like sometimes all it takes is one song or one thing posted on the internet and immediately people latch on and think "Wow I gotta see this guy."

KM: I know it's funny how that works it's like you can tour, tour tour, and then you get a certain acclaim from one publication and people automatically start paying attention.

SM: A big thing I noticed about this record compared to Harlem River and Still Life, which were both a bit more intimate and smaller sounding, Singing Saw seems to have a much more grand sound in terms of instrumentation. I know you worked on the record with [producer] Sam Cohen this time around as opposed to Rob Barbato (who produced the first two records). Was that a conscious decision when you went in? Did you want to achieve a grander sound? Did working with Sam Cohen help that?

KM: For sure. Going in to this record I almost wanted to make a gospel-sounding record and I knew that Sam... I guess it's kind of a taste thing. I knew that Sam and I would see eye to eye on that and help make the bigger sound I was looking for.

SM: You also worked with Sam Cohen on The Complete Last Waltz, which was a big tribute for The Band. I know you're a big Bob Dylan fan and I was recently listening to your cover of "Temporary Like Achilles" for MOJO Magazine. Was there a reason you chose that song as opposed to any other choices on Blonde on Blonde?

KM: MOJO chose it for me. To be honest that's not my first choice. I love that song but it's not what I would've picked so it's interesting it's kind of like homework in that you get assigned something like that you know so suddenly you're learning the song inside and out. And it's funny I just kind of did it on a whim and I just got back from a press tour [in Europe] and they were saying "We need this right now if you're going to do it." and so I just recorded it kind of in a couple of takes.

SM: It sort of has a stripped down feel. It sounds like it's raining in the background and that it's a very spur of the moment thing which adds a lot to it. Which song would you have picked if you could've chosen?

KM: Oh wow. Uh you know... you can try and tackle Sad Eyed Lady of the Lowlands. I think I would try [that]. I mean if I really had time to work on it, I think I would choose that track. Who ended up doing that one?

SM: Jim O'Rourke. Which I honestly would expect to be this very proggy, elaborate recording with a bunch of moving parts like his solo work, but it ended up just being him with a sparse acoustic guitar and a very airy-sounding vocal take to create this etheral feel to it

KM: That’s cool. Man I haven't even heard that I have to listen to it. Where did you hear that?

SM: I had a hard time finding it, but my brother is part of this big Bob Dylan fan club and he was able to track down a recording of it. If you want I can forward the recording to you.

KM: Oh man I would love that. I know Mojo should be sending me a copy but I would love to hear that.

SM: Sure! Moving on, so Harlem River has been seen as your "New York" record. Still Life was written on the road so it's seen as your "In between" record so to speak. Do you feel like that living in Los Angeles and being a part of the scene there was a big influence on the songs and lyrics for this record?

KM: Yeah for sure. Absolutely. It just gave me the time and space I needed to sort of just... I don't know get into a different territory than I have been in before.

SM: Did the new environment lend itself to your writing style? Are you the type of person that rights in starts and fits? Or when you write are you more the type that can get a bunch done in one sitting and it pours out?

KM: It’s kind of a pouring out kind of thing. I dont know I feel like my best songs come out at a whim, like I'm not even knowing I'm doing it and then I look and it's like "Oh I've been doing this for awhile." There's definitely no structure in to how I write songs it's always a bit all over the place but it's about getting in a relaxing enough environment so you can just sort of channel it and you meet it somewhere in the air. I've been able to do that on tour and I've been able to do that in New York. And in LA it's sort of like I felt like I had all the time in the world to do it. It's funny since I've left New York I feel like I stopped listening to less aggressive music and I started being more interested in Bill Callahan for example. In New York it never worked for me listening to him you know? In New York I wanted to listen to The Velvet Underground. Living in LA and being in Mount Washington (Morby's home) and it being sort of rural to a New Yorker... I don't it makes everything a little more mystical in a way that I hadn't experienced before.

SM: I know you used to play some shows at The Smell with The Babies. I don't know if you've heard that they recently announced that the venue is being demolished to become a parking facility...

