#julia is so pretty i should draw her again after finals maybe

[woolying]

chat how do we feel about j x julia... jjulia.....jcest.....

probably neither of them would fold this easily (considering julia being literally everything j hates/she would make sure julia knows that + julia probably still being just as stubborn and combative and hating j back for not worshiping the ground she walks on) but who cares!!! love wins <3

regardless i think j is weak to pretty girls and that includes herself ig 🫡🔥🔥🙏🙏💯💯👍

[lyntonier]

A train to Paris

Carmen Sandiego x Gray Calloway

Summary: Carmen is taking a break away from her work — helping out at the Orphanage and fighting crime — and decides to take a trip back to Paris, a location she quite enjoyed. During her journey she meets a familiar face she believed she would not see again.

A/N: This is set after season 4.

"So Carms, I hear you are off to Paris for the week huh?"

I smile into the phone, listening to Ivy's comment.

"You heard correct. Well, assuming nothing goes wrong, that is".

I had gotten a break from working at the Orphanage with my Madre, so I decided to take myself on a little trip. We had finally met about eleven months ago, and I had been helping around as much as I possibly could without a break. Well, I tell a lie, I had a couple days free from working with Madre, though I used those days to check for any crime around. I guess some habits die hard huh, this was meant to be my new start but I can't seem to leave fighting crime behind. It was my choice to work so much at the Orphanage though.

Madre had had enough and told me to take a week away and go someplace, so where better than Paris? The beauty of the city when the sun goes down and the lights come on again, the food, the art and architecture, the history, it's simply something I cannot forget. It's truly a once in a lifetime thing.

"Wow, I'm so jealous! I wish I could be there with you, it would be so much fun- Zack stop! Leave Julia alone. No- She probably does NOT appreciate that, so quit it... Yes, you, who else?!.......... Sorry Carms, it's Zach trying to flirt with Julia again".

Giggling at Ivy's scolding to her brother, I make a mental note to tease him about that when I next see him. He kept flirting with the poor woman, to which she would politely laugh and make an excuse to leave.

"No worries Ivy, it's alright. I must admit though, I do feel sorry for Julia in some respects".

"I know right! Gosh, he's so oblivious sometimes. I love him anyway though, no matter how much of a douche brain he is".

"It would be nice to be able to meet up with all of you again, it's been a while since I saw all of you properly. You'll have to let me know when you two both have some time off and I'll get hold of Shadowsan and Player, then we can all have a nice catch-up".

I hear Ivy sigh wistfully into the phone, light laughter leaving her lips.

"Honestly Carms, that seems like such a good idea right about now. I'm so tired with work, I got called out five times within the past two days, three of which were last night. I've not had a nice snooze in for ages and I could do with one right about now, haha."

"You do sound quite tired. When do you get off shift?"

"Uuuh, hold on....... Forty-five minutes, then I can go home".

"Well, you should treat yourself to a warm bubble bath and a long rest".

"I think I'll take that one and do just that. Ah- I've got to shoot, Cheif is calling for me. I'll call you tomorrow and we can talk more, yeah?"

"Yes, wouldn't miss it for the world. Tell the others I said hello for me? And I'll work on arranging a girls trip between you and me to somewhere, just let me know where you fancy going".

"Oh you're a star Carm, I'll be looking forward to that then. I'll decide tonight and let you know tomorrow, and I'll pass on your 'hellos' to the others. Talk soon Carm".

I smile into the phone, mildly disappointed that our conversation had to end so soon.

"Talk soon Ivy".

With that, I hear the beep of an ended call as Ivy hangs up the line. A sudden wave of exhaustion washes over me as I move my phone down to my lap, checking the time. It was 1:15 in the morning. Raising my eyebrows, I nod at my phone, surprised at how late it was. I should probably try to get some sleep as I'll be arriving at my stop in about seven hours from now and I would much prefer to not be falling asleep at every given moment.

Setting my phone down next to myself, I grab a blanket out of my carry bag and drape it over my lap, removing my jumper and folding it into four before placing it onto the seat to my left. Reaching up above myself, I pull a cord that turned off the lights in my little train booth, engulfing myself in darkness. The only form of light that I had at this stage was the gentle light from the moon, it would be full soon. Laying down, I place my head onto my jumper and pull my blanket up higher, closing my eyes and relaxing my body.

Right as I began to doze off, I felt a strange feeling of wariness make itself known in my gut, enticing me to sit up and evaluate my surroundings. Within a couple of seconds of having my eyes open, I heard a light tapping on my booth door. Someone was there. Averting my eyes to the glass section of the door, I keep my body motionless as I trace the figure with my eyes and their every possible movement.

If I stayed still then they would not see me and assume I was sleeping and most likely leave.

*tap, tap, tap*

"Excuse me, uh, I know you are awake.. can I come in? My booth has no heating and it's really cold out here".

Or maybe not.

Cautiously eyeing the door, I slowly raise myself from the seats and brace my hand into a fist, ready to fight off a possible threat. Standing tall, I cautiously step my way over to the door before grasping the cool metal handle with one hand and undoing a lock with the other. Twisting the handle, I edge the door open bit by bit.

"Hello... Um.. yes you may".

It was a man, not that much taller than me, and Australian. Or perhaps Kiwi. I couldn't see many of his facial features, other than the fact that he had a man bun and a couple bags with him. I wracked my brain for any vocal recognitions, however, nothing matched.

Standing aside, I made room for the strange man to come inside.

"Cheers mate, sorry 'bout how odd this is. I went to the train staff to ask about the heating and they told me that the booth I chose was meant to be closed, though the person on duty of closing it off didn't get around to it, hence me choosing the unlucky booth. They told me I would have to ask to share booths with somebody else seen as though all others are booked, and I saw your light go out, so I came here. Sorry and cheers again".

The man laughed, rubbing what I assumed was the back of his neck. His explanation seemed pretty truthful and his reasoning honest.

"That's no problem, sorry that you got a faulty booth, that must've sucked".

"Hah, tell me 'bout it" He joked.

Smiling, I close the door and return to my seat, watching as he put his bags in the overhead luggage area, leaving out a blanket of his own. Smart man.

"So, what's your name mate?"

"Carmen. And you?"

I see him whip his head around, before shaking it and laughing lightly.

"I had a friend called Carmen, though I've not seen her in a long time. My name is Grah-Grayson. Grayson".

I raise my eyebrow at his stutter, smirking lightly.

"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you Grah-Grayson" I tease.

"Haha, as to you Carmen".

With that, we both fell silent, just basking in the pleasant atmosphere of the booth with the same idea of sleep on our minds.

Slipping back into my 'bed', I pull my blankets back over myself and close my eyes, listening carefully at everything around me. I hear some stuffing around, something dropping on the floor, followed by a second something, more shuffling, then a satisfied sigh. Peering over my shoulder, I see the outline of a body laying on the seat across from mine.

"Did you just take your shoes off?"

"Hm? Ah yeah mate, can't sleep with shoes on, that's just crazy".

Grah-Grayson laughs at his own statement, finding humour in my question.

I feel my lips draw into a thin line as I shuffle my feet around awkwardly, my shoes very much still on.

Am I crazy?

"G'd'night mate, thanks again for letting me in on such short notice".

"No, no, that's fine. Goodnight".

It felt strange saying goodnight to a stranger, though I had most definitely done stranger.

I feel my eyes shoot open rather rapidly, my heart pounding against my ribcage as I scramble to sit upright, taking in my surroundings eagerly before eyeing the strange man in the booth with me. I check the room once again for anything out of the ordinary, before removing the blanket from my body and standing, striding my way over the door and yanking it open silently and slipping out, closing it behind myself. I needed some fresh air.

Making my way to the end of the train, I open a door that leads to a small balcony attached to the carriage. Immediately the wind hits me, blowing my hair to the side.

Sucking in a deep breath of air, I relax my shoulders and close my eyes. I had a nightmare — rather a memory — that Coach Brunt had broken into my booth and tied me up, much like before, and decided that enough was enough and planned to end things then and there.

A pretty sad nightmare, huh.

I enjoy the breeze a little longer before turning around and opening the door, walking back into the train carriage and back to my booth. Opening the door, I am surprised to see Grah-Grayson awake and sat upright, watching out of the window at the scenery. It was early for him to be awake, it was about five in the morning and the sun had begun rising, casting a gentle glow in the booth.

"Ah, mate, there you are, are you alr-......."

The words leave his mouth as he stares at me in surprise, horror, happiness, sadness and recognition... a mix of everything. Exactly what I was feeling.

Tears fill my eyes as I gaze at the male before me. It couldn't be...

"G-Gray?"

"Black sheep..?."

Grah-Grayson stands up, tears in his own eyes as he stares at me intently.

Stepping forward, I feel my arms raising slightly and before I knew it I was lunging for him, sobs wreaking through my lips as tears flowed heavily from my eyes. Engulfing him in my arms, I feel him do the same with just as much ferocity. I hear sobs come from him too, his chest rising and falling quickly and sharply with each gasp of air.

Before anything could be said, I feel anger suddenly wash over me, leading me to remove my arms from around him and shove him away harshly, placing some distance between us.

A confused whimper leaves his mouth, clearly unintentionally, but before he could say anything I let months worth of hurt, confusion, upset and anger form into words and flow out freely.

"Gray where were you?! W-What did you mean 'don't tell her' that you woke up!! Do you know how long I waited for you to wake up in the hospital, unable to see you or hear from you, not knowing that you had long gone?! Do you- Do you know how long I WAITED fOR YOU? Three months Gray- three months that you were gone and I was waiting for you to wake up so that we could start over, so that I could know you were okay!" The words kept flowing out, no matter how much I tried to stop them. Although I didn't try. I couldn't bring myself to try. I started pacing back and forth as I rambled, making sure the emphasis on certain words came out.

"Carmen, let me explain, I-"

I cut him off, anger still clouding my better judgement.

"NO Gray, you don't get to explain until you hear me!! I searched EVERYWHERE for days, weeks, months for you, thinking that something had happened to you, only to be told by Chief that you had requested to not have your condition or whereabouts revealed to me! Why Gray, why..? If you were angry or upset at me and didn't want to see me, you could have just told me instead of making me worry like that! I spent so many nights awake trying to find out where you were with the help of Player, but nothing!! NOTHING!"

I heave out everything that has been resting on my shoulders, the feeling of relief evident on my shoulders as a weight had been lifted.

"Carmen I was never upset at you, more of I was upset at myself. It was my fault that you had been captured and lured in, I knew what was happening and I could have prevented it, but I didn't. I blamed myself for you being brainwashed and hurt, and for myself being hurt. I was such an idiot and I didn't want to do something that could hurt you again-"

"And yet you did.." I remark with a whisper, adverting my eyes as I crossed my arms over my chest, hugging myself and sniffling as I did so.

"I know and I'm sorry... I didn't want to interfere with your life, not after everything that had happened. VILE was caught and disbanded, you had information on your mother, everything was over and you had a fresh start ahead of you and I didn't want to get in the way of that. So, I changed my identity and lived away from the public eye, hidden away where you could not find me. It wasn't just a fresh start for you, it was one for me too... I asked for you to not be told of my departure, even though Cheif strongly suggested against it, the same with that Julia lady. I told them it was my only request, and they allowed it eventually. I now realise that wasn't a good idea and that it hurt you much more than I believed it could or would... I am so sorry Carmen.. I really am so, incredibly sorry.. I can't blame you if you are angry at me, I gue-"

"Of course I'm angry at you!! I finally realised after all of that time that I was in love with you, and I was prepared to tell you, only to find that you were gone! Those three months left in the dark were pure heaven compared to the.. the shitty, crappy, horrible feelings once I found out you were gone!"

I watch as Gray's eyes widen in surprise, as he stutters his next sentence, his face flushed from tears, much like my own.

"C-Carmen.. you- what did you just.. what did you just say?"

"That I realised after all of this time that I was in love with you, so very incredibly in love with you, and that I was prepared to tell you!" I growl.

We both stand there in silence, the cool feeling of my tears drying up on my face present. Sudden realisation dawns upon me at what I had just boldly announced. Smacking my hand over my mouth, I gasp, my eyes widening as the realisation finally sets in completely.

Nothing is said between us as we just stare one another in the eyes, waiting for the other to speak.

"Gray, I-"

I cut myself short as Gray abruptly strides towards me confidently, raising his hands to cup my cheeks as I step back, unsure of what was happening. Staring down into my eyes, Gray smiles gently.

"You always were a cheeky one, sneaking your way into my heart the way you did".

My stomach fills with butterflies at that, a small smile making its way onto my face, accompanied by little giggles. Soon enough, I was laughing uncontrollably into Gray's chest, him onto my shoulder.

The laughter died down soon after, we were just left with warm smiles on our faces.

Moving his hand across my face, his thumb stroking my cheek and his other hand caressed the back of my neck, he looks down at my lips before looking into my eyes.

"May I?"

That one sentence had my stomach doing flips as though I were a schoolgirl who just confessed her undying love to her crush and received the same feelings back, though I guess in some respects I was that schoolgirl, just a little older.

"You may".

With that, Gray leans down, pressing his lips gently against mine and pulling away. I did not feel those fireworks that people would describe a true-loves kiss as, rather I felt complete, safe, happy, joyous, excited, calm, at peace and so many more pleasant things, much better than those so described fireworks.

Leaning in for a second kiss, I met Gray halfway with just as much passion, more ferocity this time, however. Soon though, we had to depart for air, a gentle blush growing over both of our cheeks.

"Carmen, I-"

"Excuse me, are you two alright in there? I could faintly hear you arguing from next door".

Looking behind me, there was an older woman stood in the doorway, a concerned look on her face.

"Yes, we are alright madame, thank you for your concern. Sorry for the noise, everything is sorted now" I explain, turning to face the woman.

"Very well then, there is no need to apologise my dear, as long as you are both okay. Oh, and sorry for interrupting your moment"

The lady giggles cheekily, before making her way back to her booth while rambling on about young love, or something along the lines.

"We should probably close the door, no?"

"Yes, we should. You, mister, have a lot to explain to me, especially what you have been up to since we last saw one another".

I smile as I leave Grays embrace, walking to the door and closing it.

"As do you. We have a while till we reach my destination, so shall we?"

"Hmm... I say sleep and then explain at a later time, on a date perhaps?"

"Friday, 8PM at Au Vieux Paris d'Arcole?" Grey wiggles his eyebrows, a smile on his face as he does so.

Laughter bubbles in my throat as I sniffle, wiping away any tear streams on my face as I nod my head eagerly.

"Call it a date".

A/N: This is my first ever oneshot/story piece that I've done on here and I honestly do not know how good it is, or how bad it is. All I can hope is that it's decent. It was inspired by @wizardsoffthecoast who had mentioned something about this, so here we are. I hope you enjoy it!

(I do apologise for any spelling mistakes!)

[moldisgoodforyou]

the exes

lmfao guys i finally checked my taglist form and i've been missing a lot of you sorry :///

warnings: men that might remind you of your ex, brief mentions of sexual content

wordcount: 2.4k we're back to shorter fics unless you guys want to start waiting a month in between them

_______

“I love you, Sophie,” he’d said, and then looked at her expectantly.

She was surprised when she heard herself echoing her first boyfriend, Peter, with an “I love you too,” even though she wasn’t sure she meant it. Her parents always said they fell in love after only two weeks, so Peter waiting two whole months to tell her was a logical next step.

Right?

Peter went to the Columbus College of Art and Design, and they’d met through a dating app after Sophie figured she didn’t want to have to meet another boy that was halfway drunk and put his hands on her waist when he shuffled past her in the dirty college bar. So she settled for the first nice boy she met, that looked halfway decent and kissed halfway decent too. He was two years older, twenty while she was eighteen, and always bragged to his friends about how mature she was, how smart she was for her age.

Her father hated him, but Sophie just figured it was because he was her first real boyfriend. Carter especially hated him, making a clear effort to ignore him and turn a cold shoulder when he’d pick Sophie up from the dorms and take her out to dinner, or on the few mornings he had to pick her up from Peter’s house when Peter would complain he was too hungover to drive the eleven minutes to campus to bring her home.

She quickly learned that I love you wasn’t necessarily love, it was more like an obligation. When she really was too busy with architecture homework, or she had a sorority meeting, he’d ask her to come over with a pleading “c’mon, but I love you,” and she’d huff to herself but pack up her things and go to his apartment for a couple hours. She’d hang out with him just long enough to placate him, then trudge back to her house, work on homework until three am, wake up exhausted, repeat.

She went out with him to the bars, more often than she liked, and he’d get way drunker than her every time. Sophie would sigh and drag him home, then make sure he was well enough to attend church the next day. She went once and was reminded of how her childhood was spent in church, every Sunday in youth group, and hated that feeling. One of the girls in his youth group led a sermon about saving yourself for marriage, sending several pointed glances at Sophie, and she realized he’d probably confessed to them about how she let him touch her. (He didn’t know that she faked an orgasm so he’d quit rubbing what was basically her inner thigh.)

He was never mean, just...boring. Something she had to deal with. She found herself wanting more, playing with the idea of what it would be like to ask out the cute boy in her sociology class, but then she’d shake her head and remind herself she wasn’t a cheater. Besides, he wasn’t that terrible. He’d dote on her and call her princess (which she hated, but figured as far as pet names went, it could be worse).

When he posted photos with other girls on his Instagram story - at a party, in class, out to lunch - Sophie found herself not caring a little too much. She kept waiting for a hint of jealousy, and thought that sometimes he was waiting for it too, but it never came. Julia and Allie would see and question those stories, ask Sophie who those girls were, but she’d just get defensive and shrug it off. (He’s allowed to have other girl friends, she’d say. Even when the photo showed the girl’s head on his chest and arms around his waist and his arm around hers, his hand on her hip.)

When he called her in tears, after five months of dating, she knew what was coming.

“I kissed someone else.”

“Oh.” She paused, gathered her thoughts, then realized she had none. Felt completely neutral. “Okay.”

Peter sounded like he was at his breaking point. She didn’t care. “It’s been going on for a while.”

“Is it Andie?” Sophie asked, growing annoyed. Did they really need to drag the phone call out?

“Yeah.” He let out some ungodly sob and she found herself feeling disgusted, wanting to tell him to pull it together. Andie was cool, a girl she’d met a couple times at the few college parties she’d been to with Peter, where everyone sat around and smoked cigarettes and drank IPAs, and fit the stereotype of art students so damn well it wasn’t even funny. Andie wore Doc Martens and had a buzzcut and gave zero fucks - and clearly didn’t give any about the tentative friendship Sophie thought they had.

She wrinkled her nose. “Did you do more than just kiss?”

Peter had never pressured her - ever - Sophie would tell him sorry with shaky hands, that she just wasn’t ready to go further, then felt gross every time she apologized. But if they went a little too far and she made them stop, he never stayed the night, only napped with her until she was asleep and slipped out just after.

“I’m so sorry, princess -”

She recoiled at the pet name. She’d never liked it but didn’t hate it enough to argue against it. “No, no, answer the question, Peter. Did you do more?”

“...Yeah. We did. I just - I had to find it somewhere, you know -”

“Oh.” She mumbled, her insecurities confirmed.

“Sophie, princess, I’m so sorry. Why don’t you come over and we can just -”

“I don’t think I want to see you again. For a while.” She added, chewing anxiously on her lip as she told him.

Silence came over the phone for a few moments until he finally replied. “Oh.”

A few more moments. “You’re sure? We can talk it out.”

“Um...no. And yes, I’m pretty sure. Okay. Um. Talk to you later, I guess.” She hung up, feeling more disappointed in herself for not catching it than anything else.

(They did not talk later, or ever again. Sophie figured that was best.)

_______

Shortly after Peter, Sophie met Luke. He was sweet, a little boring too, but most importantly, he was easy. Easy to talk to, easy to hang out with, and she didn’t have this lingering fear in the back of her mind that he was going to go hook up with someone else. After a few months, Luke became a little less than easy - he was clingy and would walk her home from every class, he would ask her to come hang out when he studied in the chemistry lab, he would complain if she didn’t spend the night with him. She found herself lying to him that the architecture studio didn’t allow visitors, just so she could get a breath of fresh air.

One night, when Sophie sighed upon seeing Luke’s contact pop up on her phone and went to grab her overnight bag without even reading the text, Allie frowned. “Sophie.”

“Yeah?”

“You don’t have to do this, you know. Just because he says he misses you. You can be your own person.”

Sophie paused, considering. “I am my own person, just with him. Right?”

Allie hesitated before answering, wanting to phrase things carefully so Sophie didn’t get upset. “I feel like maybe you’re a little different with him. When I met you, you were confident and bold and...I don’t know. I think he’s holding you back.”

(You’re a shell of yourself,” is what she really wanted to say, but she wasn’t sure Sophie could handle that.)

“Oh.” Sophie uttered, quiet. Allie had just confirmed what Sophie had been thinking for months, but she didn’t think anyone else had picked up on it. “You think I should break up with him?”

“I think you need to decide that on your own.”

“Allie.”

She just gave her a look, shaking her head. “Go over there, and say what you need to say.”

Sophie was clearly debating, stuck, until Allie pried her bag out of her hand and grabbed her keys from her desk. “Al -”

“Come on. I’ll drive you.” Allie guided her out the door, her arm slung around Sophie’s shoulders. She drove her to Luke’s house, waited outside while Sophie went in, and texted Julia to get ice cream from the store when Sophie walked back out only twenty minutes later with teary eyes.

Sophie slid back in the passenger seat, drawing her knees to her chest. “I did it.”

“I’m proud of you, Soph.” Allie reached over and hugged her. “You’re better than him. I promise.”

When they both returned to their room, Julia wrapped Sophie in a big hug. She held her tight as Sophie sniffled, quietly, then promptly handed her a spoon for the ice cream as soon as she let go. After a few moments of quiet, Julia broke the silence. “So when are you getting back out there?”

“Oh my god, Jules, give her a break.” Allie rolled her eyes as Sophie giggled through her tears.

“I’m just asking! Maybe it’s time for you to go through your hoe phase, babe.” She reached over and snagged a bite of the ice cream, twirling the spoon around thoughtfully. “Or do you have any guys in mind - oh, remember that cute Delt that’s from your hometown -”

Sophie fixed her with a glare. “If I’m doing a hoe phase, it’s sure as hell not gonna be with Rafe Cameron.”

