#those work basically like straws where as the air gets pushed through it goes MUCH faster and gets dangerous way easier

[nexus-nebulae]

love watching weather science videos but like. why am i 1000x more interested in tornadoes over hurricanes. they're both spinning air

[aching-tummies]

If I was your partner...I'd bind you. Arms behind your back or tied to an armrest or something. I don't got a preference for what state your stomach is in except maybe an extreme one (hungry, stuffed, sick, etc.). I want you moaning and squirming and begging for rubs. Maybe I will grant them...but the more sadistic part of me wants you on the floor, arms bound to a table leg, with my sock-clad foot prodding into your tummy causing you to moan and something to happen in that gut gu yours.

I wonder if cradling my stomach when it hurts actually does anything. Like…I instinctively try to at least put my hands on it when it starts to ache in public…but it still hurts. Would it hurt even more if I didn’t have anything pressing against it?

My musings gave you the perfect excuse to combine our mutual love for tummy kink with your binding kink. The blindfold was the first to come on. It’s just a scrap of fabric from my sewing projects and not necessarily a true blindfold. The low thread-count is one thing, so I can see silhouettes if I try hard enough. That and the little slivers caused by the gap created by the bridge of my nose…but those slivers barely allow me to see my front if I try hard. More strips of fabric fasten my arms behind me. Not in a way that gets me to cramp and ache, but enough that I can’t bring my arms up to my stomach. I’m leaned up against a leg of our dining table with my legs sprawled out in front of me and my arms fastened to the leg. If I start to panic I could easily push the table up and slip my bonds out from under it, or I could use the safe-word.

A deep, angry grumble quakes in my tummy. It’s audible and it brings an intense cramp with it. I bite back a moan, my eyes squeezing shut against the intensity of the cramping ache as it builds and builds to a head. My arms tense, fighting the bonds as my body instinctively tries to reach over to soothe my upset tummy.

“Ugh…babe?” I don’t even know if you are in the room. You made me ingest a bunch of stuff and I’ve been left to sit for a long while. The plan today was to cook up a stomach ache and we both knew that I’d subconsciously avoid eating stuff that was guaranteed to give me a tummy ache, so we sort of removed my autonomy with the blindfold. “Babe—urgh…ouch—i-it’s s-starting—ah! Ow!” A sharp growl splits the air and I can see my stomach clenching and convulsing as my body squirms involuntarily.

You didn’t just stuff me, but you were careful with the combinations to ensure that it’d cause a stomach ache. There was orange juice to start, something I usually avoid because I’m not a big fan of tart and sour flavors. At least two glasses went into my gut via a straw to start and I was sated after the two glasses. Of course, one never says ‘no’ to pizza. The next thing to nudge my lips ended up being a pizza. You’d give me a few bites and let me swallow, pausing periodically to give me a sip of something through a straw pressed to my lips to ensure my mouth didn’t get too dry. Sometimes it was water, other times it was some carbonated drink. I don’t know how many slices of pizza I ended up eating, but it felt like a lot. The liquid travelling up the straw eventually transitioned into milk tea and my dread ramped up in tandem with the pressure in my tummy as I thought about the lake of acidic orange juice it would clash with. My stomach churned as I continued to suck on the straw and that definitely didn’t help matters. Maybe it was my overactive imagination, but I could feel chunks bobbing around in my gut and I’m not entirely sure all those chunks were pizza.

You left me alone after the feeding. Tempted as you were to put your hands on my belly and slosh it around, that would defeat the purpose of our little experiment. Now we wait. You had retreated out of my sight (not hard to do) and left things to stew.

I sat there with nothing to occupy my mind except for the sensations in my tummy. It didn’t take long. My stomach cramped a little, but it was more discomfort than an actual ache. That went on for about twenty minutes. I guess those minor cramps were my body’s way of churning the mess in my belly. The aching intensified as the mess got more and more churned around. The milk and cheese reacting with the acidic orange juice and curdling terribly. My intestines were alright with the liquidy orange juice dripping into it b, but the easy-to-digest liquid soon stopped dropping in, replaced by a nasty, semi-solid glop of curdled garbage. My intestines reacted almost immediately. Peristalsis stalled for a little while, allowing the nastiness to stew for a bit. When it re-started it was clearly having trouble finding the right rhythm to get the mess moving.

I needn’t have called out. You’ve been watching from the other side of our combined living/dining area. You knew the stomach ache was forming when my mewls and bitten back moans joined the griping grumbles from my unhappy tummy. The noises had started out liquid-y and clear, sounding infrequently and gradually morphed into a sticky cacophony of nastiness. Tell me you’re sick without telling me you are sick. Came to mind. The noises from my gut just screamed ‘sickly’ to you and you were tempted to find me a bucket, but you didn’t want to miss a moment of the action. Not like I’m sitting on carpet—the smooth flooring is easy to clean, even if it’ll be a bit of a pain to do so if I hurl.

“Ugh—urlp—b-babe? Sweetie—it hurts! It really hurts—ulp—” Those aborted hiccups sound wet. Forget ‘if’ I hurl, that sound is basically a guarantee that we’ll be cleaning our floors. Well, if it’ll end up being a mess anyway. A smile forms on your lips as you quietly pad your way over to where I’m bound. Your sock-clad feet make no noise as you creep closer. “Ullf…uhhmm…ugh…’m so full—urp—s-so sick..oohh…” A moan and a coo at directed at my tummy reverberates, blending with a smooth growl from my guts. I’m still completely unaware of your presence.

“Ah—Oww—URLPK!” I was unaware of your presence until a sharp pressure drove into my bloated belly as you nudged your sock-clad foot into the crest of it. Something sour and chunky surged up my esophagus. My surprised gasp at the sudden pressure was just enough to keep the sick from coming all the way out but the back of my throat burns as my stomach churns violently. “Ugh…babe…that hurts. Ugh…forget the stupid experiment. Untie me. I need to rub—my stomach hurts.” I hiss and bite back something as my stomach clenches tightly. You watch me arch slightly, my stomach seeming to seek out any sort of comforting pressure and finding none. For a second you entertain the idea of alien chest-bursters or something from the way my arching spine brings my belly up and out for a moment before my straining body goes back down. Maybe that was an attempt at nudging up the table, but I know you are here and still haven’t used a safe-word so the scenario is still going.

While you were feeding me, you had sneakily unbuttoned my jeans and unzipped my fly on a whim. The experiment was for a belly without any sort of comforting touch. I wasn’t willing to go naked for the experiment so the undone jeans would have to do.

My breathing comes quickly and in short gasps. My stomach heaves and squirms with my breaths. It’s almost like the labor videos you’ve seen before. You nudge at my stomach, prodding it with your big toe. I groan again and shift, seemingly trying to get away from your foot. I end up pressed against one of the dining chairs that has been tucked in, not really offering me much more room to go. I’ve got you on one side and the chair on the other—talk about a rock and a hard place.

Moving was a bad idea. The movements jostled my already upset guts and the churning intensifies. The cramping pains shoot through every which way and my arms continue to fight the restraints, my body desperately trying to get any sort of comforting pressure to my sick tummy.

A warm pressure pushes at my belly. It’s your foot. You run your foot over my stomach with minimal pressure. It’s still more than a hand would do with a lazy rub because legs are generally stronger than arms. The constant pressure of your foot squeezes my guts uncomfortably and shifts things around. I feel the semi-solid mush occupying my duodenum get squeezed, seemingly pushing out of both sphincters at either end at the same time. My stomach revolts. The sensation of forced back-flow upsets the swirling contents. More gastric contents work their way up my esophagus. I feel the level rise to mid-chest and climb and ebb. My aborted groans are cut off as I try to fight the vomit.

Your foot leaves my belly just as the level reaches the back of my throat. You were worried because I had seemingly stopped breathing. Once the pressure leaves, the sour liquid falls back into my stomach. I feel my stomach expand with it as my abdominals barely unclench in time to accommodate for the returning contents. Once everything is back in my belly I finally trust myself to let out a groan and to take a deeper breath.

“Ugh…I want to rub my tummy so bad. ‘m so sick. Hurts so much. Tummy…sick…too full…too much…ugh…” I’m mumbling. Clearly, the ordeal has been overwhelming for me. A part of you worries that we’ve gone too far now. Maybe this was too much and it broke me enough to forget the safety checks we have in place? You reach for the blindfold, finding it a little damp with tears. It worries you.

Settling to sit down on the floor with me, you reach over and gently rub my tummy. I moan softly, finally feeling some relief. My stomach tenses at the first touch but gradually unclenches under the comfort of your massage.

You can feel the sickly churning and sloshing of my guts. You can feel it each time my duodenum spasms—taking in new contents and occasionally allowing back-flow that upsets things all over again.

“Sweets…do you still want this?” You ask tentatively after I’ve been silent for a little while. It’s clear I’ve calmed down slightly from your massage.

“Hmm?” You can tell I’m out of it. Whether it’s a food coma, exhaustion, or me being too influenced by the scenario to be in the right state of mind—you don’t know. You reach over and begin to work on the strips of fabric securing my arms. It’s only because you are leaning in that you catch my words. “I want—I want it all out. Now. Please?” As my hands loosen, I reach over not for my stomach, but for your leg. Realization dawns. The game is still on…though this might be the big finish.

A dull but sudden pressure rattles me as you plant your foot solidly into my belly. It sinks in despite how full I am as my stomach-contents shoot up, up, and out. You hear the sound of something slapping at the back of my throat a millisecond before it splatters onto the smooth floors of our apartment. I’m on my knees and you are standing above me. Some of the sick inevitably got on your pant-leg and sock, but those can be cleaned. You nudge at the side of my belly with your foot, bringing up more sick.

Four productive heaves later I am left dry. My stomach aches something fierce. With a groan, I flop over to the side, barely avoiding the puddle of sick. My hair is definitely in it but I’m too exhausted to care. You tower over me, my back pressed up against your shins. You raise a foot and nudge it into my belly. I close my eyes as I feel your foot providing my clenching belly with a deep massage, deeper than anything hands could do. My stomach gripes and growls around your foot and you can feel the reverberations as you knead and churn it around. You press until you hear me gasp and push at your foot with my hands. You relent the pressure and offer the massage again, lulling me into a sense of security before you’ll inevitably do it again.

[actress4him]

Overexposure - New Ideas

(Prompt #17 for Summer of Whump)

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Warnings: lady whumpee with male whumper, creepy/intimate whumper, captivity, referenced beating, noncon touching (non-sexual), forced stripping (non-sexual), restraints, stress position

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It’s only a few days after the exhibit, a few days after the brutal beating Ellery received for trying to ask for help, when the door to her room flies open and he’s standing there with that smile on his face. The smile she hates more than anything. The smile that says she’s about to suffer even more.

“Good morning, Princess.” Lucas strolls into the room - the cell, really, just a tiny corner of the basement built expressly for the purpose of keeping her inside. “In the midst of the fallout from your misguided attempt the other night, I failed to mention how much of a success the exhibit was. Everyone adored you.”

Her skin crawls at the thought, but she knows better than to respond by now. Instead she pulls her knees up to her chest, hugging them to herself as if she can keep him away.

“I’m getting plenty of sales, too. So many people who want to have our beautiful artwork all for themselves.”

She knows better than to respond, but she can’t help it. The image of those photos hanging on someone’s walls, or being hidden away to look at secretly… “Guess they’re just as sick as you are.”

All of her muscles tense up as soon as she says it, expecting him to lash out. But he must be in an awfully good mood, because he simply ignores the outburst, pacing toward the tiny table with his hands clasped behind his back.

“I’ve been getting requests, too. Some from patrons at the last exhibit, others from people who have seen my previous work.” He turns, leaning up against the table, eyes roving over her body in the way he does when she knows he’s imagining ways to torture it. “Seems like there’s a whole collection of people out there who love...well, I keep hearing the word ‘whump’, but...basically, they draw all kinds of inspiration from what we’re doing. And now they’d like to see something...a little less refined, a little more...hm, how do I say it? A little more...raw. Primitive.”

The smile creeps back onto his face. “It’s something I’ve never done before, but I’m certainly up to the challenge. I’ve got ideas already. And I have a feeling once I get started I’ll be quite inspired to keep going.”

No wonder he’s in a good mood. He’s in his creative zone, which means a nightmare of a day for her. And it’s so soon, she’s still healing, her body isn’t ready.

He won’t care about any of that, though.

“Alright, come on, chop chop! Up to makeup we go.”

It’s one of the few instances when she’s allowed out of the basement, so she tries to enjoy it. If she cranes her neck as they come to the top of the stairs, she can catch a glimpse of green and sunlight through a sliver of window, and overall the rooms upstairs are much brighter. It’s a refreshing change.

Lucas’ assistant, whose name she’s never bothered to learn, is ready and waiting in the usual spot with her makeup and hair tools. It’s the one thing that he doesn’t do himself. Ellery expects the same treatment for the bruise around her eye - now turned a sickly yellow - as it got for the exhibit, but it’s ignored. Instead the assistant focuses on eyeliner, mascara, and a little bit of lip color. The basics, meant to make her features pop in the photos, nothing fancy. Maybe that’s what he meant by ‘raw and primitive’. She can certainly hope that it’s nothing worse, though hope has done her a fat lot of good so far.

“You want her hair pulled back at all?” the assistant asks.

Lucas, who has been lurking the whole time, watching the process, steps forward and runs thick fingers through her long black hair. She doesn’t bother to suppress a shudder and a look of disgust, but doesn’t try to pull away, either.

“Yeah. Go ahead and put it up, something simple, though. Simple and messy. I might take it down partway through, we’ll see.”

It’s brushed back into a ponytail with lots of strands hanging down around her face, and the top is fussed over until it’s perfectly, believably messy. The assistant looks up to Lucas for approval.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s good. I like it. Okay, moving on.”

This is the point where her starting wardrobe is usually chosen. She stands, waiting while he scrutinizes her current outfit of a baggy white t-shirt and black cotton shorts.

“Take that off, remind me what you have on under it.”

Ellery’s face flushes scarlet. She hates this, hates obeying and hates demeaning herself for him, but last time she refused to take off the clothes herself he just did it for her, and that was so much worse. And it’s not like he’s actually interested in her, not in that way. She was so incredibly afraid of that for a long time. But no, to him she’s not a person for him to want. She’s a piece of art, a canvas, a sculpture. A thing. All he’s thinking of is how he can best use her to create the ‘masterpiece’ he has in mind.

So she slips the t-shirt off over her head. Stands in just her sports bra and shorts with her cheeks burning and wishes that she could melt into the floor and cease to exist.

The expression that comes over his face is nothing short of delight. “Ooh, this is so much better than I was expecting.” He practically trots over to her, eyes on her bare stomach, and reaches out to brush his fingers along the tender, aching skin. She flinches, instinctively pulls back, but he only latches onto her waist, digging his fingers into a myriad of bruises. “This is fantastic. Just what we need for today. So glad I gave you these already.”

Gave her. Like the beating was a gift. She doesn’t need to look down to know that her torso is pretty much one giant bruise, she can feel it just fine.

“Yep. That’ll be perfect. Leave it just like that. No sense in covering up any of this beauty.” He strokes his fingers across her stomach one more time before stepping back to admire the whole thing. “Alright, thank you, Jordan. Let’s get back to the studio.”

The studio - aka the basement. Back down to the cold concrete walls and the artificial lights. She can’t help but slow, just a little, as they pass the room with the window, trying to get one more little peek of the outdoors. She pays for it with his hand coming to land on the back of her neck, squeezing tightly, promising much more pain if she doesn’t keep walking.

The area of the basement that Lucas uses to take her photos isn’t much to speak of, especially today when the white backdrop is rolled up at the ceiling. It’s just an expanse of grey, but it haunts her nightmares.

“Alright.” Lucas is practically giddy with excitement. “I’ve got so many ideas I don’t know where to start. No, scratch that. I do know where I want to start.” He turns to his shelf of props and rummages through a box, pulling out several pieces of metal with chains draping in between.

The dread that had been swirling in Ellery’s stomach all morning suddenly solidifies into something heavy, a stone that simultaneously pulls her down into the floor and threatens to make her sick. She can’t do this again. She can’t. The pain of being stretched into positions her body was never meant to be in, the humiliation of being photographed in the most vulnerable state possible...and now it’s even worse, because she’s already in pain from being beaten.

Lucas is at the far wall, tinkering with his contraption, using existing bolts and screws from previous sessions to attach things to both the wall and floor. “Come here,” he says after a few minutes, and it’s the last straw.

Something inside of her crumples.

“Please…” It comes out as no more than a trembling whisper, but it catches his attention anyway. “Please don’t, I can’t, I can’t, please…”

Sighing heavily, he walks toward her, boots clomping out her doom on the concrete floor. “I thought we were past this, Princess. You’d been doing so well.”

She opens her mouth, to say what, she doesn’t know, it’s all pointless anyway, but before a sound makes it past her lips his fist is connecting with her temple. Her world is reduced to black and pain and falling. When her vision returns, the room whirls around her, Lucas’ face up above hers dipping and bobbing in a way that makes her stomach churn, and her head throbs. She can tell she’s being dragged, though, by the ankle over to where he wanted her.

Rough hands grab her by the arms and heft her to her feet, and the room goes spinning again. Her back is pressed up against the wall, concrete blocks cold on her bare skin, and Lucas wraps an arm around her waist to lift her slightly. She gasps as he puts pressure on the ribs she’s pretty sure are broken.

A second later, something thin and cool falls across her throat, and after he fiddles with something just under her ear for a moment, Lucas steps back and leaves her to settle down onto her bare toes. They just barely touch the floor enough for her to rest her weight on, the metal across her neck digging slightly into her skin and threatening to cut off her air. She tries not to notice him watching her as she struggles to adjust her feet to push herself a little higher.

“Nice. I love it already. Actually, hang on, I’m also loving the disoriented look you’ve got going on right now. I need a shot of that.”

He grabs his camera and gets right up in her face. Ellery automatically squeezes her eyes shut, hating that lens, hating the thought of anyone else seeing her like this, but all she gets for it is his finger poking her in the ribs. Her eyes fly open as she cries out, and the camera clicks. Once, twice, three times.

“Ooh, I don’t know which one of these I like best.” He studies the screen with a grin, flipping back and forth through the shots. “The hazy, disoriented look I was going for, or the gasping in pain. And the restraint around the neck really sets it off. Fantastic. Okay, moving on.”

Bending down, he picks up the rest of the metal pieces, the ones with the chains attached. While she wasn’t paying attention it seems he had hooked one end of the chains to the floor, several feet out in front of her, and now he brings the other end to her. She only finds out what it is for sure when he yanks her hands away from the wall where she had been attempting to help support herself and clamps it around her wrists. The shackles pull her arms out in front of her, naturally making her body want to lean forward, too. But if she gives into the pull, or if her feet get tired and try to lower, she’ll choke.

Lucas stands back to admire his work. “Yes. Just as good as I had hoped. And you’re already starting to get that wild look in your eyes, too. I think if I leave you here for, oh -” he checks his phone -“around thirty or forty-five minutes, I’ll really get the desperation I’m looking for. Maybe an hour. We’ll see.”

With that, he turns and heads for the stairs. As the echo of his footsteps dies out, Ellery finally lets the tears start to pour down her cheeks. She can’t spare the focus to stop them anymore, anyway. All of her concentration until he decides she’s done is going to have to be on staying balanced so she doesn’t die.

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Disclaimer: I don’t think people who like whump are “sick”. Obviously, I am one of them. Now, if there were actually people like Lucas out there who hurt real people for whump’s sake, then yeah. They would be considered “sick”. But of course, Lucas’ patrons don’t know what he’s really doing...or do they...?

[amethystdarkwolf]

My ‘Orange Side’ predictions, theories and a lot of Logan angst.

So I've had this theory for a hot second, and only recently decided to finally sit down and write it out. This goes on for quite a bit, and is a little bit on the heavier side, as it has my predictions for the last dark side, and a bunch of little patterns that are interesting to point out, that mostly lead to angst.

Okay, enjoy!

TL;DR is right before the little bonus thing at the end that's just more angst stuff for Logan that kind of applies.

So if you've been in the fandom for really any amount of time, you will know about The Rainbow Theory. Basically, all it is, is that the sides colors will make up the rainbow, and it seems to be nearly canon. We have all the colors except one. And that color is Orange.

Using the knowledge that this side will (most likely) be orange, we have a clue about him. That he's watching, and that he's aware of the audience.

From 26:34 to 26:44, in the upper left hand corner there is a score in orange text, the number is '07734'. Now, if you were to put that number into a calculator and turn it upside down, it would spell out, 'hello.'

Now this is mostly common knowledge at this point due to the fandom (me included) absolutely losing it over the hint of a new dark side. Especially since he shows up seemingly out of nowhere. I just needed to get those establishing bits out of the way before I continued on with the theory so it's a tiny bit easier to track my thinking (I tend to not explain my points correctly before moving onto the next one so I hope I did a better job of it this time through).

He is speaking to us. He's not saying hello to Patton or Roman or even Thomas! They don't even notice it! He is speaking to the viewer, which leads to the question of what exactly this side knows, and more importantly what this side is capable of.

There is also speculation that this dark side is going to be somehow attached to or the opposite of Logan. The opposite of Logic, that implication alone should be at least a little unsettling. Now, I love Logan, I love him a lot, him and Janus are my favorites. But he does seem to have kind of not the best relations with the others at times. However, I do not think we've reached him actually despising any side, not even Remus or Janus. I think that is going to change.

The color schemes Thomas and the team have been using are really clever. They convey a lot about the character just by having the color associated with them. They have also been working with the idea of opposites. And those opposites seem to conflict quite often.

What I mean is, violet on the color wheel is the opposite of yellow. Virgil and Janus' colors. Now, it is very, very plain to see that Virgil and Janus do not get along. Whatever history they have is still up in the air for specifics, but it's obvious that they have one. And at least Virgil hates Janus.

Red and green are also opposites on the color wheel. Even though they have barely interacted, it's clear by Roman's language towards Remus that they don't have the best relationship. Roman breaks down at the mention that him and Remus are similar. Also the funhouse simile, (DWIT: 35:56) "It's a little like, looking into a funhouse mirror,  but instead of a giant head, or, like, long legs and a tiny torso... It shows you... Everything you don't want to be."   That's more than enough evidence to prove they aren't on the best terms.

Now, onto blue. Blue, more specifically, Logan's shade of blue, is opposite to orange. And judging by the pattern we see developing with the opposite colors. Logan will not like the orange side one bit. Hold onto that piece of information for a moment while I make a few more predictions based on some more patterns.

Someone has already pointed this out, (if someone will be so kind as to remind me of who pointed this out that would be lovely <3), but back in Moving On Part 2, in the background, there is a picture hanging on the wall that will typically change  to fit whatever topic they're currently on, (ex: it changed to a picture of Thomas preforming in the show he won the golden apple for when it was brought up, or a zoomed in picture of the children's book he made.) At 1:30 the picture changes to show Thomas doing the 'speak no evil, hear no evil and see no evil' poses. (Covering his mouth, ears and eyes)

The dark sides and Virgil seem to each have a connection to one of these.

Virgil: See no evil. (Embarrassing Phases: 7:32. Virgil makes the room go completely black, blocking everyone's field of vision while he changed Logan's costume.)

Janus: Speak no evil. (Self-explanatory)

Remus: Hear no evil. (DWIT: 5:36-5:48. Remus muffles the other sides conversation, making Thomas hear him clearer than anyone else with the "Have you ever imagined killing your brother?" line.)  

The last one in that same vein, would be 'do no evil'.

So what does this pattern have to do with the other patterns I've pointed out?

Well, in order to get there, I need to point out, yet another pattern. (I'm so sorry)

Logan has always been a bit more physical than the rest of the sides I think. I don't really like using pre-Fitting In information in my theories, as I'm unsure of exactly how much they had planned at that point?, but I'm unsure of how to explain my point that well without this example. In Accepting Anxiety part 1, at 6:36 you can see Thomas rubbing the back of his head where he was hit with the laptop, immediately after, you can see Logan do the same thing.

To me this sort of establishes that what happens to Thomas can happen to Logan, making him a bit more of a physical presence than the others. The brain is what stimulates pain after all, it controls all the nerve endings and pain receptors.

Another much looser example, is his puppet choice in LNTAO, the whole 'not made of felt' thing was most likely just because of what Logan said that y'know, he didn't feel anything. It is also the fact of, all of the others puppets had felt somewhere on them, except his. Which makes the puppet, in contrast, feel more sturdy and physical.

I don't think this one applies all too much, but it is worth noting that out of all of the sides, Logan tends to always end up holding something/having something more physical in his possession more than the others. (Moving on being the exception)

The note cards.

The yerkes-dodson curve chart.

In Can Lying Be Good he was given a little headset.

Logic Vs. Passion he had a notebook (Which also made an appearance in Embarrassing Phases) as well as the drawings and graphs, while he wasn't physically holding them, they were real and not animation like Roman's examples.

(If you wanna count the crofters go ahead...?)

LNTAO also had the paper ball throwing physically hurting Roman.

In SvS when he was summoned (lmao summoned to appear in court I just got that as I was typing this out.) He is holding a law book.

In DWIT he gets physically hurt, twice. Having his teeth pulled out, and the throwing star. [Side note: the little interaction at 19:07 could also apply here, showing how he's more grounded as he stays almost completely still when Remus practically jump scares him.]

In the Healthy Distractions video he has what I'm assuming is coffee-

Then in the redux, he physically ends up hurting Patton by popping up too close. An odd little detail that really didn't apply, don't you think? And it's immediately followed up with Patton reiterating that they were just figments of Thomas' imagination.

Logan is much more grounded in reality and more physical than the other sides. Which is a very good thing for Logic to be, that's what it has to be.

Now what is the actual theory?

Virgil can blind the others

Remus can mute the others

Janus can silence the others

My theory is that the 'orange side' is going to have the ability to physically or mentally control the others.

And Logan is going to be his chosen victim, at least at first.

Logan is going to have an antagonistic relationship with this side because of the fact that he takes control away from him. Which order and control is what Logan seems to thrive on!

Keeping schedules, having everything in order, being taken seriously, attempting to make sure that Thomas is punctual, all of those things are Logan trying to maintain control. Now that isn't a bad thing in this circumstance at least, he's trying to make sure Thomas doesn't do anything that would cause his life to devolve into chaos.

But when it's taken away from him it's going to send him into some kind of spiral, and lead to his two-part video. Losing control of things is scary as hell. It was one of the points brought up as to why Remus was being a pest more than usual (DWIT: 29:37-29:56). And obviously being ignored and pushed to the side isn't helping either. It could just be the straw that breaks the camels back.

Long story short, Logan's arc is going to be directly tied to that other dark side, at least in my predictions.

And it's going to hurt.

Okay, this last little bit, is purely speculation, with very little connection to anything in canonicity. All of the dark traits seem to have a connection to some kind of animal, and they're typically ones that are seen as gross or creepy in some form, spider, snake, octopus.

What if the last dark side's animal was some kind of bug? A beetle or something. Like seriously the thought of a bright orange beetle or cockroach is, disgusting.

The only reason I'm saying this is because of a random thought I had. We all know Logan's 'robot' persona he puts up, he can't feel anything, he's mechanical, right? Well, a side coming in and completely flipping all of that on it's head, and ruining the control Logan had...

That would be a real bug in the system, now wouldn't it?

Well! Thank you for reading through all of this! I know it got a bit long-winded I just like having as much evidence as possible before stating a theory.

But those were just my thoughts and I'd love to hear yours! So please tell me what you think!!!

TL;DR: My prediction is that the orange side will be able to take control over the other sides, and he will take control of Logan which would cause Logan to spiral enough to warrant his two part video.

------------

BONUS: Some more angsty bits about Logan and control, that didn't apply to the theory too much! 

So first off, to me Logan seems like a very straight-forward (ha.) problem solver. If there is a problem there is no need to go through extensive loopholes or anything, no emotional mires or musical numbers unless necessary, the problem just needs to be fixed, period end of sentence.

I have a feeling that Logan applies that same logic to himself.

In the videos prior to Losing My Motivation, Logan was very very happy and bubbly. Easily excited and willing to participate in things he probably wouldn't have otherwise. He was much more expressive. (I know this is most likely because he was not a fully fleshed out character yet, but it can tie into some angst.)

Then in Losing My Motivation, Logan was brought the conclusion that he was the problem. (Note: this was also where the infinitesimal mistake was also made.)

From then on, we can slowly see minor changes to him in the videos, he starts becoming more reserved, serious, as well as trying new things to sort of fit in? (i.e the note cards) He saw the problem, and he tried to fix it. He became the definite voice of reason. Him smiling also went down a lot.

Looking back on this better explains why Logan was so upset at the beginning of Logic Vs. Passion, 2:28-2:41. To him he's already fixed his problem, he's fixed himself, he was the problem, how could Thomas run into this problem again!

Then we get to the crofters musical, where he just completely drops his walls down and sings and has fun with something he enjoys. Then of course, Virgil and Patton kinda come and unintentionally embarrass him. And he starts getting more feelings of inadequacy which build up to the whole problem of LNTAO.

Then in SvS almost his entire time on the witness stand was Janus subtly poking at him, and at 15:04, he talks about wanting to make sure Thomas is punctual and productive. He in fact calls it his passion project, something he is PASSIONATE ABOUT.

After two or three years, Logan is still trying to fix the problem. He's still trying to fix himself.

Now this link to control is mostly in what Logan is trying to get Thomas to do, be punctual, follow schedules, produce adequate content at a steady pace, and follow the same pattern every day, according to the chart in Logic Vs. Passion. This habit forming, tends to nearly eliminate variables from Thomas' life. Earning Logan more control. Which is clearly what he's wanting, as he feels that is the way to prevent problems from happening.

[artificialqueens]

The Audit, Chapter 1 (Branjie, Scyvie, Ninex) - Phryne

She’s back back back back (quarantine back rolls)! Here’s the rewrite of The Department of Public Safety, with more jokes, more warm and fuzzy moments, and less safety. Please reblog and comment if you enjoyed!

Thank you to @janssports for being the most lovely beta and @scarletenvy for endless support!

This Chapter: There’s a new sherif in town, and she doesn’t play around (though Vanjie hopes otherwise).

***

In the simple town of Lanmore, Virginia — where the grass trimmings lay on the sidewalks until the next storm washes them away, where the sun burns heavy on every blacktop in every strip mall parking lot, where the flag blows freely and haphazardly — it is quiet.

It is all quiet until Vanjie hefts a Wal-Mart bag, filled to the brim with loose packets of SweeTarts, onto the freshly waxed conference room table. She dumps them out, all good and messy, letting them brush against A’keria and Nina’s piles of citizen suggestions, and spill off onto the floor.

And there were at least a hundred suggestions at A’keria and Nina’s end of the table, sorted haphazardly into Bad, Extra Spicy Bad, and Wrong Department piles. They pass workable suggestions directly to Silky or Vanjie to turn nonsense into gold with their keen understanding of Lanmore and its specific breed of citizen, until they spit out a new program to address the concern.  Or the suggestion goes to Scarlet, who brings it to Yvie, who then handles the issue swiftly—and loudly— like she always does.

“So you’re tellin’ me—” Silky reaches across the table and snatches a packet of candy. “That these hos found a way to snort this?” She dangles it between her well manicured nails, as though it were a little bag of dog shit found next to the trash can in Smallman Park.