KM: I know it's a huge bummer I just posted something on Instagram the other day cuz The Babies had one of our first releases which was a "Live at The Smell" tape that a small label put out which was big for us.

SM: Is there anything about that scene or that venue that you'll miss? It seems like such a big LA institution to me.

KM: It’s one of those things where... it's like in the past two years I've been to The Smell maybe twice. But when something like that closes down... it's kind of like when you go back to your hometown and you find out that your favorite bookstore closed down or something. Because I've become more and more busy as a professional musician I've gone to less shows when I'm back in LA. I don't want to say I've moved on cuz that's kind of the wrong way to describe it. I guess I've just kind of moved on to play bigger venues and do other things. But what makes The Smell so tragic is I just envision that there's some scene of kids that I don't even know about that probably have their thing and rely heavily on all-ages spaces like The Smell and no longer can have it you know? I feel really bad for those kids. It did something for my life that it now won't be able to do for other people's lives. I hope something else opens up to take it's place. It's like [venues] in Brooklyn those closing there hit close to home because that's where I played all my first shows and that's where I saw all my first shows in New York. The Smell is a lot like that.

SM: Was the move from New York to LA sprouted from this idea that the scene in New York was starting to be edged out by people coming in and the growing commercialization of the place? A ton of artists have moved from New York to LA.

KM: Absolutely. There's so many people here from San Francisco and New York. New York sort of became this place where it went through stages. The first stage was where it was super cool, and then the second stage where it was like places that were really uncool but there was still enough cool to balance it out. And now when I go back it's like ‘Oh this place is horrible.’ And not all of New York there are cool places around New York, but just in the neighborhood that I spent time in and everything I loved about then is now different. That's another thing it's like when I go back I just feel like an outsider. It's like being in a mall, and I hate the mall (laughs).

SM: So your career started in New York as the bassist for The Woods, and then as a frontman/co-writer for The Babies, and finally now your solo career in recent years has become more successful. Do you feel more confident as you go forward in the process? Do you feel not as nervous going on stage or thinking about the next record?

KM: I mean there's always a tinge of nerves before going on stage or before putting out a new record. But as time goes on you sort of become more used to those kind of environments and experiences. partly because I feel like I've been doing it for so long. I joined Woods in 2008 so its been almost 8 years.

SM: As you've gotten bigger you've had bigger artists praise your work. I know from radio shows I've listened to that members of The Black Keys love your work and Jeff Tweedy is a fan. Is there anyone you'd like to collaborate with in the future?

KM: Oh man I don't know. You know this isn't a collaboration thing but Bill Faye is on my record label and -- are you a fan of Bill Faye? Have you heard of him?

SM: I’ve heard of him but never delved into his stuff

KM: He’s huge he's a huge influence. He's one of those people where I started making music and people were like, ‘You sound like Bill Faye you should check him out!’ and I did and was like ‘Woah I do’ and I became obsessed with him. He's also a huge Tweedy influence. He's written a few emails to people at my record label saying he likes my new record and that means a lot. I was covering one of his songs for awhile [live]. But anyway in terms of collaborations I don't know I feel like those sorts of things happen sporadically like I collaborated with Cate Le Bon [on Harlem River’s ‘Slow Train’]. It always comes out of something like ‘Hey come by the studio,’ and something natural comes out of it you know?

SM: Totally. Okay, one last question for you. It’s meant to be a little open ended; so feel free to say whatever comes to your mind: What do you feel is the most important part about being an artist? Do you feel like you've accomplished that so far?

KM: I think the most important part of being an artist is... I can remember a time where I was in New York and I was working so hard and I was working all these jobs while trying to maintain being in two bands and stuff and... [pauses]. It got to a point where I just really decided where I was like 'I'm just going to quit my jobs and I'm going to just make this work.' And I think the most important part about being an artist is fully throwing yourself in... like almost shackling yourself to it in this way where you think, 'I'm just going to live the ups and downs.' I don't know for me it's almost a non-choice. It's what I do naturally and without it I might as well be dead. You know what I mean? To be an artist is to follow your vision and know that it's a lifelong thing and letting it guide your life.

[This interview has been condensed and edited]