“Rafe! That’s what it was. Okay, so he’s out. What about the bartender at Varsity Club, he always gives you the extra shots in your drink for free?”

“Can you give the girl at least a day to get over her breakup?” Allie asked skeptically.

“Can I just say something?” Julia asked.

Sophie sighed, nodding. “I know you’re gonna say it anyways, so go ahead.”

Julia gave her a sheepish grin, patting Sophie’s knee. “I never liked him. He made you kinda like a doormat, y’know, and that’s not you. You’re better than that. Plus, he was so needy. I mean, he had to have been good in bed for you to stick around -”

“Jesus Christ, Jules -”

“He wasn’t.” Sophie interrupted them both. “We didn’t do that much, anyways.”

“Oh.” Julia paused, thinking. “Well. I’m glad you broke up with him, anyways. Takes a lot of courage.”

———

The first time Luke called when he was drunk, it was only a week after their breakup. Sophie felt bad and picked him up from the bar to drive him home, and let him kiss her in his room before she pulled away and urged him into bed.

The second time, it was the next weekend, and she did the same thing, but kissed him a little more. She ignored Julia’s knowing look when she slinked back into their room, head down, with her lipstick a little smeared and hair a little astray.

He kept drunk calling and she kept going to rescue him, to pick him up from the bars or a pregame or wherever else he was. She convinced herself it was only because she felt bad about breaking up with him, that he wasn’t all that bad in the relationship. The fifth time he called, a month and a half after the breakup, the girls were all drunk at the bars, and Luke was drinking at a party. When he called, Allie snatched the phone out of Sophie’s hand and tucked herself into the corner of the bar to hear him.

“Luke?”

“Soph - no, wait, Allie?”

“Yes. It’s Allie. Stop fucking calling her.”

“I just - I thought she could take me home -” He started, confused.

Allie huffed but forced a smile and gave Sophie a thumbs up from across the bar. “No. She can’t. And you can’t call her anymore, she’s not your girlfriend. Go find a friend or something.” With that she promptly hung up and blocked his number, satisfied. She’d regret it a little in the morning, but didn’t tell Sophie what she’d done.

____

It took Sophie about two weeks after Luke’s last phone call to follow Julia’s advice to ‘get back out there.’ The first time, she convinced herself it was way too easy - flirted with a frat boy at the bar with a few subtle touches, twirled her hair around her finger, and went back to his room after only an hour of knowing him. It was rushed, awkward, and she was pretty sure the guy came in his pants after a few heated kisses and a couple rolls of her hips.

The second time, she tried a little harder, going after a guy that approached her first with a smooth pickup line and a broad smile. They traded buying rounds for each other all night, until he kissed her around midnight and shyly asked if she’d want to go back to his place. When he escorted her into what she recognized as an off-campus Sigma Chi senior house, she didn’t dare inform him that actually, she was just a sophomore with a really good fake ID. She surprised herself when she took off her clothes first, then kissed him with a newfound confidence she’d pulled out of nowhere.

“I lost it.” Sophie announced with a slight frown when she came back into their room at two am.

Allie woke up from her spot on the futon where she and Julia were watching TV, rubbing her eyes. “What’d you lose?”

“Your...” Julia trailed off.

Sophie nodded, wrapped her arms around herself. “It’s not like everyone says. And I thought it would take a little longer. It wasn’t bad, though.”

Allie frowned, getting up to hug her. “Are you alright?”

Sophie accepted the hug, resting her chin on Allie’s shoulder. “Yeah. Just...I don’t know. I kind of hoped it would be a little more special.”

“He didn’t kick you out, did he?” Julia rose too, wrapping her arms around both the girls.

“No. I left.” She paused, sounding both deflated and a tiny bit hopeful. “They can’t all be like this, right? I mean, this is my fourth guy I’ve had...something with, and I’m starting to think there’s a trend.”

“No, no, you’ll find the right person. I promise.” Julia assured her. “Maybe you need to just wait, you know? Take some time for yourself.”

Allie hummed in agreement. “You’re more than just some dumb relationship.”

“I just…” Sophie sighed, quietly. “How am I supposed to know when he’s the right one?”

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[bottleofspilledink]

God’s Watching, Put on a Show || Chapter IX

“So…” Eve began, staring at the various stands and stalls and tables with all sorts of different agendas, occasionally shifting her gaze to the people who would weave between it all.

In every sense of the word, today was, for lack of a better word, eventful.

This was most likely why, when they were gathered in the gymnasium for club sign-ups, the pair simply stood amidst the somewhat organized chaos, clueless.

“What now?” Eve pulled out the club sign-up form from her skirt pocket, thankful she hadn’t lost it in all the ruckus. “My offer still stands, I really don’t mind letting you pick the club we join.”

“I mean. I already told you earlier that I don’t really care what club we go to either way.” Lilith shrugged. She wasn’t trying to sound apathetic, but she couldn’t really remember the last time she enjoyed club time solely for it’s activities and not the friends she would do them with. “You pick.”

“Alright, we’re not gonna get anywhere with this, so how about a compromise?”

“I’m listening,” Lilith chuckled. Of course Eve would be the type to suggest something like that.

The girl in question blushed at the sound, but fought to gather her thoughts and continue.

“You can tell me the clubs you don’t like and I’ll do the same. After we narrow down the list, we can settle on a club that we both like, or at least a club that on of us can tolerate.”

“Okay, but let me tell you now, there are a lot of clubs I don’t like.”

It was Eve’s turn to laugh, her hand automatically coming to cover her mouth as she grinned and giggled.

“Tell me anyway.”

“No music club,” Lilith said, right off the bat. “I’m a mediocre singer and I don’t want to spend two or three hours a week singing hymns.”

“Reasonable enough.” Eve recalled being given a small flier when they entered, the colourful paper listing all available clubs and emptied her pockets once more in search of it before crossing out the words “music club” with a pen she had found while looking for the paper. “Anything else?”

“No home economics. You know why.”

Eve just nodded an drew a line across it.

She was doing this to make up for what she did, not draw attention to it.

“And lastly,” Lilith said, voice tinted with humor as she tried to lighten the mood, somewhat guilty when she saw Eve’s face fall when she mentioned home economics, “no math club. ‘Cause I’m not a nerd.”

The girl succeeded, getting a tiny, genuine laugh from Eve that made her heart flutter like a hummingbird’s wing whenever it graced her ears.

“It’s fine, I’m bad at math too.”

Lilith visibly perked up at the words, the teasing grin Eve had so missed making a comeback at long last, “I never said I was bad at math. I’m pretty good at it, actually. I just don’t like doing it more than I have to.”

“Really?” Eve joked, displaying a mock-disbelief. Lilith was no idiot, though judging by her work ethic when it came to CLE, Eve couldn’t help but make a few assumptions. “What score did you get on the practice test a few days ago then?”

“Ninety-four percent.”

At that Eve’s eyes grew wide as saucers. That was better than she had gotten, and, more surprisingly, it was better than what Mary had gotten, ninety percent, an A minus that paled in comparison to Lilith’s A.

“Oh. That’s neat.” What could she say in response to that?

Fortunately, she didn’t have to struggle to say more, as Lilith returned the question to her.

“What did you get on the test.” Lilith wasn’t the type to gloat, at least not to a person she liked, but the thought of Eve thinking her a fool or a failure wasn’t the kind of image she wanted to project either.

“Eighty-seven…” She stared at the floor in shame, suddenly enamored in the scuff marks a muddy sneaker had left on the floor, shame flooding her face in the form of blood, her cheeks taking on a soft pink for different reasons now. Who could have left this here? A student who had forgotten to clean the soles of her shoes? A janitor, maybe?

Lilith couldn’t help but melt at the sight, immediately speaking to comfort the girl.

“Hey, come on. There’s no need to be embarrassed, that’s a pretty good grade, especially coming from someone who says they’re bad at math!” She clasped Eve’s shoulder and gave a gentle, encouraging squeeze, trying to get her to look up from the floor. “That’s like, what, a solid B? A B plus even?”

When that didn’t work, she slid her hand down to Eve’s and ran the pad of her thumb over the soft skin before giving another, more tender squeeze. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to embarrass you when I asked that. If you want, I can help you review for the next test?” She put on a smile and tried to sound optimistic, mind running a mile a minute as she tried to figure out what to say next.

“There’s always room for improvement!” Lilith said, stealing one of Paula’s lines in the rare occasion that Joan flubbed a test or lost a game. She’d have to thank her for that later.

Meanwhile, Eve hoped that Lilith wouldn’t be able to feel her pulse through her wrist, the pink hue her face took on having faded, only to return with a vengeance when Lilith opted to hold her hand, the way the girl soothed her thumb over her knuckles nearly sending her into cardiac arrest, the momentary squeeze stealing the air from her lungs and running for the hills, if only for an instant before she mustered up enough breath to speak.

“You’d really do that? Or are you just saying that to make me feel better?”

“Are you kidding me?” Lilith grinned, incredulous. “Of course I’d help! With a score like that, there isn’t even all that much to do.”

The way Eve looked at her when she said those words, amber eyes adoring and brimming with marvel as it were, Lilith couldn’t bring herself to look away, it was like she was lost and slowly, willingly sinking into the entrancing, honeyed hue that was Eve’s eyes.

She could hardly handle being the subject of the girl’s gratitude-filled gaze, her heart clenching tenderly when Eve smiled at her, because of her, soft and sweet, dimples appearing on her rosy cheeks, unaware of the near-painful longing that welled up in Lilith’s chest.

In the split second silence, Lilith wondered whether it was for better or worse that Eve didn’t know how her heart ached whenever she made her smile, knowing that Eve, kind person she was, would never want to hurt her, even in the most gentle way, the soft tightening of her chest Lilith herself would sometimes even long for.

“Anyway,” Eve said, breaking the quiet that had settled over them, “I really can’t join the art club, so that’s out of the question. My drawing skills are literally non-existent.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah! The best I can do are stick figures, bee doodles, and really loopy flowers.”

They scratched that off the list and began roaming around, Eve unsure of what clubs were a hard no for her but wanting to narrow down the list further.

“Oh, definitely no debate club.” She said out the moment she saw their stand, stopwatch, hardwood podium and all.

“Okay, but why?” Lilith took the list from her and crossed it out, skimming over it in search of clubs the both of them could enjoy.

“They’re sca-“

“Lilith!”

A girl with shoulder-length black hair swishing slightly with every step came up from behind them and hugged Lilith with a fierce grip, nearly making the both of them fall to the ground in the process, her long-suffering partner, local gossip girl, Margaret, merely trailing a few paces behind her, not wanting to be associated with the girl who managed to make at least eleven heads turn towards them.

“Joan told me everything this morning. Where is she?” The girl let go, swinging her head around frantically and craning her neck in an exaggerated search. “I’m gonna beat this chick’s ass if it’s the last thing I do!”

Finally, Margaret came closer and tried to put a stop to whatever was unfolding. “Swearing is against the rules, Julia. I can report you for that.”

The girl, Julia, apparently, turned to look at her partner, joyful demeanor fading in an instant.

“So is make-up and cheating, but you don’t see me yapping about it, do you?”

That shut Margaret up effectively, cheeks probably red with indignance under her foundation.

“Anyway, where is the bitch? I’ll-“

“Okay, before you finish that sentence, I think you should know that the girl you’re calling a bitch is right beside me. Right now.” Lilith said, grabbing her by the shoulders and making her face Eve.

Julia looked at her.

She looked at Julia.

“Hi.”

“Oh shit. Hey…” They stared at each other, a split second of tension filled silence passing between them. “I’m not taking back what I said though, you’re a bitch. I mean seriously, I get not being gay but did you have to- OW!”

Lilith’s elbow met Julia’s rib, harshly.

“When did Joan say all this?” She sighed. The last thing she needed right now was someone making Eve feel worse after everything that happened today, especially now that they were just starting to patch things up and talk free of any awkwardness.

“I already told you, she said all that this morning. We sat next to each other in CLE and passed notes while Sister Jane wasn’t looking.”

“Julia, you’re fucking nuts and I love you for that,” Lilith sighed again, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration, “but now is really not the time. Go ask Joan or Paula to catch you up on things, they should be around here somewhere. We’re busy looking for a club. Until they tell you what happened earlier, you can not call Eve anything except Eve.”

“Oh wow, okay. I must have missed something big if you’re defending the girl who made you sob so hard, you almost-”

“The details aren’t important! Besides, you weren’t there, so you don’t know what happened.”

Julia raised a brow at the girl, shutting up to help her save face, but going in for one last tease before she went looking for Paula to see the whole picture, “I literally just said that Joan told me everything, but okay.” She put her hands up in a sort of surrender. “Say what you want, babe! I’ll get the truth out of you the next time we get wasted anyways, so yeah!” And with that she turned to leave before, rather impulsively, Eve called out to her.

“What club did you join?”

“You’re really gonna look at me and not immediately assume I’m in the softball club? You offend me, Eve. I mean really! You know what they say about softball. It’s the sport of my people!”

The blonde merely stood in silence, absolutely dumbfounded, mouth opening and closing like a fish yet not a syllable leaving her lips.

Julia cackled, tossing her head back and ruffling her soft curls. “Oh God, she doesn’t know?” She asked Lilith, her eyebrows raised so far up that no one watching would be surprised if they receded even further back to join the hair on her head. “You really know how to pick ‘em, sweetheart!”

She walked away, giggling and giving them – well, more Lilith than Eve – finger guns all the while.

“Okay, I’m just going to ask. What was that whole thing about softball about?”

At this, Lilith herself couldn’t help but laugh. “Basically, it’s kinda a stereotype that, and this isn’t a thing we made up, lesbians play softball.”

Eve’s look of confusion turned to bafflement turned to a somewhat exasperated and incredulous amusement. “That makes no sense, but I’m going with it anyway. How did that even start?”

“I actually don’t know, but we went along with it too, cause why the fuck not? You know?” Lilith shrugged and they continued walking again. “There’s probably a bit of truth in there somewhere. It’s how Joan and Paula got together, so there’s that! And Julia has an ex that used to be a member.”

Eve took the list back from her while she was distracted, eyes quickly scanning over it to see if Lilith had crossed anything out while it was in her possession. “I’m assuming there’s a story behind that?”

“Yup!” She snatched the flier away from Eve once more, holding it high above her head when the girl tried to get it again. “But not one you get to hear. Not yet.”

She huffed at that. Eve, despite already standing on her toes, the four inch height difference between them made it so she couldn’t get the list back from Lilith.

“Okay then. But one last question.”

“Yeah?”

“Sweetheart? Babe?” Eve asked, a twinge of jealousy in her. Granted, she had no right to be, at least in her own mind she didn’t. She wasn’t even supposed to be feeling anything for Lilith other than disdain, but what could she do? Her only consolation was the fact she’d yet to act on said emotions.

Technically.

Eve tried to justify what she could, mind jumping from hoop to hoop, connecting loose strings, drawing lines between dots that were barely there. Earlier wasn’t anything akin to love. It was just a friend taking care of a friend.

Yes.

“Oh, that? Yeah, Julia calls everyone that, really. It’s nothing personal.” Lilith felt delusional. Were her feeling for Eve so strong as to warp her mind and affect her hearing, going so far as to imagine Eve’s voice with a pang of envy. “If you get on her good side, she’ll probably call you something too. Not what she called you earlier, though.”

A wave of relief washed over the blonde… followed immediately by guilt for feeling said relief.

It was nothing another round of mental gymnastics couldn’t fix.

The only reason she was relieved was because Lilith not being in a relationship meant that she wasn’t beyond saving.

Of course.

“I hope so, too.” Eve said. They turned to walk down a different aisle, about forty-five minutes left for them to find and join a club.

The pair strolled between stalls leisurely, narrowing down the list bit by bit, encircling the ones they had taken a particular liking to, chatting about clubs.

“The gardening club seems cool.” Lilith suggested, looking at their small stall decorated with small, origami flowers, the girls who ran it not having the heart to pluck what they had grown just yet. “It’s outside so I get some fresh air and it’s no sport, so you won’t have to strain yourself like you did in gym. Whaddya think of it?”

She looked over at Eve, only to see her frowning, a mix of disappointment and contempt in her eyes.

“I’d love to join, but I’m not allowed. My mom doesn’t like me gardening.” Her frown turned into a pout, eyes growing glassy with frustrated tears that had been building up for nearly a decade now. “She made me stop when I was eight because my hands were getting rough…”

“Use me.”

“What?”

“Use me as an excuse. Tell her I made you join it.”

Her words were temptation, the apple offered to Eve by the serpent.

Lilith held the sign-up slip and the red pen out to her, the folded paper an open invitation to rebellion. She wouldn’t force Eve, however, wanting this decision, this sin, to be hers and hers alone, the girl refusing to even write her own name on the paper.

Eve could feel the fifth commandment ringing in her ears, as the Eve before her knew she was defying god.

“Honour thy father and thy mother.”

And yet, Eve could also feel the dirt between her fingers and under her nails, the weight of a trowel in her hands, the sun beating on her back through the gaps in the leaves of their oak tree, the scent of the earth and the flowers carried by the breeze.

The nagging voice in her ears faded and morphed to the gentle buzzing of the bees and the high-pitched chirping of the birds.

Eve took the form and filled it up.

Eve took the apple and ate of it.

______________________________

Taglist: @anon-nom-nom95 @melpomenismask @littlemisscalamity @i-wanna-be-a-rock @extrabitterbrain @gaypeaches @phillyinthebathroom @leahstypewriter @madame-ree @pirateofblood

[in-my-head-i-do-everything-right]

Hallie - “you had it figured out since you were in school/everybody loves pretty, everybody loves cool.”

you’ve had it figured out since you were in school. everybody loves pretty, everybody loves cool

Part of the reason why Allie even sends in that self-tape for that Disney show is because Cassandra tells her not to. She’s feeling rebellious. She’s thirteen.

Only then she gets a callback. And then a skype call with a casting director. And then another call but with the creator of the show. And then she’s across the country, out in sunny LA (it’s December, and it’s snowing back in West Ham, and this shift in weather is really freaking her out).

She gets through one audition. And then two.

She gets the part.

And maybe the show won’t even last a whole season. Maybe it’ll be cancelled before it even airs. Maybe she’ll hate her castmates. Or just LA in general. And, God, she can’t sing. Does Disney know that? Do they expect a music career out of her? Maybe this is all she’ll ever be known for.

But then Cassandra tells her to go for it, and then her family packs up and moves across the country, and suddenly… suddenly this is it.

-

Post-Disney, the first film she does is this small budget indie thing that films on location up in Oregon.

There’s a definite learning curve.

First of all, craft services sucks. Which makes her sound like a snob, but God, she is so used to these mini chocolate croissants available at all times. Like, on the last day of shooting that Disney show, she asked what bakery they were from. One of her co-stars had laughed at her like it was some kind of joke which honestly hurt more than the show ending.

Second of all, nature. As it turns out, shooting outside and shooting on a lot is a very different experience. And shooting out in the rain, which it is always doing in Oregon—twenty-four seven—is an… experience. But a fun experience. Really fun. Makes her think that maybe she’s doesn’t need the job security that Disney provided. Like, fuck that.

And, last of all, Harry Bingham. He gets a whole bullet on this stupid list because he’s the guy who thinks he’s somehow better than her because he got an Oscar nomination or something for a film just like this one. And he was twitter’s white boy of the month, something he is way too proud of. Like, he can’t even remember his twitter password, so why the fuck does he keep bring it up?

-

It’s really late and dark and a little cold. They’re sharing a fuzzy blanket because they could only find one and they both wanted it and when someone on set suggests they just share it neither could come up with an actual argument as to that’s a bad idea.

“You know,” he says, sort of out of nowhere, “my sister watched your show. I think she might be in love with you.”

“Oh,” Allie says, and she’s smiling at him. Not for the first time because, sadly, because he is way too funny for his own good. It’s upsetting. It’s not fair. “So, unlike you, she has taste?”

He scoffs, but he’s smiling too, very brightly. Maybe she doesn’t need the blanket. “I never said I didn’t like your show.”

She stares over at him, not trying to mask that look of surprise taking over her face. She’s just trying to picture him actually watching the show… and it’s not easy. It was a Disney show. It was stupid and immature and Harry fuckingBingham was most definitely not its target audience. She’s trying to picture him watching those commercials, the ones where she’d draw the logo with the fake wand.

Finally, she says: “Honestly, I wasn’t a huge fan of it.”

Harry lets out this light sort of snort, more an exhale than anything else. “Why’d you do it then?”

Allie shrugs. “It was a job. It was an opportunity. It was a chance that wasn’t gonna pass up just because I didn’t think it was some revolutionary thing.” She pauses, wrapping herself up just a little tighter in the blanket. “My family moved out here after I got the job. I was fourteen, and they gave up everything just so I could do this.”

“You’re good at this, Pressman,” he tells her, softly, and it’s stupid how much those words mean to her.

“Thanks, Harry.”

When they’re called back onto set, she swears his eyes linger a second longer than they probably should. That means something to her too.

-

They film a kissing scene in the rain, and she swears her heart stop for a half-a-second.

The director yells cut, and Allie can’t help it, the way she’s blinking up at him, a bit like he hung the stars in the sky, or whatever other sappy bullshit you feel when you start to realize—

It just didn’t feel fake for a moment there. On Disney, everything felt fake. She’s just not used to things being this natural.

(There are two fuzzy blankets waiting for them off set. They still share.)

-

Shooting ends on a Tuesday, and they fly back down to LA together on a studio provided jet.

Harry spends the flight tossing popcorn at her while she tries to watch Notting Hill.

“You’re being obnoxious, Bingham,” she says, one earbud out, turning to glare over at him.

He grins. “Just trying to keep you from falling in love with Hugh Grant.”

“Not possible. I’m already in love with him.”

“He’s old now.”

“Still hotter than you.”

“Not possible.”

“Verry possible.”

He scoffs. “And living vicariously through Julia Roberts isn’t healthy.”

“Oh, you know from experience, don’t you?”

“I actually met her once, at the Oscars.”

“God, everything with you always comes back to that Oscar nomination, doesn’t it, Bingham.”

He lets out this sharp, surprised laugh. She bites back a smile.