“They ain’t hos, Silk. They’re like….” Licking her finger, A’keria ponders the hoes as she flips through another stack of suggestion slips rescued from their cardboard box, which lived under Scarlet’s desk, more specifically underneath Scarlet’s balled up fuzzy socks and “secret files,” which no one really wanted to investigate, lest they get trapped in Scarlet’s world by spending too much time with her thoughts. “I don’t know, like, twelve year old boys. They’re just stupid.”

Nina turns around, capping her marker. “Twelve year olds can’t be hos. They’re twelve.”

“You can be a ho and be twelve.” Another flip. A’keria crumples a suggestion slip and launches it at the Extra Spicy Bad pile, missing and hitting Scarlet’s feet.

The Extra Spicy Bad pile held all the suggestions that A’keria took great pleasure in reading out to the group during happy hour, in the traditional Monthly Suggestion Box Clean-Out fashion — in the corner booth at Chewy George’s bar, sat halfway in Silky’s lap, drunk from three blended margaritas, sticking her favorites into her bra, so she could hang them on her desk when she got back to work the next day.

Scarlet turns in her chair and snorts. “Wouldn’t you know,” she says easily, teasingly light.

“Please, you wish you were,” A’keria shoots back, half her attention still on the suggestion slip in front of her.

With a laugh, Scarlet clutches pearls she’s not even wearing. “Excuse me, I’m a lady.” She brightens, splaying out her hands on the conference table, accidentally bumping the Bad pile. “Brigid treated me to a lovely dinner and show last night, sooo. That’s lady-like shit.”

“You’re excused,” Silky adds, but not before she can join Vanjie in rolling her eyes at Scarlet’s remarks.

“She’s not a ho and neither are you, so shut up.” Yvie booms from the front office in that unmistakably Yvie way — loudly inviting herself into a conversation happening in a completely different room, which she has no part of. Such are the powers of being the director.

“Course she chimes in now.” A’keria rolls her eyes before handing Nina a suggestion. “This one’s actually good.”

Vanjie trails away from A’keria and back to the candy. She whips off her shoe, holding the orange suede pump by its blocky heel, and starts pounding the candy mercilessly, throwing her whole body into it. Once, twice, three times, before she shifts her bare foot on top of her other shoe to redistribute her weight. She continues pounding, even as Silky reaches across her to grab a packet of candy, mesmerized by how Vanjie swings her shoe with a vengeance.

She rips it open and carefully pops a SweeTart in her mouth. “So how do these kids even get to snortin’ this shit?”

“You can do anything when you’re stupid enough.” A’keria begins folding the suggestion into a paper airplane, crumpling the nose of it when it doesn’t look pointy enough.

Silky waves a SweeTart in front of Vanjie’s mouth until she opens, letting Silky place it on her tongue. “But what are they getting out of this? Is it like drugs, or…?”

“They snort it, Silk,” Vanjie switches the shoe around to pound with the heel. She gives it a good whack and looks up at Silky with wide eyes. “That’s how they get to snortin it.”

“Yeah but they snort it and then what?”

“I guess you guys better…”

Nina shoots A’keria a look and mouths do not.

“Maybe we should try it and find out?” Scarlet adds, before taking the paper airplane from A’keria, looking over her shoulder, scooting her chair out into the hallway, kicking off of the door frame, and launching herself toward Yvie’s office.

She rolls through the open door, and in one swift move, hands Yvie the airplane, captures the stack of papers Yvie’s waving with a smile, and rolls over to the photocopier next to her desk, yelling behind her, “That’s three points.” Yvie marks the tallies on a Post-It. She’ll put it into the spreadsheet later.

Nina turns back to the candy and opens her mouth. She wants to say something, but instead mashes her lips and shakes her head. Vanjie and Silky mumble “stupid kids,” and “they got nothing to do but dumb shit,” and “you’d probably try snorting candy to get out of reading Lord of the Flies too, Mary,” as they take turns pounding the candy with Vanjie’s shoe.

“I did not, Scarlet did” A’keria drawls, judging that the suggestion of “No more traffic lights. I’m sick of fines and I want to drive like a man” as stupid enough to earn its spot in the “Bad Box.” She crumples it up and tosses it away.

Nina grabs another paper, breaking into a sigh as she scans over the first line.

“Marty the Giraffe and I had a real connection. He ate leaves out of my hand. Who can I call about adopting him?” Nina reads slowly, carefully, as though the sentences were not basic, as though there must be some deeper meaning to glean from the citizen report.

“Gimme that.” Vanjie says, grasping the air until Nina scoots around the table and fits the paper between her fingers. “We’re gonna try some Rizzoli and Isles shit, Silk.”

Silky comes up from under the table, having grabbed Vanjie’s other shoe clean off her foot. She smacks the candy with the heel. “What’s Rizzoli and Isles?” She hits it again, once more, with feeling.

“Like crime ladies who investigate drugs and the one is tough and wears leather jackets and also hot and the other looks at dead people and keeps them chocolate Ho Hos in her desk.”

“Oh my god,” Yvie drawls from her office, watching as Scarlet rolls back in with the photocopies and two pink Starbursts from the candy bowl she keeps on her desk. She breaks her gaze. “None of you are hos.”

A’keria smirks and flips over her phone with a sly smile, before sliding it across the table over to Silky. “Brightness down.”

Vanjie grabs it instead, glances down for a split second, and lets the phone drop into her lap “God, my lesbian eyes.”

“I didn’t know eyes could be lesbian,” Silky mutters, snatching up the phone and turning the brightness back up. She nods, and decisively states, “ho.”

“Everything’s lesbian. That’s how it works. Head, shoulders, knees and toes, Mary,” Vanjie sings, poking Silky.

“And how is your head?” A’keria calls across the table, fishing a slip out of the box. “Nevermind I found it.”

Dropping her shoe back on the table with a clean thud, Vanjie throws herself across the table grasping for the slip.

“It says Vanjie’s tongue is so sloppy…” A’keria pauses to clear her throat.

“How sloppy is it?” Scarlet calls back

“It don’t say shit. Gimme that.” Vanjie grabs the slip and quick stuffs it down her shirt. “There, now you won’t get it.” She pushes herself up and walks back to her side of the table, looking pleased with herself.

A’keria rolls her eyes and turns to Nina. “You wanna get it?” She points at Vanjie, who is now pulling out her credit card. “I won’t even tell HR.” A’keria laughs, and Nina blushes furiously at the thought of HR, which only makes A’keria laugh harder.  

Vanjie separates the powdered candy with her credit card and turns to Silky. “We’re gonna try it, Riz.”

With a shrug, Silky pops her finger into her mouth, sticks it into the pile of candy, and then back into her mouth. “Why don’t they just eat it the regular way?” she mumbles around her finger.

“Because they’re fucking stupid,” A’keria drawls. “That’s how kids are. Fucking stupid.”

“Well, not all of them,” Nina chimes in before sliding another slip to Vanjie. “Here’s a suggestion I think you guys can do something with.”

Vanjie takes up the slip and sets it to the side before taking up the one about the giraffe, rolling it into a thin straw with precision. “Just the stupid ones.”

“Y’all are a bunch of clowns.” A’keria shakes her head as Vanjie cuts the candy into lines.

Vanjie ignores her and turns to Silky. “So, I couldn’t really understand the principal, on account of he sounded like one of those grown ups in those Peanuts cartoons, with Charlie Brown and that dog and shit. But anyway, he said he saw them snortin’ it through the milk straws during lunch period. And then that mom started goin’ off in the office about the police and Reagan and the War on Drugs, and then I stopped listenin’ so…”

“That’s fucked up,” Yvie yells, unwrapping a Starburst.

“Yes it is, Yvangeline. Yes it is,” Vanjie replies, ungrateful for Yvie’s input, before turning back to Silky. “So I take my card and make it into a thin line, like this. And now you got to get something like a dollar bill like they do in the movies or some other paper shit.”

Silky sticks the rolled up suggestion slip into Vanjie’s hand.

“So you just make a roll, and then you get one end to your nose and the other to the line and, like, you just sniff it up.” She plugs one side of her nose, imitating a sniff, but coming out more like a snorting pig on Benadryl.

Yvie glances up from her freshly printed budget papers, and flashes eyes filled with exhaustion and slight amusement toward the group in the conference room. “Guys, we really don’t need to practice snorting candy to see why it’s a problem that middle schoolers are making fake designer drugs out of candy.” She turns to Scarlet. “Hit me.”

“Another Starburst?”

“No, like with a big piece of wood, a lead pipe, your hand.” Yvie huffs, looking over the spreadsheets. “We’re fucked.”

Scarlet rests her hand over Yvie’s shoulder with a giggle. “You don’t try hard enough to be fucked.”  

Yvie lets out a tight laugh, ignoring the warmth of Scarlet’s touch and focusing again on the budgetary discretion spreadsheet.

Scarlet gives her one more pat before walking back out of the office. “Yeah guys, it’s kind of inappropriate.”

“Yeah guys, it’s kind of inappropriate,” Silky mutters into the powder, imitating Scarlet’s high-pitched whine, making Vanjie and A’keria snicker. She rolls up her own suggestion slip, presses it to her nose, and bends over the conference table.

Scarlet rolls her eyes, shoving her chair back toward her desk.

“Well, here I go.” Silky shrugs, making a sign of the cross and taking a deep breath. She holds her finger to her left nostril before shooting up at the sound of a nail tapping at the window behind her and Scarlet screaming at the sight of the blonde woman it belonged to.

The woman has her nose pressed against the window, peering in eerily, eyes wide and cold at the sight in front of her.

The air in the office sinks, quickly becoming dense and stifling. Silky releases the paper from her limp hand, A’keria drops her phone into her lap, and Scarlet’s chair slams right into her filing cabinet, knocking her pictures to the floor with a shatter.  

“What’s going on in there?” Yvie yells, standing in her door frame. Then she sees it, the scowling blond woman rounding the corner into her department.

The combination of the woman’s angrily clicking heels; Scarlet sitting in a pile of broken glass — from a picture of her and Brigid last Christmas at the city’s tree lighting — and cutting her fingers while trying to clean it up; Silky holding up Vanjie’s shoe; Vanjie bent over a table with candy “drugs” in front of her; and A’keria throwing a paper airplane that hits the newly arrived and even more agitated blonde lady in the chest; makes Yvie want to bite down on her hand until she sees blood.

She resists the urge, however, because Nina taught her that was a bad way to manage stress. So she breathes in for eight counts and out for eight more. It doesn’t work, but repeating “fucking Christ” over and over in her mind helps a little, even if it’s not a Monet Invented Nina Approved Official Stress Relief Strategy.

The woman clears her throat and picks up the airplane. She unfolds it and reads carefully, in a disinterested, even tone, “I lost my water bottle here. It is blue.”

Nina staggers out of the conference room, the rest of the team shuffling after her, still disheveled, but not more disheveled than they are on a typical Tuesday morning. “That was for our boss.”

The woman looks them over, her well groomed brows taut. “Why does your boss need to know this?” She shakes her head, as though looking over the team provided her with all she needs to know. Instead, she crumples the paper airplane, just as Vanjie begins to interject about a city-wide reusable water bottle program. “Would someone like to tell me what is going on in this department?”

Silky folds her hands. Scarlet looks between Yvie and her now bloody fingers, before getting up, wiping them on her skirt, and slotting in between Silky and Vanjie. A’keria and Vanjie exchange glances before turning to look at Yvie as well. Nina stands still, silent as possible, fiddling with the button on her cardigan, as though it were of sudden interest.

The blonde nods and follows their line of sight, heels clicking against the cracked tile floor as she strides toward Yvie’s office, coming to a firm halt in front of her. Breaking into a smirk, she runs her index finger over Yvie’s name plate.

“Director Oddly, is it?” she asks in a tone that suggests she already knows the answer, yet she accompanies the question with a tilt of her head, awaiting a response.

Yvie walks out into the department, takes one look at the scowling blonde woman, and mutters, “Oh, fuck me.” Her head pulls back and she closes her eyes, inhaling deeply for eight counts, just like Nina taught her. When she opens her eyes, all she sees is the brown water stain in the warped ceiling tiles—which Scarlet referred to as “The Amoeba” and Vanessa parodied into “Miss Amoeba Edwards, for your consideration, yass gawd.” If only she could laugh upon seeing the silly looking stain, pretend for a moment that the blonde woman and her obnoxious tone would disappear.

But when she looks forward again, she finds her still there. Yvie exhales once more for eight counts and looks at the woman squarely, sternly, her lips forming a tight line, eyes firm and unyielding.

The last time that look saw the fluorescent light of the office was July 24, 2017, at approximately 2:30 p.m., when Silky cut the office’s only AUX cord in half because she couldn’t take any more of Scarlet’s Christmas Spotify playlist, droning out “Blue Christmas” from the small speaker on the windowsill, claiming that “Christmas in July isn’t a real holiday, it’s a day for capitalists, and no, I don’t care if your girlfriend made you that playlist, I won’t listen to ‘Frosty the Snowman’ while I sweat my whole ass off.”

Scarlet bites the inside of her cheek. This is bad.

Yvie raises her gaze to meet the woman’s, grinds her teeth, and replies with a curt, “Yes.”

She extends her hand, which Yvie unceremoniously shakes, before letting them drop. “I imagine you are to be their supervisor then, and yet, they are clearly unsupervised.” The woman takes in the disarray of the office and the embarrassed expressions of the employees, and continues. “So I must ask, of course, why exactly you have one employee teaching another employee how to do drugs off of my desk, while looking at another employee’s nude pictures, while your secretary rolls back and forth between you and the conference room, creating as many safety hazards as possible in the process, just to make sure she doesn’t miss out on everyone crumpling up suggestions from concerned citizens and playing a game with our constituents’ lives.”

“I’m not a—” Scarlet begins before the woman looks at her.

“Well, technically we’re not elected,” Yvie mutters, hoping the woman might just catch it, burning for an argument strong enough to get her out of her department. “So, not constituents, per say…”

“Also, it’s not drugs, it’s candy because we got a call from Charles Middle that kids are crushing up this candy and it’s got to do with DARE and… Anyway it’s not drugs and we’re trying to figure out what’s up there,” Silky digresses.

The woman rubs between her brows, urging them to unfurrow. “No, you misunderstand me. It was a rhetorical question to emphasize that you, a group of grown adults, being paid with tax-payer money, could not possibly be allowed to supervise yourselves.”

“Well, technically, I do supervise them,” Yvie adds, again, growing more irate at this conversation.

“Please.” The woman brushes it off, “If you’re aware that your department is throwing around paper airplanes made of suggestion forms, then you’re clearly complicit in their misuse of time and resources.”

“Only the good ones become paper airplanes.” Nina shrugs. “The bad ones are crumpled, that’s how we sort.”

“You heard it, that’s how they sort.” Yvie gestures to the group before snapping, like her patience had been pulled taut for far too long.

“I’m sorry, who are you?” she says, clearly not sorry.

The woman continues, unfazed.

“So we just ignore concerns?” She looks to the ground, before crouching down to snatch up a crumpled paper. She chokes a snide laugh, unfurls it, and continues. “A slip from a concerned citizen, writing into your suggestion box. And it says.” She pauses, face twisting, eyes widening, before returning to her previously cold countenance. “It says: The Mexicans are throwing cocaine over the fence and I’m scared one of them will become strong enough to throw it into Virginia. You need to stop them.” She turns the paper over. “Sincerely, Jenny Miller.”

Vanjie grabs the slip from her hands, pouring over the words before recrumpling it and shooting the paper ball into the trash can behind Scarlet’s desk. “That’s fucking racist, Jenny.”

“Yeah, that’s fucked up,” Silky pipes up, rubbing her fingers together to get rid of the candy dust.

“Vanj is right, it’s racist, and either way, no one could throw that far, Jenny,” Scarlet drawls, bobbing her head. “We’re a hundred miles from Mexico, at least.”

The woman lets out an exasperated huff, not even touching upon the poor display of geographical awareness. It’s Virginia, for fuck’s sake. “Who’s Vanj?”

Pulling at her bottom lip with her teeth, Yvie points with her pen, releasing her lip as she replies, “The one who took the suggestion slip from you, threw it in the trash, and called Jenny a racist.” She crosses her arms. “And again, who are you?”

The woman pulls back her blazer and taps at her badge. Vanjie tries to look like she’s still offended, but it’s harder by the minute.

“My name is Brooke Lynn Hytes, and I’m your state auditor.” She fishes around in her purse, undisturbed by Yvie’s tightening glance as she scans over her employees. “And you’ve just made my job exceptionally easy.” Finding her notebook, she scans the room, recording something with a scowl before closing it up and placing it on the reception desk before Scarlet can even raise her finger in protest.

Yvie rings her hands out, fears confirmed. A’keria catches the look, and mutters her own, “Ugh, Jesus.”

“Now I was told that your conference room is the only free one within city hall, therefore it will become my office for my tenure. So I expect my office to be cleaned and sanitized.” She throws her briefcase and purse down on Scarlet’s desk, the jacket soon following, Vanjie’s gaze following the jacket and back to the woman. Again, trying to maintain her irritation.

“I would also like the department’s financial statements stacked neatly on my desk.” Brooke eyes A’keria, her confusion over where they could possibly be evident in her squinting, sideways glance.

When the office finally reaches silence, caused by Yvie and A’keria’s worried glances and increasingly raised brow at the thought of the financial statements, the two of them both acutely aware of how quickly the department was sinking into something between quicksand and shit. Shitsand.

The rest simply studied Brooke. The pressed white button down and cigarette pants. The creaseless leather pumps. The unflinching gaze.  

Of course, Vanjie breaks it.

“Uh, what’s an auditor?”

It’s ghost quiet as Yvie, from behind Brooke, drags her finger across her neck, shaking her head furiously.

Scarlet drags her foot across the cracked peach tile. “Well, an auditor is a—”

“Budget slasher,” A’keria interjects. She closes her eyes and inhales, hoping that someone will answer her prayers and make Brooke get out, and if not, will get A’keria out of here.

“Clean it. Now,” Brooke grits out before adjusting her shirt, picking an invisible piece of lint off of her and flicking it to the ground ceremoniously. “Director?”

Brooke pivots and heads straight for Yvie’s office, letting Yvie know that again, Brooke isn’t asking questions, though her intonation would suggest otherwise. Yvie follows. Brooke slams the door behind them, sits on the edge of the chair in front of Yvie’s desk, and waves her hand behind her aimlessly.

Yvie closes the blinds, leaving the team with a shaky thumbs up and a dorky smile as their only solace.

Somehow, this day of government work would be longer than all the others.

[snarkwrites]

sprung spring | found you | jacob black [m]

PROMPTS USED:

“You’re kinda small. It’s cute.” + Height Difference Kisses Where One Person Has To Bend Down And The Other Is On Their Tippy Toes + Suck + Being dared to kiss + against a wall/door -

NOTES:

Hey, look... Years ago, I actually STARTED writing in the Twilight fandom. I feel like things have come full circle now, kinda? Idk.. Anyway, just wanted everyone to know that this takes place AFTER the series. Jacob is grown up here. So is the OC omega/imprint. If people bother me enough I miiight be tempted to sit down and come up with an actual story for these two, idek... Enjoy the filth. I blame the recent announcement of the Midnight Sun movie / book... Anyway, yeah.

Oh yeah and just so you know... I kinda took imprinting and alpha x omega bonds and mashed them together. So the oc here is not only Jacob’s imprint but she is also his omega. 

PAIRING:

Jacob Black [ alpha ] x ofc, Lily [ omega ] 

WARNINGS:

Uhh... the usual stuff that goes with a/o.. Meeting a guy at a bar and hooking up. Protected sex, for once -yeah, that’s right, you heard it here guys and dolls, Ash FINALLY remembered that condoms exist.. Biting.

Writer does NOT agree or disagree with hooking up casually. Writer says to make up your own mind about these things. Alcohol warning, btw.

TAGGING:

@micolegg​ - just because | @kyleoreillysknee​ - they’re the only person on my Twilight tag list. If you want to be on any of my taglists, once again, go [here] otherwise, you will not be getting tagged.

( nobody @ me. I had to use this gif. I had to. )

“Okay, if you’re really over the jerk, I dare you to kiss the next guy who walks through the door.” 

Lily scoffed at her best friend’s dare and rolled her eyes, picking at her nails. “No, I believe I’ll pass. Knowing my craptastic luck, it’ll be one of those creepy Cullens or Nelson’s ass.” 

Cassandra’s gaze was fixed intently on the doors that lead into the crowded sports bar and she let out a low whistle. “I mean, if you wanna pass on that, by all means.” she gestured to where Jacob Black stood, tugging off a weathered brown leather jacket to toss at an empty booth. She nudged Lily again so that she’d look up and see the man for herself.

Lily swore sharply and finally tore her gaze off of her phone. “What the hell--” her sentence died on her lips and she swallowed down a baseball sized lump in her throat, blinking. Raising a hand to rub her eyes when blinking didn’t just make him disappear.

“Jacob?” her voice came almost whisper quiet, eyes fixed on him intently. She shook her head, it had to be some kind of hallucination. Jacob had been in Canada since a few weeks before Bella’s wedding. And every letter he sent home to Billy suggested that Canada is where he intended to stay. Or that’s the last thing her father told her when she bothered to ask last month.

So why come back now, she found herself wondering. She didn’t even realize that she’d started to move towards him until she bumped into Jessica’s back, muttering a distracted and quick apology, shoving past her until she caught up to Jacob Black.

Jacob was distracted; entranced by the warm and heavy sweetness of the vanilla scent he’d followed into the bar. Brown eyes darted around and his fists clenched at his sides as he tried to keep himself pulled together. For a split second, he thought he caught sight of Lily, an old neighbor, but when he tried to focus, see if it was really her, she was gone. 

“I’m here, might as well grab a drink.” Jacob mused to himself as he glanced around again, turning and preparing to walk back to the booth he’d left his jacket in. The scent of vanilla permeated the air around him heavily and he felt his skin tightening, his blood almost boiling. His vision started to tunnel and when he turned around fully, he found himself body to body with Lily.

“Jacob, hi.” Lily bit her lip and stared up at him, reaching up to toy with the end of soft long jet black locks. He let his hair grow back, Lily thought to herself distractedly, thank God. She quickly snatched back her hand when she realized what she’d done.

Her feet felt rooted to the floor. Why wasn’t she moving?

She wasn’t the same stammering little mess she’d been back then, damn it. Suddenly, Cassandra’s dare came rushing back and Lily took a deep breath, her eyes locking intently on kissable lips. 

“Fuck it. Yolo.” Lily muttered quietly, molding herself against Jacob, raising to tippy toe, tugging his mouth closer to her own as he bent down to make up for the difference in height. Rough hands dug into her lower back, lifting her off the floor slightly as his mouth crashed against her mouth. Her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging at it so that the kiss deepened and his hand moved up her back, fingers catching in a long jet black braid, raking through it until it tumbled loose down her back. His tongue trailed over the outline of her lips and when she rubbed against him just a little, he groaned, the taste of rum filling his mouth as he deepened the kiss to a point where he knew she had to be getting dizzy and he could feel their breathing sync up, almost as if they were breathing for each other.

The kiss broke, the pair springing apart as Lily took a few deep breaths and raised her hand, smoothing it over her hair, pushing shaggy bangs out of her eyes. Jacob’s mouth opened and closed and his hand raised, dragging through his hair. All he could do was stare at her as everything he’d seen and the scent of her bombarded his brain and dominated every single part of his thoughts. He chuckled, rubbing his chin. “Hi, Lily. So, uh… is this how you greet everyone?”

“No, no.” the word tumbled out, making him laugh, making him flash her that bright and cocky grin of his. When she blurted out what transpired before he walked in, she wanted to kick herself, adding quickly to the end of her explanation, “But I wasn’t gonna do it til Cassandra got me to look up and I saw you walk in. Shit. Fuck. You know what? I’m gonna take this as my cue and go.”

Lily turned abruptly, already halfway back across the bar by the time Jacob processed what she’d basically just admitted. He was on his feet again, shoving through the crowd, deep brown eyes darting around all over as his nose honed in on the scent of her. He found her easily, sitting in the back in a booth with a group of two or three other girls he remembered from La Push High.

He cleared his throat and the girls all surrounding his imprint shared a look and stood abruptly after doing so, making a hasty retreat.

Lily lightly beat her head against the tabletop. “I swear to God, I just want to disappear right now, Cass. He has to think I’m still a huge dork.”

“Actually, no.” Jacob spoke up as he slid into the booth bench beside her, an arm going around the back of it. 

Lily raised her head reluctantly, her cheeks almost an angry red as she stared at him a few seconds. That intense heat was lingering in the air all over again and the spicy scent of him pierced her nostrils as she felt her skin tightening all over again.

The urge to straddle his lap took over before she could stop it and she didn’t even realize that every single dirty little thing on her mind was being broadcast directly to his until he leaned in close and chuckled against the shell of her ear, “Are you okay? You look like you’re burning up right now.”

“I,uhh.”

It clicked into place what was happening and she crossed her legs, clenching them tight beneath the table.  Oh naturally, he’s my Alpha and I make an entire ass of myself… 

Jacob’s gaze shifted to her hands and the way they were almost white knuckle, her palms flat against the wooden tabletop. It happened again, just like earlier when she’d kissed him. Every single noisy thought flooded his brain and the animal side kicked into overdrive.

Yeah, he knew how imprinting worked but this felt… Different. A thousand times more intense. It was imprinting and something different… Something so much more than that. This primal urge to get her alone and lay claim.

When it hit him, his jaw dropped and for a few seconds, he sat there in a daze, staring straight ahead. 

Lily toyed with the wrapping to the straw in her mixed drink after noisily slurping down the last of it and taking a few labored breaths. The way he looked at her just now was… Deeper than any look he’d given her before.

To be fair, she found herself thinking with mild annoyance, before it was all about Bella. 

“Do you dance, Lily?” Jacob leaned in and muttered the question against the shell of her ear as someone put the Halsey version of I Walk The Line on to play in the music box at the front of the bar. He needed her closer. He needed to know she was okay. He needed to feel her body molded against his again because only then could he feel centered.

“Nobody dances in here, Jake.”

“There’s a first time for everything, Lil. C’mon. Unless you’re too tipsy?” he teased her gently, his eyes fixing on the pyramid of shot glasses in front of where she sat and the two empty glasses that contained mixed drinks.

This got his inebriated imprint slash omega on her feet. Between the alcohol in her system and the effects of what he suspected to be her heat setting in, she swayed a good bit. Jacob stood too and pulled her completely against him, his hands drifting down and gripping her ass to hold her in place. Lily looked up, staring deep into dark brown eyes. “I’m not too tipsy for anything, Jacob. I’ll… I’ll have you know, I-I’m perfectly sober right now.” she nuzzled her face against his shirt as soon as she dropped her gaze again and Jacob barely contained the low growl that arose from deep in his chest. His hands splayed across both sides of her ass, fingertips digging in just a little as his nose buried in the crown of her hair and he breathed in the scent of his mate as deep as he possibly could. After a few seconds, he gave a quiet laugh at her words.

“Right.” Jacob continued to snicker quietly to himself, a fond smile tugging his mouth upward as he fixed his gaze on her intently.

Lily’s head raised and she poked out her tongue at him, prompting him to snicker about it. 

“What’s so funny, Jake?” 

… God, is she ever not going to get me hard or distract the living hell out of me?. This is going to take a lot of getting used to, but it’s fine. It’s perfect, actually.. the thought came and went and rather than be dumb and let it slip out, he instead went with, “You’re kinda small. It’s cute,actually.”

“Oh hahahaha. Says the guy who reached man size in what? Seventh grade?” Lily teased gently, trying hard not to think about just how good it felt to be pressed against him like this, but just how many layers of clothing were still between them and how badly she wanted those gone.

“Ninth, actually. And I was not man sized.” Jacob chuckled, a soft gaze down at her. There it was at last, that truly lightweight and give no fucks feeling that came with the imprint bond.

“Y-you are.” Lily muttered, stumbling over the words lightly. With each little step they took, she found herself rubbed right against him and the slick coursed down her inner thighs, coating them. “Y-you were more of a man t-than any of t-those other s-shitheads at our school.”

… I seriously just said that… Ugh, can someone just strike me mute? Before I totally fuck up?... the thought came floating into her mind and Lily muttered a quick apology, giving him a little dirty look when he managed to mis step and stepped on her toes. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” Jacob apologized, laughing. He dipped her down and as she came back up, their faces bumped against each other. Just the feel of her lips against his own had him struggling to keep the animal within at bay.

 Lily’s tongue danced over the outline of his lips and his grip on her body tightened as he hauled her up fully, pressing into her so much that she had to lean back, her back meeting the edge of the booth with a soft smack. “It’s...it’s okay.” Lily managed to gasp out between sloppy and rough kisses that seemed to dominate her mouth and set her pulse racing. A throat clearing nearby had the two springing apart momentarily and it served to put the brakes on for the two momentarily. 

“You wanna get outta here, Lily?” Jacob pressed into her heavily, his hands on her hips, his mouth next to her ear. 

… isn’t this a little fast?...

… better too fast than never, besides… haven’t I waited long enough?... his mind was at war with itself and the stronger side, the animal side, that was winning.

Lily found herself staring deep into dark brown eyes and getting lost, just like she used to when they were kids. After a few seconds, it occurred to her that he’d said something and she managed to respond, “Oh god, yeah. Take me home, Jake.”  as she slipped her tongue past his lips all over again, her hands drifting down, tugging almost impatiently at the waistband of his jeans.

Jacob bent at the waist, scooping her up, making quick strides towards the doors of the little sports bar. Once they were outside in the chilled night air, he sat her down on the back of his motorcycle, getting on in front. 

“Hold on tight.”

Lily’s arms slipped around his waist and she pressed herself into him as the motorcycle’s powerful engine roared to life, the motorcycle taking off at a decent speed towards the reservation.

“Your place or mine?” Lily muttered quietly next to his ear as she grazed her lips against. Jacob’s breath caught for a second and he chuckled quietly, shrugging. Lily continued, “Because I’m the only one staying at my place… No interruptions.” her lips dancing right over the rapid pulse in his neck. Jacob bucked a little, feeling himself getting harder and harder. 

The reservation was coming into view and he drove down the dirt road they both lived on, parking his motorcycle beneath the carport next to the little red cabin she lived in. 

Getting off the motorcycle, he scooped her up in his arms again, quick strides up the porch steps, Lily digging around for her house key after climbing out of his arms, reaching out to unlock the door as Jacob lightly kicked it open with his foot, stepping inside the darkened house as he shut the door behind them and locked it. 

Her back pressed against the wooden door with a soft smack and Jacob’s hands were all over her. Her mouth latched onto his neck and chest, anywhere she could reach and when she rose to tiptoe all over again, Jacob chuckled and slid her up his body to sit her down on top of her dining table, his mouth latching onto her mouth and then dancing down her neck. 

As soon as he found the spot where her scent glands were, he could feel the pierce of his fangs at his gums. Lily was rubbing herself against him, her legs wrapped around him, her hands moving down between them and then her fingertips catching in the hem of his tee shirt, starting to pull it upward. The warmth of his breath against her neck felt so fucking good. She gasped and let her head fall to the opposite side, giving his mouth better access.

Jacob pulled away a second or two, eyeing her as she continued to rub against him, shaky fingers catching on the button to his jeans and pulling it free, then lingering down, lowering his zipper slowly. In a daze, he kicked his jeans and underwear free when they pooled at his ankles, a low and primal growl filling the air as his eyes settled on his mate all over again, his tongue trailing slowly over his lips as he gazed down at her. 