“I’ll introduce you to her one day,” he offers, it’s softer, more genuine than cocky. They’ve never talked about any sort of future, any sort of friendship that follows them past this film. Her breath catches in her throat. Her heart stops once again.

“I think I’d like that.”

-

She has a tiny guest part on some broadcast television sitcom. Craft services has those chocolate croissants. She wraps herself up in a fuzzy blanket and eats three.

She asks Harry if he’d want to grab coffee sometime.

He texts back yes almost immediately.

She wraps herself up just a little tighter.

-

She sits on the couch in Harry’s childhood home and watches her Disney show with his little sister.

“You’re even prettier in person,” Sarah tells her, almost unabashedly, and Allie blushes a light pink.

From beside her, Harry grins. “The Bingham’s have taste,” he says, his voice almost a whisper in her ear, and that makes her blush a dark pink.

“Sarah’s my favorite Bingham,” Allie announces, and the girl smiles and laughs and leans her head on Allie’s shoulder.

This feels a lot like family, she realizes, the soft familiarity of it all.

She likes it. She likes it a lot.

-

The morning Oscar nominations are announced, she wakes up beside him in his bed, wearing an old shirt of his, something warm and soft.

They lay in bed and eat chocolate croissants and wait for the call. And the sun hasn’t even risen yet—it’s so fucking early—but there’s something like adrenaline keeping her awake. God, it’s so stupid to be this attached to an award, a little statue that means practically nothing, but…

Harry lays his head in her lap. She plays with his hair.

“And if I don’t get nominated?” she asks, softly, carefully.

He stares up at her. “Then you find another script to fall in love with and do it all over again.”

“And if I do get nominated?”

“Then we figure out how to sneak snacks in the Dolby Theater and you write into your acceptance speech what an amazing guy I am.”

She’s laughing as the phone rings, and he’s sitting up to answer it. And then he’s smiling, smiling so wide, and that means—

Allie’s crying and beaming, and Harry’s holding onto her like he’s trying to keep her anchored, trying to keep her from floating away, and—

It feels a whole lot like everything was worth it.

She’s happy.

send me song lyrics and a pairing and i’ll write you a drabble

[anistarrose]

Fear The Reaper A Lot, Actually - Chapter 5

AO3

Summary: It’s time for the hunt to resume. Noelle makes a promise, Kravitz conducts an interview, Taako plans a séance, and Barry makes a friend.

Characters: Kravitz, Taako, Barry Bluejeans, Angus McDonald, Magnus Burnsides, Merle Highchurch, Noelle | No-3113, The Raven Queen, The Director | Lucretia, misc. BoB cameos, Julia Burnsides

Relationships: Taakitz, Angus McDonald & Taako, Barry Bluejeans & Kravitz, Kravitz & Angus McDonald

Sorry for the late update! I was sick on Tuesday and Wednesday, and then on Thursday I decided to focus entirely on losing my mind over the new TAZ episode, so that means it’s time for a rare Friday chapter. Lots of stuff is happening in this chapter, so hopefully it was worth the wait!

(Also, I normally don’t write the chapter titles on tumblr for this fic because it makes the title section of the post look cluttered, but this one is called “me and the boys at 2 am looking for jeans.” Just really wanted to make sure you were all aware of that fact.)

***

Long past the curfew established by the Reclaimers’ training routine, at the hour of night when the moonbase’s artificial lights dimmed and the bonfires on the planet below faded away, four pairs of eyes watched Avi from the shadows. A murmur of excitement escaped from behind one of the glass spheres when he yawned and checked his watch, followed by a chorus of disappointed sighs when he slapped himself across the face and set back to work unloading a new supply shipment, but he didn’t seem to notice them over the muffled roar of high-altitude winds.

Finally, a passenger sphere floated back into the port and the Bureau’s three top Regulators disembarked, back from a planetside drill that had run long. From her perch on Killian’s shoulder, Carey leaned down to affectionately slap Avi on the back, and he quickly accepted her invitation to join their gang for drinks at the Chug ‘N Squeeze. As Avi led the way out of the port, Carey and Killian hot on his heels while Noelle followed more distantly, there was much hushed rejoicing among their shadowy, impatient observers.

“Finally,” Taako huffed. “I was starting to think he was pulling an all-nighter.”

After checking one last time to make sure the coast was clear, Angus stepped out of his hiding place and reached for the door of the transport sphere, but Magnus grabbed ahold of him by the collar of his shirt.

“Sorry, little guy, but you’re staying behind this time.”

Angus opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again, at a loss for words for the first time since he’d started speaking in complete sentences at age fourteen months.

“It’s nothing personal, Agnes — we just need someone to stay behind and distract Avi if he comes back before we do,” Taako explained. “And no one can resist all your nosy questions once you get going, so you’re the perfect accomplice!”

“I can think of a few people who can resist it,” Merle scoffed. “Number one, me.”

Magnus ignored them both, kneeling down to look at Angus in the eyes. “Ango, if I’m being honest… we had some close calls last time, and that was in a cave where we honestly weren’t expecting to find anything besides a clue or two if we were lucky. Tonight, we’re going to try and get a lich’s attention, so this morning, we all sat down and talked about it and agreed we’ll feel better if you’re safe up here.”

Taako sighed. “Gee, way to let the kid know we actually care about him. Now his ego’s gonna grow until it’s bigger than mine, and then where will I be?”

“It’s okay, sir. I’m sure you and Merle will still find ways to keep me humble.” Angus managed a smile.

“Stay safe, all right?”

“That’s the spirit!” Merle laughed, as Magnus picked him up and placed him inside the sphere. “Now hurry up and set the trajectory, Taako. Barry Bluejeans isn’t gonna arrest himself —”

“Please, hang on just a second!”

Four heads whirled around to face the port’s exit hallway, where Noelle was floating.

“It’s just me, don’t worry!” she assured them, noticing Magnus and Angus’s guilty expressions and Merle and Taako’s panicked ones. “I won’t let the Director hear a peep of this, I promise — but if you’re going after Mr. Bluejeans, I’d like to come with you. If you’ve got room in that sphere, of course.”

“Well, the scale of this lich hunting team is rapidly veering past ‘secret club’ and careening into ‘elaborate conspiracy,’ but… I guess this whole bargain is about your life too, isn’t it?” Magnus thought out loud. “Taako, Merle, are you guys alright with this?”

“A ghost would know where to find another ghost better than any of us would, right?” Merle asked, and Taako shrugged.

“Then welcome to the lich-hunting conspiracy, Noelle,” Magnus declared.

On her way to the sphere, Noelle patted Angus on the head, surprisingly gentle despite her heavy robot arms. “Sorry, pal. I didn’t mean to replace you.”

“It’s okay, ma’am,” Angus told her. “I know you’re better in fights than I am, so… just be sure to keep them safe, okay? And if you get a chance, could you ask Barry if our theory about the Voidfish was right?”

Noelle’s face display flickered, somehow expressing a determined smile with just a few dozen lit-up pixels. “I’ll do my best, I promise.”

***

There were many reasons for a soul not to join the others in the Astral Sea, but most often, it was because they were waiting for someone. Luckily, the person Kravitz wished to speak with was one such soul, so he was able to find her in only a matter of minutes.

There was only one island in the Astral Sea with a cottage on it, after all.

Though expertly constructed, it was clearly unfinished, lacking a door, roof, or windows — so Kravitz knocked on the cedar doorframe, and waited outside for the house’s occupant to respond. Just seconds later, a tall woman with a bandana tied around her hair met him at the doorway, smiling sadly and shaking her head as she laid eyes on Kravitz.

“Oh. You’re the emissary of the Raven Queen. I’m sorry, I — I wasn’t sure if I was hoping or fearing that you were someone else.”

“I understand.” Kravitz said softly. “You’re Julia Waxmen-Burnsides, right?”

“That’s right.” Julia offered him a calloused hand. “Nice to meet — er, formally meet you, Death.”

“Death is my mother. Call me Kravitz,” Kravitz replied as he accepted the handshake, and Julia chuckled.

“Okay, Kravitz. What brings you over to my humble island?”

***

“Well, this spot should be as good as any,” Taako announced, kicking a pebble across the black glass circle that once was Phandalin. “Magnus, did you bring the sacrificial denim?”

“Sure did!” Magnus held up a pair of freshly purchased jeans. “Also some candles, and an ouija board that Carey helped me steal from Leon the other day as part my rogue lessons.”

“Tell Carey that gaslighting Leon is my job, and she needs to quit infringing on my brand.” Taako pulled a piece of chalk from his pocket, tried and failed to draw a circle on the glass, then conjured a paintbrush instead and started painting a pentagram.

Meanwhile, Noelle drifted around haphazardly, the lights on her face growing dim. “It’s… it’s so empty here. I was bracing myself for ruins, for bodies… but there’s just nothin’ left. I can’t even remember where the bar was, or the hotel, or the stables…”

Merle looked away. “Sorry we dropped the ball on this one, Noelle…”

“S’alright. You made up for it in the lab last week, with the savin’ the world and negotiating for my soul an’ all.”

“Well, don’t get too comfortable in your robot body, ‘cause we might not have much time left in the living world if Barry doesn’t show tonight.” Taako placed the jeans in the center of the pentagram, then lit them on fire. “But I think this’ll get his attention. Everyone, come join hands!”

Magnus kneeled and took Taako and Noelle’s hands, while Merle stood up on his tiptoes to do the same.

“You’ve done this before, right?” Merle whispered.

“Plenty of times.” Taako summoned a Mage Hand and adjusted his scarf to cover his nose and mouth, as the fire in the center of their circle intensified. “Noelle? Would you do the honor of reaching out for us?”

“Uh, I’ve never been to a séance quite like this one. Maybe you’d be the better one to —”

“Barry, you asshole! Too much of a coward to show your face!” Merle shouted. “Heard about how I banished Legion and got the heebie-jeebies, didja?”

The ruins of Phandalin fell eerily silent, aside from the quiet crackling of the fire.

“Sorry. Still not detecting any liches,” Noelle reported.

“Well, being a dick didn’t work,” Merle muttered. “Shoulda brought some booze and thrown a party — maybe that would get his lazy ass’s attention.”

“I’m pretty sure liches can’t drink, Merle,” Noelle told him. “And honestly, now that I’m thinkin’ about it, I can’t imagine why Barry would be obligated to haunt this here town just ‘cause it’s where he died. Are y’all sure this is the best place to look for him?”

“Positive,” said Taako, but Magnus spoke over him.

“Maybe we should widen our search area. Quick, what other places would be significant to Barry?”

“How ‘bout the cave where he got his ass kicked?” Merle suggested. “You know, the place where we met G’larg or whatever his name was.”

Magnus let go of Taako and Noelle’s hands to fan the air in front of him. “Well, a hike sure sounds better than standing around inhaling denim fumes, I’ll give you that.”

Taako extinguished the blaze then cast Phantom Steed, and Garyl manifested atop the embers of the fire, rearing into a majestic pose. “Hiking’s for chumps. Garyl and I will race you there!”

***

Julia led Kravitz inside the cottage, which smelled pleasantly of cedar and lavender, and motioned for him to sit down in one of two rocking chairs. She sat in the other, crossing her legs and absentmindedly rocking back and forth.

“So, Maggie went and got on the Raven Queen’s bad side, did he?”

“Not permanently, I’m hoping,” Kravitz replied. “I don’t know him as well as you, but he and his fellow death criminal associates don’t strike me as anything like the usual bounties I hunt. I was hoping you could testify on his moral character, and maybe also shed some light on how he cheated death, because he sure doesn’t seem to know.”

“Well, he’s survived some close battles — but I assume you’re looking for necromancy, not near-death experiences.” Julia drummed her fingers on the arm of the chair. “And I know Magnus is no necromancer.”

“I figured as much. Did he know any necromancers, though?”

Julia shook her head. “No. He’ll stand up to any authority figure if he believes they’re abusing their power, but that’s not because he just walks around looking for rules to break — it’s ‘cause he can’t stand injustice. He’s a good man, and I can’t imagine him throwing his lot in with a lich or someone like that to flaunt the laws of life and death…”

Her voice trailed off. “Do you know how long ago these so-called crimes happened?” she asked.

“They all registered in our system at once, about twelve years ago. Needless to say, I’m assuming he didn’t die 19 distinct times within minutes of each other, so there must’ve been some warding that was previously hiding him from our detection. We’ve seen that kind of thing before, although never quite to the same extent.”

“Twelve years ago was before I knew him,” Julia admitted. “I’m not sure I even know where he was living or what he was doing twelve years ago.”

“Forgive me changing the topic, but are his parents still alive? Or any siblings, aunts, uncles?”

“He was an only child, and his parents passed away before I knew him — I think he was an adult at the time, but barely, so… that would’ve been thirteen, fourteen years ago, maybe? He never told me how they died and I never pressed him, so — wait a second, you’re the Grim Reaper. Shouldn’t you know exactly who’s dead and who isn’t?”

“I really should,” Kravitz agreed, “and that’s the problem, actually. I can’t find any relatives of Magnus in the registry of deceased souls — no parents, no grandparents, no cousins…”

“You only found people who were Magnus’s family by marriage,” Julia realized out loud. “That’s why you came to talk to me.”

Kravitz nodded. “Exactly — but it gets even weirder. Magnus’s fellow adventuring buddies and apparent death criminals are an elf named Taako and a dwarf named Merle, whom I don’t suppose you know —”

Julia gasped, not in recognition, but in dawning realization. “Don’t tell me you can’t find their families, either.”

“All I found for Merle were some fourth cousins, and equally distant relatives. I couldn’t find anything about Taako.”

“The plot sure has thickened, huh?” Julia muttered. “You’re right that I don’t know Merle or Taako, they must’ve been… you know, after my time. But I can swear to you, if this is some kind of — some kind of necromantic conspiracy, then Magnus is the victim, not the one behind it. He could not and would not plan something like this for years while keeping it a secret all this time. He wouldn’t have hid it from me or from Steven —”

“I believe you,” Kravitz told her, “and I believe Magnus, when he says he genuinely doesn’t know how he died nineteen times. But because I believe you, and because I think you’re right on the mark with regards to a necromantic conspiracy, I have one last question: have you ever heard the names Lup or Barry Bluejeans?”

Julia snorted quietly at the latter name, but shook her head. “No. Are they… necromantic conspiracy suspects?”

“You could say that. More specifically, they’re liches whom we first detected around the same time as Magnus. At the time, I assumed it was a coincidence, but now… well, there a few different first impressions of Magnus and his adventuring buddies that I’m reevaluating.”

“Tell me about it. That man contains multitudes.” Julia leaned back in her rocking chair. “If there’s anything else I can do to help exonerate Maggie — any questions or testimony you need — I’m sure you’ll be able to find me here for a long, long time, but… can I ask something of you, if it’s alright?”

“Depends. What is it?”

“Can you help me send a letter?”

***

For the first few hundred feet of the race, Noelle kept up with Taako via her rocket boosters, but then opted to save her fuel, and Garyl surged ahead towards the mountains.

“Eat my dust!” Garyl whinnied. “I’m gonna find those oatssss!”

“Liches, Garyl. We’re looking for liches,” Taako reminded him.

“Yeah, but liches always have some loose spectral oats in their robe pockets!” Garyl scaled the foothills with ease, leaving a cloud of dust in his wake. “Sometimes they even give me spectral sugar cubes! Why dontcha ever hang out with liches anymore?”

Taako yanked on the reins. “Excuse me?”

“You haven’t given me sugar cubes in decades,” Garyl moaned as they came to a halt. “Or even spectral carrots.”

Taako dismounted, turning away from the face of the mountain to look at Garyl in his iridescent rainbow eyes. “You gonna elaborate ‘bout me allegedly hanging out with liches, pal?”

“What is there to elaborate about? You used to hang with liches, and then you just —” Suddenly, Garyl’s eyes went wide. “Look out! Above you!”

Taako dismissed Garyl with a wave of his hand, and the binicorn disappeared in a flash of rainbow smoke. “Yeah, no, I’m not buying that. You’re just pulling my leg again —”

He turned around slowly and casually, not expecting to see anything out of the ordinary — only to find himself facing a crumbling mountainside, dozens of massive boulders already rolling on a trajectory straight towards him.

He instinctively raised his Umbra Staff, only to freeze up, no idea what spell he could cast in time to save himself — but then something in his peripheral vision flashed red, and not a full second later, he was standing atop a distant hill, a hundred meters away from the site of the rockslide.

“Are you okay?” a voice behind him rasped. “I didn’t mean to startle you — I know you probably had it under control, but I — I just panicked. Sorry.”

Taako turned around to face a familiar red-robed specter, two vaguely eye-shaped lights under his hood looking Taako over.

“You know, I was actually pretty un-startled until you popped up behind me and started rasping in my ear! Let an elf have his personal space, Barold!”

“What?” The lights beneath Barry’s hood froze in place, as did every thread of his robe, paralyzed in spite of the gentle breeze. The rasp in his voice dissipated as he went on: “Taako, how much do you remember?!”

Taako blinked. “Remember?”

“Talk to me, Taako! Please!” Barry grabbed Taako by the shoulders, incorporeal hands trembling. “Do you remember your sister? Do you remember Lup?”

“Ugh, that sound! Why do you have to do that right in my face?” Taako shrugged off Barry’s barely-tangible grip, clapping his hands over his ears.

“You heard static?” Barry gasped. “Oh, no. No. I thought —”

“You bet I just heard the worst five seconds of ASMR ever! What do you want from me, man? All I know about Lup is that she’s a lich like you, ‘cause that’s all Kravitz could tell me —”

“Kravitz told you about us?!”

“Yeah, he did! Told me you two were his most elusive bounties, and that I could never let my guard down around you!” Taako reached into the quiver slung over his shoulder, pulling out a sapphire arrow. “And I think it’s about time I gave him a heads up that you’re hanging out right here, soul ready for reaping —”

“Do NOT summon Kravitz!” Just seconds before Taako plunged the arrow into the ground, Barry tore it out of his hand and hurled it through a rift. “Why the fuck would you summon Kravitz?!”

Taako’s grip tightened on his Umbra Staff, and Barry recoiled. The lights under his hood looked like they were melting, shedding glowing droplets that cascaded down some semblance of a face within the void.

“Taako, please,” Barry pleaded. “I’m not your enemy, and — and Lup isn’t either, I swear! She wouldn’t want this!”

Taako raised the Umbra Staff to cast, but no spell fired from the umbrella as it shuddered in his hand.

“You can’t listen to what Kravitz tells you — he doesn’t know why we became liches! He doesn’t know about the Hunger!” Barry’s robe was fraying before Taako’s eyes, crimson threads unraveling at the edges of his sleeves. “What if — what if he thinks you’ve cheated death? What if he sends you to the Eternal Stockade?! Taako, I’m begging you, I — I — I don’t know what I would do if I lost you too!”

Taako cast again, and the Umbra Staff still refused to fire, the beginnings of a spell entering his arcane focus on one end but never leaving it on the other. As Barry drifted closer, sparks jumping between stray red threads and face a mess of swirling light and shadow, Taako turned to his last resort — stalling for time.

“You know, Kravitz was thinking real hard about sending me to ghost jail the other day, but I convinced him not to. Don’t you want to hear my side of the story?”

Barry froze, the unraveling of his robe momentarily halted. “In the Miller lab? What happened?!”

“We made a deal. He was going to arrest me, Magnus, Merle, Lucas, and Noelle — but I got an idea he liked better. I asked if he’d let us go free if we captured another bounty or two for him — so he gave us two months to capture you and Lup.” Taako shrugged, so focused on trying not to panic that he hardly noticed the sound of electricity crackling and fabric tearing. “So if you just turn yourself in, then at least you’ll only have to worry about me half as much.”

Barry convulsed as a jagged gash tore through his robe from shoulder to waist, an intangible darkness spilling out from within him and pooling on the ground below.

“LUP!” he shouted, voice echoing between mountains and through underground lairs for miles and miles. “They — they signed their own death warrant, Lup! I — I can’t do this without them, I can’t do this without you — where ARE YOU?!”

“Taako! There you are!”

Magnus sprinted onto the scene, Merle and Noelle hot on his heels. He thrust himself between Barry and Taako, then pulled a sapphire arrow from his own belt, jabbing it into the shadow-covered ground at Barry’s feet. “Kravitz, we’ve got a bounty for you!”

The lights beneath Barry’s hood coalesced back into two flickering eyes that immediately fixated on the arrow, which was already engulfed in a crackling blue aura.

“Boys, I promise I’m going to fix this,” he rasped, and then vanished into thin air.

“Wait, come back!” Merle called out, rushing towards the spot where Barry had been floating. “I didn’t even get a chance to talk to you —”

Taako yelped as his Umbra Staff inverted, and the arrow flew through the air towards its maw — but milliseconds before the umbrella snapped shut around it, Kravitz manifested in a puff of smoke, already dual-wielding sapphire scythes.

“Did you find Barry? Where is he?”

“He got away, I think,” Magnus sighed. “I probably shouldn’t have summoned you where he could see, but I rushed in because I was so worried about him hurting Taako —”

Noelle floated around Taako in tight circles, scanning him from all angles. “It doesn’t look he hurt you, but… I’m getting some traces of conjuration magic? Did you have a wizard’s duel or something?”

“Oh, god no. I probably wouldn’t be alive if we had,” Taako admitted. His heart was still pounding, but he tried not to let it show. “Conjuration magic, though… let’s see. That would probably be from when he — when he teleported me away from the mountain, after those rocks started falling.”

“Those rocks?” Noelle gestured towards the massive pile of rubble at the foot of the nearest mountain. “Those look like they could’ve killed you!”

“I know, right?” Taako replied. “Very uncharacteristically benevolent of him to show up when he did.”

“As great as it is that you’re not dead, Taako, it was also very convenient of him to show up when he did,” Kravitz paced across the hilltop, scythes crossed in front of him like the world’s most dangerous dowsing rods. “I can’t sense his presence anymore, meaning he’s squirreled himself away in some sort of warded hideout… but if he appeared out in the open here only shortly after you did, then that hideout of his must be nearby.”

He turned away from Taako, facing the mountains. “Which means he’s still nearby.”

Taako felt his hand grow warm, and looked down to see his Umbra Staff, energized from the absorption of the arrow… and pointing directly at Kravitz’s back.

“Let’s search the area.” Kravitz continued. “Leave no stone unturned —”

Taako pointed the Umbra Staff towards the sky — not a moment too soon. A beam of white-hot plasma pierced the clouds above and bathed the entire mountain range in daylight for a fleeting moment, before it fizzled out with a crackle of electricity and a whiff of ozone.

Kravitz whirled around. “Taako?!”

“I didn’t cast that spell! I don’t know how to cast that kind of spell!” Taako gasped. “My umbrella’s been acting up all night, but I didn’t know it could act up like this!”

Kravitz sighed and placed a hand on Taako’s shoulder.

“You know, on second thought,” he said, “maybe we should postpone the lich hunting until you get that thing checked out.”

***

Merle made a beeline for his bed the second the gang returned to the moonbase, while Taako took it upon himself to relay the night’s events to Angus as a bedtime story, and hopefully ensure that the kid actually got some sleep. Noelle had opted to stay planetside for a little longer and fly back up to the moon on her own later, explaining that she needed some time alone to process what had happened in Phandalin, and that left Magnus and Kravitz alone in the common room between the Reclaimers’ individual dorms.

“There’s no way Angus will relax enough to fall asleep in the next week if he hears about what happened tonight,” Magnus sighed, collapsing onto the couch. “Either Taako lies and says nothing happened, or he uses a sleep spell on a ten year old. You wanna make a bet on which?”

“I’ll pass. But you just reminded me, I actually have something for you.” Kravitz rifled through the interior pockets of his vest, pulling out a piece of shimmering blue paper. Although folded over on itself several times, it still felt almost intangibly thin, like parchment woven from cobwebs or even air itself.

Magnus raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “That better not be magical junk mail.”

Kravitz smiled, slowly shaking his head. “I spoke with someone in the Astral Plane today who had a lot of good things to say about you,” he explained. “She’s waiting to see you again, but hopes that day won’t come too soon, and… well, I haven’t read her letter, but I’m sure it speaks for itself.”

Magnus accepted the paper gingerly, eyes tearing up as he unfolded it to reveal Julia’s handwriting.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Kravitz plucked a raven feather from his robe, transmuting it into a quill pen with a snap of his fingers before handing it to Magnus. “I don’t allow this kind of thing every day, so don’t go around telling too many people about it — but you can use this pen to write a response on the back. Fold it up again once you’re done, and it’ll make its way back to her.”

Magnus leapt up from the couch to crush Kravitz in a hug that would’ve knocked the air out of his lungs, had he still been alive and breathing.

“Thank you,” Magnus repeated. “Thank you —”

Taako barged into the room, Umbra Staff slung over his shoulder. “You wanna guess what ‘cha boi had to do to get the kid to go to sleep? I’ll give you a hint, it wasn’t — okay, what am I interrupting here?”

A joke no doubt on the tip of his tongue, he froze as he noticed the tears running down Magnus’s face. “You okay there?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think so.” Magnus let go of Kravitz, wiping his eyes and picking up the pen and letter again. “I — I’ll be in my room. I need some time to… I just need some time.”

Taako nodded. “Don’t forget to get some sleep yourself. Apparently you humans need, like, eight hours of it, go figure.”

“He’ll be alright,” Kravitz whispered to Taako, as Magnus closed the door to his room. “He just got a letter from someone he hadn’t heard from in a while.”

“‘Course he’ll be alright. He’s Magnus, he’s indestructible,” Taako replied, but Kravitz could hear the relief in his voice. “And in case you were wondering, the way to get Angus to fall asleep is to read him a detective story, but only as a distraction while you’re preparing a Sleep spell.”

Kravitz chuckled. “You know, speaking of distracting — what’s with that flashing Chug ‘N Squeeze sign on the moon campus? I don’t think it was there when I visited you the other day.”

“Oh, that? I think it’s some kinda wine and pottery place — why, you wanna check it out? ‘Cause it’s supposed to open in a day or two, or so says all the hottest moon gossip.”

“Well, I mostly just asked out of morbid curiosity, but it does sound like something I could enjoy ironically — and maybe even unironically, as a break from all this lich hunting and detective work. Do you want to check it out with me?”

“Oh, a wine and clay vacation day with the Grim Reaper? That’s a hell yeah from Taako!”

***

The second Barry returned to his cave, he bolted straight for an unassuming chest beneath a pile of discarded scrolls and tattered jeans. Though it only occupied about two cubic feet, it was warded against everything from fire to water to acid, and sealed with an arcane lock — which Barry dismissed by uttering the passcode, emergency bonds.

From inside, he retrieved a handful of trinkets — a driftwood necklace from Merle, a wand that Magnus had once unsuccessfully tried to summon a dog familiar with, and most important of all, a dozen different wedding rings, all hewn from different materials and given in different ceremonies on entirely different worlds. Barry picked up the envelope beneath them and then gingerly placed them back in the chest, opening the envelope to look through the pictures it contained.

The shadowy essence of his lich form had stopped leaking out of his robe the second he’d opened the chest and been comforted with the wave of nostalgia, but he felt his soul stabilize even further as he pulled out the first picture. It was a candid shot of him, Lup, and Taako in the Starblaster’s lab, buried up to their elbows in notes as they studied the Light of Creation, which the camera had only been able to capture as a vague white blur. The three of them all had bags under their eyes, but they were still smiling. They’d been so determined to develop a new theory, to find the answers that would save them and their family.

And there was no reason for Barry to abandon that determination or give up on that goal now.

For the next four hours, he scrawled calculations on almost every blank scrap of paper he had at his disposal, comparing research he’s done half a century ago with papers he’d read on cycles even further back. He unfurled no less than five individual maps of Faerun, circling promising locations before changing his mind and scratching out all but a few that he’d personally visited in the past.

By the time his plan was complete, almost all of the rips in his robe had mended themselves — though he still looked unsettlingly threadbare, and he trembled slightly even while floating in one place.

How long did Taako say they have? Two months, as of the crystal incident? There’s no need to panic — I’ve got time. I just need to play this smart.

He extended his senses outside of his lair, scanning the surrounding area for Kravitz or another emissary of the Raven Queen — and there was indeed an undead presence lurking near Phandalin, but unlike Kravitz, it lacked even the faintest trace of celestial energy. Even stranger, its aura seemed shielded, but less so than a lich possessing a living body would’ve been… as if the soul was inhabiting an inorganic body, instead.

The robot no doubt sensed him approaching, but gave no sign of signalling for help, which made Barry feel much better about his decision to venture out of the safety of his cave.

“Mister Bluejeans? That you?” she asked, and the sound of her voice was all it took for Barry to connect a series of dots that couldn’t have been further from his mind just a few moments ago.

“I know you. You were in the Cosmoscope — and before that, you were in Phandalin. You were a halfling.”

“That’s right. I’m Noelle — Noelle Redcheeck. I’m surprised you remembered me.”

“I’m surprised you’re not furious with me,” Barry whispered. “I couldn’t save you, or anyone else in Phandalin — I’m so sorry, Noelle. Maybe, maybe, if I’d been in my lich form, I could’ve —”

“You tried your best,” Noelle assured him, “just like the Reclaimers. Really, the only person I should blame is whoever made that terrifying gauntlet in the first place —”

“No,” Barry interrupted. “I knew her, and I knew how implausible this will sound, but she didn’t want this. She tried her best to stop it, too.”

Noelle took a moment to reply. “It sounds like you know a lot of things that the Bureau doesn’t.”

Barry nodded. “Speaking of which… I really shouldn’t stay out here in one place for much longer, or someone will sense me, be it the Bureau or Kravitz. Do you mind if we take this conversation somewhere else?”

“Just lead the way.”

They headed not to Barry’s main hideout, but to a slightly nearer cave that he used mainly for storage but had placed equally powerful wards over. Abjuration had never been his specialty, but his ability to pick it up on the fly had been invaluable during his time as a rogue lich — and now, he thought, my abjuring might be the one thing that saves my family’s lives. Funny how that works out.

“So, Noelle,” he asked out loud, “I saw you with Magnus and Merle earlier. Do they know you’re still down here?”

“I told them I wanted to stick around Phandalin for a while and think about what happened,” Noelle explained. “Which, come to think of it, wasn’t a total lie — because I did want to talk to you about Phandalin, and I guess I got that chance after all. But I’m also here because I promised my detective friend that I’d ask you something.”

“Assuming your friend’s alive, then they probably won’t even be able to comprehend the whole answer — but fire away, and I’ll tell you what I can.”

“Did the Voidfish erase the fact that you were a lich?”

“Getting right to the root of the problem, huh?” Barry paused. “Hmm. Let me put it this way — the Voidfish erased all memories that could make me believe I was a lich. Whenever I’m alive, whenever I’m amnesiac, the idea that I could be a lich or even a necromancer just sounds like a joke. I’ve tried leaving messages to remind myself of that fact, after coming back to life — but my living self never believed it.”

“It sounded like a joke to Magnus and the others, too.”

Barry sighed. “That’s ‘cause they’ve lost a lot of memories of their own.”

“But… they’re innoculated. How is that possible?”

“Noelle, we’re well past the point where I need to warn you about keeping this conversation a secret from the Bureau, right? And… probably from your detective friend, too, assuming they work for the Director?”

“Yeah,” Noelle sighed. “Angus will be disappointed, but I understand.”

“There’s a second Voidfish,” Barry explained. “It’s very well guarded, and only the Director’s been innoculated by it — so she’s used it to erase all kinds of information, from the Reclaimers’ pasts to… a coming storm, which this world is unlikely to survive.”

“This storm… will it be worse than the Grand Relics? Worse than what happened to Phandalin?”

“It’ll be not just worse, but maybe even infinitely worse. Because it’ll go on to destroy worlds beyond this one, if we let it.���

Barry had forgotten what it felt like to speak so freely about his past and the Hunger, to speak without worrying that his words would be distorted by static, and more and more information just poured out, far more than he’d initially intended to share.

“There is an entity called the Hunger that seeks to consume all of existence, and it’s only a matter of months until it begins its assault on this planar system. The Director and the Reclaimers and I, we were all like family, and we worked together in search of a way to destroy this Hunger, but… we had some disagreements. And really, neither side was right, but Lucretia — Lucretia used the Voidfish to erase our whole mission, the Hunger included. I became a lich to protect my family from the Hunger, so… when I’m alive, I don’t have any memory of being undead. And my family doesn’t have any memories of me… aside from that time in Phandalin when I got Merle to stab himself with a fork, I guess, which probably didn’t leave a great impression.” He managed a bitter laugh.

“How long ago did they forget?”

“Almost ten years ago.”

“I’m so sorry.”

It dawned on Barry that he was having most sincere, two-sided conversation he’d experienced in a decade — and ironically, the realization left him at a loss for words.

The same couldn’t be said of Noelle, who continued on without hesitation. “I promised my friend Angus not just that I’d get answers, but also that I’d look out for the Reclaimers. I don’t want the Grim Reaper, or the apocalypse, or whatever’s coming to hurt them — or anyone else in this world, like Angus, or Carey and Killian, or my family in Hogsbottom — so please, Mister Bluejeans, tell me what I can do to help. I want to do something with this extra time the Reclaimers gave me.”

“If you get caught helping me,” Barry warned her, “you’ll be imprisoned one way or another — either on the moonbase, or in the Eternal Stockade, depending on who catches you.”

“Well first of all, it sounds like at the rate I’m going, I’m gonna end up either back in the Astral Plane, or consumed by this Hunger entity in a matter of months if I don’t do anything to help you,” Noelle replied. “And second of all, I’m not plannin’ to just give up and let them arrest me if I do get caught.” She cocked her arm cannon.

Maybe it was risky to accept help from someone he barely knew, but Noelle had seemed nothing but sincere — and Barry had spent so long working alone that frankly, he was amazed it hadn’t killed him yet. He was a creature of bonds and of love; he sought out companionship by both nature and necessity. He didn’t know if he could do this alone, but alongside another undead soul who could actually understand and help, he knew for a fact that he could.

“Welcome aboard, Noelle.” Barry chuckled. “First things first: I’ve tried to stay out of the Raven Queen and her servants’ ways, because they’re really not evil at all, but if there’s any chance of stopping the Hunger, then we’ll need Taako and the others’ help for sure. Which means we’re going to have to do something about the Grim Reaper situation —”

“You know, I might have something to help with that.” A drawer Noelle’s main body slid open, revealing a sapphire-tipped arrow. “Magnus figured we should all have some summoning beacons on our person, in case of emergency.” She winked. “But I was thinkin’ we could use it to lure him into some kinda sinister trap.”

She paused. “He can’t eavesdrop on us through this thing, can he?”

“Not if we don’t say his name. But I’d close that drawer for now, just to be on the safe side.” Barry said as he summoned a scroll and pen, then started jotting down notes. “This is all perfect, though! I already hashed out the spell theory for a plan, but you just made it about a billion times easier to pull off — not just because of the arrow, but because you can gather components, and I won’t have to risk him sensing my location and realizing what I’m up to!”

“Makes sense,” Noelle replied, looking over Barry’s list. “That’s all you need me to get?”

“Yeah. I was thinking most of it would be salvageable from the Miller Lab — uh, except maybe the iron filings, which are commercially available anyway.”

Noelle beamed. “I won’t let you down, Mister Bluejeans.”

“Thank you, Noelle.” Barry looked down at his robe, which looked less tattered and more vibrantly red than he’d seen it in years. “For everything.”

***

End notes:

Apologies in advance if the update schedule gets a bit less consistent from here on out, since I’ve burned through my pre-written buffer chapters, but I’ve at least got a solid chunk of Chapter 6 written and a detailed outline for the chapters after that! It’s just about getting into the write headspace to write.

as usual, comments/reblogs mean a lot!

[factoffictionwriter]

Tiva Fic Amnesty #2

This is also a piece of the multichapter fic in which Ziva returns to DC a few weeks after ppf. Here’s just a peek into an age old Tiva trope.

He had been expecting an apron, but instead she was wearing one of his old OSU t-shirts that fell mercilessly to her upper thigh. She was standing in front of the stove, a clunky book in her hands as she squinted at the pages, concentration drawing her features down. There were two big pots on the burners, and she seemed to be consulting the book for what to do with them next. 

She hadn’t heard him come in, at least she hadn’t led on that she did, and he just couldn’t bring himself to interrupt her. Something on the page seemed to confuse her, and he watched as she captured her lower lip between her teeth and gnawed at it. She turned her head toward the ovens, as if debating whether she should tend to the dish in there before continuing on with the contents of the pans, and then turned back his direction. She jumped the slightest bit when she saw him standing there, and he found it oddly satisfying to have snuck up on a notorious ninja. 

She continued on as if he hadn’t scared her, “You are home…” she turned back toward the ovens for a second to check the time, “... at a perfectly reasonable time. I did not expect you for at least another hour.” 

He bit back a smile and moved to take a seat on one of the bar stools, “It was a slow day. I blew through my case files. Boss couldn’t think up an excuse to keep me.” 

She set down the book, which he could now see was an old Julia Child cookbook he kept on a shelf for posterity. She glanced between the two pots for a fleeting second before deciding that they could both use a good stir, “You blew through desk work? You? Tony, I once watched you balance a pencil on your nose for 2 hours rather than fill out a report.” 

He laughed as she moved on from the pots and made her way to the oven, opening the door and giving Tony a good look at the two large steaks she was nursing.

“Let’s just say that today I was a highly motivated man,” his eyes trailed down her back and over her bare legs as she rolled up onto her toes to get a better view at the cooking meat. His tone must have alerted her to his alternative meaning, as she quickly closed the oven door and turned back his way, letting her hair fall into her face as she leaned against the counter. 

“You have been highly motivated before, I am sure.” 

He shook his head, watching as she slowly drew her hand across her shoulders and neck, sweeping all of her curls to one side, “Never this motivated, no.” 

She considered the statement for a second, then seemed to accept it as she moved back to the pots on the stove. 

Tony looked around the kitchen, “Did you buy food?” 

She shook her head, “You bought food and forgot about it. It was probably months ago. The steaks were in the back of your freezer.” 

He watched her turn off one of the burners and move the pot over to a waiting holder, “It’s probably best that they weren’t found until now. I would never be able to do them justice if I tried to make them.” 

She shrugged, “I also found an old box of macaroni in your cabinet. It’s not much, but I added some vegetables and threw in some spices. It should make for a decent side dish.” 

He gestured to the pot still boiling, “And that one?” 

“Mashed potatoes. Or, it will be, once I actually get around to doing the mashing.” 

He watched her stir the boiling potatoes, gauging how soft they were becoming. A small, intimate smile crept across his lips. 

It was almost a minute before she realized he hadn’t moved and looked up at him. 

Her brows furrowed at his expression, “What is it?” 

He shrugged, “You’re just being so… domestic.” 

“I have cooked for you before.” 

“Yeah, at your place. With clothes on.” 

She looked down at her attire as if just now remembering how little she was wearing, “My clothes are still in the dryer. I did not want to wear the same thing tomorrow without washing them. Plus, I smelled like airplane… and sweat,” she scrunched up her nose for emphasis. “I also used your shower, though I have to admit that your hair care products leave something to be desired.” 

He trained his eyes on the still boiling pot, trying not to imagine her standing in his shower… water running down her skin… suds all over her body…

“Yeah, sorry about that. I wasn’t really expecting company. But maybe we can head to the store tonight? Get some more food… maybe some beer… whatever else you may need…”

If his hinting at a prolonged stay surprised her, she didn’t show it. Instead she glanced back down at the large t-shirt hanging loosely on her frame, “My clothes probably won’t be done for a while, and I don’t think I can reasonably go out in public wearing this.” 

“Trust me, no one will mind,” he let himself run his eyes up and down her body again, studying the way the loose cotton folded and twisted around her hips. 

She laughed quietly, reaching down to turn off the final burner and moving the pot onto a cooler one, “It will be late by the time we are done eating anyway. I can go to the store tomorrow while you are at work.” 

“And clothes?”

She nodded, “I will buy some of those while I am out as well.” 

“Why didn’t you bring any with you?” 

She stopped her assault on the soft potatoes for a second, looking up to meet his eyes with an expression he couldn’t quite identify, “I… um… left in a hurry. I did not take the time to pack anything, really.” 

He reached into his suit pocket and fished out his wallet. He pulled out his Mastercard and held it up for her to take. 

She immediately shook her head and pushed his hand away, “I have my own money, Tony.” 

He held the card out again, “You’re not working right now. It’s not a big deal, consider it a gift.” 

She pushed it back again, “Seriously, I do not need it. I am sure I don’t have to remind you that my father was a very powerful man. He had accumulated a considerable amount of wealth in his life, and being the only living relative... Anyway, most of the money was tied up in various assets-”

“Let me guess: diamonds?” 

She smiled, “There were some diamonds, yes, but mostly it was in real estate. He had houses and land all across Israel, and even some over in Europe. I kept a few that had sentimental value, like the ones we used to visit during the summers, but the rest were of no use to me. So I sold them. That is another thing I have been working on this past month.” 

“You sold everything you didn’t want in a month?” 

“Unfortunately, no. There are still a dozen or so listings that I’m waiting on, but I did some damage. The point is, I have more than enough money to pay for myself.” 

She got back to working on the food, and he put his wallet back in his pocket, making a mental note to slide her a 50 tomorrow, just to help cover groceries.  

He resumed his previous line of questioning, “You were in a hurry? What, was this a last minute trip?”

She nodded a little, “I guess you could say that.” 

“Something important you had to do?” 

She looked up, “I would consider what happened last night to be important, wouldn’t you?” 

“Of course,” he stood a little in order to reach across the kitchen island and tuck some loose strands of hair behind her ear, “I guess I’m just trying to figure out why you came back now. When I left you on that tarmac, you were pretty hell bent on giving all of this up - DC, NCIS, the whole bit. What changed?”

She shook her head, “I am still not returning to NCIS. I meant what I said about giving up the badge. I do not want to chase bad guys anymore.” 

“Okay. But what about DC? And the team? Aren’t we going to pull you right back to where you started?” 

She didn’t respond. Instead she finished up her work on the potatoes and moved on to stirring the mac and cheese concoction for a second before a timer went off and she gracefully pivoted to the oven and removed the masterfully prepared steaks. She set them on the counter and admired her handy work. 

Finally, she said, “Dinner is ready. I think we would both benefit from having some food in our stomachs before we dive into THAT conversation.”

[thestarlightsymphony]

Do you by chance have like anything written or something like that for the character traits/personalities of everyone on the BeBop? You just write them all so accurately and I'd love to just study off you and I hope there would some way for you to share your knowledge, if not I completely understand. I've been writing my own fic and honestly it's like baby shit when compared to your accuracy!!

heart eyes motherfucker

You Have No Idea What That Means To Me Holy Shit. I would love to share my knowledge! But also, I will say: Every person’s interpretation of this crew will (and should!) be a little different! Something I identify in them may not be what you see or jive with, so take my words as one interpretation and not Bebop Gospel, as it were ;) 

Um??? Where do I start?? Well.... an easy one is I’ve rewatched Cowboy Bebop about a thousand times at this point and I’ve Taken Notes. Physical movements, identified particular wordings, focused on their actions and reactions to each other. I reference specific scenes a lot in Spike’s nightmares and internal exploration bc I really wanted to draw on the source material and have it be a literal Part of the story. I’d also really recommend looking up Session XX if you haven’t already; a hefty amount of Faye’s growth came from analyzing her sessions, but also seeing where she falls at the End of Cowboy Bebop vs. where she is during Session XX (which is arguably halfway through the show).

Next, and I’m fighting the instinct to be embarrassed by this, but I did a personality analysis using the Enneagram (kinda like the myers briggs but with fewer, more articulate options imo). My roommate’s hella into it and we’ve spent Hours talking about their personalities and lemme just say holy Shit I am convinced of several things:

Spike is an 8 wing 7 (impulsive, control-oriented, deflects, speaks with his actions, passionate, has a hard time being vulnerable especially emotionally, craves autonomy).

Faye is a 7 wing 8 (spontaneous, material, pleasure oriented/ indulgent, avoids negative feelings, self-reliant, craves independence).