“Aren’t you going to do it?” Lily’s voice was a breathy drawl as her fingertips trailed up and down his bare chest and she fixed her eyes on him almost expectantly. She rubbed herself against him with more urgency, her whimpers and moans echoing off the walls of the dining room. Jacob licked his lips and smirking, he lowered his mouth back down to her neck, his teeth scraping against scent glands again.

“You’re sure, right?” his voice came out deeper, sending a jolt racing through her and another wave of slick coating the insides of her thighs. Lily gazed up at him, biting her lip. “I asked for it, didn’t I, Jake?”

“Yeah, but..” he trailed off, unable to finish his words because she took his face in her hands, scooting herself closer to the edge of the table, rubbing against him all over again, more urgently. Jacob’s hand went down to the jagged hem of her crop top, tugging it up and over her head, letting it settle on the table top behind her. He gave a low growl as his eyes roamed over her, his mouth almost watering at the way her scent intensified. Wiping the back of his hand over his mouth, he leaned in again, reaching around, the quiet tear of satin as her bra was torn away breaking the semi-silence between the two as he tugged it free from her body next. And then, he was leaning in, ghosting his mouth down the side of her neck, his tongue trailing over soft skin boldly, his lips latching onto the patch of skin her scent glands lingered beneath. 

This time when he felt his fangs starting to prick through and push to the surface, he didn’t bother fighting it. Instead, he sank his teeth into the sac just below the surface of the patch of skin. Her nails dug into his shoulders and she rocked herself against him, legs clenching his hips tight as she gasped. “Oh, oh wow..” the rush of the bond took over, leaving her to lean into him heavily, clinging to his body. Jacob leaned right back against her heavily, chuckling as he muttered the same against her skin.

The wooden tabletop was cool against her back as she wound up flat against it, Jacob pinning both her hands at either side of her head, his mouth crashing against hers again, muttering against her lips, “Just a second… stay right there.” and raising up, letting go of her hands, bending to pick his jeans off the floor, rifling through the pockets. He tore open the condom wrapper with his teeth, sliding the condom down over his cock before turning back around to face her, stepping back between her legs as he leaned down, his hips pressing into her lower body, his mouth roaming over her neck, littering soft skin with bites and suck marks as he groaned and rutted himself into her, the tip of his cock teasing between her folds and making her whimper out loud, rubbing herself right back against him. As his cock sank deep into her heat, she got louder, Jacob chuckling against her mouth as he pressed into her, going still to let her get used to his size as the knot began to form.

“I think I’m okay.” Lily managed to gasp, rocking her hips against him urgently. Jacob sank his cock in a little deeper, a quiet growl escaping into the kiss as he pulled his mouth away, staring down at her. “You’re sure?”

Lily gritted her teeth as she felt him burying his cock in even deeper. She felt like she was being split in two, stretched and overfilled. Her nails dug into his shoulder and she gasped as she started to really get used to the way he felt buried inside her, trying to rock her hips against him all over again. “Yeah, yeah. Fuck.” she moaned out, “so big.” 

“I’m not hurting you, right?”

“No, fuck no. Feels so..” Lily met the deep and steady drives he made into her tight and dripping cunt with her own thrusts eagerly, “So good. Fuck.”

Jacob slowed to an almost stop, she was so tight around him, it felt too damn good. His fingers dug into her hips and he growled quietly as he slammed her up and down his massive cock, panting next to her ear in quiet and filthy growls, “You’re so tight, fuck. Feels so good to bury my cock in you.” 

Her fingers dug into his shoulders and she moaned louder and louder, the table creaking quietly beneath them and making them both pause and eye the table, then each other. “Maybe we should move this to the couch.” Lily muttered, giving a soft laugh as she caught her breath for a few seconds. Jacob scooped her off the tabletop and went to step out of the dining room and into the living room. Lily’s back met the wall as Jacob’s mouth buried in hers all over again and he started to fuck into her slowly, making her moan and whimper and bite down on his neck as she begged for more. “On second thought, this… Oh fuck it feels so good, baby. So good. Don’t stop.” 

Jacob slipped her legs over his forearms and started to fuck into her harder and faster, feeling her clench around his cock as he slammed into her throbbing G spot again and again. Her nails danced down his back and from the way her mouth kept latching onto his neck, he had no doubt in his mind that tomorrow, he would not be hiding the marks left behind. Then again, neither would she, because he’d definitely left marks of his own. He felt her tense up and chuckling into her mouth he asked quietly, “Are you getting closer, baby girl?”

“So close. So close.” Lily gasped into his lips as he continued to pump in and out of her, the sound of their sloppy kisses and quiet moans and growls breaking any silence in the room. “C’mon, Lily. Let go.” Jacob coaxed as he felt himself getting closer too. “Wanna feel you, princess.” 

“ -oh fuck. Oh yeah, that’s it.” Lily moaned as he slammed against her g spot all over again, and she felt her orgasm shatter through. Her walls clenched his cock and Jacob’s thrusts became erratic, skin smacking loudly against skin as he fucked them through their orgasm, holding her against him and kissing her all over the face as they both tried to catch their breath. He nipped at her ear and muttered quietly, “Are you okay?”

“If you’re going to carry me around a little while, yeah.” Lily teased gently, catching the corner of his mouth with her own as their stomachs both growled noisily. “But I am kinda hungry…”

“Me too.” Jacob chuckled against her mouth, his forehead pressed against hers as he kissed her again, tender and deep.

[revisitingstoneybrook]

#6 Kristy’s Big Day: Chapter 7

Kristy has her first of many panic attacks over whether she can handle a sitting job.

Five days until the wedding! The BSC arrives at Kristy's house bright and early at 8:30 on a Monday during summer vacation. I'm sure Claudia wants to clock Kristy over the head with her bedazzled Kid-Kit. And the BSC never comes empty-handed! Stacey brought her Kid-Kit, and we're thankfully spared lines and lines of exposition explaining what Kid-Kits are and how wonderful they are for babysitting jobs and how amazing Kristy is for inventing them. All we get is an aside saying they each have one and they're full of toys and games.

So yeah, Stacey has her Kid-Kit, Mary Anne has the club record book (why? To copy down information for out-of-state clients in case they need to sit for them again?) and notebook, Claudia brought the nametags and some art supplies and Dawn has a children's activity book with songs and activity ideas in it. And Kristy has the brainwashing supplies! The girls go to work setting up the backyard for the kids. Sam's probably peering through binoculars from his window, watching Stacey.

At 9, the Millers arrive and Aunt Colleen pulls Kristy aside so she can go over some last-minute instructions with her. Kristy takes notes as Aunt Colleen gives her the run-down. Peter goes down for a nap, if Grace is cranky, put her down for one too, here's Berk's allergy pills he's allergic to his name, here's Ashley's painkillers for her leg. You know, usual stuff that parents let babysitters know about. 

Kristy instead panics over what happens if one of the kids gets sick on their watch. Well, your own family will tell everyone in Stoneybrook (even though they don't live there) that the BSC got their kids sick and they're AWFUL babysitters! And the series would end right there. Calm down, Kristy. You have five babysitters on-hand and the parents will be a phone call away.

To make matters worse, they now have bottles of medicine in their possession! Well, geez girls, of course you'd put it somewhere safe, Kristy should only be panicking if she decides to let the babies play with the pill bottles like they're rattles. But hey, as long as they're not watching TV. I'd think Kristy would know, as the Queen of Babysitting, to keep medications away from little kids.

Finally, Kristy regrets not going through and childproofing her house. What a far cry from #92, when she remarks how she'll bring plastic plug covers to the nursing home when they do the babysitting at the holiday boutique! I'm sure the Thomases aren't the type that leave bottles of Drano and Pine-Sol in the middle of the kitchen floor, but I can see her worrying about electrical sockets. However, why didn't they think of this earlier, when they found out they'd be watching toddlers and young children? When my cousins were younger and came over, my mom always made sure those things were taken care of! I can still picture the baby lock she'd stick on the cabinet under the kitchen sink.

Then Kristy's Aunt Theo shows up with a “Yoo-hoo!” because she's your stereotypical aunt like the ones on the GEICO commercial. Kristy tries introducing the other BSCers but Aunt Theo ignores her and gets right to business with the “here's a bazillion things you need to do when taking care of the baby” spiel, all while carrying an armload of baby equipment. Someone doesn't want to meet the BSC? *gasp* Blasphemy!

This time, Mary Anne joins in with the note-taking. Here's Beth's walker (this totally dates the book), here's her stroller, push her around in the stroller because I guarantee she'll cry when I leave, she takes two naps, and oh yeah, she's allergic to cow's milk, here's some soy, she takes a bottle to bed with her. Oh lord, prelude to bottle rot! My younger brother had four baby teeth pulled because he took a bottle to bed with him too.

Mary Anne and Kristy are completely frazzled with all the instructions. Girls, you have notes in front of you! And, yeah, it's a ton of info at once, but keep in mind, you're watching 14 kids! This is all basic stuff that parents tell the babysitter before they go out. Kristy and Stacey then realize...they have no idea where all the nappers are going to sleep. Whoops.

Isn't it refreshing to see the girls getting this “Whoa what did we get ourselves into?” look on their faces like normal 12-year-olds, instead of the Super Sitters Who Do Everything Perfectly in later books?

Aunt Theo shuts up, leaving the BSC to meet Watson the Millionaire's friends, the Fieldings. Since this is a BSC book, Kristy tells herself to be like the Cowardly Lion from the Wizard of Oz and think courageous. Claudia would be the Scarecrow, since she has no brain and her head's full of straw.

So Karen and Andrew run off, with Karen saying she's going to draw a big, ugly picture of Morbidda Destiny. Oh lovely, we get to deal with Morbidda Destiny crap in this book, in addition to Ben Brewer. The Fieldings, however, are very quiet and stand there, with Tony huddled in his mom's arms and the other kids terrified and clinging to their parents.

Watson the Millionaire, Captain Obvious that he is, whispers to Kristy that the whole family's very shy. Well, duh! Kristy mentally rolls her eyes at him, and everyone stands there in silence. WILL SOMEONE BREAK THE ICE, PLEASE?!

Kristy finally takes the initiative and talks to the kids, showing them what fun everyone's having. Katherine grips her mom's hand tighter and Patrick whimpers ��A dog, Daddy?” when Kristy tries getting them excited about playing with Louie. The BSC definitely has their work cut out for them here.

Mrs. Fielding drops Tony off in the playpen and the second she sets him down, he starts crying. They introduce the other children, who make no move away from their parents. So, why are all these kids here again if they're this clingy? Kristy looks to Elizabeth and Watson the Millionaire for help. But instead, Watson the Millionaire leads the parents away so they can head to the mansion. The Fieldings pry their other kids off them and join them, reminding their kids they’ll be back later.

Well, you know how little kids are. Six of the kids start to cry. All at exactly the same time? Impressive. Why are they crying? Did Claudia's outfit frighten them? Did they realize they have to spend the whole day with Karen? That batch of BSC Kool-Aid must have been a very weak one. That's the last time they let Claudia mix it! And since Andrew always has to go along with everyone else, he starts to cry too.

Seven crying children! Have fun, BSC. Stacey and Dawn luck out because they have the older groups but Kristy's got two criers, and every kid in Mary Anne's and Claudia's groups are crying. Mary Anne plunks Tony in the walker and puts Beth in the stroller and starts pushing her around the yard. Kristy talks to Andrew and he shuts up. Then she pulls her group to one side of the yard and reads Green Eggs and Ham to them. She's got such magical powers as a babysitter, she pulled the book out of thin air, apparently.

Claudia sits her group down and reads to them from Where the Sidewalk Ends. Yes, Claudia reading a book to bunch of kids. I'll pause for a moment so you can all laugh. Are we sure she isn't hiding a pop-up book in there? And I guess she made the book magically appear too, like Kristy did. So the BSC works their special babysitting magic with the help of a fresh batch of BSC Kool-Aid and the kids are all happy. Whew.

At lunch, the kids all eat together. The parents packed lunch for the kids, so that spares us any picky eater drama. After lunch, the little kids and babies go down for naps (on a big blanket in the middle of the living room) and Kristy and Karen leave to go pick out flowers with Nannie.

Picking out flowers without Elizabeth? Is she just putting her faith in them to pick out something she'd like? And what about the bride's bouquet? Wouldn't she have some input? Or did she go pick that out with Nannie already? Why am I fretting so much about this? Anyway, Karen doesn't want white flowers, Kristy doesn't want salmon flowers (with yellow dresses?) and they finally decide on yellow and white.

Karen and Kristy come home, and the older kids put on a play for the younger kids and the babysitters. Knowing Ann Martin and her m.o., it was probably Wizard of Oz. First day of the BSC's day care - a success!

[hag-lad]

Digging Deeper

Thank you to my radiant wonderful friend @alienfuckeronmain for sending me EXACTLY the type of self indulgent wind-down activity I wanted on this otherwise depressing weekend! If anyone else wants to answer FORTY-NINE QUESTIONS about themselves, I’m super nosy and will read it all! @fight-the-seether @ptolemyofchaos @butchwizard @metalbutch @nyndelion @comrade-ziltoid @leatherdear @kristalknobb Enjoy, friends!

1. Do you prefer writing with a black pen or blue pen? I prefer black, but I always feel like I write neater in blue??

2. Would you prefer to live in the country or city? The city, but only if it has breathable air, green infrastructure, and decent public transit. So like... definitely no city in America lmao

3. If you could learn a new skill what would it be? The ability to quickly become fluent in another language! I’ve been struggling with Spanish for literal YEARS and it’s honestly pathetic. My brain is so stuck on English.

4. Do you drink your tea/coffee with sugar? Look pal. If I wanna drink sugar, I’m gonna have a soda, not herb water or bean juice.

5. What was your favorite book as a child? I was OBSESSED with The Wish List, by Eoin Colfer (of Artemis Fowl fame). I remember being so fascinated by how dark it was?? It’s an afterlife adventure, where the main character has to escape purgatory by atoning for her crimes of robbery and fraud and whatever. I had a crush on her, so basically this book made me want to pursue a life of crime, even though it explicitly condemns crime and depicts Hell as a very real and horrible place. I was in like fourth grade and was super morbidly curious about Hell and the possibility of going there! Lol

6. Do you prefer baths or showers? Baths... but only when I’m not actually dirty going in. A bath is leisure, not hygiene.

7. If you could be a mythical creature, which one would you be? 100% fae! I would build my dwelling within a sidhe mound, steal shiny things in the middle of the night, make bastardly little contracts for no reason, and cause harmless mayhem and mischief because mortals really are fools (go off, robin goodfellow!) Also I love mushroom circles and dancing in the moonlight.

8. Paper or electronic books? Paper all the way! I read much more content electronically, but it’s usually in the short story or article format. Books are much better in print, I think.

9. What is your favorite item of clothing? Probably my rust-brown overalls.

10. Do you like your name or would you like to change it? I’ve always hated my name but no alternative has ever stuck, unfortunately. My name is Amy, and I don’t think it fits at all. If I knew I’d never have to correct anyone on it, I’d probably just change it to Amelia?

11. Who is a mentor to you? My little brother! He’s this genius musician, and he has taught me so much about song structure, polyrhythms, guitar technique, production tricks, all kinds of trivia that really deepen my appreciation for music and the LABOR that goes into it.

12. Would you like to be famous and if so, what for? No, never, not for anything. I cherish my anonimity so much, I don’t even put searchable tags on this blog cuz I get an adrenaline spike from anxiety if too many people interact with me. I also just think fame is a fucking hideous construct. I don’t think it’s even slightly cool or desirable.

13. Are you a restless sleeper? No, I’m a fucking log. I can easily sleep for 12 hours straight. Thanks, depression!

14. Do you consider yourself a romantic person? No, actually. I’m very much in love, and it brings me lots of joy to do nice things with and for my partner! But romance feels very difficult for me to connect with. I’m super domestic, like, I love the idea of marriage but not necessarily a wedding, or a moonstruck romance or whatever. Those dramatic gestures feel very awkward for me.

15. Which element best represents you? EARTH. Specifically, like... dirt, or soil.

16. Who do you want to be closer to? I want to be geographically closer to my family. We’re thick as thieves, but we all live like 50 miles apart from each other. I miss my brothers and my parents so much, I feel so incomplete and depressed without them to hang out with, especially since quarantine.

17. Do you miss someone at the moment? See above! Lol

18. Tell us about an early childhood memory. When my little brother was a baby, he had this grey car seat with a folding mechanism which held his legs in place. It made a very satisfying clicking sound when the mechanism moved, AND when it was fully unfolded, it looked a lot like a Klingon battle cruiser. (Or so my five year old brain thought.) So! My older brother and I would take this seat out of the car CONSTANTLY so that we could unfold it and “sing” the Klingon theme music from Star Trek: The Motion Picture while we scooched our car seat battle cruiser across the living room floor, pretending to shoot phasers into the TV or the dining table or whatever else got in our way.

19. What is the strangest thing you have eaten? Gifilte fish, maybe?

20. What are you most thankful for? My family, including my wonderful partner and all the cats in our lives!

21. Do you like spicy food? Yes! But my tolerance for extreme spice decreases every year, unfortunately. So I can’t handle as much heat as I used to, but I do enjoy a good kick.

22. Have you ever met someone famous? Lmaooo I made the regretful decision to PAY FOR a meet&greet with Fall Out Boy in like 2006, which was so fucking awkward and painful, I vowed to never approach that level of lame again.

23. Do you keep a diary or a journal? TONS! I’m an obsessive record keeper. Some years I journal more than others, and I’ve found that it is super difficult to keep up with it while working full time. But it’s absolutely one of my favorite hobbies.

24. Do you prefer to use a pen or pencil? Pen for writing. Pencil for drawing, and math.

25. What is your star sign? Virgo sun, Aquarius moon, Scorpio rising 🙃

26. Do you like your cereal soggy or crunchy? Crunchy! A shallow bath in that milk is key.

27. What would you want your legacy to be? My artwork. I go through these aesthetic phases every year that I become super obsessed with/ focused on, and I’ve always meant to catalogue them in annual art journals, but I’ve NEVER FINISHED ONE! They always get pushed aside by the need to work, and I hate that so much. If I could just take a year off work and backfill all of my missed concepts into completed books, I would be so happy. But I literally have NO WAY to pay for that, absolutely none. I fucking hate capitalism.

28. Do you like reading, what was the last book you read? I love to read, but finishing a whole book has been A STRUGGLE lately! Right now I’m chipping away at Tending Brigid’s Flame, which is a quaint lil devotional for the Celtic fire goddess. Very new agey, like cheesy Wiccan vibes. I love that shit!

29. How do you show someone you love them? Quality time!

30. Do you like ice in your drinks? Only if I have a straw. Ice touching my teeth kinda makes me wince.

31. What are you afraid of? Incompetance, doing a bad job, letting someone down, taking up too much space, being a nussiance, etc

32. What is your favourite scent? Incense! Especially cinnamon, dragon’s blood, and amber.

33. Do you address older people by their name or surname? I always call people, regardless of age, by the name they ask me to use. Sometimes it’s a surname or title, usually it’s a first name. I’ll ask their preference if I’m unsure. But I definitely don’t default toward a surname, that’s weird.

34. If money was not a factor, how would you live your life? COMPLETELY DIFFERENTLY!!!!!! The need for money rules literally every single hour of my entire life, and I hate it so much. I’m naturally nocturnal, but my job requires me to get up super early and sit in a car for 11 hours a day. I wake up at 5am, come home front work at 5pm, spend an hour or two trying to unwind, then go to bed and do it all over again. I hate my life! Really! I never see the stars, I never exercise, I am completely exhausted and burnt out all the time, and I barely get any quality time with my partner. If money were no object, I would sleep til noon or 1, make art and hike all day, ride my bike and stargaze all night, stay up til 4am reading and playing with my cats, and sleep like a baby. My partner and I would cook dinner for each other and watch Star Trek and collaborate on art projects and I would be so happy.

35. Do you prefer swimming in pools or the ocean? Here’s my hierarchy: Private pool > ocean > public pool

36. What would you do if you found £50 on the ground? I’d look around to see if anyone obviously dropped it and try to give it back. If I couldn’t find anyone, I’d exchange it for dollars and deposit that shit into my account!

37. Have you ever seen a shooting star? Of course!! Hundreds!

38. What is the one thing you would want to teach your children? America is evil and needs to be destroyed.

39. If you had to have a tattoo, what would it be and where would you get it? Lmao this is so cute. If you HAD TO HAVE a tattoo! I really wanna finish my damn sleeves, they’re literally 9 years in the making and barely half finished. But I’d also love more art on my legs! I DESPERATELY want Ziltoid in a lacy valentine heart on my thigh.

40. What can you hear now? Our fish tank water bubbling and my fan on full blast.

41. Where do you feel the safest? Home alone, doors locked, windows covered, lights low. I absolutely LOVE to not be seen or perceived in any way.

42. What is the one thing you want to overcome/conquer? My fear of discomfort

43. If you could time travel to another era, which one would you choose? I feel like I’d want to be a teen in the 80’s and an adult in the 90’s. Does time travel work that way?

44. What is your most used emoji? 😭 or 😎

45. Describe yourself using one word. Defeated

46. What do you regret the most? Convincing myself that math was too hard or boring (or something?) when I was in middle school. I feel like I’m actually a pretty intelligent person who could’ve totally overcome that difficulty and gone on to understand all kinds of patterns and concepts which have eluded me to this day! It’s so frustrating to try and fight that formative self-concept, which now comes naturally but ultimately sabotages me. 💀

47. Last movie you saw? I made my partner watch Troop Beverly Hills, one of my childhood faves. It’s so fun! I love chick flicks so much.

48. Last tv show you watched? Deep Space Nine. Getting through the first season has been harder than expected. It’s actually my favorite Star Trek show?? (Orrrr maybe that’s TNG, ahh! It’s so hard to choose!) But season one is so baffling and awful! Why is there so much space capitalism??! And racism? And war? And drinking alcoholic beverages? #notmystartrek

49. Invent a word and its meaning. I used to call a single strand of curly hair a “curly quink” when I was a child. Therefore, a “quink” is a section of hair, usually a particularly cute or iconic one.

[dearophelia]

gonna set your flag on fire - chapter 3

Thirty years after the war, things are as close to normal as they’ll get. Garrus is the turian councilor and Olivia runs Galactic Affairs, helping the galaxy rebuild. They’ve happily settled into the life they’ve built. Their kids are grown, and out living their own lives. But something goes wrong on Nora’s latest mission. Very wrong.

chapter 03: there’s truth that lives and truth that dies

In which Jonah puts up with a lot from these assholes, Nora tells her teammates about The Thing, and Garrus makes an appearance. (read on AO3)

Thank you eternally to @nightingaleseeking and @tarysande, and also to everyone else who’s reading and enjoying this.

“Problem Number One,” Jonah says, writing Problem #1 on the board at the front of the room, “is the AA guns. According to these schematics - “

“Which could possibly be out of date,” Micah points out from the couch in the back of the room.

“Yeah,” Nora says, doodling on her tablet, “but we’re ignoring that.” Tucking her feet up underneath her, she accidentally kicks Micah, and whispers an apology. He gives her a small smile in response, then pokes her in the side when she isn’t looking. She sticks her tongue out at him.

Jonah clears his throat. “According to these schematics, they have a battery of AA guns here, here, and here,” he circles three locations, each about five miles away from the base. “And on the roof.”

A chorus of ideas arises from his fellow soldiers. “Hacking them would be easiest.” “EMP cannon would do the trick.” “Cloak the shuttle.” “Hayes is a pretty good shot, he could take ‘em out.” “Hayes isn’t coming and, anyway, I take offense at that.” “Sorry Nora, but you know he’s better than you.”

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Can we please get all the problems on the board first before you throw solutions at me?”

Alle, sitting on the floor in front of Nora, slurps the remainder of her soda through her straw, and waves her hand through the air: continue.

“Problem Number Two,” Problem #2 goes on the board, “is the base’s shield. We’ll also have to land pretty far back, at least here,” he marks on the map about three miles away, between the AA guns and the base. “The jungle’s too dense closer in, and landing farther out means that our exit is that much farther away.”

Loud music starts to play, sounding spine-gratingly tinny out of omnitool speakers. Love beyond moons, love beyond stars, love will take you anywhere – Rachel gets it turned off before the chorus continues, but not fast enough to keep it from getting stuck in Nora’s head.

“And Montgomery will fix her buggy music app before the mission,” Jonah says.

“I don’t know, man, Kara & the Destinies is pretty solid mission music,” Carlos says with a wide grin.

Rachel throws her stylus at him. It bounces off his shoulder.

Nora catches Jonah’s eye, and jumps back in with the briefing. “While there is some valid concern about snakes during that hike, the shield is a very real problem. It surrounds the entire facility, and if we can’t get it down, we can’t get in. It’s on a cycling frequency, and anything that tries to penetrate it outside of these standard entry points,” she draws little x marks around the base, “gets fried. Predictably, said standard entry points are highly guarded.”

Rachel twists in her chair and looks over her shoulder at Nora. “Is there any chance this is one of those shields where if something’s moving slow enough or fast enough it gets through?”

“No such luck.”

“Problem Number 3,” he doesn’t write on the board this time, “is Vakarian.”

Four sets of eyes turn to stare at her.

“Yeah,” she says slowly. After she told Jonah - after Vega strongly suggested she do so - the two of them talked at length about whether to tell the others; ultimately, they decided it was better they have some mild trust issues than the worst happens and they aren’t prepared. “Cerberus put a control chip in my head when I was a kid. The Alliance fried it and it’s been dead for over twenty years, but it’s there, and a thing you guys need to know about, just in case.”

Carlos pushes himself up out of his inelegant sprawl across the bean bag and sits up straight. “Dumb question.” He looks first at Jonah, then Nora. “Why’s she coming with us?”

Rachel looks up from her omnitool, raises an eyebrow, and points at Carlos, silently seconding his question and sentiment.

“Do you want to go into an unknown situation without her covering your dumb I’m-gonna-punch-the-giant-mech ass?” Alle asks, sitting up straight.

Appreciating the backup, Nora brushes her hand against her friend’s shoulder. Alle’s known about the chip for years, since a sleepover in high school when they broke into Alle’s parents’ alcohol cabinet. Nora discovered that vodka utterly annihilates her mental barriers, and Alle discovered her best friend was walking around with a control chip. Pancakes the next morning had been a little awkward: Alle brimming with questions, and Nora having answers to none of them.

“Not particularly, but that’s – “

“Well, then shut up,” she cuts him off.

Carlos huffs. “That’s not my point, Alle.” His eyes narrow and, when it’s clear he isn’t going to be interrupted again, he continues. “Nora, I love and trust you, but why did anyone think you coming on this mission was a good idea?”

All Nora can do is shrug. Carlos can do the logistics just as well as she can, and come to the same conclusion she did: no one else is available. Chen and Rahiri are on their own mission, and the four on the eezo job are clandestine experts. Because I’m your only option if you want a full team isn’t the greatest answer, but it’s the truth.

“Vega made the call,” Jonah says, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “And until he unmakes the call, we’re going with it. Anyone unwilling to take this mission if Vakarian’s on the team – speak now, or forever shut the hell up.”

Nora holds her breath, but no one says a word.

“Right,” Jonah says. “Hopefully, it doesn’t become an issue. But we both thought you should know, in case it does. And that information is classified, not to be shared outside this room.”

“You got it,” Carlos says, looking straight at Nora.

Rachel nods, and Micah squeezes her shoulder. Alle leans her head back on the couch and smiles upside down.

Nora takes a shaky breath and manages a small smile for them. “Thanks, guys.”

With a single nod, Jonah ends that discussion. “Okay. I’m looking for solutions to Problem Number One, and Problem Number Two.”

“I have a solution to Problem Number One,” Rachel says. Long used to Jonah’s precision-like and orderly briefings, she waits for him to acknowledge her before she continues. “Zorya is about to go through an annual meteor shower.” She taps on her omnitool – silencing another snippet of music with a sigh – and projects the image up onto the wall behind Jonah. “It’s major, so they’ll have to turn off their automatic firing solution. If we bring the shuttle in on a trajectory that matches the meteors, and kill the power until we need it to land, we should be able to escape detection.”

Carlos pushes his dark hair out of his face. “Even powered down, isn’t a shuttle kind of obvious on scanners?” He frowns at his hair, too long to be practical and too short to pull out of the way.

Nora wonders how long it’ll be before he asks her to give him a haircut in the back of a shuttle. Again.

“Normally, yes. But according to the intel,” Rachel continues, scrolling through the briefing on her tablet, “their manual sensors aren’t state-of-the-art; it’s basically radar with some simplistic energy imaging. Their defenses rely mostly on their AA guns, the shield, and being in the middle of the jungle on a planet no one bothered rebuilding. If we go in at night, at the peak of the shower, with engines powered down, we’ll read as just another meteor. We’re definitely screwed if someone manages to catch us in night-vision goggles, but the likelihood of that is very small.”

Jonah turns to his board and writes fake being a meteor underneath Problem #1. “Good work,” he says. “Anyone have a solution to Problem Number Two?”

“How does the shield work?” Carlos asks. “They’ve gotta take it down to let people in and out.”

“Did you read the mission briefing?”

“No.”

Jonah’s jaw clenches.

“It’s in eight pieces, like a pie,” Nora says, before the throbbing vein in Jonah’s forehead bursts. “Each of the checkpoints controls an individual section of the shield, and they take it down as necessary. The whole thing doesn’t need to come down to let people in.”

“So Nora takes out the guards, we steal their access cards, take the shield down and run in,” Alle suggests. “Why is this an issue?”

Sighing loudly, Jonah drops his tablet onto the table. “I write these mission briefings for a reason, guys.”

Nora presses her lips together in a wry smile. She learned long ago that half her team doesn’t do well with assigned reading, and shortly thereafter gave up trying to make her own briefings have any ounce of structure and organization; she’d warned Jonah not to count on Alle or Carlos even skimming the briefing he sent out. “Because the pieces are all networked to a central control room. Even if they don’t require permission before lowering their section, someone’s definitely going to notice once it’s down. They can’t answer if they’re dead, and we don’t have nearly enough intel to bullshit our way through that conversation.”

“Back to the meteor shower,” Micah says, finally speaking up. “What are the chances a meteor makes it through the atmosphere, doesn’t completely burn up on entry, and smashes the control panel hard enough to deactivate the shield?”

Rachel blinks at him. “Anything’s possible, but we can’t predict or control that.”

He shrugs. “Don’t have to. A well-placed drill grenade could make a passable meteor crater, especially in the dark. Would also take out the guards, if they’re standing close enough.”

“We need to take out the guards first,” Alle says, and Nora peers over her friend’s shoulder to watch as she draws diagrams. “It’s really specific positioning to blow the panel completely and look like a believable impact crater.” She taps on her tablet and sends her sketchy diagram up onto the display screen.

“Good work,” Jonah says, and writes more meteors underneath Problem #2.

“Before we move on,” Carlos says, “can we go back to Problem Number Three?” He sits up and turns so he’s facing the whole room.

Nora freezes. Naively, she thought they were done with this – that everyone agreeing to forever shut the hell up meant that they were, if not okay with it, at least at peace with it being a fact. But she’s known about it for thirteen years, and she isn’t anywhere near at peace with it. They’ve known for five minutes.

“What are your concerns?” Jonah asks.

“We’re all hoping that nothing happens,” he says gently. “But if something does – what do you want us to do?” he directs his question at Nora.

Nora blinks at him, and then stares down at her hands. She’d never considered that. She doesn’t feel like she can consider that. Considering that makes it a possibility. Though she wants to give Carlos an answer, her mind’s gone completely blank. There’s nothing – no solution, no action, not even an in-poor-taste-and-not-actually-that-funny joke.

There’s nothing, except for the obvious answer. And perhaps the only answer.

When the silence turns awkward, Nora sighs. “Neutralize me,” she says softly. “If it’s clear that I’ve become a liability or a threat, knock me out. I’d rather Micah punch me and deal with the concussion than hurt any of you guys.” She pauses. “Though I’d appreciate it if you also took the effort to haul my ass out of there.”

“I wouldn’t punch you,” Micah says, as if this were any other tactical conversation. “There’s a spot, right there,” he lightly sets his fingers just underneath her jaw, “poke hard enough and you’re out like a light.”

Nora can’t help it, she bursts out laughing. “Thanks,” she says, giving him a wide grin.

He flashes her a warm smile in return and drops his hand to her knee for a moment.

She takes a breath. “I know this blows, but I appreciate you guys having my back.” The other five give her a thumbs up, or a nod, or a smile, and she exhales slowly. Nothing other than finishing the mission will calm her down completely, but she feels a little better for everyone’s support.

“I hate to do this,” Rachel says, breaking the moment, “but I might have a Problem Number Four.” She calls up a topographical map. “The area we’re landing in is thick jungle, at night, with mutated pyjaks, four varieties of poisonous –”

“Venomous,” Alle corrects.

“Whatever snakes, what looks like the occasional boiling mud pit, and it’s also the rainy season. That’s a nightmare of a hike.”

“We’ve been worse places,” Nora says. She grins at Jonah, who glowers at her.

“Carnivorous plant planet.”

“Toxic mud moon.”

“That desert with the acid flash flood.”

“Pygmy squirrels that ate holes in our tents. While we were in them.”

Exasperated, Jonah groans. “Enough. Unfortunately, there’s no great place to land closer. We’ll all just have to watch our step. You’re the medic; bring antivenin. And extra fuel for the flamethrower – fire kills everything.”

“Except for the giant murderplant,” Carlos mutters.

Micah stares at Carlos. “Are you ever going to let that go?”

“It tried to eat my entire arm,” he says, enunciating every word. “No.”

“We had knives,” Nora says. “You were fine.”

With a huff, Carlos slides a little further down, now halfway on the floor. “I hate both of you,” he grumbles.

Love beyond moons, love beyond – Rachel growls and glares at her omnitool.

“Thank you,” Jonah says. “We’re done. I’ll have an infiltration plan ready by the time we leave tomorrow. Go be somewhere else. Please.”

***

They’ve been brought to a small room, just a couch, two chairs, a coffee table, and a dying plant in the corner beside the window. They already heard the report: Chakwas’ and Miranda’s assessments were correct – it’s too risky to operate, but the chip is dead. Nora is otherwise a very healthy, very normal, little girl.

And Olivia convinced the Alliance to let them adopt her. Garrus brushes his hand against his wife’s as the other door opens, revealing Nora and an Alliance counselor. Nora stares at her feet as she shuffles in, and she looks about as unhappy as one small human can look.

The counselor gives her hand a squeeze and bends down to whisper something to her.

Somewhat reluctantly, Nora looks up. Her eyes widen, and she lets out a small gasp when she sees Olivia. She drops the counselor’s hand and runs toward Olivia as fast as her short legs can take her.

Smiling, Olivia crouches down to Nora’s level and catches her as she flings herself into a hug. “Hey,” she says softly, wrapping her arms tight around the small girl. “You okay?”

Nora buries her face in Olivia’s shoulder. Though she whimpers a little, she nods. Garrus watches as Nora almost melts into Olivia’s embrace. He’s long sworn that Olivia’s hugs have magical powers, and Nora seems just as vulnerable to that comforting magic as he and their sons are.

“I’m so sorry I had to leave,” Olivia whispers as she rubs Nora’s back. “But I promise I’m not leaving ever again.”

Garrus smiles as he watches the two of them. His heart swells, just as it did five years ago when they were introduced to the two small boys who would become their sons.  

Olivia presses a kiss to Nora’s temple. She looks up at the Alliance counselor. “Can you give us a minute, please?”

The woman nods and shuts the door behind her.

Olivia effortlessly lifts Nora as she stands up. She settles her against her hip. “I want you to meet someone.”

Nora looks up and opens her eyes, following where Olivia points. She takes in a short breath and her eyes widen when she sees him – but not in fear. Garrus has seen fear on enough humans to recognize it, even in a child. No, Nora’s eyes are full of curiosity. He gives her a little wave.

“That’s Garrus,” Olivia says. “And if you’re okay with it,” she looks at him and smiles a smile that still makes his knees a bit weak, and then focuses back on Nora, “we’d like to be your mom and dad.”

Nora looks at her, and then looks at him. Back to Olivia, back to him. After a moment, she wriggles until Olivia sets her down. Slowly, she walks the few steps over to him. She looks up with the same wide, curious brown eyes and lifts up her arms expectantly.

Olivia stifles a laugh. Carefully, Garrus picks Nora up. She’s different than their boys, a little softer and wider, and it takes a few seconds to shift and get her comfortable. But once she’s settled, safe and secure in his arms, he smiles at her.

“Hi,” he says quietly. The same warmth he felt the first time he held his other two children, and the warmth that’s only grown in the five years since, brightens in his chest. She stares at him, almost through him. A curl falls into her face and he pushes it back, brushing his talon against her cheek.

Nora blinks.

“Is that a yes?” Garrus asks. He looks over at Olivia for confirmation – maybe there’s a method of human toddler communication he hasn’t read about. Olivia shrugs, but a smile grows across her face.

If it is a yes, Olivia will stay here with her for a few days while the Alliance creates all of Nora’s paperwork and runs a final battery of tests on the chip. He’ll bring Nico and Quentus by tomorrow to introduce her; they’re already so excited about having a little sister, and he’s promised to help them put glow-in-the-dark stars on her ceiling tonight. If it isn’t – well, he honestly can’t imagine any way that it isn’t a yes.

Nora blinks once more, and rests her head against his carapace.

He looks from his daughter, settled in his arms with her eyes closed, to his wife, standing in front of him with sparkling eyes, and smiles.

***

When she gets back to her quarters that night – new visor, strawberry-orange smoothie, and takeout noodles securely in hand – Nora drops into a chair. She’d been looking forward to having some time to herself, but now wishes she’d accepted the invitation to join Alle for dinner with her parents. The apartment they share on Tereshkova is tucked in a corner of the Alliance’s military housing section, away from the crowds and noise. She’s left with the gentle hum of the station’s power grid, and her thoughts.

She was fine about the mission. She was fine about the control chip. She was fine about Cerberus. She was fine about the control chip in her head during this Cerberus mission. At least, she’d convinced herself she was fine. And then Carlos asked what she wanted them to do if everything wasn’t fine.

And then the idea that things might not be fine became a reality. A reality she’s been trying very, very hard to ignore for years.

While there’s still time for her to head to Shenzhou and catch up with Deck’s team, there isn’t enough time to get someone else back from Shenzhou to Haliat-Gemini in time to make their departure. The meteor shower’s window of opportunity is too narrow to wait around. If she leaves, her team will be going in one man down.

One big-enough-problem-to-mention-in-the-briefing man down, but a man down all the same.

Micah could make the shot to take out the shield checkpoint guards easily enough, and Carlos is a decent enough grenadier in a pinch, but it isn’t just a matter of hastily replicating her skillset: she’s an extra body, an extra gun, an extra set of eyes.

Sighing, she stands up and moves to the table so she can eat dinner without dropping every second noodle onto her lap. She puts on the latest episode of Real World 7: Citadel Redux – she’s missed a few episodes, but this season hasn’t been that great anyway – and eats her dinner while watching a barely-legal batarian try to pick a fight with an asari matriarch about washing dishes. The matriarch silently puts the batarian in a stasis field and walks away. Half a minute later, she comes back, and sticks a handwritten sign to the batarian’s chest: I am in Time Out because I didn’t respect my elders.

That at least explains one of the memes Quentus sent her.

The episode ends, and Nora dumps her trash into the matter recycler. She exhales loudly in the quiet room, so much restless energy running through her veins she feels like she might vibrate out of her own skin.

She tidies up the living room, throws out everything unidentifiable in the fridge (which is most of its contents), takes out all the trash, starts a load of laundry, and even cleans her gun. All of it takes less than an hour, and when she puts her rifle, all shiny and clean, back together, she has to grit her teeth to keep from screaming when she can’t get the scope back in place by the third try.

With a sharp exhale, Nora forces herself to put the scope down and walk away from the weapons bench before she gets so worked up she breaks something.

Good air in, bad air out. Four deep breaths, and she’s settled enough to think clearly. Not settled enough to be calm, but at least not on the verge of smashing an extremely expensive custom-ordered piece of equipment. Progress.

A quick glance at the clock tells her it’s still daytime on the Citadel. She opens up her computer and starts her vidcall program, dialing a private and highly-secure number. It connects almost instantly.

“Councilor Vakar- oh, hello Nora.”

“Hi, Kyra.” Nora smiles at her father’s assistant. Kyra’s been around as long as she can remember. “Is my dad available?”

“Yes. One moment.”

“Thanks,” she says, even though Kyra’s already blinked out, replaced by the please hold screen.

“Well, this is a surprise.”

Nora feels like a weight’s been lifted from her shoulders. She smiles. “Hi, Dad.”

He returns the smile, and then tilts his head. “Are you okay?”

“Freaking out a little, about a mission. Do you have a minute to talk me through something?” She tries not to call him in the middle of the day, but she has twelve hours to make her decision. If she calls her mother, she’ll get nice advice about following her gut, which won’t actually help. If she calls either of her brothers, they’ll tell her to stop being stupid, and to bail and go with the eezo job. Her father will tell her something useful, he always has.

“Always. What’s going on?”

She takes a deep breath. “Mission A is infiltrating a Cerberus research base and,” she taps on her head. “We don’t know what the research is. I could be a liability.”

He nods. “Alright. What’s Mission B?”

“Mission B is a non-combat recon mission that isn’t much more than show up, see what happens. Vega wants me on the Cerberus mission, but gave me the option of switching. Like an idiot, I told him I’d do it before I really thought about it...and before I told my team about it and before one of them asked me what I wanted them to do in case, you know,” she gestures, knowing better than to tempt fate. “And now that’s kind of all I can think about and I’m freaking out and really regretting telling Vega I’d do this.” She pauses and takes a controlled breath to slow down. “But if I switch now, we can’t get someone from Mission B to join. There’s a timing thing.”

He leans forward and his mandibles flicker in thought. “So, your options are: go on the Cerberus mission, possibly putting yourself and your team in danger if they’re doing the wrong kind of research. Or leave your team one man down on a job that needed an extra man.”

Nora grimaces. Lousy choices all around. “Yeah. What do you think?”

He’s silent for a long moment as he thinks about it. The silence made her antsy as a kid, but now she can practically see the wheels turning in his head. “As your dad, I’d tell you to say screw your team and not walk into an unknown Cerberus research lab. But,” he pauses, looks away from the screen, and then looks back.

He suddenly looks so much older.

“As a soldier, I’d tell you not to leave your team one gun short because of something that might happen.”

With a quiet sigh, Nora nods. The weight settles back on her shoulders, but it’s a calmer, more resigned weight this time. It’s a terrible decision, and it’s the right one. “That’s what I thought. I just needed to hear someone else say it.”

“Are you worried about the chip?”

“More than normal, yeah.” She runs her open palm through her hair and over the back of her head. She’s been looking for years, and she’s never found a scar.

“Here’s some unsolicited advice from an old turian who once spent some time on a Cerberus ship: you can’t anticipate their every move, no matter how much you try. So, focus on the moves you can anticipate: how to get in, disable security, get what you need, and get out.”

“And if shit happens?”

“You have your entire team behind you.”

Nora smiles, and her anxiety starts to melt into background noise: low and present, but ignorable. “Thanks, Dad.”

His mandibles flick out in a smile, and then his eyes glance down to the bottom corner of his screen. “I have to go, I’m sorry.”

She nods. It’s amazing she even caught him. “It’s okay.”

“And if Blasto’s gone by the time you get back, I will pull some strings and make sure we get to see it in a theater.”

“Totally responsible use of power, Dad.”

“Hey,” he says, “if I can’t leverage it to see a terrible movie with my daughter, what’s the point of being councilor?”

Laughing, Nora shakes her head. “Go to your meeting.”

“Good luck on your mission. I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

[lucytara]

perc’ahlia & vaxleth fic: songs from the ash [1/2]

Keyleth can only look on, dazed, buzzing, those neon lights filling up her heart and her skin is where she wants him to write his songs; she licks her lips and tastes salt, electricity, copper, music. Percy idly drifts away imagining what it’d be like to control his dreams, and that if he could, he’d dream about Vex now, exactly like this, and no shadows would be lurking in the background.   [rock star/movie star au. fame isn't so bad, he says, if it introduced him to someone like her. 34k words. all links are clickable.]