They compliment each other. But they also have a high potential of clashing. I don’t use the enneagram as like a “this is the only inspiration for scenes i get” but it HAS helped me when i’ve been like “fuck how WOULD they respond? what makes the most logical sense?”

Bonus: Jet’s a 1 and Ed’s a 3 (i think). Ed’s harder to pin down bc she’s a kid, and I haven’t done as much exploring with them, but I think I’m still pretty good on those lines.

The hardest part of writing Bebop past Real Folk Blues is that the majority of the content we have for them is a lot of the growth happens at the Very End of the series. I’ve struggled with Faye bc most of her life we see on screen is about Running, and Keeping Moving and being so fucking mad that she has no past; when she finally remembers that past, it’s lost its weight, and then when she realizes she has a home, THAT gets broken, too. The last shots we have of Faye, she’s crying, heartbroken and angry and (in my interpretation) hella confused. I’ve struggled with Spike bc in the end, it’s hard to fathom what he’d be like after losing two of the largest reasons for being alive. In those last scenes with Jet and Faye, is he numb? Decisive? Did he already die with Julia, or is he genuinely just going to end it with Vicious and then see where/ if the world turns afterwards?

Who’s to say, either way?

You, the writer. A lot of my stuff has been written on instinct, with a goal in mind. The closer I got to the characters, the further the goal got, bc I realized in order to write the characters, you have to respect them. Which is a weird way to say it, but like.... It’s the best way I can describe it. You have to accept their faults and strengths; stubbornness is cute to play with, but it can also be an incredible source of conflict. Oh sidebar, every single fucking memory of the Bebop is stubborn. Opinion or fact? Yes.

I could go on for days. I definitely should, maybe I’ll make character analysis posts if people are interested, idk ;) 

Most importantly though (and this is gonna be just straight up writing advice): don’t be so hard on yourself. Blah blah blah, you’re your own worst critic, I’m sure you’ve heard that before, but it’s so true. 

Those first fifteen chapters or so, I’ve reread through for details and to get a hold one where I want to go, and I BIG cringe at them. I had no sense of timelines and my heart just wanted them to Get the Damn Together Already, but once I got a better sense of who they were, the rhythm and motion of their push and pull became so much more natural and something I’m more proud of. 

You’ll get better at writing the more you write. I just spent the past two months of my life working on this project, and I’m fucking Excited to keep going. How?? How did this happen??? I just wanted Spike and Faye to make out?!?!

Listen. Listen well. Trust your instincts. If something feels off but you still want to explore an idea, don’t dump the whole chapter, just put it to the side and write again. I’ve written multiple chapters that way: I started writing, it felt off, so I KEPT the chapter, but I reworked the order, or took lines and mashed them in a way that changed the meaning. Writing is a process.

Second, write what you want to write. What you want to read. I’d defo recommend reading a bunch of different fics, see how other writers interpret the characters and such, but don’t let them (or me!) influence solely how you write the crew. Find your own voice in this world. Rewatch Bebop and take directly from the source material if you have to; break it down and ask the question “why did they use that Exact word? Why did they make That choice?” and then answer it in a way that feels honest to You.

Hope any of this helps! (P.S. if you are so inclined, dm the the title of your fic and i’ll try to take a gander!)

[dustedmagazine]

Dusted’s Decade Picks

Heron Oblivion, still the closest thing to a Dusted consensus pick

Just as, in spring, the young's fancy turns to thoughts of love, at the end of the decade the thoughts of critics and fans naturally tend towards reflection. Sure, time is an arbitrary human division of reality, but it seems to be working out okay for us so far. We're too humble a bunch to offer some sort of itemized list of The Best Of or anything like that, though; a decade is hard enough to wrap your head around when it's just your life, let alone all the music produced during said time. Instead these decade picks are our jumping off points to consider our decades, whether in personal terms, or aesthetic ones, or any other. The records we reflect on here are, to be sure, some of our picks for the best of the 2010s (for more, check back this afternoon), but think of what follows less as anything exhaustive and more as our hand-picked tour to what stuck with us over the course of these ten years, and why.

Brian Eno — The Ship (Warp, 2016)

You don’t need to dig deep to see that our rapidly evolving and hyper-consciously inclusive discourse is taking on the fluidity of its surroundings. In 2016, a year of what I’ll gently call transformation, Brian Eno had his finger on multiple pulses; The Ship resulted. It’s anchored in steady modality, and its melody, once introduced, doesn’t change, but everything else ebbs and flows with the Protean certainty of uncertainty. While the album moves from the watery ambiguities of the title track, through the emotional and textural extremes of “Fickle Sun” toward the gorgeously orchestrated version of “I’m Set Free,” implying some kind of final redemption, the moment-to-moment motion remains wonderfully non-binary. Images of war and of the instants producing its ravaging effects mirror and counterbalance the calmly and increasingly gender-fluid voice as it concludes the titular piece by depicting “wave after wave after wave.” Is it all Salman Rushdie’s numbers marching again? The lyrics embody the movement from “undescribed” through “undefined” and “unrefined’” connoting a journey toward aging, but size, place, chronology and the music encompassing them remain in constant flux, often nearly but never quite recognizable. Genre and sample float in and out of view with the elusive but devastating certainty of tides as the ship travels toward silence, toward that ultimate ambiguity that follows all disillusion, filling the time between cycles. The disconnect between stasis and motion is as disconcerting as these pieces’ relationship to the songform Eno inherited and exploded. The album encapsulates the modernist subtlety and Romantic grace propelling his art and the state of a civilization in the faintly but still glowing borderlands between change and decay.

Marc Medwin

Cate Le Bon — Cyrk (Control Group, 2012)

There's no artist whose work I anticipated more this decade than Cate Le Bon, and no artist who frustrated me more with each release, only to keep reeling me in for the long run. Le Bon's innate talent is for soothing yet oblique folk, soberly psychedelic, which she originally delivered in the Welsh language, and continued into English with rustic reserve.

Except something about her pastoralism seems to bore her, and the four-chord arpeggios are shot through with scorches of noise, or sent haywire with post-punk brittleness. In its present state, her music is built around chattering xylophones and croaking saxophone, even as the lyrics draw deeper into memory and introspection, with ever more haunting payoffs. It's as if Nick Drake shoved his way into the leadership of Pere Ubu. She's taken breaks from music to work on pottery and furniture-making, and retreats to locales like a British cottage and Texas art colony to plumb for new inspirations. She's clearly energized by collaboration and relocation, but there’s a force to her persona that, despite her introverted presence, dominates a session. Rare for our age, she's an artist who gets to follow her muse full time, bouncing between record labels and seeing her name spelled out in the medium typefaces on festival bills.

Cyrk, from 2012, is the record where I fell in, and it captures her at something close to joyous, a half smile. Landing between her earliest folk and later surrealism, it is open to comparison with the Velvet Underground. But not the VU that is archetypical to indie rock – Cyrk is more an echo of the solo work that followed. There’s the sharp compositional order and Welsh lilt of John Cale. Like Lou Reed, she makes a grand electric guitar hook out of the words “you’re making it worse.” The homebound twee of Mo Tucker and forbidding atmosphere of Nico are present in equal parts. Those comparisons are reductive, but they demonstrate how Cyrk feels instantly familiar if you’ve garnered certain listening habits. Songs surround you with woolly keyboard and guitar hooks, and one can forget a song ends with an awkward trumpet coda even after dozens of listens. The awkwardness is what keeps the album fresh.

She lulls, then dowses with cold water. So Cyrk isn't an entirely easy record, even if it is frequently a pretty one. The most epic song here, reaching high with those woolly hums and twang, is "Fold the Cloth.” It bobs along, coiling tight as she reaches into the strange register of female falsetto. Le Bon cranks out a fuzz solo – she's great at extending her sung melodies across instruments. Then the climax chants out, "fold the cloth or cut the cloth.” What is so important about this mundane action? Her mystery lyrics never feel haphazard, like LSD posey. They are out of step with pop grandiose. Maybe when her back is turned, there's a full smile.

Who are "Julia" and "Greta,” two mid-album sketches that avoid verse-chorus structure? Julia is represented by a limp waltz, Greta by pulses on keyboards. Shortly after the release, Le Bon followed up with the EP Cyrk II made up of tracks left off the album. To a piece, they’re easier numbers than "Julia" and "Greta.” The cryptic and the scribble are essential to how Cyrk flows, which is to say it flows haltingly.

This approach dampens her acclaim and her potential audience, but that's how she fashions decades-old tropes into fresh art. She’s also quite the band leader. Drummers have a different thud when they play on her stage. Musicians' fills disappear. She brings in a horn solo as often as she lays down a guitar lead. The closer tracks, "Plowing Out Pts 1 & 2," aren't inherently linked numbers. By the second part, the group has worked up to a carnival swirl, frothing like "Sister Ray" yet as sweet as a children's TV show theme. Does that sound sinister? The effect is more like heartbreak fuelling abandon, her forlorn presence informing everyone's playing.

Fuse this album with the excellent Cyrk II tracks, and you can image a deluxe double LP 10th anniversary reissue in a few years. Ha ha no. I expect nothing so garish will happen. It sure wouldn't suit the artist. In a decade where "fan service" became an everyday concept, Le Bon is immune. She's a songwriter who seems like she might walk away from at all without notice, if that’s where her craftsmanship leads. The odd and oddly comfortable chair that is Cyrk doesn't suit any particular decor, but my room would feel bare without it.

Ben Donnelly

Converge — All We Love We Leave Behind (Epitaph)

Here’s the scenario: Heavily tatted guy has some dogs. He really loves his dogs. Heavily tatted guy goes on tour with his band. While he’s on the road, one of his dogs dies. Heavily tatted guy gets really sad. He writes a song about it.  

That should be the set-up for an insufferably maudlin emo record. But instead what you get is Converge’s “All We Love We Leave Behind” and the searing LP that shares the title. The songs dive headlong into the emotional intensities of loss and reflect on the cost of artistic ambition. The enormously talented line-up that recorded All We Love We Leave Behind in 2012 had been playing together for just over a decade, and vocalist Jacob Bannon and guitarist Kurt Ballou had been collaborating for more than twenty years. It shows. The record pummels and roars with remarkable precision, and its songs maniacally twist, and somehow they soar.  

Any number of genre tags have been stuck on (or innovated by) Converge’s music: mathcore, metalcore, post-hardcore. It’s fun to split sonic hairs. But All We Love… is most notable for its exhilarating fury and naked heart, musical qualities that no subgenre can entirely claim. Few bands can couple such carefully crafted artifice with such raw intensity. And few records of the decade can match the compositional wit and palpable passion of All We Love…, which never lets itself slip into shallow romanticism. It hurts. And it ruthlessly rocks.  

Jonathan Shaw

EMA — The Future’s Void (City Slang, 2014)

When trying to narrow down to whatever my own most important records of the decade are, I tried to keep it to one per artist (as I do with individual years, although it’s a lot easier there). Out of everyone, though, EMA came by far the closest to having two records on that list, and this could have been 2017’s Exile in the Outer Ring, which along with The Future’s Void comes terrifyingly close to unpacking an awful lot of what’s going wrong, and has been going wrong, with the world we live in for a while now. The Future’s Void focuses more on the technological end of our particular dystopia, shuddering both emotionally and sonically through the dead end of the Cold War all the way to us refreshing our preferred social media site when somebody dies. EMA is right there with us, too; this isn’t judgment, it’s just reporting from the front line. And it must be said, very few things from this decade ripped like “Cthulu” rips.

Ian Mathers

The Field — Looping State of Mind (Kompakt, 2011)

Looping State of Mind by The Field

On Looping State of Mind, Swedish producer Axel Willner builds his music with seamlessly jointed loops of synths, beats, guitars and voice to create warm cushions of sound that envelop the ears, nod the head and move the body. Willner is a master of texture and atmosphere, in lesser hands this may have produced mere comfort food but there is spice in the details that elevates this record as he accretes iotas of elements, withholding release to heighten anticipation. Although this is essentially deep house built on almost exclusively motorik 4/4 beats, Willner also plays with ambient, post-punk and shoegaze dynamics. From the slow piano dub of “Then It’s White,” which wouldn’t be out of place on a Labradford or Pan American album, to the ecstatic shuffling lope of “Arpeggiated Love” and “Is This Power” with its hint of a truncated Gang of Four-like bass riff, Looping State of Mind is a deeply satisfying smorgasbord of delicacies and a highlight of The Field’s four album output during the 2010s.

Andrew Forell

Gang Gang Dance — “Glass Jar” (4AD, 2011)

Instead of telling you my favorite album of the decade — I made my case for it the first year we moved to Tumblr, help yourself — it feels more fitting to tell you a story from my friend Will about my favorite piece of music from the last 10 years, a song that arrived just before the rise of streaming, which flattened “the album experience” to oppressive uniformity and rendered it an increasingly joyless, rudderless routine of force-fed jams and AI/VC-directed mixes catering to a listener that exists in username only. The first four seconds of “Glass Jar” told you everything you needed to know about what lie ahead, but here’s the kind of thing that could happen before everything was all the time:

I took eight hours of coursework in five weeks in order to get caught up on classes and be in a friend's wedding at the end of June. Finishing a week earlier than the usual summer session meant I had to give my end-of-class presentations and turn in my end-of-class papers in a single day, which in turn meant that I was well into the 60-70 hour range without sleep by the time I got to the airport for an early-morning flight. (Partly my fault for insisting that I needed to stay up and make a “wedding night” mix for the couple — real virgin bride included — and even more my fault for insisting that it be a single, perfectly crossfaded track). I was fuelled only by lingering adrenaline fumes and whatever herbal gunpowder shit I had been mixing with my coffee — piracetam, rhodiola, bacopa or DMAE depending on the combination we had at the time. At any rate, eyes burning, skull heavy, joints stiff with dry rot, I still had my wits enough to refuse the backscatter machine at the TSA checkpoint; instead of the usual begrudging pat-down, I got pulled into a separate room. Anyway, it was a weird psychic setback at that particular time, but nothing came of it. Having arrived at my gate, I popped on the iPod with a brand new set of studio headphones and finally got around to listening to the Gang Gang Dance I had downloaded months before. "Glass Jar," at that moment, was the most religious experience I’d had in four years. I was literally weeping with joy.

Point being: It is worth it to stay up for a few days just to listen to ‘Glass Jar’ the way it was meant to be heard.

Patrick Masterson

Heron Oblivion — Heron Oblivion (Sub Pop, 2016)

Heron Oblivion by Heron Oblivion

Heron Oblivion’s self-titled first album fused unholy guitar racket with a limpid serenity. It was loud and cathartic but also pure beauty, floating drummer Meg Baird’s unearthly vocals over a sound that was as turbulent and majestic as nature itself, now roiled in storm, now glistening with dewy clarity. The band convened four storied guitarists—Baird from Espers, Ethan Miller and Noel Harmonson from Comets on Fire and Charlie Sauffley—then relegated two of them to other instruments (Baird on drums and Miller on bass). The sound drew on the full flared wail and scree of Hendrix and Acid Mothers Temple, the misty romance of Pentangle and Fairport Convention. It was a record out of time and could have happened in any year from about 1963 onward, or it could have not happened at all. We were so glad it did at Dusted; Heron Oblivion’s eponymous was closer to a consensus pick than any record before or since, and if you want to define a decade, how about the careening riffs of “Oriar” breaking for Baird’s dream-like chants?

Jennifer Kelly

The Jacka — What Happened to the World (The Artist, 2014)

Probably the most prophetic rap album of the 2010s. The Jacka was the king of Bay rap since he started MOB movement. He was always generous with his time, and clique albums were pouring out of The Jacka and his disciples every few months. Even some of his own albums resembled at times collective efforts. This generosity made some of the albums unfocused and disjointed, yet what it really shows is that even in the times when dreams of collective living were abandoned The Jacka still had hopes for Utopia and collective struggles. It was about the riches, but he saw the riches in people first and foremost.

This final album before he was gunned down in the early 2014 is full of predictions about what’s going to happen to him. Maybe this explains why it’s focused as never before and even Jacka’s leaned-out voice has doomed overtones. This music is the only possible answer to the question the album’s title poses: everything is wrong with the world where artists are murdered over music.

Ray Garraty

John Maus — We Must Become Pitiless Censors of Ourselves (Upset The Rhythm, 2011)

We Must Become the Pitiless Censors of Ourselves by John Maus

Minnesota polymath John Maus’ quest for the perfect pop song found its apotheosis on his third album We Must Become Pitiless Censors of Ourselves in 2011. On the surface an homage to 1980s synth pop, Maus’ album reveals its depth with repeated listens. Over expertly constructed layers of vintage keyboards, Maus’ oft-stentorian baritone alternately intones and croons deceptively simple couplets that blur the line between sincerity and provocation. Lurking beneath the smooth surface Maus uses Baroque musical tropes that give the record a liturgical atmosphere that reinforces the Gregorian repetition of his lyrics. The tension between the radical ironic banality of the words and the deeply serious nature of the music and voice makes We Must Become Pitiless Censors of Ourselves an oddly compelling collection that interrogates the very notion of taste and serves an apt soundtrack to the post-truth age.

Andrew Forell

Joshua Abrams & Natural Information Society — Mandatory Reality (Eremite, 2019)

Mandatory Reality by Joshua Abrams & Natural Information Society

Any one of the albums that Joshua Abrams has made under the Natural Information Society banner could have made this list. While each has a particular character, they share common essences of sound and spirit. Abrams made his bones playing bass with Nicole Mitchell, Matana Roberts, Mike Reed, Fred Anderson, Chad Taylor, and many others, but in the Society his main instrument is the guimbri, a three-stringed bass lute from Morocco. He uses it to braid melody, groove, and tone into complex strands of sound that feel like they might never end. Mandatory Reality is the album where he delivers on the promise of that sound. Its centerpiece is “Finite,” a forty-minute long performance by an eight-person, all-acoustic version of Natural Information Society. It has become the main and often sole piece that the Society plays. Put the needle down and at first it sounds like you are hearing some ensemble that Don Cherry might have convened negotiating a lost Steve Reich composition. But as the music winds patiently onwards, strings, drums, horns, and harmonium rise in turn to the surface. These aren’t solos in the jazz sense so much as individual invitations for the audience to ease deeper into the sonic entirety. The music doesn’t end when the record does, but keeps manifesting with each performance. Mandatory Reality is a nodal point in an endless stream of sound that courses through the collective unconscious, periodically surfacing in order to engage new listeners and take them to the source.

Bill Meyer

Mansions — Doom Loop (Clifton Motel, 2013)

I knew nothing about Mansions when I first heard about this record; I can’t even remember how I heard about this record. But I liked the name of the album and the album art, so I listened to it. Sometimes the most important records in your decade have as much to do with you as with them. I’d been frantically looking for a job for nearly two years at that point, the severance and my access Ontario’s Employment Insurance program (basically, you pay in every paycheck, and then have ~8 months of support if you’re unemployed) had both ran out. I was living with a friend in Toronto sponsoring my American wife into the country (fun fact: they don’t care if you have an income when you do that), feeling the walls close in a little each day, sure I was going to wind up one of those kids who had to move back to the small town I’d left and a parent’s house. There were multiple days I’d send out 10+ applications and then walk around my neighbourhood blasting “Climbers” and “Out for Blood” through my earbuds, cueing up “La Dentista” again and dreaming of revenge… on what? Capitalism? There was no more proximate target in view. That’s not to say that Doom Loop is necessarily about being poor or about the shit hand my generation (I fit, just barely) got in the job market, or anything like that; but for me it is about the almost literal doom loop of that worst six months, and I still can’t listen to “The Economist” without my blood pressure spiking a little.

Ian Mathers

Protomartyr — Under Colour of Official Right (Hardly Art, 2014)

Under Color of Official Right by Protomartyr

By my count, Protomartyr made not one but four great albums in the 2010s, racking up a string of rhythmically unstoppable, intellectually challenging discs with absolute commitment and intent. I caught whiff of the band in 2012, while helping out with editing the old Dusted. Jon Treneff’s review of All Passion No Technique told a story of exhilarant discovery; I read it and immediately wanted in. The conversion event, though, came two years later, with the stupendous Under Color of Official Right, all Wire-y rampage and Fall-spittled-bile, a rattletrap construction of every sort of punk rock held together by the preening contempt of black-suited Joe Casey. Doug Mosurock reviewed it for us, concluding, “Poppier than expected, but still covered in burrs, and adeptly analyzing the pain and suffering of their city and this year’s edition of the society that judges it, Protomartyr has raised the bar high enough for any bands to follow, so high that most won’t even know it’s there.” Except here’s the thing: Protomartyr jumped that bar two more times this decade, and there’s no reason to believe that they won’t do it again. The industry turned on the kind of bands with four working class dudes who can play a while ago, but this is the band of the 2010s anyway.

Jennifer Kelly

Tau Ceti IV — Satan, You’re the God of This Age, but Your Reign Is Ending (Cold Vomit, 2018)

Satan, You're The God of This Age But Your Reign is Ending by Tau Ceti IV

This decade was full of takes on American primitive guitar. Some were pretty good, a few were great, many were forgettable, and then there was this overlooked gem from Jordan Darby of Uranium Orchard. Satan, You’re the God of This Age, but Your Reign Is Ending is an antidote to bland genre exercises. Like John Fahey, Darby has a distinct voice and style, as well as a sense of humor. Also like Fahey, his playing incorporates diverse influences in subtle but pronounced ways. American primitive itself isn’t a staid template. Though there are also plenty of beautiful, dare I say pastoral moments, which still stand out for being genuinely evocative.

Darby’s background in aggressive electric guitar music partly explains his approach. (Not sure if he’s the only ex-hardcore guy to go in this direction, but there can’t be many.) His playing is heavier than one might expect, but it feels natural, not like he’s just playing metal riffs on an acoustic guitar. But heaviness isn’t the only difference. Like his other projects, Satan is wonderfully off-kilter. This album’s strangeness isn’t reducible to component parts, but here are two representative examples: “The Wind Cries Mary” gradually encroaches on the last track, and throughout, the microphone picks up more string noise than most would consider tasteful. It all works, or at least it’s never boring.

Ethan Milititisky

Z-Ro — The Crown (Rap-a-Lot, 2014)

When singing in rap was outsourced to pop singers and Auto Tune, Z-Ro remained true to his self, singing even more than he ever did. He did his hooks and his verses himself, and no singing could harm his image as a hustler moonlighting as a rapper. He can’t be copied exactly because of his gift, to combine singing soft and rapping hard. It’s a sort of common wisdom that he recorded his best material in the previous decade, yet quite apart from hundreds of artists that continued to capitalize on their fame he re-invented himself all the past decade, making songs that didn’t sound like each other out of the same raw material. The Crown is a tough pick because since his post-prison output he made solid discs one after each other.

Ray Garraty

[tanadrin]

Reordberend

(part 18 of ?; first; previous; next)

They went on, down through the rough, channeled terrain at the mouth of the valley, down onto the icy strip of land that lay between the hills and the sea. There was no path here, no markers of any kind, and Katherine wondered how far she was from the place where she’d come ashore. Finally, as the twilight glow on the horizon had begun to fade, Ælfric started walking a little faster, moving with more purpose. Katherine had the feeling they were getting close to their destination.

They rounded a rocky outcrop that jutted up through the ice and snow, a big dark shoulder of the land; and on the other side, framed against the dark sky, was an immense shape. Katherine couldn’t make heads or tails of it at first; it was too top-heavy to be a hill. As they got closer, she realized it was the hull of a ship. A pretty big one, to be all alone out here on the shore, maybe two hundred meters from one end to the other. When they were close enough for their lanterns to cast light on it, she saw white-painted walls, streaked with dark rust; great big holes in the side, some clearly made by hands scavenging steel, some, perhaps, the result of reefs or weathering. Katherine paused near the bow, and lifted her lantern-staff up, trying to make out the markings high above her head. WINC- -R was all she could read.

“Come,” Ælfric said. He led her along the keel of the bent-over ship, until they came to a crack at ground level that seemed to go all the way up to the top; it was big enough for several people to walk abreast into. She could see stars through it. It ran all the way through the ship, as though it had been ripped in half. They went in, and Katherine found the ruin provided a decent shelter against the the constant shore-wind. It was actually pretty peaceful inside. But the looming darkness overhead did unnerve her a little.

“Be careful,” Ælfric said. “Stay close. This place is old; it is dangerous.”

But he went confidently forward; he seemed to know the path. They did not go up; they walked through what must have been the cargo hold, until they came at last to the far end of the stern. Old crates and pieces of debris littered the ground here; the floor beneath them was ripped away, exposing ice-free, stony ground. Ælfric leaned his staff against a bulkhead, then went to a big bowl-shaped thing in the middle of the space; Katherine couldn’t see what he was doing at first, and then a fire roared to life, beating back some of the darkness. Ælfric dragged a crate a little closer to the brazier, then sat down on it, stretching his legs out in front of him and letting out a long breath. He suddenly looked rather tired. The bright firelight threw the lines of his weather-beaten face into deep relief. He motioned for Katherine to sit, too.

“Is this ship what you wanted to show me?” Katherine asked.

“Almost. Not yet,” was all Ælfric said. He took some jerky from his pack, and tore it in half; they ate together in silence for a few minutes. Then Ælfric stood, and walked to the very back of the room. Katherine followed.

There, where the ragged, torn bulkhead met the ground, there were seven long, low mounds scraped in the dirt. Above them, on the steel plate, gouged into the surface, were drawings. Faces, animals, words. Words, Katherine suddenly realized, she could read without effort, words in English. The largest were names and numbers. Dates, actually. Katherine realized she was looking at graves.

“What is this place?”

“Look,” Ælfric said. “Read.”

Katherine read. ALFRED ROBERTS. 2175-2229. Of Milwkee, Wisc. Even after all other dfficulties, our dparture ws delayd--the govt of NZ refused at 1st to give us permission, saying they did nt wish to be rsponsible fr our rescue. Dspite our assurance, tht we neither dsired nor needed thr assistance, they hindered us 4 weeks. Then very bad weather; we cd not set sail. JULIA TOAL. 2182-2222. Dparted 8th May, far later thn hoped. Winter closing quickly. Too late in summer by far. Bt we were unanimous; would nt wait another year. Wd accept any difficulty, for wht we wished to accomplish. PERRY MILLER. 2160-2219.

It was a record of a journey, interspersed with names and years. There were many more names here than just seven; if these were dates of birth and death, all these people had died frightfully young.

Ælfric pointed to the first name. “Ælfræd, son of Lawrence. His son was Ælfwine; Ælfwine’s daughter was Ælfgyfu; Ælfgyfu’s daughter was Ælfsteorra; Ælfsteorra was my mother. He is my ancestor.”

“What happened here?”

Ælfric looked at Katherine, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“These dates.” Katherine pointed at the first few names. “Dates of death?”

“Yes. Ælfræd died in the tenth year. Julia, in the third. Perry, in the first.”

“They were not old.”

Ælfric cocked his head. “This land makes old men of the young. It carries off the child and the father and mother alike. The first years here were the hardest of all.”

“But there are only seven graves here.”

“No.”

Ælfric took his lantern-staff up, and pointed it down, back the way they had come. In the brighter light of the fire, Katherine could see that this was not the only bare patch of ground here in the cargo hold; the floor had been pulled up in even intervals, down along the length of the ship, all the way back to the place they had entered from. There were more than forty more graves here.

“These were men and women honored among us,” Ælfric said, indicating the seven graves they now stood next to. “But many gave their lives in the landtaking. It was not easy. Few had dared to try to make a home in this land of winters before we came. None tried for a long time after. It seems, from all you have told us, that they even forgot we were here.”

“You must have come during troubled times.” Katherine looked at the dates again. “Right in the middle of the Collapse. You might have even been alone here for many decades.” Katherine had done a bit of research on the history of the continent before she came. Amundsen-Scott had closed right around the turn of the century; McMurdo had lasted only a decade or so longer. For most of the 23rd century, the only human presence in Antarctica had been a few Chilean and Argentinian bases on the Peninsula, a desultory claim to what everybody thought of as a worthless patch of ice, held on to more for reasons of national pride than anything else.

The hundred years or so from the middle of the 22nd century to the middle of the 23rd had not been a good time for anybody. For various reasons, the whole human race at once had seemed to find itself in the middle of a dark forest, with no clear way forward. A vision of the future that it had carried with it, in one form or another, for centuries, the vision of steady (if not monotonic) forward progress, the vision of hope, the vision of a world they could make better eventually (even if they did not know how just at the moment) had absented itself. And instead, for a long time, nations started looking inward. Governments feared to look weak, feared to rely on their neighbors, feared that expressing hope for peace and prosperity made them seem naive. Instead, they seemed to decide, now was the time for all the serious people to admit, once again, that struggle was the real truth of existence.

It wasn’t that civilization fell. The Collapse was a fairly dramatic name for the period, albeit one that had stuck, because to many of the people living through it, it did feel like the end of the world. What it had really been was a series of political and economic shocks. Even throughout that entire century, the world had not stayed still. There was new art, new technology, new ambitions, if you knew where to look. But the tenor of the era was one of paranoia, nativism, and tyranny. Katherine’s own homeland had spent the better part of it under a series of right-wing dictatorships. Other parts of the world--India, China, Japan--had fared much worse.

It had broken, like a fever ending, in the 2250s. There were lots of reasons: advancements in technology and medicine, and the economic revolutions of the global south finally ended the endless series of shocks and recessions that had plagued the world. Geoengineering finally stabilized the climate. Some even said the real credit went to the artistic revolutions of the era. That it stopped being unfashionable to dream again, to imagine what a utopian future could look like. And all that long darkness--and all the time before it--had been repressed. Not forgotten, exactly. But you didn’t like to dwell on it. That was the dark ages. Nevermind that it had not been all that dark. That many millions had lived and struggled (and wept and laughed) in that time, that it was a time as suffused with human life as any. It was painful to think about. And so, few people did. Katherine was just as guilty of that as anybody. Why trap yourself in the past, when there is a bright and endless future ahead of you?

“Why did they come here, Ælfric? If it was going to be so hard?”

Ælfric gave Katherine… a look. She wasn’t sure what kind of look. Like he was sizing her up. Or nailing her down.

“You survived.”

“What?”

“You survived. You are a survivor.”

“I don’t understand.”

Ælfric nodded, more to himself than anything. “Mæwstan found you on the shore, three days from here, after you had walked God alone knows what distance; we found the rest of your ship some days later, and the crew. They were all dead. Killed by the storm that marooned you here, or by the freezing sea. You should not have lived.”

“I’m not baseline, like you. I have, uh,” Katherine searched for the word, “I have improvements. Machines, in my body.”

“Your machinae have not functioned since you came here.”

Katherine stiffened, startled. “How do you know that?”

“I have watched you. You have suffered fatigue, soreness, pain. You have eaten with us, eaten our food, and had pains in your gut.” Well, that was embarassing. No, the food had not always agreed with her. “You have slept badly. The long nights, they make you depressed. Anxious. I have watched you closely, outlander Katherine. You have endured what few outlanders would endure, or could. I have noticed. Also, Leofe told me.

“I was wrong to want you exiled. In my defense, I did not think it would be your death, not truly. Perhaps it was wishful thinking. Perhaps I wished to absolve myself of that guilt. But I really thought that one who had walked the ice from the northern shore would find a way to survive, even if we turned her out of our hearths. But that was wrong. Even if it were true, you did not deserve that, and I am sorry.”

He said it flatly, like he was simply observing a fact of nature. The ice is cold. Penguins like to swim. I was wrong to try to have you killed. Katherine resisted the urge to give him a hug.

“It is the prejudice of my people that all outlanders are weak of spirit. That they do not know what they live for, and so they do not know how to fight for it. Perhaps it is not so. Perhaps some of you are strong. Leofe also said you are not like the other outlanders; that you come from a people apart even in your homeland. A people who have not forgotten their past, and so are not wholly of the present. If that is so, I see now why John sent you to us. You alone, perhaps, could understand.

“So understand this. Our foremothers and our forefathers came here because they could do nothing else. Those were grim years in the countries they hailed from. Years of dark hearts, years of narrow sight. Years in which the troubles of the world pressed in on them, hard like a prison, from which they could not escape.

“This--” and he gestured at the carved steel surfaces around them “--this is the annals of the first years of our people. It is written also in our books, but I wanted you to see with your own eyes, how it was at the beginning. The letters we carved into the hard metal and the graves we scratched into the hard ground. Because in the hardness is a lesson.

“They were not hard people, not at the beginning. We do not prize hardness of heart. We are not cruel, whatever--whatever our failings may sometimes be. We do not value cruelty. Because we would not be cruel, because we would not admit the darkness into our hearts, because we would not surrender, we could not remain. Perry, Julia, Alice, the others buried here, they kept a jewel hidden in their breasts, a jewel which burned like fire, a jewel which even in the long darkness to which no Antarctic winter can compare, warmed them and gave them purpose.

“They wanted a place where they could be themselves. Where they could, despite the purposes of other men and women, build a community of the heart. But how could they do that? The world was crowded and claimed, with high walls at every turn. They were few in number. There was only one place where the laws and walls did not run.”

“Antarctica?”

Ælfric nodded.

“The land of many winters. They bought a ship. They gathered all the things they needed; they expected much hardship. Even so, it was harder. But they fared forth, came to these icy shores, and sought a refuge here.”

“You make it sound almost religious.”

“The separation of the religious from the secular is a contrivance of your world, Katherine. We do not have a religion you would recognize, but yes, we are religious in our fashion. And we do not separate that from the other elements of our life.”

“You make it sound like you’re primitivists. Some kind of intentional throwback.”

“Ha!” Ælfric seemed to be genuinely amused by this. “That because we speak a dead tongue, we wish to recreate a dead people? A dead culture? Do you think we are Angles in spirit? Playing at the ancient world?”

“You live a difficult life. Not unlike the people who spoke your tongue before.”

“Our foremothers and forefathers did choose this tongue for a reason--but it was not because they fancied themselves ancient folk of Britain. I don’t think any of them were even English.

“They chose it because it had been forgotten. The study of the past was deeply unfashionable in their day. I gather, from your ignorance, it has grown only more so since they set out. They wanted a language that they could make their own. And they wanted a language they could give to the voiceless land that they chose to inhabit. We spoke of names before, yes? They wanted a new tongue for their landscape, both the landscape around them and the landscape within themselves. They sought a new understanding of what was possible for them. They sought something the world around them lacked--hope.”

“And they needed a new language to find that?”

“Or an old one. A language from a time when, as then, the world seemed to be dreary, and speeding towards its end. A language from a time when the people huddled together on a cold island surrounded by the deep, dark sea, and wondered what lay beyond it. A language from a time when we knew what value the knowledge of the past held, and we husbanded every little scrap of it, fearful to lose the meagerest portion, lest we forget it was possible to hope for a better future. We, of course, do not look to Christ for our salvation, as they did. We find it in different places. But we find it.”

“The world has changed, you know. It’s not half so dark, or half so dreary. It’s been a long time since the time of your forefathers and foremothers. Why do you stay here, where life is hard, where you have to struggle to survive? Why not rejoin the world?”

“We would not lose ourselves.”

“The world is a big place. It has room enough for you.”

Ælfric shook his head. “Not for us. You are too optimistic. You do not understand. Our tale does not end with our arrival on these shores. It does not end with our move from the wreck to the Valleys. It does not end with our adoption of the Tongue, and our building of the fanes. You do not yet understand. Maybe you will, in time. But not yet.”

With that, as if Katherine had somehow transgressed, Ælfric’s urge to speak seemed to end. He sat quietly, staring into the fire, leaving Katherine to peruse the writings on the wall on her own. So she read. She read the record of the first years of the Dry Valleys People, read the records of their deaths and their griefs, the records of the things that had driven them forth, and of the hope they retained, even when it seemed to her they had little enough to hope for. The cramped, telegraphic style of the language only got more so as it went along, and then it began to lapse into the new tongue, and then it ended; and when it did, Katherine looked back at Ælfric. He was asleep now, wrapped up in a bedroll close to the fire. Katherine suddenly realized just how tired she was, and using her pack as a pillow, lay down next to him. She closed her eyes, listening to the rushing of the wind through the bones of the old ship, and before she knew it, she was asleep, and dreaming of the sea.

[your-iron-lung]

The Language of Birds

A man saw a bird and found him beautiful. The bird had a song inside him, and feathers. Sometimes the man felt like the bird and sometimes the man felt like a stone- solid, inevitable- but mostly he felt like a bird, or that there was a bird inside him, or that something inside him was like a bird fluttering. 

This went on for a long time.

-Richard Siken

available to read on A03 HERE

Sometimes love manifests itself as a disease; nigh incurable and invariably fatal. Hanahaki, they call it- the disease of flowers. 

Steve has lived his entire life with it, managing the symptoms as best he can until he simply can’t any longer.  He’s never met anyone else who’s suffered the same way until Billy Hargrove.

Pairing: One-sided/unrequited Harringrove

Word Count: 2349

Rating: Non-explicit

so um. an overwhelming amount of people wanted a sequel to ‘The Language of Flowers’, or at the very least a happy ending variant but uhhhhh

:^)

i am a creature that thrives off of sadness and misery im sorry

The first time it happens, he doesn’t understand why the rest of his elementary school friends run from him screaming ‘cooties!’ at the top of their lungs.

Steve holds the yellow flower petal in his hand and cries because he doesn’t understand what it means, or why it came from so deep within his itchy throat. His mom thought he’d had something called ‘strep’, but when the beautiful, kind Ms. Julia takes him to the school nurse he finds out she was wrong.

Both Ms. Julia and the nurse share a worried glance when he presents his flower petals to them. The nurse calls his mom, and for a moment Steve believes he’s in trouble, but if being in trouble means he gets to spend some extra time alone with his teacher, then, well, maybe getting into trouble is worth it.

His mom picks him up from school early, but instead of going home she takes him to an emergency doctor even though he doesn’t feel sick. She looks so scared that Steve becomes scared, worried of what he’s done wrong to prompt this trip.

He asks her what’s wrong, why the strep is causing flower petals to push up out of his throat, but she doesn’t answer; only attempts to comfort him by repeatedly saying: “It’s nothing, sweetheart, don’t worry. You’re okay.”

But the doctor disagrees with her when they finally arrive.

The doctor is young, but is already outstanding in her field. She’s the only doctor close to Hawkins that treats Hanahaki Disease, but she’s never had to treat it in a patient as young as the little Harrington boy.

“It’s rare, but not entirely unheard of,” she says to Mrs. Harrington, who has tears in her eyes and won’t take her hand away from her mouth, already grieving. Steve watches them talk from atop the examination table, holding a few of the yellow petals in his hands. They’re soft and velvety; smooth to the touch, and he doesn’t know why they should be causing his mother so much distress. “Children fall in love with things all the time; just because they’re young doesn’t mean they’re immune to their feelings.”

The doctor turns away from his mother and smiles at Steve, coaxing a shy smile from him in return.

“What’s the name of your favourite teacher at school, Steve?” she asks, and Steve’s shy smile transforms instantly into one that is so much more genuine; he even starts to giggle.

“Missus Julia.”

“Is she nice?” Steve nods, fingers tightening around the petals. “Pretty too I bet, huh?”

“Yes,” he replies. “She smiles at me every day.”

The doctor turns a knowing look to his mother, who finally takes her hand away from her mouth to speak.

“Is it- will he be okay?”

“Hanahaki is 100% treatable, but I’d like to take some x-rays to get a better idea of what we’re dealing with here.”

Steve’s mother nods, and the doctor takes him by the hand and leads him out of the room.

The technicians take the x-rays, cooing over how adorable little Steve is. The doctor of course agrees that he is, but this is a medical practice, so could they please not get too distracted? The x-rays come back quickly enough after their exchange, and the doctor is dismayed by what she sees. Steve’s condition is abnormal in more ways than one, which is saddening, because his capacity for love is so strong.

Even still, she understands his life is on the line, and the disease must be treated.

“In most cases, Hanahaki manifests itself in the host’s lungs,” she begins, speaking slowly as she pins up the x-rays to the light board for Mrs. Harrington to observe, “but in Steve’s case, it appears to have taken root in his heart-”

“His heart?!”

“Yes,” she replies calmly, aware that Steve is monitoring their reactions. “Again, it’s not untreatable, but the usual recommended surgery to remove it is invasive, and not generally recommended for a patient his age.”

Mrs. Harrington starts to cry, and the doctor really wishes she hadn’t. It’s not an ideal situation, but it’s not like her son is dead. On the examination table behind them, Steve shares in his mother’s grief and also begins to cry.

He sees the doctor off and on throughout his life. His unique condition requires routine monitoring to adjust medication doses in order to keep the flower from completely harvesting his heart, because no one wants to have to put him through the open-heart surgery to remove it. They become friends, in a word- about as good of friends as a doctor who treats a patient with a chronic heart condition can be friends- and he’s never really been unhappy to see her until his break up with Nancy.

His medicine stops working. The flowers and pain in his heart become more persistent, and he’s ashamed to admit that he breaks down in the exam room over it.

“Bullshit,” he mutters, spitting Nancy’s words out with disgust. He reaches into his mouth and pulls out a petal that’s been caught in his throat for the past hour. “It was all just bullshit to her.”

His doctor smiles a bit sardonically, and she wishes she could tell Steve that first loves often are just bullshit, but she’s not a therapist and doesn’t want to invalidate his feelings, although she knows that Nancy is just one of many in a long series of heartaches for Steve.

“How long have your symptoms been persisting?” she asks, kindly ignoring his tears as he wipes them away.

“Couple of weeks. A few months, maybe.”

“Steve.” She doesn’t bother hiding her disapproval, her brow furrowing as she admonishes him. “Months? You should’ve come sooner; you can’t afford to go months without treatment!”

“I didn’t want to believe it, alright?!” he says angrily, though most of his anger is directed towards himself for believing everything was fine in spite of the evidence. “We were happy; she told me she loved me, kept telling me she loved me, so how could I be choking up those fucking flowers if that were true?” He sniffles and looks up at the ceiling for a moment, collecting himself before he can address his physician again. “I mean, would you believe it, if someone kept saying that to you?”

Her professionalism keeps her from answering honestly.

“I would have come to see me the minute I realized my medication stopped working,” she says and sighs, studying him for a minute. That great capacity to love that he’s carried with him since he was a child is still strong, and she’s comforted by that thought, but at the same time it’s worrisome. “The growth in your heart could have advanced; we need to make sure it hasn’t.”

He touches his hand to his chest briefly, still wallowing in his sadness, and she sympathizes for him, she really does, but he’s treading a very fine line: to let the disease advance any further could result in surgery. Steve stays quiet while the x-rays get taken, and his doctor is relieved to see that the flower’s growth has been minimal. The roots have spread, yes, but it isn’t gotten to the point where he needs the surgery just yet, though there isn’t much point in fighting the inevitable.

“Don’t do this again, Steve; you’re really pushing your limits here.”

She ups the dosage on his medication and prescribes him an anti-depressant and releases him back into the world he can’t afford to love too strongly.

When Billy goes down hard on the court after being shoved violently aside in what should have been called out as a foul, everyone expects him to get back up and start a fight over it, but he doesn’t. No one’s sure what to do when he starts coughing, and Steve swears the whole gymnasium goes quiet just so they can listen to each strangled intake of breath.

His teammates cast nervous looks at each other, but no one makes a move to help him. As captain of the team, Steve takes the initiative and jogs over to his side to try and help him up. Billy brushes him aside but he persists, reaching out his hand for support but stalls when Billy throws up, a horrific mixture of blood and flowers spewing across the midcourt line.

“Holy shit dude,” he says, brown eyes blown wide at the familiar sight.

“Fuck off,” Billy hisses before fleeing the scene, leaving the mess for the Belleview High janitor to mop up so they can finish their game.

Steve watches Billy’s health deteriorate rapidly over the course of the next few weeks, and it’s like he’s seeing an alternate version of himself that decided to rot instead of seek help with treating the symptoms.

It’s agonizing seeing him like this; suffering to maintain an image that is losing value the more time that passes.

So he tells him about his doctor; about the options she provides so that maybe he doesn’t have to die if he doesn’t actually want to, because despite what he says, there’s a spark in his eye that shines when he looks at Steve that suggests he isn’t seeking death quite as hard as he lets on that he is.