songs from the ash

It’s an accident that he meets her at all, really; they just happen to be at the same afterparty.   He’d gotten an invitation and he’d promised Keyleth he’d take her if he did, secretly hoping he wasn’t yet popular enough to warrant an invite to an awards show for an art he wasn’t even involved in. But apparently he is, to his chagrin; he’s an actor, for god’s sake, not a musician. That’s likely the family influence.   Either way, it’s how he’s ended up at the Grammys with Keyleth squirming impatiently at his side as they await the announcement of the winner for “Best New Artist.” He watches faces and songs he doesn’t recognize flash across the giant screens and thinks that maybe he should start listening to the radio.   Damn his recent, more mainstream work. He should’ve stuck to indie.   Keyleth suddenly screams next to him, clapping wildly and whistling. He keeps his expression politely engaged, remembering they’re in pretty good seats and riding a wave of fame at the moment, meaning they’re likely to be panned to at random intervals for online streams of the audience, or whatever; fortunately Keyleth’s excitement is genuine and he’s a pretty good actor. Or so his reviews say.   An odd, mismatched group of people traipse up to the stage, grinning and giggling and shoving each other - one of them is huge, definitely cracking six and a half feet - and the screen behind them reads Vox Machina. Two members of the five-person group step up to the mic, eerily similar in appearance; they’re definitely related, both with long black hair and similar bone structure, though the boy is a little more angular, sharper. The woman speaks first, holding her award in the air and smiling widely; she says, “Here’s to our darling father, who told us we’d never amount to anything,” and Percy is immediately captivated despite himself. Her brother laughs loudly and raises a finger - Percy’s sure this is quite unprofessional and absolutely not allowed on television, but the audience is widely amused; Keyleth hollers next to him - and a small girl with white hair tugs the mic down and says, “No, really, thank you so much, we love our fans, thanks, this is amazing--” before the exit music starts to play.   The big guy in the back bends down and screams “Rage on!” and the crowd goes nuts, Keyleth included.   He leans over to her. “Who are they? What kind of music do they play? That was a wildly inappropriate display.”   Her eyes are bright as she turns to him. “Oh, they’re the best,” she gushes enthusiastically. “Vox Machina - they’re alternative rock, mostly, but they’ve got some songs that hedge on punk.” That explains it, Percy thinks. “Vex’ahlia and Vax’ildan, they’re the twins and the frontrunners - he shreds on the guitar, she’s an amazing singer and I think she can secretly play every instrument - the shorter guy, that’s Scanlan, he definitely can play every instrument and he’s like, a classically trained singer - Grog’s the big one and he drums, obviously - and then there’s Pike, the smaller girl, who mostly plays the keys.” She barely breathes while she tells him this, her excitement getting in the way of her basic primal needs, like oxygen. She’s been trying to engage him in their music for the better part of a year, so his slight interest is driving her wild.   “Wow,” he says, because there’s not much else to say. “I’m intrigued, if nothing else.”   “I’ll get you to fall in love with them if it’s the last thing I ever do,” she declares dramatically, riding the high of their win.   He rolls his eyes but humors her; he knows better than to trample on other people’s passions.   And--   Well--   As it turns out, she’s almost right.   --   They’re at one of the smaller after-parties - he couldn’t say whose, as Keyleth had mostly planned their itinerary for the night, despite the invitations being directed at him - and though it’s crowded, it’s a cooler, looser crowd; the setting is more relaxed than he’s used to, and everyone’s letting their hair down, dancing, drinking, laughing, yelling.   The music is loud and pulses through him. Keyleth starts to sway automatically.   “I want a drink,” she shouts, grabbing his hand and leading him towards the bar. Not like he could lose her, anyway; she’s tall and towers over a lot of people there. Keyleth often gets mistaken for a model whenever they go out in public, which endlessly amuses him because she’s just so awkward. Objectively, yes, Keyleth is gorgeous, but she spends more time covered in soil and talking to the plants she fills his apartment with than him for him to ever think of her as anything models usually encompass - grace and elegance, for starters.   (First thing to know about Keyleth: she ferociously believes that in another life, she’s a florist instead of an actress, or maybe she’s a national park ranger, or she’s botanist, or a wild creature that lives in the forest and carves herself a home out of a hollow tree - in truth, she can never pick which one is most appealing to her. All of them are fitting.)   The bartender raises a quick eyebrow as he spots her, immediately coming to her service. “What can I get you?”   She smiles and her teeth sparkle. “Four shots, tequila. And then I’d like a paloma, please.”   (Second thing to know about Keyleth: she can sure fucking drink.)   The bartender nods once, looking simultaneously impressed and concerned, before shifting his attention to Percy. “You?”   He opens his mouth to answer, and that’s when he sees her.   She’s sitting on the other side of the bar, talking animatedly to her brother and a dark-skinned man with piercing eyes and long hair tied back at the nape of his neck. Her lips wrap around her straw through her smile. She’s positively radiant. She’s ethereal, she’s glowing, she’s otherwordly--   The bartender glances back to see what he’s staring at and snickers. “Yeah,” he says, understanding. “She’s fuckin’ something else, isn’t she?”   Percy swallows and says, “Erm.”   “He’ll have a mojito,” Keyleth interrupts. “Make it strong.”   --   He’s not going to talk to her, of course. He’s a gentleman and he doesn’t want to disturb her night. And, of course, she’s way out of his fucking league.   But Keyleth - bless Keyleth, who completely doesn’t give a shit about any of the things Percy does, so free-spirited and pure-intentioned - downs two shots in quick succession while pushing the other two towards Percy, who follows, choking slightly, and walks confidently around the bar to where two members of her favorite band are relaxing in the afterglow of their win.   Vax’ildan tilts his head and catches sight of the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen in his life, holy shit, what the fuck, standing behind him with an easy-going grin. She slides in next to him and asks loudly (the music’s overpowering and pounding and Vax can feel it in his bones), “I love your band and I think you guys are awesome, do you wanna do shots with me?”   Vex laughs nicely over his shoulder, but he can’t tear his gaze away from this transcendent being beside him, her long red hair spiraling over her shoulders, her eyes almost the color of gold - he says, “Erm, fuck yeah.” He’s seen her somewhere before, he knows, maybe a runway - he can’t put his finger on it, she looks kind of like a model, but--   She smiles again and signals the bartender for four more shots.   “Here,” she says, passing him one, Vex one, and downs the other two by herself. Vax is fucking in love with her already. She blinks slowly, her lips in a lazy curl. “There,” she says, pleased. “Now I feel great.”   “I bet you do,” Vex replies, admiration in her voice, but she’s staring somewhere else.   Gilmore is obviously delighted. He chortles out, “What a firecracker.”   “Please excuse us,” a boy with a shock of white hair says from behind her, apologetic and uncomfortable; Vax hadn’t even noticed him until just now, but that hair on him is unmistakable--   “I’m sorry,” Vax says, completely entranced, “but what is your name?”   She leans closer to him suddenly, her fingers grasping the bar; the man next her tuts under his breath and steadies her. “I’m Keyleth,” she says, like she’s a fucking angel or something, which, Vax thinks, she probably is.   Vex repeats, “Keyleth--”   He knows that name - Keyleth, Keyleth, the way it rolls around in his mouth, Keyleth, Keyleth - “Oh, shit,” he says, recognition washing over him. “You’re in that film--!”     She laughs delightedly. “Am I?”   Vax finally tears his eyes away from Keyleth to the boy she’s with and it’s-- “You too! You were in--”   Vex finishes excitedly, “--The Sun Tree! I knew it was you, how could I not, but I didn’t want to interrupt -- oh, hells, we love that movie, it’s absolutely brilliant--” and Vax sees the anchor of her stare had been Percival the entire time, who has done nothing but silently take her in for the past five minutes, lacking Keyleth’s unconcerned nature, afraid to take a step.   “Percival Frederickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo the Third,” he introduces quickly, as he is prone to do when he is nervous or showing off; in this case it’s the former.   Keyleth waves a hand airily. “You can call him Percy.”   “Percy,” Vex echoes, and oh, he has never loved himself more than when she is holding him in her eyes.   --   Our manager, Shaun Gilmore, I’m Vax’ildan, that’s my sister, Vex’ahlia. Short, brief, to the point.   “Charmed,” Gilmore says, winking and clapping Vax on the shoulder before slipping out.   Keyleth, now undeniably a little (a lot) drunk, leans her chin in palm, elbow on the bar. “Is there a garden?” she asks.   “Probably,” Vax answers. “Big property, isn’t it? Let’s have a look.”   He takes her by the hand and stands; she’s taller than him, which he thinks is fantastic, truthfully, though he’s sure they’ll be a bit more even when she’s not wearing heels, and waits for her agreement; she laughs lighter than the chime of the wind, and begins to drag him away with her. “I love flowers,” Percy hears her state as they head off, Vax’s face torn between dumbfounded and inspired.   Percy wearily collapses on the now vacant barstool next to Vex, shaking his head. “Sorry about that,” he says, still not quite able to look at her for longer than a few seconds at a time. “She’s - ah - insatiable and innocent. It’s an interesting combination.”   “Clearly,” Vex answers, her tone playful. “Not your girlfriend, I’d gathered that much.”   He nearly chokes on his drink. “No, gods, no. Best friend, co-star on occasion.”   “Good. He’s already obsessed with her,” she nods after her brother. “Better it be someone available.” She pauses. “Any particular reason you can’t bear to look at me, darling?”   His face burns red, his ears hot, his neck tingling. He peaks at her over the rim of his glasses. He catches her fingers curling around her glass - rum and coke by the looks of it - the swell of her chest peeking out of her dress, her hair let out of its braid, loose and flowing and lightly curled against her back, her cheeks, the bright blue feather behind her ear - and he says, “I’ve not meant to be rude. It’s simply that - you’re a little too beautiful and I’m - new at this, I suppose. I apologize.”   She’s silent for a moment, and when he sneaks another glance at her he’s surprised to see her expression flushed with a similar embarrassment; he’s caught her off-guard. The idea emboldens him slightly and he keeps his eyes locked on her.   She meets his gaze and her lips turn up abashedly, genuinely. “That’s charming. Thank you. I appreciate your efforts to maximize my comfort, but I don’t mind if you stare. I’m aware of how good I look.”   He laughs, startling himself. “Well, as I’ve been given permission, I must admit I feel much better about the whole thing.”   “Excellent, because I’ve my own compliments to shower upon you,” she says, and holy hells, she’s too charming and easy for her own good - the air is warm around her, all the light is coming from her smile - “Truly, Percival, let me sing your praises again - I love your films. Honestly, Vax and I have seen The Sun Tree too many times to count, I recognized you instantly - we’re big on fantasy,” she tells him, a hand briefly resting on his arm. She’s a little drunk herself, he’s realizing; but then again, who isn’t - it is a party.   “We’re filming the sequel at the moment,” he provides, holding back a laugh at her excited squeal.   “Tell me nothing,” she says. “I want to be surprised and enthralled. Will you be attending the Academy Awards in a few weeks, as well?”   “Oh, no,” he says bashfully, embarrassed that she even thinks he’s good enough to go. “My most recent film released after the cutoff date - I’ll qualify for next year, but as for this year, I have work obligations, so fortunately I can skip.” The music shifts, a base line thumping around his heart. Vex’s mouth twitches. He doesn’t think much of it. “And you?” he asks. “You’ve accomplished quite a musical feat - what’s next?”   His tone is sincere, interested; she allows a full-blown curl of her lips and moves closer, cornering him, a strangely victorious glint in her eye. “You’ve never heard our music,” she accuses, apparently amused at the revelation.   He weighs his options and decides on the truth. “No,” he admits sheepishly. “I haven’t. It’s a priority now, though. What gave me away?”   She laughs loudly, gesturing at the speakers. “This is us.”   He freezes immediately, becoming hyper aware of the beat in the background; it’s oddly refined for something so rough - it’s her voice singing, low and sensual and sharp at the edges, cutting into him with an edge that feels good - the notes are clean and the drums aren’t overpowering and it flows in a way he didn’t really think rock music, or punk-rock, whatever they are, was capable of.   She’s watching him take it in and she’s silently mouthing the words without realizing it; her tongue darts out to wet her lips. Find me someone out there whose heart isn’t full of holes, my hands are bloody from refusing to let you go. Damn. He kind of hopes she didn’t write this.   “Did you write this?” he asks.   “No,” she says, and then: “Well, sort of. The sentiment of the song came from Pike, but Vax and I helped her with the lyrics.”   “It’s good.” He clears his throat. “It’s great. You’re - you’re an incredible singer.” He frowns at his own attempt to pay her a compliment. “It’s not that I didn’t like your music, by the way. Keyleth is always telling me my taste in music is a grave offense to ‘all of the beautiful things life has to offer.’”   Vex laughs again. “And what is your taste in music?”   “I have none.”   “Well, that certainly is a problem, then, isn’t it?” Her knee brushes his. He feels the condensation of his glass dripping across his fingers. “I’ll have to fix that.”   “Please,” he answers, trying to fall back into it, relaxing against the bar. “I’m bereft. Clearly I’m missing a core defining aspect of the traditionally constructed personality. I was in a rush when I created mine.”   “It’s a good thing you’ve got me, now, dear,” she says playfully, and the world keeps turning.   Over the course of the next few hours, Percy learns that Vex is beautiful everywhere; he sees it in the way her fingers curl delicately around his wrist when she’s sincere, how her hidden talent is actually archery and not the fact that she can play most instruments, the brush of her eyelashes against her cheek as she winks (which she does, often, because she clearly knows how to get what she wants from him, from everybody); it’s in the almost sultry tone of her voice when she calls him darling and dear, her mouth against the rim of her drink, the way she throws her head back when she laughs. Vex is funny and she’s clever; he banters with her like he was born knowing the trigger to her smile, and she provides insightful commentary from angles he’s never bothered to consider. She calls him out when his words drop from his lips in ways he doesn’t intend them and he challenges her prejudices against the industry and the fame and the wealth.   “Percival, darling, we had vastly different upbringings,” she points out. “Not to dwell, as I’ve a tad more tact than that, but I do know what you come from.”   The slight hinting at his past doesn’t sting the way he’s used to; he finds he actually appreciates the promptness and matter-of-fact tone she’s adopted while discussing it. “Fair,” he concedes. “I don’t know yours, though, do I?”   “Syldor Vessar is my father,” she says, and he raises his eyebrows in shock. “Yes, you would know of him, as I’d assumed. Being a Lord yourself,” she teases, and he reddens once again. “Or is it Duke? I’ve no taste for royalty. You outrank our father by miles, though, I know that much.”   “I don’t tend to adhere to that custom,” he says. “I’m no Lord, nor Duke. I mean, technically, yes, I am - but my sister Cassandra is much more suited to the position than I.” He smirks at her. “And I get the sense you’d have a taste for the right royalty.”   “Ta,” she answers, grinning back. “And as Syldor’s bastard children, Vax and I were also quite unsuited to that life.” She hesitates, chewing on her bottom lip, before adding: “For what it’s worth, I am sorry.”   Ah, of course.   Being from England, she would be aware of the incident - most people who search him, he imagines, are - the fire that claimed his family and forced him and his sister into positions they weren’t ready for.   “It isn’t for you to concern yourself with,” he says gently, trying to cue to her that he appreciates it but doesn’t want to discuss it further. Fortunately, she’s perceptive and picks up on the message easily enough, offering a sharp nod in return. “I can have Cassandra stir up some trouble for your father, though, if you’d prefer. Where does he reside?”   She laughs; such a welcome sound. “Reading.”   “Marquess of Reading?”   “Yes. And your sister - Duchess of Cornwall, is that correct?”   “Yes,” he affirms, suddenly missing Cassandra terribly. “She is quite fit for royalty, though she never should’ve achieved such high status.”   “Royalty fits you as well, Percival,” Vex says, looking at him intensely, carefully, a wicked glint shining in her eye, like royalty is an outfit she’s dressing him in. “My Lord.”   A jolt of electricity shoots up his spine, channeling the rest of his bones, like he’s made of copper and metal. He isn’t sure what to make of it. “Ah, that’s - erm - really not...necessary, Lady Vex’ahlia.”   She grimaces and flips him the bird. “You’ve proved your point. I’m no Lady.”   He takes her offensive hand in his own, covering it, pulling her closer - maybe it’s the alcohol, the dimness of the fairy lights, the moon shadowing overhead - her lips red, her eyes a dark mirror of the night sky, the catch of breath in her lungs - “Say what you must, but I disagree,” he murmurs. “Look at you.”   She swallows quietly. “Yeah?”   “I’ve known plenty of people with money, dear, and they are certainly not worth you.”   --   Keyleth bends down, her face buried against the roses, fingers gently scraping against the thorns; she lays her palms flat against the grass, the mossy rocks, the rough tree bark. Her heels lay strewn somewhere by the garden path. Vax watches as if he’s in a trance, this unearthly nymph, this woodland creature - “Keyleth,” he says in awe, absolutely struck by her raw love of life, “Keyleth, what are you?”   She smiles wide and takes his hand, pressing a loose petal into his palm, and then holding it to her heart.   “Don’t you feel that?” she asks lowly, and he smells the tequila but there’s also something fresh, like rain on woodchips, fog; she inhales deeply. “The entire earth inside of me. I could’ve been a forest, once, you know.”   “You’re absolutely nuts,” he says. “I want to marry you.”   She laughs and laughs and laughs, falling back against the grass like nothing in life could ever make her happier. He lies beside her and lets her tell him of wonderful, impossible things; how she believes she belongs to another world, one where she tends to the world’s largest garden and carries the light of the sun in her bare hands, and if he were interested, perhaps the two of them could grow tomatoes together.   “I am,” he says vehemently, “I am,” and for a split second, he swears he recognizes her from a different life, a flash of a bed of flowers and a flickering pair of raven’s wings, their souls in flux across the universe.   --   Vex’s eyes dart down to his lips, her heart pounding; she’s full of fire and smoke, explosions beating against her ribcage, and there’s this boy, his gasp of white hair, his rounded glasses, his earnestness - his shy attraction, his quieted demons, his addicting voice - he’s so handsome, he’s so--   “Beautiful,” Vex whispers. “You, too, you know. You’re beautiful.”   He blinks slowly, dazedly, and she leans forward--   “Hey, Stubby,” her brother’s stupid fucking nickname for her rings in her ear, and she’s absolutely going to kill him tonight. “Come on, we’ve got to go. It’s nearly four.”   Percy pulls back, looking sheepish and nervous again. The announcement of the time deters her from murder for a moment. “Is it really?”   “Yep,” Vax says cheerfully, his arm around Keyleth, who’s a little unsteady at his side.   “Percy!” she says, and flings her arms around him overenthusiastically. “I’m having so much fun!”   “It certainly seems so,” he says, his glasses knocked askew. Vex restrains a smile, not wanting to reveal anything to her brother about how her night had gone.   “Percy, we haven’t watered your plants for hours.”   “I’m sure they’re fine.”   Vax grins, unconcerned, uncaring of whatever Vex might gather from his expression. Well, they always did differ that way. Vax wore his positive emotions on his sleeve; Vex cloaked them in whatever material she could get her hands on.   “Keyleth,” Vax says her name unbearably softly, and oh, he’s so fucking fucked. She turns to face him, releasing Percy. “It was lovely to spend the evening with you.”   He takes her hand and presses a kiss to it, and she giggles. “You too, Vax. Thanks for - humoring me.”   “I wasn’t.” He says it so seriously that she can’t doubt the sincerity.   She giggles again bashfully and says, “Well, I - thanks, and I guess I’ll - you know, see you around.”   “Definitely.”   Vex looks at Percy and rolls her eyes pointedly. He half-smiles in response, but she knows exactly what he means.   A hand smacks the back of her head. “Up. Let’s go.”   “Fuck, Vax, okay,” she snarls, instantly annoyed with him. He gets the perfect night and then ruins the climax of hers. Fucker. “I’m coming.”   It’s enough for him - he turns and starts shouting for Grog, who Vex is pretty sure has been challenging people to arm wrestling and shotgunning contests all night.   Keyleth also starts wobbling away, heading for the gate. Vex slips off the stool to her feet as Percy remains, still a bit stupefied; his eyes follow her, and he says, “Vex’ahlia.”   “Yes?” she asks, unmoving.   He seems to deliberate for a second before smiling delicately and saying, “I meant what I said.”   The spell has been broken already, and the moment is clearly over, but she bends down anyway and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth, her hand resting gently underneath his jaw, his fingertips against her wrist.   “You don’t know me,” she says, slipping for the briefest of seconds, and there’s a sadness to her he hadn’t called attention to before. “Goodnight, Percival.”   “Goodnight,” he breathes out, his hand falling away as she steps to join her brother, and it’s the last time he sees her for months.   --   So, Percy’s bright, sure. He’s intelligent. But he’s also a fucking idiot.   “I can’t believe you didn’t get her phone number,” Keyleth says for the thousandth time, sending a text to Vax, who’s somewhere in the rural wilderness of Montana at the moment.   “Thanks, Keyleth,” Percy answers, disappointment unfolding in his stomach as he scrolls on his laptop, seeing paparazzi pictures of her from a few days earlier leaving a bar with some guy. He’s jealous, even though he has no reason to be - it was one night, one conversation, over a month ago. He needs to get over it.   “I can ask Vax about the guy, if you want,” Keyleth offers helpfully as a crew member touches up her make-up. They’ve started filming the sequel to The Sun Tree, called Passed Through Fire. He thinks of Vex constantly, wondering if she’ll see it, if she’ll love it, how she’ll feel watching him. He tries to do a better job. He wants his future self to impress her, somehow.   “No, it’s fine,” he says dejectedly, immediately wincing at the sound of his own pathetic voice. They’ve had this conversation before, always ending in the same denial.   Keyleth frowns, because she’s a good friend, because she wants him to be happy - “Too bad,” she says, quickly typing out a message with a flourish, “I’m asking.”   “No, Keyleth, don’t--” he tries to stop her, but it’s been sent. He hangs his head and rubs his eyes. “Balls.”   TO: Vax Hey who’s that guy your sister was with the other night? Saw the pics   FROM: Vax o that’s just jarrett. he sometimes works security w us & he acts as her bodyguard when she’s out alone   FROM: Vax y   TO: Vax Percy was totally jealous lol but don’t tell him I told you   FROM: Vax hahaha does he want her # i can just give it to u   FROM: Vax she wants his 2 lets do a swap shes always moping around now   TO: Vax I love matchmaking!!   She swipes “share contact” and gets Vex’s number in a matter of seconds - she saves it, but doesn’t do anything with it yet. “He’s her bodyguard,” she tells Percy, who perks up instantly.   “Not that it’s any of my business,” he supplies, and Keyleth just grins.   “Sure,” she says, continuing to text Vax, letting Percy have his moment of relief in private. He’s called to set a second later, and the scene goes brilliantly; they only do three takes just to get the angles, and the director has no notes for him.   He heads back to his chair, Keyleth now in full hair and makeup, still texting away.   His phone buzzes suddenly, and he opens the home screen--   Keyleth, grinning even wider, has sent him Vex’s contact details.   She’s called for her scene a moment later, and before he can even process what he’s staring at, she says, “You can thank me later.”   He doesn’t thank her. He’s done for the day, and he heads home without another word to anybody.   --   Vex is scrolling through twitter when Vax approaches from behind - she’s lived with him forever, and she can sense him coming, but she doesn’t bother deterring him - she’s got pretty good aim if he does something obnoxious.   “Guess what Keyleth told me,” Vax sing-songs in her ear, loud and annoying. She reaches up a hand and swats him away.   “What?” she asks, kind of curious despite herself.   Vax smirks. “His Royal Highness saw those pictures of you with Jarrett,” he says, shrugging. “Apparently, they made him a tad jealous...”   Vex struggles to keep her voice level; internally she’s burning again. “Is that so?”   “Yeah.”   “Well, thanks for the update,” she says, and returns to her twitter feed.   Vax rolls his eyes. “I know you fancy him,” he says. “Quit being so bloody obtuse.”   “I’m not doing anything,” she argues, not lifting her eyes from her phone. That’s not it, she wants to say. It’s more than that. He knew me, Vax, I swear. Like from somewhere else. Like recognizing someone you’ve never met. He knew.   But she doesn’t say anything.   “When was the last time you shagged about with Jarrett?” he prods, and she senses a challenge coming but she won’t give in.   She side-eyes him. “A few months ago,” she answers honestly; nothing to hide there. He knew the answer, anyway.   “Why’d you stop?”   Fucking prick. “Because--” she starts, and stops, and starts again, a sputtering engine. Because I keep dreaming in monochrome, because I see his eyes when I blink; because I can almost taste him. “Fuck off, Vax,” she says instead. He’s so beautiful it haunts her. She wants to ruin him like he’s ruining her. There’s that smoldering heat - the desire for his shy stare, probing her - she doesn’t want him to look at anyone else like he’d looked at her then.   Her phone buzzes; Vax’s name pops up, along with the contact details for Lord Percival whatever whatever de Rolo, and Vex has to do everything in her power to keep her emotions sealed tight.   “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Vax says, and she’s on the verge of combusting.   She doesn’t do anything with it. Not yet. Instead, she searches his name on twitter and follows him.   And then follows him on every other platform he has an account on.   --   @imvexthatsvax I’m flattered. I loved your album.   @percivalderolo glad to see you’re finally developing your personality, darling.   --   (Nobody really knows what to do with that exchange.)   --   It’s nothing, but Percy rereads her tweet over and over again. He still can’t shake his inadequacy - she’s so much larger than life, so confident and sure of herself, so untethered and unshaken - and he’s, well - he’s pretty fucked up.   He’s better now, sure. He goes to therapy. But the world knows his story and to them, he’s like a war hero, a tragedy-turned-to-art, some sort of sad, beautiful thing that is deserving of an embrace. He feels slightly like everyone is clamoring to adopt him, like he’s lost, soulless.   Which - even if he is - he’s dealing with it. He’s trying. He’s becoming.   He hovers over Vex’s contact details again; she doesn’t have time for broken pieces of his life when hers is already so full.   --   PercivaldeRolo liked your photo.   The thing that really starts to eat at Vex is how famous he is.   He’s on the cover of magazines, he’s interviewed on talk shows, there are paparazzi pictures of him everywhere; he’s a movie star for fuck’s sake. He’s royalty. He’s every possible intimidating title tucked into one person, and he represents so much of the acceptance she and Vax never got.   PercivaldeRolo liked your photo. It’s a picture Vax took of her with her feet up on the dashboard of their tour bus. Sometimes she likes to sit up front and stare out at the unfolding scenery ahead, the countryside shifting around them, the bustling towns, the big cities, the secluded forests, the vast, empty valleys.   “Hey, Kiki, look at this,” Vax says from behind her, and she twists around to see him holding his phone up to the window. “The fields! I don’t know if the quality is any good, but the flowers are blooming--”   “It’s so pretty!” She can hear Keyleth’s exclamation through Vax’s earphones. “Percy, hey, check this out--”   “Hey, de Rolo,” Vax says, waving into the camera, and quickly shifts the phone towards her. “The gang’s all here!”   Vex suddenly can’t move, so overwhelmed by the idea that after a month, Percy can see her - he’s staring at her now, she wonders what his face his like, his eyes, if his lips are still where she left them - ”He says hi,” Vax passes on - and she smiles as her stomach bubbles up, her heart in her throat. She raises a hand carefully and waves.   “Hello, darling,” she says, and to her relief her voice sounds steady.   Vax is silent for a moment. “He says you’ve failed your duties.”   “Sorry?”   “He’s still without tunes.”   She feels herself smiling without a thought. “Keyleth isn’t helping you with that?”   “He doesn’t trust me, Vex!” She hears Keyleth yell. “He’d trust you, though--”   Vax laughs at whatever is happening on-screen. She stands, suddenly ill, and pushes past Vax. “Sorry - need to make a call,” she hastily excuses, and she glances back over her shoulder and catches sight of that white hair, those glasses, and she--   She crawls into a bunk with Pike, who says nothing and rubs her back as Vax’s voice echoes throughout the bus, Keyleth’s name falling from his lips like a prayer.   --   (She hears ta, Percival, and her lungs shudder in her chest. Pike’s hand falters over her spine.   It’s tough, she whispers to Pike.   I know, honey.)   --   But damn it, Percy likes her.   He watches her performances on YouTube, sometimes of her concerts the day after she’s played them; he reads interviews the band has done, listens and listens again to their album. He has most, if not all, of their songs memorized.   “I don’t get it,” Keyleth says one night as she re-pots one of his plants that she’s convinced is bored of its soil. “Why won’t you just talk to her?”   “Because she’s too good for me.”   “Oh, Percy,” Keyleth tuts under her breath. “You know that’s not true.”   “I know no such thing,” he states immovably, keeping his eyes trained on the old radio he’s tinkering with.   “You’re a good person.”   “Perhaps, perhaps not.”   “Okay, I take it back,” Keyleth huffs. “You’re exasperating.”   Percy smiles. “That’s more like it.” He feels sort of bad, though, because he knows Keyleth is trying to help; he doesn’t want her to think he’s taking her for granted. “Look, Keyleth - it was easy for you and Vax, and that’s great. But I’m...struggling. And I don’t think she even - it’s been weeks, hasn’t it? She doesn’t fancy me like that.”   “Vax and I aren’t dating,” Keyleth says bizarrely, undermining everything Percy has previously believed.   “What?” he asks, craning his neck to look at her. Her expression is troubled and confused, but the flowers hold her gaze. “What do you mean?”   “I mean we aren’t dating,” she repeats, straightening a bouquet. “He’s not into me like that.”   “Keyleth,” Percy says slowly, fearing he’s entered an alternate reality, “that boy is obsessed with you.”   “He can have anyone he wants,” she reasons to herself aloud. “He’s a rock star, Percy, he’s like - he’s just so cool, and I’m just me.”   Percy’s stunned into silence, but there’s a deeper truth there, lingering underneath the absurdity of her words - he sees himself reflected in them, damaged and uncertain and afraid.   Well, balls. Maybe this is what he sounds like to her. Maybe it’s time he start leading by example.   “You aren’t just anything,” he says kindly, and Keyleth smiles brightly in response. “He’d be the luckiest person in the world if you chose to give him a chance.”   She starts humming to herself as she tends to the rest of the flowers. Percy picks up his phone and texts--   TO: Vex’ahlia Hello.   --   “Band meeting!” Vax yells as they approach a McDonald’s at two in the morning, somewhere in Vermont. They pile out of the bus, Vex clutching her phone tightly, Grog carrying Pike in on his back. He orders fifty nuggets between them and Vex knows he’ll eat about forty of them. They get five orders of fries and a couple Big Macs and hole up in a corner, even though the place is basically deserted.   “So what’d he say?” Vax pokes her in the side, shoving fries in his mouth with his free hand.   “‘Hello,’” Vex quotes, staring down at her phone.   “Well, he’s clearly thinking about you,” Pike points out, smothering her nuggets in honey mustard. “I mean, he’s had your number for awhile, right?”   “According to Vax.”   “Yep,” the boy supplies helpfully, still chewing.   “So obviously he’s been holding onto it for whatever reason, like, debating whether or not to text you,” Pike rationalizes. “What are you so worried about?”   “He’s royalty,” Vex says vehemently. “He’s a movie star.”   “You’re royalty, too,” Grog responds, and slurps loudly at his coke. “And you’re a music star.”   “What do I say?” Vex asks the group, having a mild internal crisis that nobody can quite decipher the cause of. Scanlan finally takes a stand, leaning over the table.   He says, “I’ve got an idea.” He takes her phone and types something in before sliding it back to her with a shit-eating grin. She glances down.   “‘Hey,’” she reads aloud.   “It’s perfect,” Scanlan says. “Short, sweet, to the point.”   She stares blankly at him. Vax laughs loudly, and even Pike stifles a grin.   Grog says, “I like it.”   When her expression doesn’t change, Scanlan sighs; well, he is the oldest of the group, after all, he claims, and he’s beyond petty dramatics. He says patiently, “Vex, just fucking say hi. Just be his friend - the poor guy, he always seems so lonely. What’s so terrifying about just being a friend?”   She thinks of Saundor with his hand around her throat, spitting into her face about her cruelty and selfishness and worthlessness; Syldor and the disapproval etched into his face like age lines, his eyes unforgiving and cold; she thinks of the sting of rejection, of never, ever being good enough, or talented enough, or noble enough - I know people with money and they are definitely not worth you--   TO: Percival de Rolo hello   TO: Percival de Rolo what do you think of this lyric - “and I swear that if I could, I’d rid my blood of you and give it back”   FROM: Percival de Rolo I support the sentiment.   FROM: Percival de Rolo But I implore you to keep your blood where it is. You need it to live.   “We’re good,” Vex declares to the table, and Grog celebrates by shoving five nuggets into his mouth at once.   --   It’s as if he’s finally knocked down an imagined, previously thought to be impenetrable barrier just by saying hello; she texts him all the time - when she’s bored, when she’s excited, when she’s upset, when she’s inspired; for every reason, just because - and she’s so engaging and definitive within herself that he can’t help but be drawn to her. Sometimes he feels as if his own identity is a stone’s throw away from shattering entirely, like he isn’t always sure he’s all the things he pretends to be, but he feels more himself than ever when he’s talking to her, which comforts him and terrifies him equal amounts.   (3 days ago FROM: Vex’ahlia i must say, i do quite prefer flying to driving. so much quicker. better views.   TO: Vex’ahlia Disagree. Depends on what you’re looking at, I think.   FROM: Vex’ahlia the grand canyon.   TO: Vex’ahlia Ah, well, that would be a nice view.   2 days ago FROM: Vex’ahlia how do you feel about dragons?   TO: Vex’ahlia Well, I’m convinced that all mythology came from somewhere, with a basis in reality…   FROM: Vex’ahlia i feel as if i wouldn’t trust them.   TO: Vex’ahlia You’d be one. A magnificent blue dragon hoarding treasure.   FROM: Vex’ahlia does sound like me. too complimentary, percival, truly.   Yesterday, 4:05 AM FROM: Vex’ahlia i can’t sleep. you should hear grog snore. maybe i’ll kill him just to shut him up.   TO: Vex’ahlia Dear, I think your talents are best left out of prison.   FROM: Vex’ahlia did i wake you?   TO: Vex’ahlia I shall neither confirm nor deny, for fear of you stubbornly deciding I shan’t be texted in the wee hours of the morning.   FROM: Vex’ahlia you flatter me. my every whim is meant to be answered. i expect nothing less from you.   TO: Vex’ahlia Oh, excellent, so we’re on the same page.)   Keyleth comes barging into his hotel room one evening in mid-April - they’re filming on location for the next month, somewhere just outside of Atlanta - and throws herself across his bed, her phone glowing in her hands.   “Vax invited us to a concert,” she squeaks out, overcome with exhilaration. “It’s this weekend and we aren’t filming - Saturday night in New York!”   TO: Vex’ahlia Your brother invited us to a show?   FROM: Vex’ahlia yes, i wasn’t supposed to ruin the surprise - are you going to come? :)   TO: Vex’ahlia Do you want me to come?   FROM: Vex’ahlia don’t you want to see me rock out in-person, all american-like? it’s much more satisfying than a grainy youtube video   TO: Vex’ahlia Well, with an offer like that.   “That sounds wonderful,” Percy says agreeably, his stomach knotting and tensing at the very idea.   “We get backstage passes and everything,” she informs him, almost trembling with anticipation. “Can you believe it?!”   He can, actually, as they probably could’ve gotten them anyway, seeing as who they are - but it’s the same reason Keyleth is so refreshing; she’s always herself in her eyes, nothing more and nothing less, an awkward bumbling girl who prefers trees to people despite her gift of acting. He imagines she’s the type of person to win an Oscar and say, oh, wow, I had no idea you guys felt this way about me, and it endears her to him all the more.   Percy reaches for his laptop on his nightstand. “S’pose we should start booking tickets. Where are they playing, anyway?”   “Terminal 5,” she says. “You’ve been to the city more than I have, so I’ll leave the planning to you, for once.”   “Hang on.” Percy unlocks his phone again. “It’s probably best if we go through the official channels.” Keyleth hums noncommittally as Percy dials his agent.   “Hey, Percy,” the voice greets warmly after a few rings. “How’s the shoot so far?”   “Hello, Allura,” he responds, and Keyleth echoes his greeting in the background. “Going well, thanks, but I’m actually calling in regards to some personal business.”   “Are you finally handing me a proper Hollywood scandal, Percival?”   He smiles. “Afraid not.”   “An agent can dream.” She’s teasing him, he knows - if anything, he is an agent’s dream and she’s well aware of it. “What’s up?”   “Keyleth and I have been invited to see Vox Machina in New York on Saturday night. I figured we’d spend the weekend.”   “Oh? By who?”   “The band.”   She laughs. “I approve. I can make this work - it’ll be good to have you seen out and about supporting other forms of art. Kima and I will take care of reservations for the two of you.”   “And how’s Kima?” he asks, and not just out of politeness or obligation - he loves Kima and Allura, and it couldn’t have been better luck for him and Keyleth to have agents who are married to each other, considering whenever they do anything personal it’s usually together anyway. It makes it easy for their agents to coordinate.   “She’s great. She’s going over a few releases about Keyleth’s upcoming movie - let Keyleth know that the early reviews are all overwhelmingly positive. I know she missed a few screenings already because of work.”   He brings the phone away from his mouth slightly. “Keyleth, you’re getting excellent reviews for Aramente.”   She rolls over, looking at him upside-down, her eyes bright. “Really?!”   “Yes.”   “Cool!” She stares dreamily at the ceiling for a moment. “That was a fun movie. That’s so cool.”   “Anyway,” Allura continues, “I’ll send over your reservations and any pertinent info in a few.”   “Fantastic. Much appreciated. Ta,” he says, and he hangs up.   He and Keyleth relax in silence awhile longer, lounging on his bed - Allura sends him an email with a hotel reservation and options for flights, leaving that for Percy to book himself. They decide they’ll arrive Friday early evening, sparing the risk of any travel fatigue, and then they’ll have all day Saturday to do whatever they want.   He forwards the itinerary to Vex, who texts him immediately.   FROM: Vex’ahlia we’re at the same hotel and we arrive friday morning. you’ll spend the night out with us, won’t you, percival? we have a show that night but should be done by 10:30.   TO: Vex’ahlia What are your plans after? We’d be honored   “Hey, Percy, we’ll go to Central Park, right? I mean, I love the city, but wouldn’t it be nice to have a picnic or something?” Keyleth interrupts his train of thought and he pauses typing for a moment, continuing the rest of the sentence distractedly.   “Sure - if you don’t mind people possibly approaching us we can go to Sheep Meadow,” he allows, knowing Keyleth loves meeting fans, “or we can just walk along until we find an appropriate, somewhat secluded location. And if the weather’s nice,” he adds as an afterthought, sending the message without realizing what he’s typed, which is--   TO: Vex’ahlia What are your plans? We’d be honoured. I’m coming to see you, after all.   FROM: Vex’ahlia Just me in particular? ;)   “Oh, balls,” he says, blushing furiously down at the screen, Keyleth immediately takes notice and rolls back over to read his text, and then giggles cutely.   “Freudian slip?” she sing-songs, and slides halfway off the bed, stretching her limbs.   “That man was wrong about almost everything after caving to pressure from his colleagues who didn’t like the findings of his research, and frankly it’s a sin he’s still used as an authority today at all,” Percy counters, but, well - the concept does stand, in this case. He hovers inside of himself, at war. What to say, what to say.   TO: Vex’ahlia Technically, dear, yes.   --   People take their picture in the lobby. Some fans are brave enough to approach them, and they sign autographs and smile for Snaps, Grog sticking his tongue out and Pike laughing, Vax and Vex with their peace signs, Scanlan in inappropriate poses. Gilmore checks them in and gets their keys, making sure everything’s in order, and they’re spread out among a nice suite on the thirty-second floor.   Half of them decide to just crash immediately - they don’t really have plans until their show in a few hours - and Pike curls up next to Vex in one of the bedrooms, whispering animatedly.   “Don’t make fun of me,” she starts ranting, “but I’m really excited to meet them. They’re amazing actors! Everyone’s saying they’re gonna get nominated for Oscars - apparently that new movie Keyleth’s in is like, mind-blowing - and Percival’s definitely winning for Whispers. Ugh. And he’s like - I mean, come on, Vex. He’s hot.”   Vex snickers into her arms, stretched out on her stomach. “He has a nice face, I’m not disagreeing with you there.”   Pike raises herself onto her elbows. “No, like, everywhere on that boy is nice. He’s a mechanic for fun - I read that in an interview, and he was shirtless in Whispers - he’s ripped, Vex.”   This information sinks in slowly, because Vex can’t reconcile his slenderness with muscle, but Pike’s already on her phone, searching for the proof. She makes a noise of victory in her throat, shoving the device towards Vex. “Look.”   “Holy shit,” Vex says, her eyes widening, neck snapping up. “What the bloody--”   “I told you.”   “Hells,” she says, not quite able to comprehend what she’s seeing. “Christ. Wow.”   It’s just a simple still from the movie - she resolves right then and there to watch it as soon as possible - but he’s standing in a shop, shirtless, covered in soot, and Pike had not been fucking around - he is...extremely well-defined, to say the least. Chiseled, rugged. She imagines touching him, feeling his body against hers--   Pike tells her, “I wouldn’t kick him out of bed, is all I’m saying.”   “Erm, yeah.”   “I wouldn’t kick you out of bed either, though, Vex, just so you know.”   Vex winks at her. “Oh, I’m aware, darling, as you’ve had many opportunities to do so.”   Pike digs her fingers into Vex’s side, laughing as she tickles her; Vex squeals, slapping her hands away--   --   (“Girls,” Grog says, shaking his head, as he and Vax prepare to leave for lunch.   “That’s sexist, Grog, they’re just having fun,” Vax points out. “Nothing wrong with that.”   “Oh, sorry,” Grog says, genuinely apologetic. “I thought that was just something people said.”)   --   Percy and Keyleth don’t have an eventful journey aside from the usual paparazzi catching them at the airport and groups of fans clamoring around them at the gate, but they’re in first class on the plane, and there’s a private car waiting to take them to the hotel when they land.   They step out by themselves for a late lunch, knowing their dinner won’t be until after the band’s show is over; they split a nice bottle of wine at an Italian place Keyleth had picked around the corner. They’re mostly safe from photographers, though Percy’s sure a few random patrons have snapped some pictures under-the-table. Well, it goes with the territory.   After that, Keyleth’s too wired to go back to the hotel and drags him into a bar down the street with a semi-private back room; they sit at a booth and drink jalapeno margaritas, and throughout the night fans approach, asking for pictures and autographs. They oblige every time; Keyleth’s thrilled by it, honored, like she’s being given some incredible opportunity. It’s unbearably sweet.   By the time they meet the band in the lobby - the first time Percy’s seen them all together, up-close, and boy are they an intimidating group - they’re showered, fresh, and dressed for camouflage. It’s easy to blend in the city, fortunately, though Grog probably causes a stir everywhere and Percy’s hair is a dead giveaway, but he’s wearing a beanie whereas Grog’s just - a giant. All the time. Well, it is what it is.   There’s Vex again, standing in front, even more beautiful than he remembers even though she’s dressed casually in ripped jeans and a tank and hoodie; she smiles widely at him and steps forward--   Keyleth goes flying into Vax’s arms, startling him; he lifts her up and spins her around once, beaming. “Vax!” she exclaims. “It’s so good to see you! How was the show?!”   “You too, Kiki, and it was great!” He grins back at her. “Here, meet everyone, come on - Percival, great to see you as well--”   “Cheers,” Percy answers, glancing at Pike and smiling. “Hello, I’m Percival Von Mu--”   “You can call him Percy,” Keyleth interrupts customarily, waving a hand again.   Vax wraps an arm around him and grinds a hand against his hair. “You’re famous and shit, Percival!” he proclaims, and Percy laughs despite himself. “They know who you are.”   Vax lets go of him and continues the introductions; Vex approaches him and gives him a warm hug, her arms encircling his neck, her body against his - it’s brief, too brief, and he barely has the time to process the way it makes him feel before she lets him go. Upon releasing him, a phone is suddenly shoved into his face as she says, “Look, you and Keyleth are having a lovely romantic getaway this weekend.”   Sure enough, there’s an article open on some gossip website with pictures of the two of them at the airport earlier that afternoon, deep in conversation. Percy grimaces. “They’re determined to push that angle. Apparently we have an active fanbase.”   “We do,” Keyleth pipes up. “Some of the blogs are really pretty.”   “She follows them,” Percy supplies.   “They’re really nice to us.”   Pike giggles nervously as she leans up to hug Keyleth in greeting; the blush on her cheeks doesn’t hide well. “I follow blogs dedicated to us, too. It’s fun.”   “So, shall we?” Scanlan asks, and extends his arm to Pike. “My lady?”   “Oh, thanks, Scanlan, but I’m already holding someone’s hand,” she says, holding back a smirk as she places her small fingers in Grog’s, who barely notices. Scanlan moves on with a fake sigh and a rejection he’s clearly used to, so Percy doesn’t bother feeling bad for him.   --   They have dinner at a small, hole-in-the-wall burger joint in the Village - the type that New York is famous for - and it’s actually the best burger he’s ever had in his life. She sits next to him in the booth, her boots kicked out under the table, back of her hand pressed up to her mouth when she laughs. Their thighs brush, they knock elbows. He thinks about turning and kissing her and citing the small space. Sorry, he imagines saying, I just ran out of room.   They have ciders and rate them against European ones. She’d love to live in a small town around the English countryside, she divulges; somewhere with space and sky and woods. Keyleth agrees, raising her glass. Percy says, without thinking twice, Yes, I’d probably like that.   If she notices, she doesn’t respond; she offers a fry to Pike and smacks Grog’s hand away from stealing it.   --   Vex wants to go clubbing. She misses clubbing, dancing, that escape of alcohol and pounding beats. Percy shifts next to her, his arms flexing, the muscle prominent underneath; she wants him all over her, the sweat of his body under colored strobe lights. She wants him and she wants to not think about anything else anymore, not Saundor or Syldor and their sharp, cutting words. He smiles shyly and pays the bill before anyone even knows the bill has come.   Vax invites Percy and Keyleth back to their suite to hang out and drink; Vex’s body trembles. As much as she’d love to dance - well, fame has its downsides. Perhaps not tonight. And she’s made it so long without slipping back into her old habits.   Keyleth accepts for them - Percy doesn’t react at all, but he seems to appreciate her enthusiasm; Vex can tell it’s important to him than Keyleth is happy. She finds that overwhelmingly sweet and the sudden urge to fuck it out of him entirely hits her like a gunshot. Pike gives her a knowing look and mouths, I know.   Gilmore’s out with his own friends - that man has contacts everywhere - and they crack open the hard liquor and beer, playing music over the stereo system and talking. Grog and Keyleth, in the showdown of the century, have the shotgunning contest they should’ve had at after party - Pike roots for Grog out of loyalty, to which Vax raises a finger and chants Keyleth’s name even louder; and then--   Keyleth loses by a split second, something Grog is genuinely impressed by, and gives her a high five. Considering his method of drinking involves unhinging his jaw like a snake and widening his throat until he can just pour alcohol down it without swallowing - or at least, that’s how Scanlan describes it - it’s amazing Keyleth finished as closely as she did.   Vax and Scanlan take turns selecting songs, trying to find music that appeals to Percy, who they treat as some sort of toddler, giving him about a minute of each song and asking - very slowly - if he liked it or not, before selecting a new one and doing the same thing all over again.   By the end of it, Percy has a few new artists he’s apparently a fan of - Tunng has a good song, and he’s into the electronica vibe of CHVRCHES; Hozier, he says, sounds like who he’d be if he made music, and then a few classic rock bands - and then people start drifting off one at a time, slowly. Pike smiles apologetically and says, “Being on the road’s just tiring - but you don’t have to leave! Stay, it’s cool, we can sleep through anything.”   “Stay,” Vex says, and so he does.   --   They’re playing music at a softer volume and they’re the only two left.   Vex stands at the window, looking out at the lit-up square below, the recklessness of cars, the people running like little dots on the sidewalk. Percy’s next to her, leaning on the window seat, also staring out. It’s slightly rainy and the clouds hang low.   “I wanted to go clubbing,” she confesses, though she’s not sure what she’s confessing to. “Don’t you ever miss doing things you used to be able to do before you were famous? Things that made you feel...better. Freer.”   “It’s been awhile since I’ve been a commoner,” he responds mildly, sounding sort of like a pompous asshole, but she gets what he means. He’s talking about the accident. Americans love the royal family, so they’ve known about him for ages; she imagines there aren’t many places he’s able to run to for relief and anonymity. “I’ve found comfort in other things. Mechanics.”   “It would,” she says, and nothing else.   “Clubbing, huh?” he repeats, and now he’s looking at her; she shivers without knowing why. “I can’t say I’ve ever been clubbing.”   She smiles, pressing her hands against the glass. “I can’t say that answer surprises me.”   “Am I not the type?”   “Not really, darling, no.” But she’s teasing, tone playful and light. She sees him stand out of the corner of her eye, but he’s facing her, no longer using the scenery as a pretense.   “See,” Percy says, talking about something else entirely, “this is a nice view.”   “We’re on the thirty-second floor,” she points out, not fully understanding. “I think you’re fighting your own argument.”   “Well, not exactly, as the view I’m referencing is in front of me.”   He’s so plainly forthcoming at that moment that it stuns her; it’s his version of flirting, she realizes, and she takes it in--   The light is soft, dim. Keyleth had lit a few candles, because she’s the type to light candles. Percy’s in a plain white t-shirt and black jeans, his hair ruffled and boyish, his stare sincere but bashful. Her phone’s plugged into the sound system on shuffle, and her music is low, slow, gyrating. They’re alone. She wants to devour him, fuck him until she forgets the names of her demons, until he no longer feels the torment of his own.   In a bold move, because it’s two in the morning, because she’s a little drunk, because it’s New York - she takes one of his hands and slides in front of him, pressing him back against the window, his entire body flush to hers.   “So, Percival,” she murmurs, and she’s well aware of how turned on she sounds, “you’ve never danced?”   His eyes flicker like blackness seeps into him; smoke is rising from his skin. The heat burns between them. “Like this?” He says, and she’s pleased to hear his voice shake. “Never.”   She smiles with a dangerous flash of teeth. “Good.”   --   So, what they’re doing is definitely not dancing.   She guides his hands to her hips, knowing he won’t move first without permission; her palms splay against his chest, and she’s humming the melody playing low in her throat. He can feel her breathing, the way her body sticks to him, her chest rising and falling; he’s caught up, overcome--   She sways slowly, almost grinding against him; he bites the inside of his lip on instinct, looking down at her, eyelids heavy. She’s still fucking smirking, and her hands drift up, over his shoulders, around his neck; she finally shifts her gaze up and locks eyes with him, now quietly singing the words - he’s momentarily distracted by it, because how many people get to hear her sing without a stage, and her voice is sultry and gorgeous and hot - and then he comprehends the lyrics--   When you say it like that…   His fingers curl around her hips; she drops her stare to his mouth and continues, “Let me fuck you right back,” and he about faints right there.   “Oh, holy shit,” he breathes out.   “Something wrong, dear?” she asks, and her tone is low and teasing, knowing exactly what she’s doing to him.   But he’s still drunk, too, and reservations aren’t exactly something he has the time or willpower to manage. “This isn’t music to dance to,” he says, and she laughs once, throatily.   “No,” she agrees, still slowly grinding against him. “It’s music to have sex to.”   His mouth is dry and all the flashing city lights are suddenly in the room with them. “I should’ve known,” he says, and pulls her tight against him. The smirk is suddenly gone from her face. “Only you would seduce someone with a song that isn’t even your own.”   They’re too close, it’s too dark, she’s going to fuck him here in a suite with four other sleeping people and he’s going to enjoy it and beg her for more; he cycles through the coming events in his mind and sees absolutely no issue with any of it. He’s already underneath her and she can do whatever she wants to him.   She presses her fingers against his cheek, guiding the tilt of his head, and she leans up--   They hear the unmistakable sound of the door opening and someone’s voice rings from the doorway, “Vex, darling, I know how pretty he is, but unless you’re inviting me to join, perhaps you should drag poor Percival off to somewhere private before you eat him alive, hm?”   --   Fucking Gilmore.   She’s fuming and turned on and it’s a horrible combination - Percy is actively averting his eyes from her, his hands now back against the window seat, holding himself up - and in an almost cruel fit of denial, she slides slowly back onto her feet, pressing her hips carefully against his until he’s again biting his lip, now burning red.   Gilmore heads off to bed, leaving them there, knowing he’s ruined whatever was about to happen in the suite’s living room and satisfied with it. She’s going to have a talk with him tomorrow. Fuck him, that fucking asshole, and fuck Vax for so long ago declaring him enough of family that he shares their rooms.   “Percy.” She needs him to look at her. She needs him addicted to whatever she’s planning next, anxiously awaiting her every move, his nerves standing on the precipice. He carefully glances down at her - he’s restraining himself again, Gods, she hates that, she was so close to unraveling him entirely - and she says dangerously, “This isn’t over.”   He seems almost amused at her tone and choice of words. “Is that a threat?”   “Yes.” Her mouth curls into a half-smirk, a remnant of what they almost did. “I’m going to fuck this sweet, sad boy act out of you. Who are you really, Percival?”   He shivers against her, his lips parting in a harsh inhale, exhale. “At this moment, I’m not sure I even know,” he answers unsteadily, pupils blown wide.   “Good.” She pushes off his chest, grinning broadly. He stands there unmoving, the shock and arousal still filling his veins instead of blood. He stares unblinkingly, swallowing once.   She backs away. “Sleep well,” she says airily, and heads into her room.   --   (She leans against the door and whispers, “Fuck.”   “Vex?” A voice mumbles sleepily. “Is that you?”   “Yes, Pike, it’s me,” she hisses back, waiting for the telltale sound of Percy running from their room, which comes a few moments later when the door slams. Pike sits up in bed; Vex can see her hazy outline.   “What happened?” She asks, rubbing her eyes. “Was that Percy who just left?”   “Yes.”   “Wait.” Pike’s staring in her direction. “Why aren’t you with him?”   Vex grimaces, knocking her head back against the wood. “Gilmore interrupted us.”   The girl gasps. “Like while you were doing him?!”   Vex laughs at that and then sighs, moving to throw herself across the bed. “Gods, Pike, no,” she says, an arm over her forehead. “We were - dancing. Sort of.”   Pike rubs a hand over her stomach comfortingly. “Aw, Vex, it’s okay. I’m sure you’ll have plenty of chances. I mean, come on, who’s gonna resist you? I would never.”   “Thanks, dear.”   “Anytime.”)   --   “And then she said--” he breaks off, blushing horribly, and then quotes, “‘I’m going to fuck that sweet, sad boy act out of you,’” and Keyleth’s head whips around the curtain, mouth agape, soap still lathered in her hair.   “No way,” she says, shocked and a little appreciative. “Damn, Percy, that’s hot.”   “I know,” he says. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? Forgive me for being a little traditional, but I do genuinely like her.”   “And that’s a problem why?” Keyleth asks, disappearing again. “She nailed you, didn’t she? Wow.” She snickers to herself and he hears her repeat, “Sweet, sad boy act…”   “It’s not an act,” he says, mostly faking affrontement. “Am I not sweet?”   “Sure, sure,” Keyleth answers. He hears a bottle hit the floor and a small squeak of surprise before she continues speaking. “You’re nice, Percy, but you come off a lot nicer than you are. You can be cruel and cold when you want to be, or to people you don’t trust - and you don’t trust anyone. You’re...distant, I guess, is the word. From everything.”   He frowns; she’s not wrong there. “I trust you,” he points out, defiant. He hadn’t really viewed it as an act, though, but maybe he’s putting himself on subconsciously. “Semantics.”   “I’m rolling my eyes.”   “Anyway. I’m saying I like her,” he says again. “What if she’s merely - into the idea of sleeping with me and that’s it?”   Keyleth’s head pokes out of the curtain again. “Percy,” she says exasperatedly, “have you even looked at Vex? She could have anyone she wants; she’s like, beautiful. Some guy once threw a five-thousand dollar engagement ring on stage and proposed to her. She said no and kept the ring. Hell,” Keyleth adds as an afterthought and ignoring Percy’s jaw on the floor, “I’d date Vex.”   “Stick to Vax,” Percy says, still recovering from the bizarrely sexy idea of Vex rejecting some man and keeping his money but somehow wanting Percy. “I can’t compete with you.”   Keyleth laughs. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she says, shutting the water off, “she’s only got eyes for you anyway.”   Percy resumes washing his face. “Well,” he says, and that’s really all there is to it.     --   Gilmore forbids them from going to boozy brunch - “It’s meant for Sundays,” he reasons with them, “and you’ve a show tonight,” - so they resort to normal brunch, though Grog and Pike are determined to sneak a mimosa; drinking always cures his hangovers and Pike’s desperately in need of relief for hers. Keyleth and Percy meet them in the lobby, Percy wearing sunglasses and looking a little more disheveled than usual, whereas Keyleth--   “Fuck,” Vex whispers to Vax, “does she always look this flawless? What the fuck, honestly.”   “Keyleth, you are hot,” Grog says randomly from behind them, and Vax bumps his arm.   “Don’t objectify women, Grog, just tell her she looks nice,” he instructs, and Grog glances at her apologetically.   “Oh, sorry,” he says genuinely. “You look real nice, Keyleth.”   She laughs good-naturedly. “Thanks, Grog, you look pretty handsome yourself.”   “She called me handsome,” he murmurs to Pike, his smile huge; she pats his arm and nods.   “Competition,” Vex hisses at Vax again, grinning. So, Keyleth isn’t the most charismatic of people, but something about her is undeniably entrancing; she’s not just beautiful. She’s the most honest person he’s ever met; she doesn’t care about her image because she’s intrinsically so good it doesn’t even occur to her that she might be projecting the wrong one. There’s no way he’s letting go of that after years and years of everyone expecting something of him.   “Kiki,” he says, falling into stride next to her; she links arms with him automatically and he turns to quickly stick his tongue out at Vex - who now, of course, only has eyes for Percy.   Whatever; more material for him, at least. If she’s going to tease him endlessly, she’s going to get it back twice as good.   Keyleth smiles at him and says, “I had a great time last night. Percy and I never go out like that. It’s cool to have such a big group of people.”   “They’re family,” Vax responds and shrugs. “It was fun to have you with us - we see each other every day, you know, so...I liked having you there.”   “Yeah?” she asks nervously, as if she really needs the statement reconfirmed.   “I like having you here now,” he tells her, his blood swirling around his heart at the sight of her slight blush. “Honestly, Keyleth, I do.”   “I’m happy to hear that,” is all she says, her eyes solidly watching the street ahead, but her fingers clutch his arm a little tighter.   --   (“Percival,” Vex greets warmly as he approaches, Keyleth now preoccupying her brother. “And how are we this morning?”   He takes his sunglasses off, wincing slightly at the light. “I’ve been better.”   Her lips twist up; her eyes are hungry and dark. She traps him like a snare. His heart thumps in his chest, his ribcage rattling.   He wants to fuck the smirk off of her face. So, maybe she’s a little right about him.)   --   Grog and Pike order mimosas before Gilmore can stop them; he waves a hand as if to say, it’s your head. They high-five across the table. Keyleth laughs and absorbs Pike in conversation about where she learned to play piano; Vax just stares, nodding along, contributing here and there but mostly content to watch; finally she turns the question on him, and he says, “I learned it to impress you,” but he’s grinning, a little snarky.   She takes it in stride. “Shut up, no you didn’t,” she huffs, but she’s smiling. “Tell me the truth.”   Ah, the truth, well--   “My mother was very musically inclined,” Vax says, surprising even himself at his honesty. Vex quiets, something that doesn’t go unnoticed. Grog, Scanlan, and Pike are now involved in a discussion on breakfast burritos and where to draw the line on ingredients, and don’t pay any attention. “Fortunately, it was a skill she passed onto us.”   “That’s nice that you have that now,” Keyleth says, and reveals herself to be more perceptive than they’d previously thought when she adds, “It’s nice to have something that keeps the people you love alive.”   It’s almost tactless - they’re at brunch and it isn’t information Vax had quite gotten around to divulging - but she isn’t fully speaking about them and their mother, and it’s what calms him, what keeps Vex from snapping. Loss can recognize loss, and Keyleth’s far-off look, her gentle, sad smile…   “You understand,” Vex states, seeking confirmation before being open; it’s not a topic the twins are normally forthcoming about.   “My mother left when I was young,” Keyleth says, very matter-of-fact. “She’s been declared dead - it’s been so long. She left for a business trip and she never came back.” Off of their stunned looks, she rectifies, “Oh, but not like that! Not like she - ran off, or something. It was supposed to be a week-long work trip; she used to take them all the time. That’s, ah…” she wrings her hands nervously. “That’s all. So I just meant - I know how you feel.”   Vax puts his fingers over hers, intertwining them. “Thanks, Kiki. And we’re sorry.”   She sort of shrugs uncomfortably, pressing on, locking eyes with Percy--   “Well,” the boy suddenly says off-handedly, leaning back, “almost my whole family is dead, so I’m not one for sympathy.”   Vex lets out a startled laugh and looks horrified; she covers her mouth hurriedly, but Keyleth giggles openly. Percy’s mouth is in a wry half-smirk.   “You can laugh,” he says, and his head falls against the booth, his eyes fluttering closed. “It’s already going to hurt forever, so you might as well laugh when it strikes you.”   Somewhere on the other end of the table, Grog is pouring an entire bottle of hot sauce on his burrito and Scanlan’s eating a raw chili pepper for a challenge; Pike is grinning while Gilmore shakes his head. Vex says, “We all have our crosses to bear, I suppose.”   “I’m not surprised.” Percy’s head tilts, following Vex’s stare. “Tortured artists. It’s so predictable it’s almost boring.”   Vax raises his glass. “Cheers, Percival.”   He supposes in some ways, it truly is the perfect phrase to describe what they are.   --   (They go to Central Park for Keyleth, who Vex is pretty sure may actually die if she’s away from nature for too long, and lounge around Sheep Meadow until they start getting recognized. It doesn’t help that Pike keeps Snapping, either, so everyone in the Manhattan area definitely knows where they are. They’re careful not to post anything of the actual famous actors until they’ve left, though, in order to deter the paparazzi, who don’t care for indie bands as much.   Vex takes a pic of Percy as he drifts off under the sun for a little while, and Keyleth says, “He didn’t get a lot of sleep last night,” with a cute grin that Vex is sure is supposed to be a smirk.   Vex shows her how it’s really done and answers, “I can’t imagine why.”)   --   The show starts at eight, with a band Percy’s never heard of (shocker) opening for them called Chroma Conclave. It’s the first night of their leg of the tour - they’ll be opening for another month of shows - and Vex tells him privately that they actually hate the band’s music, but it’s a publicity thing and they can’t do anything to stop it. He’s familiar with the act of having to play nice with difficult talent.   He and Keyleth are upstairs in the VIP area - it’s tables and bar service looking down on the stage - and they get a few ciders and relax for the opening act, not paying too much attention. Internally, he agrees with Vex: they’re awful, more like metal than rock, but the crowd seems to be into it to a degree, at least. He watches fans hover around the merch table and thinks about buying a shirt as a joke; Keyleth’s almost definitely going to do it seriously.   By the time their band is about to take the stage, Keyleth’s had three ciders and she’s buzzing; Percy’s trying to keep a leveler head. The lights go out, the crowd screams, the neon signs flash; in the chaos of it all he sees them quietly settle into their instruments before--   Vex’s voice, as beautiful and sexy as it was when it was only him and her the night before comes echoing around his skull; he recognizes it immediately as their second single - well, I’ve got a story about how you left me for dead, I told you I loved you and never saw you again, now when I dream about you I hear it’s all in your head, all in your head.     “Babe, you’ve got me thinking I’m fucking crazy,” he sings under his breath, because he can’t help himself, because she’s entrancing and their music is good. Fortunately Keyleth is doing the same thing, only she’s singing all of the words and at a much louder volume.   Scanlan harmonizes with her nicely, subtly, not taking the song away from her but enhancing it - the title is Demons and he adds a haunting quality to it, like a dark vibration underneath the edges.   And then Percy realizes she’s playing the bass.   He is inexplicably, instantaneously turned on - watching her fingers move, her lips curving around the words, the way she holds the melody in her mouth - her eyes dart up, searching for his, and he sees her smile flicker. Maybe it’s only a trick of the light.   Keyleth turns toward him and screams, “She is so fucking hot!”   Finally letting go, he answers “I know” with a smile, and it’s the lightest Keyleth has seen him in years.   --   (The show is electric; the crowd can’t get enough and neither can Vex. She loves this. She loves the bright lights and the fans singing and the music burning up her skin; Vax is shredding next to her and Grog’s hammering the drums and Pike’s holding them all together, her notes a solid through-line.   And Percy - through the blinding flashes she finds his white hair and his unrestrained smile, Keyleth’s arm around his shoulders--   I’m not running out of time, babe, and you’re gonna be mine, you’re gonna be mine, you’re gonna be mine.   She’s singing to him now, but one day soon, she won’t need to.)   --   They head backstage just before the end of the set to avoid the crowd, still wrapped up in the band’s final song; Keyleth sways on her feet and keeps singing, watching from the wings. Percy’s drawn more to technique from this angle - the deftness of Scanlan’s fingers on the guitar (he’s picked up about four different instruments tonight so far), the way Pike plays with her eyes closed, Grog’s ferocity fading and swelling in beat with the music - they’re well-trained, incredibly in sync with each other. It’s a pleasure just to witness.   The song ends, the crowd screams, the room is suddenly drenched in darkness - the band stumbles their way to the wings through the dimness of the stage, tripping over each other and laughing; Keyleth cheers with the rest of the fans as the lights flash on again for the encore, bright neon colors. Vax finds her eyes amidst the chaos, as if she’s the pull to a compass, and as he gets closer she yells, “Vax, that was ama--” before he takes her face in his hands and kisses her.   The rest of the band stops in their tracks, the roar of the crowd quieting to a dull hum in their ears at the sight in front of them; Vex’s lips are parted in a very subtle jaw-drop, and Percy can only stare, caught up in a moment that isn’t his but could be--   Vex’s lips are parted, and Percy can only stare; what if she had seen him first, what if she were standing in front of him smiling, disheveled, sweating after a show and the pressure of burning stage lights; what if he were healthier, assured, better--   --   (Keyleth has never been kissed like this in her entire life - she’s never even been kissed, not really, only for work or projects or an elementary-school dare - the softness and the intensity of it overwhelms her, his palms cupping her cheeks, her fingers automatically reaching up to curl around his wrists--   He pulls away, his eyes shining, his smile gentle and apologetic; his hands stroke down her jaw, her neck. He says, You know I’m in love with you, right?   She can only look on, dazed, buzzing, those neon lights filling up her heart and her skin is where she wants him to write his songs; she licks her lips and tastes salt, electricity, copper, music. She doesn’t speak. He backs away from her, his arms dropping, and suddenly she’s missing something she wasn’t missing before.)   --   Vex is hit with the truth.   Vax kisses Keyleth and it’s so uncomplicated; he loves her, he’s in love with her, he’s been in love with her. He doesn’t think twice, he doesn’t put himself on, he doesn’t try to be anybody he isn’t to make himself worthy of giving love, or receiving love. It’s so easy and pure and genuine and nothing like her, but like all the things she wishes she could be.   She meets Percy’s eyes and sees the longing in him, clouded over with a self-doubt she recognizes all too well. He must notice the mirror in her, as well, because after a moment he gives her a sad, resigned sort of smile.   There is nothing uncomplicated about her and Percy.   --   “I’m sorry.” Vax apologizes immediately after the encore. Well, he’s not, but he is. He should have asked, or set the mood a little better, or - anything, really. “Do you think we can go and - talk, somewhere?”   Keyleth stutters over herself, seeming a bit like a frightened wild animal, but not in a caged or trapped way - just an inexperienced one. She squeaks out, “Sure,” and her attention is far too occupied to even remember Percy exists.   Vax leads her into one of the now-empty rooms backstage, and before she can get another word out, he picks up a gift bag from the couch and extends it to her.   “I actually had plans,” he says, abashed. “I was going to give you that--” That happens to be a collection of every band shirt they’d had on sale that night, and a few very early designs that aren’t in production anymore, “--and hopefully charm you with a joke about how you may be our biggest fan, but I’m yours. No competition.”   She skids her teeth across her bottom lip, digging in. Her cheeks are flushed and red, her blood on high. She’s never done this before. “I, uh--”   “You don’t have to say anything.” Vax’s eyes drop. “I shouldn’t have cornered you the way I did. I was just - overwhelmed, seeing you standing there, so happy and excited and - I don’t know. You were too beautiful.”   “Okay, stop,” she breathes out, shaking with the hammering of her heart; he’s always felt so far away to her, but here he is now, plain and forthcoming and baring his soul in front of her. “You - look, I’m just - I’m not good at this.”   “I know.” He keeps a careful distance from her. “It’s okay, Kiki.”   She says, “I do like you.” There’s no reason not to confess. “I’m not used to - feeling this way about...people. It’s…” She struggles for meaning, nervously playing with a ring on her finger. “It’s just different, and I don’t know what to do, but I do like you.”   “Do you want time?” he says, clinging to the spark of hope she’s given him. “I don’t want to lose you as a friend. I’d never...push you into something you weren’t ready for. You must know how important you are to me, Keyleth.”   She steps forward, reaching for his hand, and presses a delicate kiss to his cheek; he resists the urge to hold onto her and she resists the urge to ask him to.   “Yeah,” she whispers. “A little time.”     -- (Years from now, Keyleth will look back and remember Vax’s grin under the glow of the stage lights, her fingers burning their prints into his back, his lips against hers with an intimacy far too deep for her to comprehend at the time; he’ll laugh into her hair, curled next to her in bed, and say Yeah, you totally loved me.)   --   They trudge back upstairs to the bar and they all get fucked up; Vax and Keyleth keep a polite distance apart, but not uncomfortably so. Vex says she needs the image of them kissing erased from her brain, but internally she hears Saundor’s voice, you’re selfish, Vex’ahlia, and care for nobody but yourself, reckless with no regard for the wellbeing of others; Percy sits next to Pike and answers questions dutifully about his upcoming films, who he’s liked acting with the most, who’s been the biggest asshole, and, (secretly), who’s his favorite member of the band.   She winks, and he rolls his eyes; “Oh, you know.”   Vex takes another shot. He’s not sure if she’d heard or not.   --   They’re all hammered by the time they return to the hotel, but the band’s wired as they always are after a show and Keyleth’s energy is endless; none of them want the night to end. Grog herds them back up the suite, laughing as they stumble and trip over each other, and Percy rationalizes that it must be Grog’s size keeping him upright, certainly not that the rest of them are lightweights. Grog grins but keeps his mouth shut, humoring him.   Scanlan starts some sort of card game that has them all screaming over each other - Percy is the first to be out, followed by Vex, who curses at the rest of them for show - but when she gets up from the table, Percy spots that shadow of sadness again, that flimsy mask. She catches his eye and she knows.   She approaches him and says quietly, “Feel like stepping out on the balcony for a bit?”   He nods once and follows her out. Nobody else pays them any mind, too absorbed in their game; as he slides the glass door closed behind him, he hears Pike scream, “You fucking cheater, Scanlan!”   The air is cool and damp; Vex leans against the railing and sags heavily, finally allowing the tension she’s been carrying to hold its full weight. She looks exhausted. She doesn’t glance at him when she says, “We need to talk.”   “Yes.” Percy’s voice is almost lost among the clouds. “We do.”   “You saw it too,” she states, keeping her eyes trained on the flashing lights below. “How...how simple it was.”   “I did,” Percy says. “But for what it’s worth, I never thought this would be simple.”   She smiles without substance, like the skeleton of a feeling. “No?”   “Vex, look at me,” he points out tiredly, running a hand through his hair. “I come with a lot of baggage.”   “So do I.” She licks her lips, pausing. “I thought it was just me. When we started this. I thought it was just me.”   The silence settles over them; everything is muted from where they are, the colors, the bright lights, the honking horns. He curls his fingers around the railing and squeezes. “Maybe we should try to be honest with one another.” It’s an uncomfortable topic to bridge. He attempts a semblance of humor. “I know you saw right through me.”   “I recognized the patterns, yes,” she says.   “I’m barely hanging on,” he continues blithely, shutting down the part of his voice that conveys any depth to true emotion. It’s difficult enough as it is. “I’m being treated. I spent a lot of time being nothing, being everything, being whatever wasn’t me with this life. I’m working on it.”   “That’s a good start,” she says, and crooks her head towards him without meeting his eyes like a silent acceptance, “because I rather like you. The you underneath all of this. And I’m - I’ve had a long recovery. Having. A long recovery.”   “I almost died,” he drops point-blank.   Vex waits a moment, staring at the whiteness of Percy’s knuckles, the tensity of his muscles coiling like a spring beneath his skin. “I almost died,” she echoes back, the carefree shouting of her friends behind her like a sick soundtrack to the tragedy of their lives.   He turns toward her, suddenly releasing himself. “What?”   “Surely you don’t believe you’ve the monopoly on horror stories,” she says wryly, and he flushes.   “That’s not what I meant, of course,” he responds politely. “Near-death experiences are rare.”   She leans forward onto her elbows, hunched further over the railing. A year and a half ago, she might have thrown herself off of it. “I had a boyfriend,” she says, but the sound coats itself against her throat when she tries to explain further, like rubbing sand between her palms, coarse and raw.   He seems to understand just fine. “Oh,” he says quietly.   “I’m trying, too,” she says, and finally stands tall, facing him straight on. He isn’t surprised by the sudden feverishness, but proud, almost. “I’m this now because I couldn’t be for so long. I think it’s the truth. I want to believe I’m putting on the truth, but sometimes I remember what I was like, and I don’t know.”   “You aren’t what you were made into,” Percy says, as if he’s reading her thoughts and pulling out exactly the right words to tell her in response. “It’s possible to have spent as long as you did as someone perceived to be without strength, but that doesn’t mean you don’t possess it now, Vex’ahlia. Or even then.”   “How can you be so sure?” she asks, and the intensity lights up the space between them, the focal point of lightning. He reaches up and tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear, smiling kindly, and oh, yes, this is him, he’s here, finally making an appearance, Percy laying himself bare for her.   “You must have suffered a great deal and for a very long time,” he says plainly, softly. “Sometimes having the strength to survive is enough, even if you don’t have the strength to fight back.”   She feels a stinging in the corners of her eyes, the landscape suddenly swirling in front of her, lights blurry and out of focus. Her fingers are suddenly wrapped around the fabric of his sweater, clutching at his chest. “Yeah?”   “Let us agree that the nature of our shared experiences leaves us unable to lie to one another,” he continues, seemingly unconcerned about her desperate grasp on him. “I am seeing the truth of you. And I am telling you the truth. You are not as in conflict with yourself as you believe.”   I love you, she could say; she could say it now and somewhere in her heart she’d mean it, because Percy is right; the two of them recognize each other, buried deep underneath, like souls intertwined. I love you, she could say, but she doesn’t.   Neither of them realize the noise inside has quieted to a dull hum. His hand moves from her hair to her cheek, thumb wiping underneath her eye. She says, “You must know this doesn’t solely apply to me.” Her grip relaxes very slightly; she doesn’t want to ruin his sweater. “Being agreeable and polite and invisible until you have the opportunity to express emotion through someone else - I won’t patronize you as if you don’t know that isn’t healthy.” His mouth quirks into a sly grin at her accurate interpretation of his outward-facing persona. “You aren’t a ‘thing’ without feelings, Percy. You aren’t a tool to be used, or a vase, or any other lifeless, empty object. You’ve suffered a long time and a very great deal.”   He’s as intoxicated by her words as she is by his; it’s addicting, the truth, especially when it’s one you’ve been too afraid to believe yourself. He exhales slowly and leans in, not for a kiss but for support, his forehead resting against hers. His eyes are shut; she can feel his heart pounding. She murmurs, “I know how difficult it is to open yourself up again. To give yourself up to someone else. But I can handle it. You’re not a burden.”   “I’m afraid,” he breathes out, and God, they’re burning each other up with the thrill and novelty of understanding. “I’m afraid I’m - irrevocably damaged, or twisted. I don’t want to drag you into myself. I won’t do that to you.”   “That’s no way to heal,” she says, pulling back slightly to stare him in the eye. “Haven’t we established our inability to lie to one another? I have demons, too, and that means I can see yours for what they are, just as you see mine. Let me talk you out of them when needed. Let me scare them off.”   The look in his eyes is unbearably fond, but his voice wavers, uncertain and unused to the concept of hope. “And that’s not - that isn’t too much for you?”   The concrete balcony feels so firm beneath her feet she’s convinced she’s connected to the earth below, the dirt and mantle and core steadying her in place. She says, her spine straight, “It’s simpler to be strong for other people, don’t you agree?”   “I do,” he answers. His hands are now on her hips, the small of her back. They’re pressed together not out of want but out of necessity.   “We’ll find each other,” she says, low and tender. “We have to start somewhere.”   “I can start here,” Percy says, and presses a faint, delicate kiss to Vex’s forehead, before gathering her in his arms and holding her there.   --   (Keyleth smiles to herself, eyes downcast and averted. They’re all watching and pretending they aren’t. Vax, sitting at her side, doesn’t seem to know what to make of the display; she senses the war in him.   “Finally,” she says quietly, before he can make up his mind.   He glances over at her, corners of his mouth pulled down slightly, but the rest of his expression remains unguarded. “Is this a good thing?” he asks her bluntly. “She’s my sister. I need honesty.”   “I can’t speak for Vex,” Keyleth begins carefully, not wanting to set off any alarm bells, “but Percy’s...better than he used to be. When I first met him, he rarely even smiled, like he’d forgotten how. I mean - you’ve heard his story, right? So, I’m not gonna say that he isn’t without flaws, but I think…” she pauses to weigh her words in her mouth; tact isn’t something that comes naturally to her. “I think he could use someone else, you know? Someone who isn’t me. And someone exactly like her.”   Vax doesn’t answer her yet, still subtly watching them out on the balcony. It’s starting to rain and they’re both facing out at the city, buried in each other, unaware of the conversation taking place indoors. Keyleth tries, one last time, by saying, “I feel like...Vex can understand him. Understand what he’s been through. Or at least some of the - emotion, I guess, behind it.”   At that, Vax does look at her, eyebrows raised in a mild sort of surprise. “What makes you think that?”   Keyleth shrugs, unable to formulate a concrete example. “Am I wrong?” she asks instead.   Vax considers her for a moment, and then drops his head, as if he’s invaded a privacy for a little too long and is finally recognizing it. “No,” he says. “No, you’re not wrong.”   “Percy seems nice,” Pike adds, as if the rest of them have been given an entryway into the conversation. “He’s sad, but he’s nice. And, come on - when was the last time Vex has shown an interest in anyone? Let her have this.”   “Or do you not trust her judgment?” Scanlan adds, if not gracefully than at least purposefully.   Vax loosens up a little, taking into account his own motivations, and says, “I won’t deny that I’m wary of it, but…” He glances back to the girl next to him, beautiful and kind and good. “I trust you, Keyleth. I trust that you can see things objectively, for what they are.”   For some unknown reason, and one that endears her to him all the more, she blushes intensely at the compliment as if he’s just kissed her in a room full of prying eyes.)   --   They never notice that the shouting had stopped, because by the time Percy and Vex reenter, it’s started again. She’s wearing his sweater and her eyes are the faintest hint of red. Nobody comments on it, looking up as though they’d barely noticed the two were gone.   “Last game of the night,” Grog yells. “The two of you in, or what?”   Percy plops down on Keyleth’s other side, Vex beside him. “Deal us in,” he says. “I’m feeling lucky.”   --   They say goodbye the next day, later in the morning in the lobby, after a night of everybody once again sleeping in their own beds. Vax pulls Keyleth to him and she sinks into it because she doesn’t know how not to; whether she’s ready to face it or not, there’s something in her that longs for this, the closeness, the certainty.   Vex is again wearing his sweater; she smiles and winks flirtatiously up at him when he notices, and he rolls his eyes, feigning aloofness. He’s not getting it back, and he comes to terms with it quickly, more than enamored with the idea of Vex casually wearing his clothes.   They don’t hug. He stands in front of her, staring, overwhelmed with the events of the previous night, finding nothing left in him to say. She seems to understand wordlessly and reaches up, ruffling his hair with her hand like he’s an embarrassed young boy in need of validation, acceptance.   She says, “Hang in there, Percival. You’re doing great.”   It’s enough.   --   radiance against @thebriarwoods · 26m .@keylethoftheair are we all crazy or were you and percival hanging out with vox machina all weekend!?   Keyleth @keylethoftheair · 15m Replying to @thebriarwoods We were! They’ve been my favorite band since their debut and we finally got to see them play! We had such an awesome time!! Thanks @imvaxthatsvex @imvexthatsvax @themeatman @idliketorage @monstah Percival @percivalderolo · 12m Replying to @thebriarwoods @keylethoftheair and 5 others This is me officially tweeting my agreeance of the above statement   vax’ahlia @imvaxthatsvex · 10m Replying to @percivalderolo @keylethoftheair and 5 others percy, do u LIKE us? is that what ur saying??? u LIKE us??   vex’ildan @imvexthatsvax · 9m Replying to @imvaxthatsvex @percivalderolo and 5 others is that true percival? you like us? vax i think he liiiikes us…...   Percival @percivalderolo · 7m Replying to @imvexthatsvax @imvaxthatsvex and 5 others You’re both ridiculous. Obviously I only like Grog.   grog loves beer @idliketorage · 5m Replying to @percivalderolo @imvexthatsvax and 5 others rite answer mate   Burt Reynolds @themeatman · 2m Replying to @idliketorage @imvexthatsvax and 5 others hey   it’s me pike!!! @monstah · 2m Replying to @idliketorage @imvexthatsvax and 5 others Hey   Percival @percivalderolo · 33s Replying to @themeatman @monstah and 5 others You’re both great too.   it’s me pike!!! @monstah · 2s Replying to @percivalderolo @themeatman and 5 others Thnx!!! - from me n scanlan   --   Considering the paparazzi didn’t catch many pictures of them and they’d been seen with the entire band, not a lot of speculation arises from their initial meeting. But neither Percy nor Keyleth expect the silence to last - the twins aren’t exactly quiet about their interests; especially not Vax, who’d openly hand over his heart to Keyleth at any given moment, if only she were to ask him for it.   All Percy’s aware of on that topic is that whatever Keyleth-and-Vax are, it’s definitely something. They’re progressing, and though it may be slow, it’ll be forever when it happens. He can sense it in her, her heart unfolding like a flower. He knows she loves him, and Vax isn’t pushing her to go anywhere she isn’t ready to. Percy can’t think of anyone better for Keyleth, or anyone who cares as deeply for her.   He hears them, sometimes, through the walls of their shared apartment in Atlanta; Keyleth’s voice has taken on its own tone for Vax specifically, one so painfully tender he feels invasive just listening to it even without being able to make out the words.   (They like to sit on Hangouts or Facetime and just enjoy each other’s company. He’ll work on a song and she’ll practice lines. It’s nice, he says, not to feel so alone.   “You have a twin,” Keyleth points out, smiling.   “Well, that’s different,” he says. “You calm me. Like my soul’s been put at ease.”   Her cheeks burn pink and he doesn’t expand on the thought. She understands him just fine.)   Percy and Vex, on the other hand--   “I’m so fucking bored,” Vex complains to him over the phone; his cell is sitting on the counter on speaker as he cooks himself and Keyleth dinner. “I wish we could just fly everywhere rather than drive.”   “Why can’t you?” he asks, measuring out a teaspoon of salt, dumping it into the pot of water boiling on the stove.   “It’s not worth it,” she explains idly, rustling around on the other end. “With all of our equipment and shit - that’s saved for international tours. We’ll take a few flights here and there, depending on the distance, but it’s mostly driving.” She snickers suddenly. “I bet Keyleth would love it.”   Percy grins in response. “Most definitely,” he says, beginning to chop a tomato. “How much longer d’you have?”   “On this tour?” The rustling ceases; Percy imagines her still, biting her lip and thinking. “Two months. And you?”   Percy pauses for the briefest of moments, also attempting to calculate. “Three weeks on location - so into mid-May - and close to another month back home in the studio.”   Vex hums. “I’ve been thinking...as we’re in Atlanta next week, any chance you can give your biggest fans a set tour?”   He laughs at the sly edge of her voice, like she’s fooling him somehow, or being particularly clever. “I’ll see what I can do.”   “Lovely, darling, thank you.”   He sighs at the smugness lining her tone. “Oh,” he says mildly, dumping the cut tomatoes in a bowl, “as if I could ever refuse you.”   --   Filming is unpredictable, and so is traffic, so the band doesn’t get to set until late afternoon when they’re well into a scene. Percy relieves a poor, intimidated intern of them at the entrance to the soundstage and leads them quietly to where the assistant director is sitting under what looks like a type of tent, two large screens in front her, and on them--   “Woah,” Grog whispers, pointing. “Look at Keyleth. She looks awesome.”   Keyleth is towards the right of the shot, standing in what looks like a kind of dungeon, or a castle, and she’s stunning. Otherworldly. She’s wearing a green, loosely-fitting dress that appears as if she created it from the forest itself, a gorgeous mantle over her shoulders that unfolds into almost a cloak of leaves, and a circlet on which a pair of antlers seem to sprout from. She’s carrying a staff and laughing at something with an older, sickly looking woman next to her as a man fixes her make-up.   “My, my,” Vex says, examining Percy’s getup - he’s in a royal blue coat with some sort of puffy necktie and a vest over a white button-down shirt with slacks, and very nice boots. “Don’t you look dashing.”   “We’re between shots,” Percy says, rolling his eyes. “They’re getting one last angle on her and then she’ll have a moment to greet you while they set up the next scene. She’s actually just past the tent, here. If you take a quick glance around, you can see her - but it may be best if she’s not aware you’re here yet.”   “Cool,” Pike says, enthralled, clutching onto Grog’s arm. “Percy, dude, this is amazing, thank you so much--”   “Of course,” he says, smiling kindly at her, and then a hush falls over the set.   “Ladies,” they hear the director call in a thick English accent, “let’s pull ourselves together. Nearly there, nearly there. Marks, please.” Keyleth reigns it in, and they’re content to watch her on the screen in front of them. “And...action!”   Her face contorts, vicious, angry, terrifying; it’s an expression none of them, aside from Percy, have ever seen on her before and not one she would wear naturally. Her muscles flex under her skin, pulled taut, a snake ready to strike. The older woman is circling around her slowly, a cruel curve to her smile and a deadly look in her eyes.   “...Pathetic,” the woman whispers bitterly. “All this trouble and not a thing to show for it. You wouldn’t have even gotten this far if not for your...remarkable friend. Is this the truth of you, my darling? That you are a weak and powerless thing who only knows how to endanger the lives of those who help her?”   “Enough,” Keyleth says, low and dangerous, sounding nothing like herself. Vex shivers, trained on the woman, her dialogue echoing around Vex’s skull in someone else’s voice.   “You’re nothing.” The words ring in the air; it’s as if a chill moves swiftly through the set. “You’ve come to me with no help, no resources, no convincing arguments. You lack even words in this moment, and it is profoundly embarrassing. You’re a dishonor to yourself, and to those who died for you.” The woman curls her mouth hideously, pulling at her skin. “At least allow me to repay them by forcing you to suffer the way they did - slowly, without grace, without dignity. Let them hear you scream, like the others before you. Like your own mother.”   “I will not die,” Keyleth hisses, flooding her veins with fire, and suddenly they’re struck with the sense that Keyleth’s character has hit her breaking point. “Repay them, yes, I will - but not with my blood. With yours!”   And her hands whips out with more agility than they’d thought possible from her, wrapping around the woman’s throat, and hoisting her into the air, one-handed.   Percy quickly and quietly claps a hand over Grog’s mouth to stop his exclamation, as he hadn’t realized the other woman was on wires. Keyleth looks as if she’s exerting a tremendous amount of force, which they know cannot be true, but that’s the magic of cinema, Vex thinks, entranced by the display.   “Your girlfriend is way cooler than you,” she leans over and whispers in Vax’s ear, trying to ignore the ghosts. He smacks her away, but he’s smiling.   --   Keyleth almost stabs him with her antlers, which a crew member then pries off of her in a panic, fearful of the potential lawsuit.     “Sorry, sorry!” she says again, inspecting him for damage. “God, I was just so excited to see you, I’m so sorry, I always forget they’re basically weapons--”   “You could’ve killed him,” Scanlan says dramatically, and Vax snorts loudly.   “Kiki, it’s fine, honestly,” he tells her, taking her hand before it can reach him again. “You didn’t even scratch me. No harm done.”   She smiles brightly, allowing their joined hands to come to rest. “I’m glad you’re here,” she says, and then shifts her gaze to each of them. “All of you.”   “Are you?” Percy asks dryly upon his return from craft services, handing Vex a plate of grapes and cheese. “You won’t be after the news I just received.”   The party turns to look at him; Vex raises an eyebrow, the grapes in her mouth making her look like a chipmunk with half a full cheek. Keyleth blinks owlishly. “What?”   “Change of order, to put it lightly,” Percy says. “We’re filming the scene near the end where - erm, where you...overdo it?” He’s trying not to give it away. “Where I have to step in and help you. We were supposed to start tomorrow with it, but the weather forecast isn’t great.”   She stares at him for half a second longer before it clicks, and then her skin flushes bright red as if she’s boiling herself in water. She glances back to Vax and squeaks out, “Well, thanks for visiting!”   “Keyleth, Percival!” a voice calls. “Ten minutes!”   Percy grins devilishly. Keyleth is now the color of a sunburn.   “Well, obviously, we have to stay,” Grog points out logically, “because she wants us to leave so badly. Means it must be good, right?”   “Are you guys gonna fuck or something?” Scanlan asks bluntly. “I’m pretty sure that storyline wasn’t set up very well in the first one, if so.”   Percy actually laughs, and it’s genuine, unashamed and free. “No, no, we’re not going that far.”   “‘That far’...” the twins quote at the same time, staring between them ominously.   “Um,” Keyleth says, and then turns and runs away as fast she can in costume.   Percy only snickers harder, and says, “Go ahead and stick around. Once it starts, it won’t matter, anyway. She’s a professional.”   --   (So, Percy and Keyleth have to kiss.   Vex is nearly on the floor in hysterics; Vax is torn between utter amusement and a weird fit of jealousy. Vex, who’s never kissed Percy, has nothing to be jealous of, something she doesn’t mind rubbing in.   “I don’t know what I’m missing out on, you see?” she says, wiping the tears from her eyes. “I can truly enjoy this moment. Oh, I can’t wait.”   “You’ll probably be dating him by the time this film comes out,” Vax says snidely, not willing to lose this one. “And then you’ll go the premiere and watch them kiss in high definition and surround sound. We’ll see who’s laughing then.”   Vex stops, staring off into the distance with an expression equal parts disgust, fear, apprehension, and longing.   “Yeah,” Vax says. “That’s what I thought.”)   --   It’s not actually that bad - it isn’t a romantic kiss; it’s a desperate one. Keyleth’s character is on the brink of destroying herself in order to bring about justice, or revenge, and she doesn’t care if she survives or not - misguided and grieving, she imagines herself to be just as bad as her enemies. But Percy’s character can see through the smoke and mirrors, the manipulation and ego, and when reason and logic and every other call to her soul fails, he kisses her.   It’s quite beautiful, and Pike and Grog find themselves oddly emotional even without full context; they keep patting each other and wiping their eyes.   The band watches the two of them really act for this, not behind the tent through the screens. In-person, they’re even more stunning and gripping, their transformations almost unbelievable to witness.   Vex has never seen this much unbridled emotion from Percy since she’s known him, and she recognizes again how spot-on her own interpretation of him had been. This is his outlet for feeling, for everything he can’t bear to keep within himself.   “I know you,” he’s saying. “You’ll trust her over me? At the end of everything, you won’t even allow yourself the final courtesy of believing a single thing I say about you? After what we’ve done for each other, after all this time and torture--”   “You want me to live,” Keyleth says in response, lost and heartbroken. “That’s your priority, but it isn’t mine - I won’t sacrifice anyone else! Let it end with me! Please, let it end with me!”   Whatever’s happening will be inserted as a special effect, but Keyleth mimes some exertion of power, and suddenly they watch one of Percy’s hands tangle in her hair and the other wrap around her waist, and he’s pulling her in close, pressing his lips desperately and painfully against hers. After a moment of her still and unmoving, her arms fall slowly and her fingers curl around his shoulders, and when he releases her his tears glimmer in the light.   “It won’t end with you,” he murmurs. “I won’t let you do this. I’ll die with you before I allow this to happen. This blood is not on your hands. Don’t spill your own.”   “Cut! We’ll cut there,” the director shouts, and walks over to give the two of them a few notes.   There’s a loud noise, a bit like a cross between a sneeze and a cannon. “You really are twins,” Grog guffaws at Vax and Vex, standing there with identical expressions of bafflement on their faces, their mouths hanging open. Percy and Keyleth are now laughing at a joke their make-up artist has cracked, as if the emotion of the scene was nothing but a quick interruption of their normal dynamic.   “I’m feeling like,” Vax begins, “I want to kiss Keyleth.”   “I’m feeling like I want you to shut up,” Vex responds stupidly, still dazed.   Percy finds her eyes and winks.   --   (Percy and Keyleth have to do multiple takes of it before they’re granted enough of a break to give the band a proper tour, but Vex and Vax decide once is enough, and hole themselves up in Keyleth’s trailer until they’re finished with it. Vax sits on the couch and doesn’t pry, but Vex pokes around, oddly charmed by the decoration. Keyleth’s got a windowsill of succulents and various gifts from fans plastered to her mirror, and in between, snapshots of her and with the people important to her - there’s a strip from a photobooth of her and Percy making ridiculous faces; another of them on set during their first film; one of Keyleth as a child and a woman who is most definitely her mother; and, dead center on the vanity, two distinct pictures side-by-side: her and Percy with the whole band from their trip to New York, and what looks like a selfie she’d taken with Vax, slightly blurry and out of focus, but the laughter on their faces genuine and real.   Vex smiles as she picks up the photo, and turns around, extending it to Vax.   “I think you’re doing just fine, brother,” she says as he stares at it in awe.)   --   They all end up at a local bar afterward, drinking and eating greasy pub food and relaxing in a private booth in the back. It’s more about enjoying each other’s company than getting drunk for once, considering he and Keyleth do have to show up to work tomorrow and do their jobs properly. They cycle through a few options as to what to do for the rest of the evening - Scanlan suggests bowling, but it’s hard for Grog to entertain ideas that aren’t all-out wild - when Pike catches Vex’s eye and grins, clearing her throat.   “Actually, Scanlan and Grog and I are gonna join Gilmore barhopping,” she says, lying through her teeth, though only Vex can tell. Grog pumps a fist. “So if the two of you wanna go hang out with Keyleth and Percy, you totally should.”   Scanlan seems to catch on to her game pretty quickly. “Yeah, definitely. We’d like to take advantage of our one completely free night while we’re here.”   Vex shrugs. “Be our guest,” she says, and then cocks her head at Percy. “Is that alright with you, oh gracious hosts?”   “Yes, of course!” Keyleth responds a little too quickly, fingers clutching at her bottle. “We can - watch a movie, or something.”   And that’s what they do. Well, sort of.   They make it through half a movie - some old, black-and-white classic that ends up mostly as background noise - before Vex falls fast asleep, curled up against Percy’s side, his arm over her shoulders. It doesn’t take him much longer to follow her there, dozing off underneath Vex’s weight and a blanket, and Keyleth quietly tugs Vax into her bedroom, seemingly ignorant of the implications.   “Let’s let them be,” she murmurs, shutting her door as gently as she can. “They’re obviously tired.”   Vax wastes no time making himself at home. He kicks off his shoes and sprawls across her bed, picking up a stuffed white tiger and examining it. “He doesn’t sleep with people often, does he?”   “Uh, is he supposed to?” She’s slightly confused at the question, quirking an eyebrow as she sits down next him, leaning back against the pillows. “Do you?”   Vax laughs, tossing the animal up in the air and catching it. “I meant literally. I have a twin sister and a tour bus, so we’ve shared a bed more often than not. But I didn’t peg him as a guy who’d easily do something as vulnerable as sleeping beside someone.”   “Oh, I see,” she says, resting the side of her head in her hand. “No, he doesn’t. He’s not really the type to let his guard down like that. So, I figured...”   “Ah.” It’s not an interesting revelation and so Vax doesn’t pursue it further. “And what about you?”   “Me?” She’s apparently startled that he even has to ask. “I’m an open book, aren’t I?”   “Sometimes,” he answers truthfully, looking at her, cheek pressed against her moss-green comforter. “Mostly. But I think everyone has something they’re trying to protect themselves from.”   She picks at a loose thread on one of her pillows, eyes averted down. “So what’s yours?”   He thinks about saying rejection, which is true, but he assumes that’s true for almost everybody. He thinks of Vex and Percy in the other room, wrapped around each other innocently, holding their demons at bay. He thinks of Vex at peace.   And then he thinks of Vex, four, three, two years ago; flinching at a touch like a burn, eyes hollow in her skull, looking more like a girl in a graveyard than a rock show. He thinks of bruises and emptiness and the faint foreboding of home. How she got to the point where it hurt so much it stopped feeling like pain at all, and then she was nothing.   “Change,” he says instead, unable to be anything but brutally, achingly honest. He hears the beeping of hospital equipment like the beating of his own heart. “The unknown, I guess. The future. The things I can’t see.”   It’s not the answer Keyleth is expecting, and she tilts her chin down, examining him. “In what way?” She can’t stop herself from asking.   He cradles the words in his mouth before spilling them out; he doesn’t want to pour out all of Vex’s secrets, but it’s him, too. There are parts that are his and he needs to talk about them.   “I don’t know how much you know, if anything,” he says. “De Rolo seems like he’s...good at playing his cards close to the vest. Like he wouldn’t betray her, if she had told him, and I know she has. I can tell how much of herself she’s investing in him.”   Keyleth doesn’t interrupt, but her facial expressions are simple enough to read; she half-smiles, bemused and sad, but he’d judged Percy’s character correctly and she appreciates it. He continues, “Vex was in a - a pretty terrible situation a few years ago. With a man. He...took advantage of her insecurities. He’d pick out all of the horrible things she thought about herself, and validate them to her rather than relieving her of them. He abused her. It was...bad. It was really bad.”   “Vax…” Keyleth exhales, the quiet acknowledgment breaking him down.   “I didn’t know,” he confesses, and his eyes sting sharply. “I didn’t know she thought these things about herself. I knew something was wrong, but she’s such a good liar, and she’s so...she didn’t want me to worry about her. She’s good at keeping people out. She thought it would get better, or that she’d one day work up the courage to leave him.”   “But she didn’t,” Keyleth infers softly. Her hands are now covering Vax’s own, resting gently on his chest.   “She didn’t,” he says. “He almost killed her, and all I could think about was that I should’ve known. I let her down. I left her alone.” She strokes her thumb with his, allowing him to let it all out before speaking. “I’m afraid that - she’s finally better, Keyleth. She’s someone I recognize again. And I don’t want to lose her, not now, not ever.”   Keyleth carefully bends down and presses a kiss to the back of their joined hands. She says, “The fact that you’re so terrified of it proves that you wouldn’t let it happen again, even if it were an option.” She pauses, rolling over sentences as she constructs them. “I think that makes you brave, Vax. People can’t - always admit their own faults, or places they may have gone wrong. Protecting someone...isn’t as easy as it seems. But I also think it makes you stupid.”   He’s so caught off-guard by the insult that he nearly laughs; she blushes, struggling to rectify the statement. “You know it wasn’t your fault,” she clarifies, and the redness in her cheeks fades fast. “You’re carrying this burden alone. She didn’t place it upon you.”   “I don’t know that,” he denies, staring at the ceiling, the brief amusement falling away. “Maybe part of it was, and I hurt her. Maybe my obliviousness almost got her killed. What if there are things I just don’t see? Does it then matter if it’s accidental or not? What if I hurt you next?”   She’s silent for awhile, pondering him, her grip on his hands loose and comforting. After a moment, she says, “That’s mine, by the way.”   “Your what?”   “What I’m trying to protect myself from,” she says, and pulls her arm back. “You hurting me.”   He tilts his head towards her, shocked, heart dissecting itself horizontally. “Do you truly believe I would?” he asks, refusing to accept the confirmation she’s giving him. “That I’m capable of it?”   She smiles kindly down at him, but it’s wistful somehow, morose and tender. “No,” she answers softly. “But you do, and I think that’s probably the same thing.”   --   When Vex groggily opens her eyes, it’s because there’s an infomercial playing at a much louder volume than the film they’d apparently dozed off watching. She blindly reaches for the remote without fully waking up and finds the correct buttons in the dim light until it’s a gentle hum, and then she leans back against whatever she’d comfortably been sleeping on, which happens to be--   Percy. Percy with his arm around her, feet kicked up on the coffee table, glasses set aside, peaceful and dreamless. Percy blissfully handing her casual affection without consequence, like it’s simple, like it’s the easiest thing in the world to give yourself up to someone. She doubts he even thought twice about it. She was there and she needed him and so he stayed.   She leans forward carefully and presses a delicate kiss to his cheek, not wanting to disturb him; she shifts to resume her previous position, but his hand moves, lightly rubbing her lower back. His head tilts to the other side, facing her, though his eyes stay shut.   He murmurs, “Vex’ahlia.” His voice is rough from sleep, but he lifts his arm again, allowing her the room she needs to huddle herself closer to him. She’s struck with the sudden urge to cry without fully understanding why. He squints at her when she doesn’t move, a small smile on his face. “It’s okay,” he says. “Come here.”   It’s almost as if something cracks open in her soul that she’d been holding back a long, long time; she sinks into him like pouring water, her fingers curling over his shoulder, her face buried in the crook of his neck. He doesn’t speak, just loops both his arms around her and holds her tighter as if to stop her from breaking apart in his hands.   --   (The apartment is quiet when Keyleth rolls out of bed to grab a glass of water, interrupted only by Vax’s deep, even breathing and the faint buzz of the television in the living room. She makes a motion to turn it off when she realizes Percy and Vex are still there, stretched out across the couch and tangled up together. They’re facing each other; his arm is thrown around her waist and she has her forehead pressed against his chest, and it’s too close, too intimate. Keyleth has to force herself to look away.)   --   Percy’s alarm vibrates somewhere underneath his hip early the next morning, but what actually wakes him is Vex’s muffled voice against his collarbone saying, “Turn that fucking thing off, Percival.”   “You do it,” he finds himself answering, still clinging on to the edges sleep. “Your hand’s closer.”   She harrumphs in her throat, but he feels her fingers digging into his thigh as she slides his phone out from underneath him, dropping it between their bodies. He blindly gropes for it as Vex resumes her rest, clearly too comfortable to let anything disturb her.   He squints at his messages; he makes out delayed call time due to weather and sighs contentedly, switching over his alarm and tossing it onto the coffee table. He’s slightly more awake, and Vex is still here, aware of their position and enjoying it; he lowers his arm back to where it’d been resting across her waist previously and pulls her impossibly closer. She makes a small noise of surprise but doesn’t move away; she merely readjusts her head and throws a leg over his hip, and he notices--   She seems to come to the same realization, because he feels her lips curve up into a grin where her cheek is resting against his shoulder.   He heads her off at the pass, too exhausted to care. “You can fuck right off if you’re about to laugh.”   She does anyway, prompted by his remark; it’s a sweet, tired sort of giggle without any weight behind it. “Well,” she says, “you are a man, and I am extremely attractive.”   “I’m sure it was the combination of those two things, of course,” he replies dryly. “Your perception remains unmatched.”   She laughs again, and her hand crawls upward, fingers resting gently against the side of his neck. “Another day, I’ll take advantage of it.”   “I look forward to it,” he says, smiling despite himself and the oddity of their circumstances. He feels her adjust her head against his arm, tilting up her chin to look at him, and he opens one eye, blinking blearily at her.   She’s smiling, and the tips of her fingers are dancing against his skin, and in another life, he is sure he is already doing this forever.   “Yes?” he probes, his stare unbearably soft, his tone too gentle, too open and familiar.   Vex runs the pad of her thumb across his bottom lip, biting her own without realizing it, an automatic desire. She murmurs, “You know I do, don’t you?” and her glance drops to his mouth and back. “You know I want you.”   Percy understands the confession for what it is: a validation rather than an invitation, a place for discussion instead of action. It wouldn’t be a good idea - not now, not yet - but it’s still the truth.   “Our call time was pushed,” he says in lieu of a direct response. “I’ve a few more hours. Spend them with me.”   “Here?” she asks coyly. “On your couch? Don’t you own a bed, Percival?”   “I do,” he says, shutting his eyes and resting his cheek against the top of her head, his hand running up and down her spine. “However, I’m lacking in the self-control your brother and Keyleth no doubt possess. And if this conversation has been any indication, I’m sure you are, as well.”   Her body vibrates in a silent laugh, movements becoming laggier, and he recognizes the signs of exhaustion overtaking her once again. He drifts away idly imagining what it’d be like to control his dreams, and that if he could, he’d dream about her now, exactly like this, and no shadows would be lurking in the background.   --   (And, well, Percy’s not wrong.   On the other side of the wall, Vax has stuck diligently to his allotted side of the bed and Keyleth to hers, bodies a respectable distance apart, comfortable to coexist.   But somewhere along the duration of the night, they’d found each other’s hands and they hadn’t let go.)   --   They’re lazing around backstage while the tech team does the soundcheck for the night’s show; Vex keeps yawning, and Pike finally takes pity on her and gives her the rest of her cappuccino.   “Long night?” she asks slyly, wiggling one eyebrow repeatedly up and down.   Vex rolls her eyes. “Not in the way you’re imagining.”   “Really?” Pike says disbelievingly, leaning back against the wall, crew members passing around them like they’re invisible. “Okay, spill, Vex. Don’t tell me he rejected you or something.”   She laughs, because it’s the furthest thing from the truth. “No,” she says. “It’s - it’s both of us, but it’s me.”   “Spit it out.”   Vex focuses on the bass line thrumming through the floor; somewhere on stage, Scanlan’s shredding out notes and Grog’s hammering away on the drums and Vax’s voice is echoing lowly through the microphone, singing about ghosts. But there’s another memory, one of a hand around her throat and a smile too cold and cruel and vicious to ever have meant love; she closes her eyes sees those beige walls, those linoleum floors and fluorescent lights, and sometimes her bones still feel as heavy as they did then, too broken and bruised to move.   