In the end, he gets the treatment. Goes to see Steve’s doctor and comes back to school healthy as ever, physically. He does a good job of hiding it, but Steve can tell that, emotionally, Billy hasn’t healed, and there’s something about his sorrowful looks and how beautiful his personal tragedy is that draws Steve in, compels him to care despite his best efforts not to. Billy’s not the first boy he’s managed to develop strong feelings for, but when the flowers come back, again, he tries to tell himself that he’s wrong: there’s no way in hell he’s fallen for Billy Hargrove.

Except, the flowers are different this time.

For as long as he can remember, the flowers he’s been infected with have always been the same colour and texture: for his elementary school teacher, for his middle school crush, for the French foreign exchange boy that came to Hawkins freshman year, and even for Nancy, the flowers in his heart have always manifested themselves as soft and yellow. But the flowers he coughs up for Billy aren’t yellow, or velvety soft to the touch- no, instead he finds himself coughing up husks. Paper-thin, dried up, brittle petals that cause tears in his throat when he coughs that give the little grey shreds some colour.

When he coughs up flower petals this time, they’re dead.

He panics; what does it mean? What could it mean? It’s related to Billy in some regard, but his fear prevents him from thinking too much about it.

His medicine stops working and the coughing gets worse. Steve heeds his doctor’s prior advice and immediately goes to see her, but she isn’t as surprised as he thought she’d be.

Just like with the rest of the circumstances surrounding his variant of the disease, it’s extremely rare, but not entirely unheard of.

“It happens, from time to time,” she explains, studying one of the petals that Steve coughs up. It falls apart easily in her fingers, but has hard edges that’ve been tearing up her patient’s throat.

“Why?” Steve asks, and his voice is hoarse from the abuse it’s been enduring. “It’s never been like this before.”

His doctor tilts her hand over the little garbage bin in the room and lets the fragile petals fall in. She wipes her hand clean of the remains and then takes a seat on a little black stool, flipping through Steve’s file.

With a deep intake of breath, she sets the file aside and looks Steve in the eye. “When a patient exhibits symptoms like this, it’s because the subject of their affection physically isn’t capable of reciprocating.”

“What does that mean?” He feigns ignorance, but he understands the implication of her words.

Billy. Billy had liked him; had had real, genuine feelings for him that had eventually begun to kill him, and Steve had so callously rejected him- told him to get them cut out and to move on.

“I mean, why let yourself suffer over someone who doesn’t even like you back, right?”

But how could he have known? How could he have possibly known?

There was nothing, never an indicator that Billy could have ever liked him- except, except for all the side-long glances Steve had pretended to ignore. The way Billy always sought him out after their team won a game to softly touch him on the back in shared congratulation with a hand that always lingered a little too long. The smiles, the goading, the pathetic attempts to always be in Steve’s periphery to just be able to look at him.

His chest feels heavy, and his heart aches like the roots of his disease are strangling it when he remembers the gory mixture of flowers and blood Billy spit out for him.

“You know what it means,” his doctor says with a soft voice, watching him somberly as he blinks out a few tears. “We’re going to have to remove it now, Steve, do you understand? It’s in its final stages now.”

Steve nods, shakes his head, lets out an abrupt sob and nods again.

He lets her call his mom from her office to talk about his progress and to schedule the surgery.

Because of the severity of his operation, Steve is benched from playing in any of the remaining games his team has left in the season, but that’s fine; Steve finds it very hard to care about the sport when Billy won’t even look at him anymore. The asshole doesn’t even try to rile him up the way he used to, and half the fun of playing on a team with a man like that was the competition between them.

But now there’s nothing left.

Steve’s chest still hurts, but it’s only because he’s recovering now.

[jumpboy-rembrandt]

hey do yall wanna hear an au idea i’ve had abt the seven birds as a superhero team? the plot is constantly changing, but here’s what i’ve got (warning it’s a lot and bullet points are used gratuitously):

an alien object falls to the earth, breaking apart as it falls. it scatters around a small city, and the pieces seem to hone in on the nearest living human once they near the ground.

(psst – this is the light of creation)

these seven (mostly) unrelated people slowly realize that they now have…unusual abilities

another alien entity follows, and its agents begin wreaking havoc around this city searching for the missing pieces of the light

(psst – this is the hunger)

individually, each person touched by the light ventures out to fight off these beings, especially since they themselves tend to be targeted.

these agents can get a vague sense of where the shards are, but not who exactly has them. thus, there is some degree of investigation done to find the individuals.

said agents can either be sentient or monster-like

the light-holders are all disguised as they fight – some for anonymity, some so that these agents have more trouble seeking them out, and some just because it seems like the right thing to do.

none of them knew each other before now, but they cross paths often enough that they realize they should probably group up.

most of them want to keep their identities secret, so they agree to do that while also making a few other decisions:

they should all have each others’ numbers. they won’t seek each other out, but it is important to keep in contact.

they should get better costumes (a plea from taako, who subsequently makes them)

they should have a theme

so they decide upon uniform colors and the title of “seven birds” because…idk, maybe they all like how poetic it sounds?

anyway, here’s a breakdown of each member:

magnus was struck by the light while sparring with carey behind their apartment complex. he was knocked over and carey kinda panicked?? but then he got up and said “did you do that?” and she responded “how would i hurl something at you from the sky, you’re fucking huge” and they moved past it

carey and magnus are roommates, so she’s the first one to notice when he starts accidentally breaking things and can knock her down more easily.

the weirdest part was when he was carving a little figurine and she jumped up behind him – to be fair, she thought he was drawing plans for something at the carpentry shop. they both saw the knife go directly towards his fingers and…bounce off. being magnus, he immediately tried to stab his hand and nothing happened. carey, being carey, poked the edge to see if it was dull and, ow, no, it wasn’t.

so, magnus has super strength and armor-like skin. a downside to this is that the changes weren’t entirely magic (think commitment), so he has to eat a lot more than usual and that’s. not insignificant.

the superhero name he chooses is eagle, which he called out immediately bc he wanted the best bird. his color theme is orange. his uniform doesn’t have sleeves, and it was a struggle for taako to even make him wear a shirt.

merle was hiking through the woods, and when he got hit he actually blacked out for a little bit. he woke up in a bed of flowers and, huh, that’s really convenient how it broke my fall

he works part time as an EMT and spends the rest working in a plant nursery. i. think you can guess how he notices what’s going on.

merle’s power is accelerating and manipulating organic growth, which means that he can both control plants and heal wounds. this does take a physical toll, as it is his energy being transferred. he also needs to eat a lot.

his superhero name is dove bc ~peace~ and stuff. his color theme is, naturally, green.

taako and lup were. uh. not getting in trouble. they were just having a misunderstanding. fortunately, said misunderstanding was not as fast as they were bc the misunderstanding was missing their shoes. they stumbled and fell as the light split at the last second and hit them both, but they quickly jumped back to their feet, turned a corner, and were home free.

both of them are studying masters level chemistry, so their discoveries are in public and require a bit of covering up. taako was trying to work out the chemical structure of a fairly simple crystal when it moved. he jumped, then tried it again, and found out that he could even separate out certain parts without needing a reactant.

lup gets bored waiting for a solution to boil and suddenly it explodes

taako’s power is manipulating chemical structures and lup’s is causing combustion or explosions. both require a knowledge of chemistry; taako has to understand the structure of what he’s moving or separating, and lup needs to know about boiling/ignition points and pressure changes etc. again; the energy comes from them. you get the point by now, i think.

taako is starling and purple, and lup is phoenix and red.

they both have pockets containing little beads of easy-to-change materials if they can’t find anything else to use

barry is a phd student, and was in the basement bio lab of the local university when the light phased through the ceiling and hit him. he stumbled backwards and fortunately didn’t hurt himself, bc he basically lives in there and no one would check on him for a while.

the next time he’s forced into a university function, he’s shrinking against a wall wishing he wasn’t there, and then he…isn’t. he falls over into the next room bc he just went through the wall.

i’ll be honest – barry basically has danny phantom powers. the tricky bit is that if he’s exhausted, instead of losing his powers, he can’t keep a physical form very well. finally, a reason for this man to get some sleep already.

his codename is nightingale and his color is blue. thank goodness he can make his clothes and glasses ghost with him, or else he’d be recognizable and useless.

davenport was relaxing with a short flight just outside of town. he notices some strange lights, then realizes one is coming towards him, then barely manages to keep the plane from crashing when it hits him in the head. he quickly lands and checks the plane for damage, but there’s no trace of it.

his mind is wandering during a pretty boring meeting one day when everyone suddenly stops. davenport tunes in and notices that, um, there’s a small boat appearing to float across the table. this completely snaps him out of his thoughts, and it disappears. it’s a good thing the old people on the board like to brush over unexplainable things, bc after a few moments, the meeting picks back up.

he works at a nerd museum. he mostly enjoys it, but also wants to save up enough to move to the coast.

his power is creating illusions and, depending on his energy, materializing them. the illusions barely cost anything, but the materialization is really draining.

his hero name is canary and his color theme is gold.

i wanted it to be albatross at first, but that sounded a little…eh? i liked canary better, esp since it’s yellow

+ instead of having half the symbolism of a curse, it symbolizes freedom!! i think that’s an important dav trait.

finally, lucretia was riding home on her bike and, unlike dav, did crash. strangely, she and her bike were totally unharmed.

lucretia works part-time as a secretary to save up for college, while also working at a bookstore bc she is a Nerd. she got lost in the Deep Shelves and, when a pile of books fell and set off a domino effect, she stretched out her hands to stop them – and they actually did stop.

lucretia can create force fields of any shape, and move them around. that may seem simple, but she can ride them like a hover board, trap people, and, if she’s strong enough, slice things.

her superhero name is bluejay and her color is teal.

other characters include:

julia, magnus’s coworker/boss’s daughter, and they’ve been in love since forever. when the light stuff started though, magnus figured he should slow down.

…yeah, she figures it out pretty soon. magnus is bad at keeping secrets.

carey, magnus’s roommate and constant alibi/excuse-maker/back-up

killian, who works security at the business lucretia secretaries at, and keeps bringing her out to social stuff bc the girl needs it. they also talk abt girls a lot bc they’re both Gay™ – lucretia especially enjoys teasing killian about carey with the “really great calves” from the gym.

killian accidentally said weird shit when first gushing about her and, of course, lucretia will never forget it

noelle was saved by the team from whatever the hell lucas ends up doing in this au. carey offers to share her room, esp since magnus is uh. working a little more irregularly these days and they could use the split rent.

noelle and carey also talk about girls, including killian who could “probably throw me across a room” from the gym.

angus was looking into all this nonsense and figured it was easiest to track down twins who seem to know a lot about chemistry. it wasn’t too hard. taako and lup were appalled that his parents Just Let Him Do That and so there’s a 50/50 chance that angus is in their spare room at any given time.

listen they got a two-bedroom apartment, but apparently they’re still too clingy to sleep alone. nerds.

ren is taako’s coworker and best friend. she knows Something is up, but isn’t entirely sure What. she also knows better than to try and find out. taako will tell her when he tells her.

honestly i low low lowkey dig the idea of noelle/ren but you didn’t hear that from me. if it happens to show up though. oh well.

avi makes frequent deliveries for the hammer and tongs, and is pretty tight with magnus. he’s even tighter with magnus’s dogs, which stay at the h&t bc his apartment is run by ruthless monsters.

johann is the town’s dramatic and overtalented musician, who is almost always in the background. i’m not sure what his deal is, but he sure is good at music.

hurley is a cop who keeps trying to figure out what is going on, but isn’t having much luck

artemis sterling is the very frustrated mayor

certain people are given powers by the hunger, a la hawk moth. these include gundren, magic brian, jenkins, sloane, the hammerheads, cpt cpt bane, lucas, etc.

the major manifestation of the hunger is john, but only merle manages to see him.

unlike miraculous, the hunger is dangerous to its hosts if they become disagreeable. the birds can save the people possessed, but it’s not easy.

there are Mysterious Third Parties that can grant additional powers

one is known as the raven queen. she grants kravitz the power to possess non-organic materials, as well as a scythe that can temporarily dislocate souls and do mild portal shit.

kravitz was a coroner trying to get a gig in the orchestra, but then he almost died and the raven queen resurrected him and he’s got a really strong sense of duty so he’s doing this now, he guesses. at least he still gets to have a normal life when he isn’t busy.

i like to think that after sloane rejects the hunger, the raven queen scoops her up and also grants the ability to possess non-organic objects. she was a good mechanic before, and is super good now. she gets hurley to give up on the whole investigation thing and join her and they live happily ever after, and also kick the occasional ass.

at first, RQ’s orders are to retrieve the light so it doesn’t fall into the wrong hands, but taako persuades kravitz that the birds are able to use it to defeat the hunger once and for all.

after that, the mission is just to keep as many people out of danger as possible.

istus and pan can also grant powers, but i’m not sure how they’d fit in yet

more random facts:

taako, lup, and barry are actually at the same university even though they never see each other. the mascot is a mongoose.

at some point the bio and chem departments are doing a joint conference thing. taako and lup are wandering around while spamming the birds’ group chat with really awful memes with magnus. meanwhile, barry is trying his best to ignore his constantly-vibrating phone as he talks to a professor about something actually important.

do they find each other in this truly ridiculous way? You Decide.

lucas is in the same department as barry, and even though he’s kind of a genius, he is also. how you say. a dick.

ren and taako work as chefs at the davy lamp. ren is almost definitely going to own it one day, and taako is proud of her.

lucretia and magnus meet via carey and killian, and quickly become close friends. because magnus is incapable of keeping a secret from anyone he knows, she finds out that he’s eagle and so they now know each other’s secret identities.

anyway that’s all i’ve got for now, thanks for coming to my ted talk

[oldthe-nothing-maker]

Magnus walks through the debris of Raven’s Roost, and sees the dead, charcoal-twisted bodies of people he once knew, and gingerly pushes the remnants of the burnt door of Hammers and Tongs, and watches as ash settles on the long wild hair of his dead wife, and

he’s, like, okay with that.

He gets to work with a mechanical precision, the kind of which you get when you do something for a long time, a bit like hammering and carpentry and things (that’s what he tells himself as he drags Julia’s weight on the floor by the arms – there’s dried blood in her eyes, and she looks both hurt and surprised, as if she wasn’t expecting the pain). Of course he checks on both her and Steven first, just because; and after what he goes to look for survivors, and he finds none, and he’s still okay with that.

The okayness settles in; goes on for quite some time, even. He builds the funeral pyre, arranges the bodies in a rough but honest fashion: he doesn’t have the time to make something fancy, but he doesn’t want to rush through it, either, because, hey, that’s still his wife.

He lights the fire as night comes down: there is an unbearable amount of stars in the sky. He looks up to them, thinks to himself that he’s seen better, but then again, he’s also seen worst.

He’s still okay. He is tired, weary, sure; his legs are cramped, and a nasty cough has developed throughout the day in his smoke-filled lungs. His eyelids are heavy and he closes both his eyes as the first flames lick the soles of the feet of seventy-four dead bodies.

It’s okay, he thinks. It’s okay. It’s the year business.

He looks up to the sky once again, and, suddenly,

“none of them will ever come back”

and the finite, definitive, absolute unchanging never reachable never mortal number of stars in the sky weights way, way too much on Magnus Burnsides’ shoulders.

***

It’s a lot of fire, like, a lot of times, to be honest.

Magnus is a tough guy and his Armour Class is pretty high, so when shit gets risky, he’s usually the one that can handle the kicks: when the situation calls for it, he will jump out of the occasional window or walk through a Wall of Fire or two.

Here’s the thing, though: the party is composed of one warrior and six mages, and their Armour Class is shit, and fire kills people.

They all laugh, ten years later, when they remember one of Lup’s experiments where she tried to mix two spells and BOOM went the lab; they make jokes whenever Lup cooks, or when she says she’s just had a brilliant idea. “Hey guys, new video, new experiment: let’s find out what happens if I mix bleach and vinegar?” says Davenport in a perfect imitation of Lup’s obnoxious voice, and Merle nearly pisses himself laughing.

But that’s only ten cycles later: BOOM went the lab, and it’s Magnus who goes in what remains of the room with a poor attempt at a haphazard mask on his face, to see if any of the twins or Lucretia or Barry are alive, and comes back cradling four burnt bodies in his arms. None of them are bigger than foetuses: they’re just burnt bones. Burnt bones and a lot of black dust.

Davenport loses the control of the ship, once, on a volcanic land: they all watch from the shore, frozen, as lava bubbles up in the main cabin, and they spend the entire year nearly killing themselves trying to repair the ship because they can’t fucking die here because of a fucking parking mistake.

Of course, Merle pisses off the wrong guy at the wrong moment: Magnus hears his bad joke and he doesn’t even have time to look at him funny to tell him to stop trying to push that arsehole’s buttons: said arsehole says something in tongues, and in a second, Merle, his plants, his new shoes, his tiny eggplant-shaped watering can – all of it is reduced to really thin ash that rains on the white tiles of their house. A robot comes immediately to clean it off and Magnus has to break it open to put Merle’s remains into some kind of jar or something (he never stops doing that – mortuary rites, that is. Maybe he should? It’s hard to say.)

And of course, Merle doesn’t say a lot about his meetings with the Hunger (if anything at all about it, actually), but Magnus knows just enough to know that it involves a lot of darkness and a lot of fire, especially at the end.

Lup uses fire, and a spell goes wrong, and she disappears engulfed in the hell she’s created, and she dies. Barry gets in the way of a stray Magic Missile, and he spends three days agonizing in bed as magical burns slowly eat him from the inside, and he dies. Lucretia falls into a trap inside some sick labyrinth thingy, and they helplessly hit the bubble in which she’s imprisoned as the heat rises inside, and she dies. Taako – golden, green, beautiful Taako – is a bit too slow, a bit too far, and Magnus can hold his hand out all he wants but a Scout opens its opal mouth to spit a ray of black flames and Magnus’ hand catches nothing but smoke: Taako burns, and he dies.

Magnus survives. Magnus lingers on.

If the fight’s been really rough, if things have gone sour, Magnus asks Lucretia to draw him. He watches the burns and the terrible blisters blossom on his arms like patches of tiny pale flowers, and Lucretia takes them all in. If Lucretia is dead, he tries to do it himself. It’s not as good. After what he takes a needle and some thread he keeps in his pockets because – because who fucking knows when you’ll need a needle and some thread? – and he works his way through his wounds. The thread fills up with pus, blood and lymph. Magnus thinks, ahah, it looks JUST like constellations!

He looks outside, towards the empty space across the universe. Sometimes there are stars. Sometimes there are not. He thinks, he doesn’t remember what his constellations looked like. At least he keeps the scars secure.

The next cycle, the blisters are gone. Magnus’ elbows and knees are scar-free. He still has thread in his pockets. Lucretia draws, Merle garden, Lup experiments, Barry thinks, Davenport pilots, and Taako smiles. They heal.

They die.

They heal.

They die.

They heal.

Fun fact: you actually grow used to it real fast. Incredible, right?

Magnus says that he likes being sure that “time will heal all wounds”. No one understands the worry beneath, lighting the cracks on the floor: that Magnus isn’t stupid, and their time isn’t limitless, and eventually, eventually, eventually, gods, please, he will not know what to do with uncertainty.

***

- What am I going to do if you never come back? If none of you ever come back? Or – any of you?

Lucretia looks at him with careful eyes, heavy eyelids on heavy eyelashes:

- We’ll always come back.

- But – I mean, after we do... All that, you know? I mean, our main goal, it’s to, uh, not having to, you know, always have to run away, find the Light, all of that, so.

- You’ll have time to think about it when we reach that point. We will all have time to do this. You should not worry about this for now.

Magnus lowers his head. His voice is small when he speaks again:

- But I do.

***

The girl’s eyes are grey like rainclouds and her hands are cool to the touch. Magnus is so godsdamn thirsty, he’d probably kill for a cup of water.

- Here, take some of this, she says.

She hands him a gourd full of liquid. When he splashes the lukewarm water on his face, he feels like living again, which he’s pretty sure Taako would find, wow, that’s, that’s some comedy gold right there, pumpkin, wow! Spot on!

The girl keeps on watching him with these big, cloudy eyes. He drinks some more, and then maybe even a little more, and says to her:

- I think I overestimated my, uh, you know, my overall abilities to, uh, you know... Survive.

- Yeah, says the girl.

He hands her back the gourd; and then, he says:

- Hey. Uh. Okay, it’s going to sound, uh, kinda weird, so don’t – don’t freak out. But. How would you like... Some kind of magical cup, that can, uh, protect people, but like, forever? As, you know, thanks. For the water.

The girl immediately calls on her father about the fuckin’ weirdo over there. Magnus thinks he’s making the good choice.

In his hands, the cup tugs at the strings of his heart, and on that beat it sings good songs of golden homes.

***

What did it say again?

***

Water, water.

More water.

And after the stars, finally,

void.

***

Fire.

***

Magnus just can’t realise she’s not ever coming back. It’s too much. It’s too painful. It’s not how it should be.

Gods, please, why can’t he?

***

Why can’t he.

***

Why can’t he.

***

Why can’t he.

***

If Merle makes that awful pussy-eating grimace once again, Magnus will jump off the moving cart.

***

Why can’t he.

***

Everything heals given time, the cup says, but then it adds, and its voice tastes like honey, and Magnus thinks of gold and all things warm and home, home, home: and everything dies.

***

- Yaknow, I can’t believe you fuckin’ told that, that miracle cup to, uh, can it.

Taako has scars all over him. Some Magnus has seen grow and heal; some he feels like they shouldn’t be there; some cause him pain too. Of course, he’s not looking at him as he talks. Taako doesn’t do heart-to-hearts the fantasy movies way, baby.

- Yeah, well. That would have been selfish.

- Oh, uh-uh, sure, yeah, definitely.

Taako looks at his nails a little more:

- Well, anyway, we all did good, and we were all brave, so, so that’s, that’s pretty good in itself, hm, that’s what you, you could call a success story, isn’t it?

Magnus stays silent for a while.

- Yeah. I guess.

***

Add some more fire.

Also, soul bonding with his arms outstretched, a Mannequin Interlude, and revelations.

But mostly fire.

***

Magnus is still reeling. His arms are full of all the people he loves, has loved, will love, and he doesn’t even think about it, but, yeah, that’s true:

The stars? Still here, still not moving. Still real heavy. Time hasn’t stopped. Things still grow. Things still go.

And things still grow. And go. And grow. So home can too.

(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fjbtuNBRzbE)

[bestillmyslashyheart]

AK ficlet #5

It was a busy night at the Drop. J sat at the bar and sipped his soda. As much as he’d prefer a beer right now, he couldn’t ask Deran for one. Not during business hours at least.

 It was still a bit odd to him. It was far from the first time he’d been to the bar but recently he’s been spending his free time in the actual bar itself rather than in the back. Tonight he was sitting with Craig and Pope while Deran worked and occasionally joined them for conversation.

 It was strange. Smurf’s return had accomplished almost inadvertently the one thing she could never manage to do intentionally – J and his uncles were actually getting along. Maybe it was having a common enemy that they all finally accepted as their enemy. J wasn’t sure. All he knew was that he was choosing to spend his nights at the Drop with his uncles. On the last job that they had pulled – without Smurf’s input – the other three listened to and respected what he had to say. He was starting to think that maybe he and Craig and Deran might even become something resembling friends. Though that might be a bit of a stretch, admittedly.

 A commotion on the other side of the bar caught all of their attention. He craned his neck to see what the excitement was about as Craig stood up to his full height to try and see over the crowd.

 “Oh my god. Oh my god!” he heard a woman shriek excitedly. He couldn’t quite see where she was but the tone of her voice made it clear that she wasn’t in any danger so J leaned back in his seat. He watched Deran cross to the other side of the bar to get a better vantage point before returning.

 “What gives man?” Craig asked Deran once he was close enough to talk to without having to shout over the sudden din of the bar.

 “Looks like they’re soulmates.” Deran answered. “Both of them were clutching their arms and showing off identical marks.”

On AO3

Craig laughed. “No shit? And it happened right here?” Craig sort of shook his head. “That’s awesome. You should advertise that. Come to the Drop and meet your soulmate!” Deran chucked a rag at him in response.

 “You should do something.” Pope said. The other three turned to look at him incredulously. It was one thing for Craig to get excited over a soulmate pair but Pope? He was never one for fantastical nonsense.

 Pope returned their look. “Give them a free drink or something. It’s what you do when something like this happens.”

 As he finished speaking one of Deran’s bartenders came up next to him. J didn’t know her name. “Are we doing anything for the happy couple? Drinks or something?” On the other side of the bar Pope gestured in a clear see? motion. Deran flicked him off without looking at him and spoke to the bartender. “Yeah sure. We’ll comp their tab for the night. Max it out at something reasonable. Don’t let them buy the whole bar a round on us or anything.” She nodded in response and moved away.

 Almost immediately, Craig launched back into his pitch about how Deran should advertise the event to bring in more business. J tuned him out after a moment but pondered it himself. It wouldn’t be a bad idea or unheard of.

 Soulmates weren’t unheard of but they were rare enough to be almost headline news when they occurred. Last J had heard, the odds were somewhere between one in a million and one in a billion. Part of the excitement stemmed from the fact that no one had any idea who their soulmate could be. It was only after initial contact that a mark would appear – the exact same mark in the exact same location on each of their bodies. It was total chance for a person to find their perfect partner. J didn’t think much of it. He’d never met a mated pair before and he assumed he never would. Except maybe tonight it would seem.

 Part of J wanted to dismiss the whole concept altogether. How could fate really know which two people would be perfect for each other? But another part of him wanted to know how it worked. After all, it’s never been wrong. In recorded history there has not been a single record of a mated pair separating or being anything other than blissfully happy their whole lives together.

 J was torn from his thoughts when Craig stood up next to him.

 “What’s up Adrian!” Craig greeted a newcomer. J didn’t know him but he thought he looked vaguely familiar. “I heard you rocked the QS.” He reached out a hand in a loose handshake.

 “Hey Craig. Thanks. It’s good to see you.” Adrian replied. He turned and nodded at Pope. “Pope. Good to see you.”

 “Adrian” was all Pope replied.

 “When’d you get back?” Deran asked, drawing Adrian’s attention to him. “I thought you were gonna be out in Australia for another week or two at least.”

 J watched Adrian duck his head a bit. “Yeah, I uh-I had to withdraw from the QS. So I’m back now. For good.” J could tell there was more to the story and from the look on Deran’s face he knew it too. But nobody said anything.

 After a long moment of silence, Adrian asked “Can I get a beer?”

 This seemed to jolt Deran into action. “Yeah sure. Course.” He turned around and headed for the back.

 In his absence, Craig turned to J. “You met Adrian yet?” J just shook his head in response.

 “Well J this is Adrian,” he started off, motioning to the other man, “he and Deran have been friends since forever. Adrian, this is J, Julia’s kid.” He finished with another hand motion.

 Adrian reached over the two older Cody’s to shake J’s hand. “Nice to meet you. I think we might have crossed paths a couple of times. Maybe at the house or the beach or something.”

 J reached forward and shook his hand. “Yeah I thought you looked kinda familiar when you walked in. Nice to meet you too.” As he said that he put it together. He had seen Adrian before. In a public bathroom at the beach. When he helped Deran beat him up. J sat back in his chair again as Deran returned. As Adrian reached over the bar to take the proffered beer from Deran, J got a glimpse of his arm.

 On the inside of his wrist was a tattoo. J couldn’t quite make out what it was as it looked pretty intricate but he recognized it instantly. Because he’d seen it before. And as Deran turned around to help another customer he saw it again. Deran had the same exact tattoo. In the same exact place.

[movienotesbyzawmer]

August 26: Mission: Impossible III

(previous notes: Mission: Impossible II)

Another one I haven't seen since it first came out (fifteen years ago!), but I remember liking it. Other than the exciting new personnel in the cast and in the director's chair, I really can't remember any details about this.

The director is, of course, J.J. Abrams. He comes in scalding hot from his television work, most notably Lost, and is making his feature directorial debut here before eventually directing what is currently the top-grossing movie of all time in the US. There was reason at the time to expect an improvement over the spotty second entry, but what does it say that I can't remember anything at all… okay let's start it.

You know how movies often love to tease the audience by opening with a really really exciting scene that's supposed to blow your mind and make you go OH my GOD like HOW did we GET to this VERY EXCITING SITUATION and then they jerk it all away and start from the beginning, this movie begins with that. That and very "modern" shaky shaky handheld camera stuff. I don't like that handheld stuff but whatever.

After the credits it's clearly back to before-problem. Ethan is having a chill dinner party with his girlfriend who is not Thandie Newton but who is definitely being tortured by Phillip Seymour Hoffman in the opening tease.

That is subtly interrupted by a covert request to meet at a convenience store for some espionage and, perhaps less subtly, a lot of exposition. Very unnatural dialogue lets us know that Ethan is not in the field any more, he is a trainer, but one of his trainees is in trouble with PSH and will he help please. Also that was his fiancée not his mere girlfriend. That is a much more elite status. High stakes OMG.

Off to Berlin, and I'm reminded that the previous movie didn't do as much globetrotting; it was pretty much in Australia the whole time. I like location diversity.

The rescue of the played-by-Keri-Russell former protégé is not a stealthy one. They plant a bunch of blowy-uppy things around the rusty warehouse where they're torturing her and cause chaos to help them get to her and shoot their way out. There is no mask-craft so far.

After a cocky moment where Ethan demonstrates that being down to only one bullet was just fine with him, there's a cool shot where a closeup of Ethan has a nicely-framed surprise explosion behind him.

Much splody. So much splody. Maybe M:I3 is the one that should be remembered as The Splody One. There are rockets toppling wind turbines being negotiated by chasing helicopters. But the most suspenseful issue is that KR has a secret surprise blowy-uppy in her bloodstream. A race to maybe do something about it doesn't work and she dies. I remember predicting her death to my friends before the movie started, but it didn't make those friends like me any better.

Worth noting that J.J. Abrams is not wrong to apparently think we will think all the wind turbine imagery will look pretty neat.

Before dying, KR sent a postcard to Ethan, and not even in a normal way, in a "Hi is this Rollo Tamassy? I was given explicit instructions to let you know there is a delivery for you in dead Keri Russell's mailbox" kind of weird way. The postcard had a blank microdot hidden under the stamp. Feels slightly eye-rolly. Simon Pegg is now in the movie now, though, so that's cool.

Ethan had to have a serious talk with Julia about how serious his life is or something, and they get married like right there in a storage room! Then Ethan and the team go to the Vatican and do a heist there. It's an okay heist that involves seeming like bickering Italian van drivers and then changing into different costumes. No masks though. They still look like themselves. J.J. Abrams clearly told people, "why should I watch the other Mission Impossible movies when I literally made Alias".

They shoot magic sticky pebbles near cameras to make them not work, this is important to their method, but I'm not sure how this is supposed to end, aren't they kidnapping PSH or something?

0:47:57 - Welly welly well, what have we here, they have the mask machine! We actually see it 3D-print a PSH mask, now we talkin

Ooh, and we also get to see a whole thing about the voice disguise technology, Ethan has a PSH mask on and he forces the real PSH at gunpoint to say a script to teach the tech thing his voice, but it's not ready in time when he has to say stuff in disguise and there is suspense there, I like it!

They successfully completed the heist of stealing PSH from the Vatican, even though we didn't see exactly how they transported his sedated body out of there but okay

"Whoever it is I'm gonna find her and I'm gonna hurt her", we're seeing PSH be a villain on a level that one really doesn't see very much.

Ethan responds to that by doing an odd thing that I guess would be described as "dangling him from the bottom of a plane that is flying up in the air and therefore scary". He's trying to figure out what "rabbit's foot" is, which we heard about in the opening tease. We still don't know what it is. I've known for fifteen years apparently and even I don't know what it is so

The next exotic location on our tour appears to be the bridges connecting the Florida Keys, and things get splody again! Rocket bombs destroy the bridges they're on plus also some of the vehicles that are around. Right before that happened we saw the secret video message that KR had hidden in that microdot pre-her-unfortunate-death, and it was the news that the spy executive we've seen a couple of times, played by Lawrence Fishburne, is secretly a bad guy. So the rocket-equipped military force that is recklessly decimating bridges and automobiles is probably under Spy Executive's direction. Kind of rash doing all this destruction.

Oh, I remember that shot! Ethan is running away from a car that is the victim of a rocketplosion, and the force of that throws him in a way you don't see very much, it was probably hard to make it look that good. There are other cool shots in this sequence too.

Oh I like this I like this… the bad guys that are under the direction of Spy Executive have apprehended Ethan just after he found out that PSH kidnapped Julia. He has 48 hours to do a "rabbit's foot" something for PSH in order to save Julia, but he's all restrained and has a strange mask on, but what I like is that Billy Crudup, who is Spy Executive's lackey, did a trick that required Ethan to read his lips. BC knows what's up and is helping Ethan, it's exciting.

1:21:53 - Ethan has escaped and met up with his crew (hey, we have hardly even seen Simon Pegg, what is up with that), and they're doing a heist plan, and it involves drawing skyscrapers on glass and the camera angle matches the actual skyscrapers and it's pretty cool especially when he's doing geometry and actual mathematic calculations to plan some kind of corporeal transfer between two skyscrapers.

That scene is followed by a very impossible-looking shot of Ethan on top of a Shanghai skyscraper; it zooms in from way far away and then circles him and stays on him having a conversation with Ving Rhames, all one shot.

Then a very exciting sequence, the one that was planned for so academically before; Ethan does a super crazy run off the top of the building, and the bungee thing he's attached to does cool looking stuff to get him to swing to the actual building that is his destination, but it's on a sloping thing and he slides down it and there are bad guys he has to shoot. His job is challenging.

I keep forgetting to note this but I do keep observing with satisfaction that the score is all orchestral and traditional, none of the neo-slickrawk of the last two.

Things happened so fast that I didn't quite comprehend how all of his leaps and swings resulted in him obtaining the "rabbits foot", but I guess the thing that looks like a cartridge-container for a pneumatic tube conveyer that has a thing with a radioactivity symbol on it is that. What even is.

The meeting to do the exchange of Julia & "rabbit's foot" is set up and pretty quickly we're caught up to the tease from the beginning. We now are enjoyably frustrated that Ethan thinks he gave them the "rabbit's foot" but dude is asking for it and it's like wut dood I gave it? That ends with PSH seemingly shooting Julia and BC showing up and clearly being in cahoots with the bad guys after all. And it was a fake Julia in a masky-mask, the real one is still okay somewhere. Masked-and-now-dead woman is someone we saw as PSH's translator at the Vatican and the expository dialogue that helps us know this is so artificial-seeming that it reminds us that elaborating on who that really was is kind of pointless and laborious.

This long monologue by BC, mixed too quiet again, also tries to explain his point of view, but I can't quite get it. He says something about the "rabbit's foot", are we supposed to know what it is yet? He mumbled something about a "middle eastern buyer".

1:44:45 - Somehow Ethan was able to get Simon Pegg on the phone after biting his way away from BC (SHHH NO TIME TO EXPLAIN), and then he gets to the top of a suburban Shanghai house and a shot is really cool showing that and it moves and follows him in a cool way, and then the subsequent shots of him running through the streets are cool, he's on the phone with SP who is telling him exactly which little city streets to turn into.

Just as he has found Julia and is maybe going to rescue her, he gets a big headache and we remember that he has the same mini-splody in him that killed KR, and PSH shows up, pretty bad news. PSH delivers his threatening dialogue in a vividly psychopathic way.

PSH's end is dumb, especially on paper. He turns is back on Ethan, who is easily able to jump him and fight him. The fight spills out into the street and a lucky car accident seems to fatally maim PSH while leaving Ethan unharmed. Meh.

The final resolution involves trying the idea they had at the beginning that didn't work with KR, where some kind of on-purpose electrocution death preludes the micro-splody death and then you just have to be good at reviving the person. And it almost doesn't work… but then it does oh my god it does

There is a very very pleasant shot of Ethan and Julia strolling through a Chinese village with a canal bridge and it really is nice looking and I want to go there and stroll like they are strolling.

But then they're back at HQ or whatever and oh, I guess it turns out BC was the only secret bad guy and Spy Executive was good enough and they're all on good terms and Ethan and Julia go on a honeymoon the end. Oh, and the final exchange cheekily reveals that we will never know what "rabbit's foot" was. Creative? Cop-out? Who's to say? (insert why-not-both gif)

So what's to remember about that movie? Was it indeed better than MI:2? I guess a little; there are several little annoying things from both of the first two movies that are absent here, so that's refreshing… but also some of the plot contrivances don't improve on what we've seen so far. Some very very very ambitious visuals! That's the real thing I want to make sure not to forget about this. The previous one had John Woo's signature visual style, but none of it matches the accomplishments of the cool shots in this one. I might have preferred a little more playfulness with the espionage stuff, but if I recall correctly the series doesn't really return to that form.

(next: Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol)

[oshacompliantmagicalgirl]

Rosa and Gina 7ii

My homophobic parents are coming to visit will you pretend to date me as an extra “fuck you”?

Rosa really didn’t like doing things out of spite. She was more of a “eye for an eye” kind of girl, although she couldn’t resist going along with the pranks at work. People had always learned not to cross her early on, so she had gone through most of her adult life without having to be spiteful.

But betrayal was not something she would overlook so easily. That was the word for it, too. How her parents had reacted to her coming out was beyond forgivable. No one should have the power to make her feel like less of a person just because of who she liked, and the fact that her parents could just write her off so easily was enough to fill her blood with the boiling rage of a thousand Spartans. This had been exactly the reason she hadn’t wanted to come out in the first place.

A text lit her phone screen up for the second time. Rosa hadn’t been brave enough to answer it the first time it lit, but this time she swiped open her phone and stared at it. 

Your mother and I will be at Rosco’s at 7, we would like to discuss things with you.

Rosa took a deep breath in through her nose. It wasn’t an invitation, exactly. It was a summons. She knew that her parents wouldn’t react kindly to her just not showing up, though that was her first instinct. But she refused to be at their mercy like this. Although she would never admit it, Rosa was vunerable to her family.

Gina’s desk was exactly 7 feet away from Rosa’s own. How she knew this wasn’t important, but the distance was just enough to alert Gina of Rosa’s arrival from across the room. She had just enough time to look up from her phone before Rosa was talking. 

“You’re going to dinner with me tonight.” Rosa tilted her head back in a way that said it wasn’t a question. Gina folded her hands over her desk. 

“Oh, Rosa, I would love to, but I can’t. I’m teaching a class tonight about dancing and how it’s a viable option for the Metropoliton Museum of Art. Everyone is counting on me to give a demonstration.”

“Cancel it, you’re going to dinner with me.” Rosa tried to ignore the twinge in her chest when Gina smiled up at her. It really wasn’t fair the way Gina could mold her so easily when no one else could, but she was determined not to give up on this. No one else was better suited.

“Must be pretty important, especially since you came straight to me,” Gina hummed, leaning back in her chair, “I’ll do it, but you have to help me with Enigma for the next month.”

Rosa didn’t even hesitate, knowing a good deal when she saw one.

“Done. Seven o’clock, tonight. Wear something nice. You’re going to stand as my girlfriend.” Rosa turned and walked the 7 feet right back to her own desk, not looking up at Gina again. She didn’t have to to feel the wave of surprise and confusion come off her, nor to sense the glimmer of a smile that tugged around her lips.

Seven came much too quickly. Rosa didn’t feel like dressing up, but she knew with her choice of date her appearance would be critiqued. So she actually slipped on an honest-to-god blouse, a nice pair of slacks, and a golden necklace that set off the studs in her leather jacket. Nothing fancy, but nothing to sneeze at either. Walking up the steps to Gina’s apartment, she felt powerful.

And then the door opened. And Rosa’s breath was gone. She had been expecting Gina to wear some combination of leopard and neon that didn’t actually seem to clash, but the reality was far from it. Gina was in an evening gown, cut right below the knee with a slit up the side that showed far too much leg. Her hair was pulled to the side, stylishly, and a large silver heart nestled into her collarbone perfectly. Rosa was overcome with the urge to kiss along the line of her neck up to her ear, but she pushed that thought down violently. 

“Well, don’t you clean up nicely. Lead me away, my lovely stallion!”

Rosa rolled her eyes, but took Gina’s offered hand anyway. Rosco’s was right down the block, so walking was the best choice. 

“So, are you going to tell me why you are taking me on a date when you already have a girlfriend?” Gina raised a sculpted eyebrow, and Rosa was grateful for the dark to cover her slight flush. 

“She’s not in town, and I needed a short notice date. Someone who wouldn’t mind getting affectionate if the moment called for it.” Rosa hadn’t told anyone that her and her girl had split over a month ago. Why would it have been relevant. Suddenly, with Gina’s fingers tangled with hers, she wished she had said something. “We’re meeting my parents.”

This sparked an entirely different line of questioning from Gina, which kept Rosa successfully occupied until they got to the restaurant. 

Oscar and Julia Diaz already had a table reserved, so Gina and Rosa were seated right away in front of the second and third most intimidating people in New York. Right behind Rosa herself, of course. Introductions were made, and Rosa could feel her chest getting hotter as she made the reveal.

“This is my girlfriend, Gina.” 

Rosa’s mother grimmaced, looking Gina up and down. 

“The one who turned our sweet girl gay!” Any further comment was cut off by Oscar elbowing his wife in the side, but Rosa was already boiling in her seat. 

“Bisexual,” She managed through gritted teeth, “Although I suppose it wouldn’t matter to you, now would it?”

Gina leaned in over the table, her face a perfect mask of innocence.

“You must be Julia! Rosa talks about you all the time, you look nothing like I pictured! She’s always talking about how hospitable and accepting you are, I never imagined a woman with such good reputation could be so heartlessly rude in a public setting!” 

Julia was taken aback, as was her husband, but Gina didn’t seem intent on stopping. 

“What an awful shock it must have been for you, finding out that not everyone in the world was straight. With all the horrible movies out there, I don’t blame you. You must be so proud that your little girl isn’t like all these unoriginal people.” 

Rosa felt a little flower of heat in her chest. She wasn’t sure what it was, but a soft smile was threatening to come out. The smile did slip out a little when Gina slipped her arm over Rosa’s shoulder.

“I must say that she is the most fantastic person. She makes my life better every day. I’m honored to meet the two that helped shape her and who wouldn’t think less of her for something as trivial as who she likes to kiss. Parents shouldn’t really be involved with that anyway, my mother got involved once and ended up marrying my casual hookups’ father!” Gina laughed, seemingly unworried that she was carrying the conversation. Then, she placed a soft kiss on Rosa’s cheek, making her face flare up brightly. Her lips were warm and gentle, but Rosa didn’t have long to think about it as her father finally started in on the conversation.

The evening went shockingly fine. Her mother didn’t say anything, save for a muttered apology halfway through their meal, but Rosa sensed that she was beginning to come around. Even if it was through shame. Rosa hoped she was choking with regret.

Eventually, the night came to a close, and her father didn’t hesitate to draw her and Gina into a hug. Emotions were not easy in their family, but little by little they were learning.

“Thank you.” Rosa said during the walk back, meaning every syllable. Without Gina, the night would have ended horribly. 

“No need to thank me, I know I saved the night.” Gina flipped her hair, and Rosa snorted. “It was fun to spite your parents like that.”

“We should do it again.”

“Maybe next week? Same time, same place?”

“As long as you don’t mind my parents not being invited.”

Gina stopped in the street, looking at Rosa in amusement. 

“Are you asking me on a date?” 

Rosa stared at Gina for a few seconds, then moved closer. Real close. Her arm slipped around Gina’s waist, and pulled their bodies flush with one another. She wasn’t really sure where she was going to go with it until Gina wrapped her arms around Rosa’s neck, and everything was suddenly so simple. They leaned in, kissing softly in the lamplight.

Kissing Gina was everything Rosa would never admit to imagining. Soft and sweet with just the right edge of spice. She just about melted into it, humming when just the slightest touch of tongue was added into the mix. She could do this all night. And all morning. And for the rest of her life, it just felt so right. Eventually, the need for air pulled them apart.

“I told you we’d make a hot couple” Gina murmured after several seconds of heavy breathing. 

Rosa just laughed and kissed her again.