Giving up all pretense, she says, “I don’t want to fuck him and hate myself.” The words are harsher and more blunt than she intends, but she pushes on; Pike’s always been someone to listen without judgment, without fault or flaw. “I don’t want to be afraid, and I don’t want to be...somewhere else. I want to be with him. And I want to remember what it’s like when it’s about someone else, you know? Not just - me using people to remind myself I still exist, and that I am wanted. That I didn’t die.”   “I get it,” Pike says, because she always does. She lays a comforting hand on Vex’s knee. “You don’t want to be in your head. And I’m sure Percy has that concern, too.”   “Yeah,” Vex says, willing herself not to cry again; she’s been doing too much of that lately. “I could’ve had him so long ago if I’d wanted. But it wouldn’t have been real. I would’ve hurt him and I don’t think - I don’t think I could’ve come back from that.”   “Because you would’ve been proving Saundor right,” Pike infers quietly, and takes Vex’s fingers in hers instead. “Oh, honey.”   Vex tilts her head back, resting against the wall. “Yeah,” she sighs out. Grog yells from somewhere around the corner, and then there’s a loud clatter; Scanlan laughs as Vax erupts in curses.   “But you didn’t,” Pike points out, ignoring the commotion. “You didn’t hurt Percy. You’ve done exactly the opposite, so far, actually. Anyone can see that he adores you, Vex; you make him so happy. By the time this weekend is over, I’ll bet the blogs will be going insane over the two of you. I know Keyleth already tweeted about us all hanging out again, so, I mean, it’s only a matter of time.”   Vex can’t stop the smile that unfolds as Pike rambles. “Fans are that perceptive, are they?”   “Oh, yeah,” she says, “but that wasn’t going to be my point. My point is that you make him happy, and you’re trying to protect him, and protect yourself. And even back then, you were trying to protect us. That makes you nothing like Saundor said you were, Vex. Nothing.”   “I’m really trying not to cry,” Vex says, her throat tighter with every breath, “but thank you, Pike.”   “Anytime,” she says, and the world pauses its rotation for a moment, giving Vex the time she needs to catch up.   --   (By some unspoken agreement, Vex and Vax take up residence in Percy and Keyleth’s apartment over the weekend. It’s strange, two couples who aren’t couples but should be casually sharing space; it’s not as if they aren’t all aware of each other’s shortcomings, either. Keyleth never comments on the fact that Vex and Percy refuse to use his bedroom, and likewise, no remarks are ever directed at her and Vax for deciding to use hers.   Vax hears Vex’s laughter through the wall and feels her heart is safe. Vex notices he stands taller than he used to, and there is no sadness to his smile.)   --   Pike, to nobody’s surprise, turns out to be right.   Percy and Keyleth coming to a second show and a third show back-to-back cements suspicion; i know its keyleths fav band but nobody likes a band that much, Keyleth reads aloud from her indirects, i think something’s going on with someone.   gianna loves you @gunslingers · 3h Replying to @suntree who do u think tho? have they been seen in pairs at all or should we start just taking bets. i mean i agree like 2 nights in a row...verrrry fishy   aya @suntree · 3h Replying to @gunslingers well pike & grog & scanlan were out w/gilmore thurs night -sans twins. so im thinking one of them ?   jj @voxexmachina · 3h Replying to @gunslingers @suntree Omg wait yall this needs to be investigated further,,,this is so legit. Are there pics from Thurs w/out the twins?   aya @suntree · 3h Replying to @voxexmachina @gunslingers yeah! someone posted the pics on tumblr here:   teresa 2.0  @strongjawale · 3h Replying to @gunslingers @suntree @voxexmachina well the twins are bi so the possibilities are truly endless here if it is indeed one of them...i’m ngl i’d be hella into percival and vax   back on my bullshit @vexxxed · 2h Replying to @strongjawale @gunslingers @suntree and 1 other I JUST DEADASS HAD A HEART ATTACK AT THE IDEA OF VEX AND KEYLETH ASDDSLGKDSGLJL   aya @suntree · 2h Replying to @vexxxed @strongjawale @gunslingers and 1 other asfkghsfdl percival is straight im p sure...my moneys on him and vex tbh. keyleth just seems too clueless (in a cute way)   jj @voxexmachina · 2h Replying to @suntree @vexxxed @strongjawale and 1 other Idk, Id be into Keyleth/Vax, theyre a whole midnight vs sunlight aesthetic just waiting to happen   the legend of tara @scarenrae · 2h Replying to @voxexmachina @suntree @vexxxed and 2 others thanks j, now i gotta go make that shit immediately.   It continues on like that for awhile, and Keyleth only stops because Grog almost pisses himself laughing at the idea of Percy and Vax in a relationship, to which Vax response by draping himself across Percy’s back with his arms around his neck and kissing his cheek loudly.   Scanlan says, “Can’t wait to see your aesthetics.”   “Oh, young love,” Pike adds.   Grog bends down and whispers, “What’s an ascetic?”   --   Moving on from Atlanta is harder for the twins than their brief respite in New York had been; not because of the novelty of New York, but because of the familiarity of home in Atlanta. Percy and Keyleth’s apartment had been the furthest thing from a tour bus or a hotel room, full of warmth and light and people who wanted them to be there.   But something in Vax which was once closed has now opened, and he can’t wait for it any longer. He refuses to sacrifice anything else, or anyone else. He pulls Vex off to the side one evening when they’ve stopped to refuel and he’s unsteady, as if he’s aching to talk to her but desperately terrified of her answers; he grips one of her hands in his, and she recognizes that the touch means something to him.   He says, “I love Keyleth.”   “I’m aware,” Vex says, obviously bewildered but indulgent. “I remember it well, as I was there when you told her.”   “I love her,” Vax says again, holding Vex’s hand against his chest, over his heart. “I love her, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love you, or that I won’t be there for you whenever you need me.”   “I know that,” Vex laughs, rolling her eyes at his dramaticism. “You’re my darling brother. I get it.”   “No,” he says, clutching her tighter. “No, I really mean it. You can...tell me, when things happen to you. I want to be someone you come to. Someone who listens to you.”   Vex takes in his sweet, sad eyes; his earnestness, the masked despair underneath his words. She thinks of him sleeping in a chair next to her bed for a week straight, and every time before that she’d said I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine. And she understands.   She pulls him in close to her, her arms around his shoulders, chin against the crook of his neck. “It’s okay,” she murmurs, feeling him hug her back slowly, uncertain. “You know - you know I’ve never blamed you, right?”   He shakes harder in her embrace, and oh, no, he’s never realized that, this stupid fool of a man whom she adores more than her own life; even if she doesn’t blame him, he blames himself. Her ribs feel like they’ve split open, cracking against the way she has to suddenly stop herself from choking on her breath. How could she never have realized, how could she not have thought-- “Vax, my God - no, you bloody idiot, what happened to me was not your fault! There was nothing you could’ve done--”   “I could’ve gotten you out of there,” he whispers, his voice barely hanging on. “I knew you were lying to me, but I didn’t--”   “You couldn’t have,” she says firmly, “because I wouldn’t have listened to you, even if you were sitting in front of me showing me the evidence. Vax, it wasn’t my fault, and it wasn’t your fault; it was him. I...I believed certain things for so long that you could’ve done whatever you wanted and it wouldn’t have been enough. I needed more. I needed an army, and by the time I ended up where I did, that’s what I had.” She rubs her hands comfortingly up and down his back. “I know Grog and Pike stopped him from getting within a hundred feet of my hospital room and threatened to beat him fifty times worse if he tried. I know Scanlan was the one who looked into the restraining order and legal proceedings. And I know you sat at my side every single day until I’d healed, and I know you haven’t left since.”   He’s openly weeping into her shoulder, finally unburdened, relieved, and so, so devastated for her, for everything she lost and found again. “I love you,” he says through tears. “I love you so, so much, and I can’t live without you.”   “You don’t have to,” she says, pulling away and taking his face between her palms, meeting his eyes. “I’ll be here. Forever. Okay?”   He holds her gaze a moment longer, attempting to steady himself. “Okay,” he says at last.   “Good,” she says, “because now you can pursue the woman you’re actually in love with guiltlessly, which is what I want for you. I want you to be happy, Vax, and I refuse to be the thing that holds you back from that.” She takes in a breath, blinking solidly, blocking out the world for a second as she finds the words for her own confession. “Look. I’m - I’m changing, too. I’m trying to. And I think we both need to - trust ourselves, for once. Trust that we’re doing what’s right for us, even if it’s in different directions. We can find each other, no matter what.”   Vax observes her briefly, his mouth pulling into the barest hint of a smile. “He’s good for you, isn’t he,” he says plainly, almost looking proud of her. “I know you’re good for him. Why haven’t you told him yet?”   Vex bites the inside of her own lip, taken aback by the sudden shift in attention, and resists the automatic urge to deflect her emotion. “He is,” she says honestly. “And I haven’t...found the words. Maybe I need to sing about it,” she tacks on as a weak attempt at a joke, but he raises his eyebrows, contemplating.   “Maybe you do,” he says finally, and drops his eyes with a smile. “Maybe we both do.”   --   (We have things to say to each other, he tells her. We have things to say to them. So let’s say them the way we know how. Sit down with me.   Pike ushers Grog and Scanlan to the back of the bus, recognizing the importance of the moment building between them. Vax pulls out a notepad and two pens and sets them on the table while Vex gazes aimlessly out the window, her fingers moving idly across her guitar strings, searching for herself, for what she wants and how to achieve it.   What are you trying to stop? Vax asks, scribbling in the margins. What are we changing from?   Lying, Vex says, because it’s the first thing that comes to mind. I’m trying to be more like me, and less like someone I was made into.   I’m trying that, too, Vax says, which surprises her. I don’t want to have doubts. About you, about myself.   Vex grabs the pen and writes out, I’m giving up this whole lie, and this whole me.   There, she says. That’s what I’m doing.   Vax furrows his brow, and in a different handwriting, Call it out like a family appears below it, but he doesn’t stop - instead I bide my time, get a ride, until the - he crosses out a few things; she sees ‘tires’ struck out, screech - and then: until the rubber leaves the road.   Vex doesn’t know how to follow that, and says, Okay, now what are we telling them.   That I’m determined not to make the same mistakes I’ve made before, Vax says immediately. That I won’t blame myself for the actions of others. But that sounds stupid, and shallow. It’s more like...she’s my intention. Does that make sense? She is, you are. It’s not like something meaningless I can break.   No, I understand, Vex says. It has weight.   She writes out words. Drive, motivation, determination, intention. None of them are right. Resolution.   Yes, Vax says, tilting his head. That’s it. Because it’s us, you know, it’s a promise to ourselves and to them.   Okay, Vex says, scrawling out you’ll be my resolution. I think we’ve got something here. Hold on. We can work with this theme.   They take turns scribbling down whatever comes to mind along the same lines - one verse has the both of them mirroring each other, with Vex writing, You said don’t lie so I made the truth / seem like a lie to even you and Vax adding after Control your fear, it’s clear / that you do not know where you’re going to.   Vex’s most honest verse comes because Keyleth and Percy text them around one in the morning, finally wrapping up their workday; they tend to stay focused during filming, but when they get home to relax, their minds wander, and the twins’ phones end up simultaneously going off more often than not. Keyleth texts Vax “miss you” and Vax takes a moment to just stare at her picture, and Percy’s message to Vex is simply “Wanted to say goodnight, apologies if I’ve woken you.”   Fuck, she breathes out, and Vax drops his forehead to the table. It’s torture, she says.   One month down and it’s in sight / oh I’m guaranteed to lose my mind It’s dangerous to speak and sigh / you might know what I’m trying to hide   Vax doesn’t laugh. It’s hard, wanting someone and not being able to have them, but not because the love isn’t there.   It takes them another two hours to finish the lyrics, and they come up with a bare melody born purely from Vex’s idle plucking. They decide it needs to feel like them, and not like the persona they put on; it needs to be vulnerable because it is.   In the morning, Pike finds the notepad still lying on the table, covered in doodles and scratched out words and a random game of hangman, “resolution” written at the top. She reads it - she figures they’ll get to anyway, considering they’ll be playing it - and is surprised to feel herself almost moved to tears by it. It’s deeply personal, and for once, it’s not angry or bitter or careless, or even rough around the edges like many of their songs are; it’s a mark of something new. She traces over the ink of the last lines.   I’m not you, nor you me but we’re both moving steady.)   --   vex’ildan @imvexthatsvax · 16m https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QZaKMZ82mp4...   the legend of tara @scarenrae · 11m y’all it’s totally vex. listen to the song she posted ______________________ vex’ildan @imvexthatsvax https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QZaKMZ82mp4... Keyleth Retweeted vex’ildan @imvexthatsvax · 17m https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QZaKMZ82mp4...   the legend of tara @scarenrae · 5m Replying to @imvexthatsvax @keylethoftheair FUCK !!!!!   --   FROM: Percy Interesting song choice.   TO: Percy do you have tweet alerts turned on for me?   FROM: Percy Obviously.   TO: Percy good. ;)   TO: Percy so any response?   FROM: Percy Musically? Perhaps. But it’ll have to wait.   FROM: Percy Plus, Keyleth retweeted it, so now twitter thinks you’re dating each other.   TO: Percy oh, balls.   FROM: Percy Her exact words were “ugh, she just so gets me.”   TO: Percy that’s the last time i try and sneakily reveal my feelings through music to you.   --   2:45 AM FROM: Percy It’s true.   --   A few weeks later, Percy and Keyleth are finally home.   Keyleth’s first priority is watering her own plants, and then heading straight to Percy’s to tend to his. She’s almost frantic about it, carrying a misplaced sense of guilt for ‘leaving them alone so long,’ despite having had someone care for them the entire time they’d been away.   The band is somewhere in the south, but they perform on a late-night talk show that’s employing one those travel the country sets where they host in a variety of American cities as a publicity stunt, and an opportunity for fans who don’t have the money to travel themselves. Keyleth and Percy originally don’t think they’re able to be home in time to watch due to the time difference, but a stroke of luck has them on Percy’s couch fifteen minutes before it airs, eating white cheddar cheese puffs and drinking wine, because they’re adults, for fuck’s sake.   The band looks even better than they sound, which is really saying something, because they sound incredible. Vex has her signature blue feather in her hair and Vax has his black one, and they’re wearing matching leather jackets, black skinny jeans, and shoes with studs on them - though where Vax’s are boots, Vex’s...are stilettos.   Percy’s face flushes bright red, and Keyleth, who’d been jokingly recording her own reactions like reviews, turns her camera on him to capture the moment. He’s sure his skin appears absolutely ridiculous against his white hair and scowls, raising a hand to block himself from view. She pats him on the shoulder and says, “Hang in there, Percy,” and then turns back to the television, zooming in on Vex’s heels.   After they’re done, the host comes over to chat them up for a bit, asking about their Grammy win, how the tour is, where they’re headed. And then, clearly as charmed by Vex as anybody in their right mind would be, he can’t resist a fake-but-not-so-fake proposal aimed her way.   “So, Vex’ahlia,” he says, charisma oozing out of him, “you’re beautiful, famous, rich, royal...where’s a guy like me start trying to get to know you? I’ve only hosted the number one late night show on cable for the last ten years, but somehow I doubt that’s something that impresses you. Any advice?”   “Well,” she says, smirking charmingly, fluttering her eyelashes, “if you’d like to get to know me, you can read my Wikipedia page; it’s pretty thorough, and mostly accurate.”   He laughs, a hand over his heart dramatically. “Ouch! The sting of rejection--”   “No, no,” she says diplomatically, now that her fun’s been had. “In truth, my heart is someone else’s.”   Keyleth drops her phone entirely, which proves to be unfortunate; she’d missed an excellent and unforgettable shot of Percy staring blankly at the television screen as though someone had just called out his winning lottery numbers.   --   Chaney @raspberryfieldsforever  · 18m @suntree @vexxxed @lizzyisademon @cooleraid DID U SEE THIS OMGGGG _______________________________________ Music or Lose It @musicorloseitmag “My heart is someone else’s”: Vex’ahlia, lead singer of Vox Machina, confesses on late-night...   aya @suntree · 15m Replying to @raspberryfieldsforever @vexxxed @lizzyisademon and 1 other I’M FUCKING LOSING IT I’M AT WORK I COULDN’T WATCH ASDGDSFG WHAT DID SHE SAY   RLY BACK ON MY BULLSHIT @vexxxed · 15m Replying to @raspberryfieldsforever @suntree @lizzyisademon and 1 other YES IM HAVIGN A CORONARY LIKE !! SHE DID THAT !!! ON LIVE TV SHE DID THAT   RLY BACK ON MY BULLSHIT @vexxxed · 14m Replying to @suntree @raspberryfieldsforever @lizzyisademon and 1 other AYA OMFGGGG she didnt say who or anything like it basically ended there but WE KNOW THE TRUTH…….   boo @lizzyisademon · 13m Replying to @vexxxed @suntree @raspberryfieldsforever and 1 other #TheTruthIsOutThere   RLY BACK ON MY BULLSHIT @vexxxed · 11m Replying to @lizzyisademon @suntree @raspberryfieldsforever and 1 other i did my waiting….twelve years of it…..in azkaban @imvexthatsvax pardon the interruption but WHO WERE YOU REFERRING TO   kait @cooleraid · 10m Replying to @vexxxed @imvexthatsvax @lizzyisademon and 2 others SAM DID I SERIOUSLY JUST GET HERE IN TIME FOR YOU TO TAG VEX HERSELF DELETE THAT IMMEDIATELY   vex’ildan @imvexthatsvax · 5m Replying to @cooleraid @vexxxed @lizzyisademon and 2 others ;)   --   “I think you killed them,” Pike says, scrolling through the thread. “They’re just screaming at each other incoherently.”   Vex laughs, her feet stretched out across Vax’s lap, also following the drama. “At least I was nice about it. I mean, I winked, didn’t I? Isn’t that a dream come true for a fan of mine?”   “Were you always this egotistical, or is that recent?” Vax asks, responding to a text from Keyleth containing only shocked cat emojis.   She glances up, meets his eyes and smiles. “I like to think it was always.”   He grins back warmly, and they come to a deeper understanding. “Me, too.”   --   (“And you, Vax?” the host asks, because he’s good at his job and knows not to play favorites. “Where’s your heart at the moment? Any singers you’ve got your eye on?”   He grins widely and says, “Actually, I’m more into actors these days. Us musicians are just so tortured and dull, right?”   His remark falls under the radar due to Vex’s bombshell, but it’s okay. Keyleth hears it, and she knows, and that’s all that matters, anyway.)   --   “I’ve been hearing some interesting rumors, Percival,” is the first thing his sister says when he pulls her up on Skype.   “Hello to you too,” he says, glancing her over through their pixelated connection. It’s his late morning, her night, and she’s already lounging in bed; he’s sitting at his dining room table, eating toast. “You’re looking well, Cassandra.”   “I am well, thanks,” she responds politely. “And if the rumors are true, you’re doing quite well yourself.”   “Oh, I’ll bite,” he says. “What’ve you heard?”   “Most recently, that you’re in some sort of a polyamorous relationship with twins from some rock band, and Keyleth,” she says, trying to keep a straight face and failing miserably. “The internet seems unable to agree on where your affections lie.”   He sighs heavily. “Fame has its downsides.”   “I’m waiting for the truth,” Cassandra probes, adjusting her earphones. “Unless you’re attempting to tell me that really is the truth, in which case, I must officially withdraw my support of your lifestyle to protect our family’s dignity, poise, and public perception.”   “It’s only partly true,” he says, knowing she’ll pester him until he tells her. “They’re called Vox Machina - the band, that is - and Keyleth and I are...enamored with their frontrunners, who are the twins.”   Her chin slips off her hand, intrigued. “Fascinating,” she says. “So which twin is whose love interest? And this developed simultaneously?”   He’s strangely shameless on the subject; she’s his sister and he misses her, and he knows she’s curious because she cares about him. He says, “Oddly, yes. And there’s no scandal, I’m afraid, it’s rather traditional - Vax’ildan sometimes worries me with his enthusiasm for Keyleth, and, well, Vex’ahlia is quite...”   “Quite,” Cassandra repeats, teasing him. “Enchanting? Effervescent? Does she light up rooms, Percival?”   “Try stadiums,” he says, but he’s smiling.   --   And then, the completely predictable but somehow unexpected happens:   Keyleth begins gathering renown in a way she hasn’t before.   She’s always been an incredible actress, but like Percy, had stuck to indie films and niche genres - but Aramente finally drops at a festival and suddenly it’s all anyone can talk about. It’s sort of magical realism, the kind of story that allows critics to go nuts with their interpretations; she plays the daughter of a novel type of royal family, one that requires a personal journey of strength and self-discovery across the far reaches of the earth before a title can be taken. She’d agreed to the role because she’d felt so connected to the character, and was overjoyed at the amount of time she was able to spend in the wilderness while filming; Percy knows that many of her scenes where she takes in the world around her are genuine.   She garners amazing reviews for her essentially one-woman performance - she’s the main character, and there are few recurring ones - and Kima is suddenly fielding an onslaught of offers for new projects.   None of this really affects Keyleth, though; if anything, she’s just excited that she has the opportunity to do more of what she loves.   What it does change is the amount of time she now spends promoting it, as it’s gotten picked up by a major studio for distribution. She and her two co-stars - the only two that recur in the film, Kashaw and Zahra - appear on talk shows together, complementing each other in the strangest of ways, comical and enjoyable to watch.   She and Percy have finally wrapped Passed Through Fire, but the two of them know it’s going to be a trilogy and don’t have to face the reality of separation just yet. She still makes time for Vax in between promotions - it’s mostly just the month after the film drops, and then, she tells him, probably the week it’s due for a theatrical release - and he makes sure to watch every interview.   And he notices Kashaw.   Kash, as Keyleth calls him. Kash staring at her a little too long, stone-faced and unreadable. Kash never reaching for her, but allowing her touch on him. Kash with a smile that can only be described as distant, except for when he’s talking to her.   Vax recognizes the signs.   “Yeah, I see what you mean,” Vex says, watching their most recent interview on YouTube, her phone held to one ear, an earbud in the other. “Percy, what do you make of this?”   She listens for a moment, clicking through her browser. “Of course,” she answers without explaining to Vax. He kicks her under the table just as their bus hits a bump, and accidentally hits harder than he’d intended.   “Fuck, Vax!” she snaps, rubbing her shin. “Balls! That hurt, you fucker--”   “Sorry,” he says, not sorry at all. “What’s he saying?”   Vex rolls her eyes and lays her phone down, touching the screen. “Darling, you’re on speaker,” she says, “so save any inappropriate commentary for later. Ta.”   Percy snorts. “I’ll try to control myself.”   “Back to me, please,” Vax says.   “I’ve met Kash a few times, and he’s - standoffish, I suppose is the word. No social skills whatsoever, but in an antisocial way, not like Keyleth’s tactlessness. I wouldn’t worry too much, even if he does like her, because she’ll never pick up on it. He’d have to really spell it out for her.”   “Look,” Vax says, “it’s not like I have any right to her, or something. I’m just wondering how she feels.”   “Hasn’t even crossed her mind,” Percy says definitively. “You’ve sort of consumed her, Vax, and I mean that as a compliment. She’s a little more grounded than she used to be.”   “I won’t change course,” Vax says vaguely, “but I won’t stand in her way, either.”   “I think that’s a healthy place to be,” Percy answers.   “Thanks, Freddie.”   There’s a pause and then a noise of utter disgust. “Excuse me?”   Vex laughs loudly, and, well, Percy loses his edge.   --   (Vex has her bad days.   They’ll start with a memory. Just one, any one. Syldor’s hands around her throat. An argument in a hospital hallway. The twinge of a bruised rib. A door slamming shut, rattling the windows.   It’s not that she can’t go to Vax, but more as if she’d rather save him from his own guilt. She calls Percy and she says, “Bad day,” her breath coming and going in short, staccato patterns, her eyes burning and dry, and he’ll talk to her about his day, his work, his life. Anything to get her to focus on him and not her own past.   It’s what he’s doing when Vax sticks his head in her bunk and says, “Hey, I need you to watch this video and let me know if I have competition for Keyleth. Not that she’s a prize, I’m talking respectfully, as in, I’d just like to know where I stand, what I should be prepared for--”   “Gods,” Vex says, Percy in her ear pausing midway through pondering the appeal of Las Vegas. “Okay, I’m coming. I’ve Percy, so if you ask nicely, perhaps he’ll share some insight.”   Vax wanders back out to the kitchen. Vex murmurs, “Thank you.”   “No need,” Percy says softly. “I’m here for you. Always.”)   --   None of them really count on Kash’s spontaneous nature.   An interviewer asks him how he’s liked working with the cast, and he says, “Keyleth is the most annoying person I’ve ever met in my life. She’s so bubbly and happy-go-lucky all the time. It’s exhausting.”   Everyone laughs, and Keyleth’s jaw drops, affronted, but she’s giggling too. Kash looks slightly confused, because he hadn’t been telling a joke, but, Percy thinks as he watches from the green room, it’s probably best it’d been interpreted that way.   They come traipsing back to where Percy’s waiting (for moral support, of course) a few minutes later, and Keyleth is in the middle of saying, “You’re such a jerk, Kash; since when is being happy a bad thing--”   He stops just inside the room, contemplating her. “It’s not,” he says, and without warning, without agenda, he tugs her to him and kisses her.   Percy blinks, not quite able to comprehend what he’s looking at, and then it’s over before he can.   “Well,” Kash says gruffly, “see you around.”   And he walks away, leaving her standing in the doorway with a stunned look on her face, like she’s just coming down from an out-of-body experience.   “Um,” she says, and her eyes slowly travel over to Percy.   “Erm,” he says in response, and attempts to shake himself out of it so that Keyleth can have her impending freak out against somebody solid. “Shall we...go?”   She nods blankly, following him to the valet.   --   (It takes ten minutes of driving home in Percy’s car before she suddenly exclaims, “What the fuck was that about?!”   “People like you,” Percy says unhelpfully. “Although I’m not liking this trend of men kissing you without asking your permission. Technically, he sexually assaulted you.”   Keyleth opens and closes her mouth like an exotic tropical fish. “Um,” she says again, “I think I’ll just talk to him.”)   --   It turns out she doesn’t have to, because he approaches her first, sending her a text: Hey. It’s Kash. Sorry I kissed you last night. I should have given you a chance to stop me. I’m not very good with people. Please accept my apology. I will not do it again. Unless you ask me to. Sorry again. Kash   “Well,” Percy says, because dealing with one socially unaware person is enough for him, and he doesn’t even know where to begin with two.   “I’m gonna let it go,” Keyleth says. “I mean, he came forward and realized his mistakes on his own, and I at least appreciate that.”   “Sure,” Percy says. “Are you going to tell Vax?”   She turns her stare on him, wide and fearful, and the effect comes off as if her eyes have been blown up twice their normal size. “Do you think I should? I’ve been worrying about it, but, like, we’re not dating, I don’t know, I mean, is it something he needs to know about? Is he gonna find out anyway? Were there people watching? Did you tell Vex already?” She says all of this very fast and without breathing, as if she only has a spare bit of time before the end of the world.   “Erm,” Percy says.   “You’re right,” Keyleth says. “I should tell him. He’s been honest with me, I need to show him the same courtesy. I just don’t know what to say, you know? Like, how do I frame it? ‘Kash kissed me and though I was inappropriately flattered I didn’t like it’?”     “That’s, ah--”   “No, it should be in-person,” Keyleth continues fastidiously. “I should tell him to his face. He might think I’m rejecting him, and I’m totally not. I’m really not good with words, I don’t want there to be any misunderstandings between us. I love him, you know? I’m working towards something. I don’t want to ruin our friendship where it is now, either. You’re right, Percy, you’re so wise. I’ll tell him when they’re in town next week. Thanks!”   “You’re welcome,” Percy says, so exhausted from following Keyleth’s own internal-turned-external monologue that he actually feels as if he has spent the last hour giving her advice. “I’m going to bed, I think. But I’m glad I could be of service.”   --   The band’s due to arrive in Los Angeles within the week - they’re in Phoenix, and their San Diego stop is actually at the end of the tour, rather than following, at the twins’ own request - and their song is almost perfect. Vex and Vax have a furious debate over which show to play it at - Vax wants their last show; if it goes poorly, he argues, then they’ll be out of there the next day, and perhaps it won’t extend the sting of rejection - but Vex merely rolls her eyes and says, “Aren’t we trying to be brave?”   “I’ve done that already,” Vax says immediately. “I did the whole ‘spill out my soul in public’ thing. Your turn.”   “Fine, my turn,” Vex agrees, her palms flat against the wood as they stare at each other from opposite ends of the table. “I want to play it at the first show.”   Vax frowns, but Pike shrugs and says, “Sorry, Vax, you kind of handed her that one.”   “I know,” he grumbles, but acquiesces.   --   vax’ahlia @imvaxthatsvex · 22m monday mood https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8inJtTG_DuU...   emo bitch @ravensallover · 19m hey folks what are we thinking about the foursome today with this lil gem from our boi ________________________________ vax’ahlia @imvaxthatsvex monday mood https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8inJtTG_DuU...   jack of spades @georgiaisforlovers · 17m Replying to @ravensallover @imvaxthatsvex Wait n see who retweets it   Keyleth Retweeted vax’ahlia @imvaxthatsvex · 28m monday mood https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8inJtTG_DuU...   jack of spades @georgiaisforlovers · 14m Replying to @ravensallover @imvaxthatsvex @keylethoftheair Welp   emo bitch @ravensallover · 12m Replying to @georgiaisforlovers @imvaxthatsvex @keylethoftheair lmao where’s tara   the legend of tara @scarenrae · 10m Replying to @ravensallover @georgiaisforlovers @imvaxthatsvex and 1 other I SWEAR TO GOD,. IS IT JUST KEYLETH??? IS IT A FUCKIGN LVOE TRIANGLE??? WHAT IS IT   --   TO: Vax Totally not trying to read into anything but   FROM: Vax yesss?   TO: Vax Was that for me?   FROM: Vax of course, i know ur fav bands :-)   TO: Vax I don’t like to assume!   FROM: Vax kiki my life is full with u in it & all my music if for u   FROM: Vax is* for u   TO: Vax <3   FROM: Vax <3   TO: Vax I wish I wasn’t alone tonight   FROM: Vax i wish that most nights   --   Percy isn’t expecting it. Maybe that’s the worst part.   He’s scanning through his Google news alerts casually while he waits for the car to pick him up and take him to the studio for an ADR session; now that the film’s in post it’s taking heavy scrutiny. Brooklyn Off-Duty Police Officer Involved in DUI. He flicks his thumb down the screen. Fire Contained in Pasadena. He swipes over to the U.K., as he does customarily to remind himself what he left behind, and what is still waiting for him should he choose it. Brexit Negotiations...Scottish Referendum...Anna Ripley, Notorious for the Mass Murder of the Royal de Rolo Family, Found Dead…   The world falls silent, still.   He clicks on the article without even registering his own actions. Posted ten minutes ago.   He stares, and stares, and stares, but the words never change. It’s not a hallucination or a dream. The headline sits there, gloating, mocking him.   Anna Ripley…   The body, he thinks numbly. He wants to see the body. He needs the evidence, the photographic proof of her lying lifeless and cold and unmoving. Anything to get her sick, twisted smile out of his mind. Anything to stop her voice from echoing around his skull.   Percival...   There’s the distant memory of a fingernail, sharp underneath his chin. His phone drops from his hands, but he doesn’t hear it hit the floor.   You’re so clever, Percival. You’re so talented. You’ll do great things. I couldn’t sacrifice that.   He slides down against the wall, knees pulled up to his chest, hands covering his ears. The knocking at his door fails to register; his phone remains unanswered and unnoticed. He sits and he rocks and he breathes, and he tries to keep himself alive.   --   Percy doesn’t show up to record with her. He’s supposed to be there just after nine, an hour after her own call time, but the crew member who’d gone to pick him up returns alone.   From the booth, she sees him talking to the director, who points out something on her phone and shakes her head, covering her mouth as she talks. Keyleth can’t make out what they’re saying, and asks, “Hey guys, everything okay? Any notes?”   The director glances up and smiles; she presses a button and says, “Doing great, Keyleth. Actually, we’ve moved Percival’s slot to tomorrow - we’ve decided to bucket all your time for today, if that’s fine with you.”   Keyleth sees nothing strange about the explanation and so she doesn’t pry for details. “No problem,” she says brightly. “Let me know when we’re ready.”   “In three, two…” she signals for Keyleth to start, and leans over to the A.D. “Don’t give her enough of a break to check her phone today,” she murmurs to the other woman. “We don’t have the flexibility to lose time with both Keyleth and Percival.”   --   It’s five in the evening for Cassandra when Kynan pulls her aside; she’d been traveling, stuck in meetings all day, hadn’t even glanced at a screen in hours. He hands her his mobile wordlessly, fingers clammy and warm, and her lips part in a bare, uncontrollable slip of shock. The blood sinks back down into her heart and pools there, her face left white, a porcelain mask cracking.   She asks unsteadily, “How could this possibly have gotten out before we were even informed?”   “I don’t know.”   Her expression hardens. “Does Percy know?”   Kynan swallows nervously. “I don’t know.”   “Fuck,” Cassandra breathes out, already dialing his number. “This isn’t good.” It rings, and rings, and rings. She tries Keyleth and it’s the same; it rings, and rings, and finally goes to voicemail. “Keyleth, it’s Cass,” she says into the receiver. “Call me the second you see this, please. Talk soon.”   “What can I do?” he asks, needing to be helpful. “Task me.”   She furrows her brow, thinking of someone who may be there, accessible. “Actors,” she hisses, and it comes to her immediately. “So bloody unreliable. I need you to get me Vex’ahlia Vessar’s mobile. Her father is the Marquees of Reading. She’s in a band called Vox Machina. It shouldn’t be difficult.”   A look of recognition crosses his features. “Understood.”   --   Vex isn’t one to pick up calls from unknown numbers.   Vax, fortunately, is, and it’s his phone that rings just after ten-thirty in the morning as they’re checking out of their hotel. He slides to answer without thinking about it, barely comprehending the +44 code in front of the rest of the digits.   “Hello?” he says, adjusting the strap of his backpack.   “Vex’ahlia?” a harried voice answers in response.   “Wrong twin,” Vax says, now struggling with the buckle. “Who’s this?”   “I need to speak with Vex’ahlia immediately. It’s imperative I get ahold of her. Are you Vax’ildan?”   He stops, straightening up slowly. “Yeah,” he says carefully. “Again, who is this?”   “My name is Cassandra de Rolo,” she says, and he actually pulls the phone away from his ear to stare at it in surprise. “Hello?”   “Hi, yeah, erm, sorry, Your Highness, or - yeah,” he says, unaware of how to address her. “You - right. Vex. Okay. Uh…” He lowers the phone again and scans for his sister; she’s talking to Grog, lounging in one of the lobby chairs. “Hey, Vex!” he yells.   She leans her head around Grog’s frame. “What?” she shouts back.   “You - need to take this,” he says, holding up his cell. “Now.” She gets up obediently, padding over to him with a quizzical look on her face, and takes the phone. “Hello?” she says, and then for awhile she is quiet.   He watches her expression shift from confusion to intense focus, something a bit like dawning horror hiding in the widening of her eyes. He can’t make out what Cassandra is telling her, but it’s frantic, worried. Answering a question he doesn’t hear, Vex says, “Yes,” followed by another pause, and then:   “Yes, I’ll find him.”   --   “Vex, this is nuts,” Vax says for the tenth time, trailing behind her furiously. “You can’t just take off and not even tell us--”   “I’ll meet you in L.A.,” she says, brushing him off as the doorman outside finds her a cab. “Vax, I’m sorry. I have to go.”   “But why--”   A car pulls up next to the curb and she throws the door open before the driver can think about getting out to help. She glances over her shoulder and says, “Don’t worry about me. See you tomorrow,” and then she is gone, speeding away from the hotel like her life is at stake.   --   (Maybe it is, he realizes after, staring at Cassandra de Rolo’s contact details. Maybe it is.)   --   Vex buys the first flight she can on whatever airline is leaving the earliest, and because she only has a duffle bag, she’s able to get on one ten minutes out from boarding. The man at the desk recognizes her, too, and it’s a rare moment where she’s grateful for fame rather than angry about it.   She reads the news report while waiting at the gate, her heart sinking deeper with every word, the memory of Cassandra’s revelation fresh in her mind.   “Vex’ahlia, I’m not sure what you’re aware of or not, but I don’t have time to respect his privacy at the moment and I know the two of you are close,” she’d said. “Anna Ripley, the woman who murdered my family - our family - has died. She affects Percy differently than I, because she chose to keep him alive; she’d told him she was doing him a favor, and that she was going to create something beautiful out of him, out of his tragedy.” Even now, the idea has Vex’s skin and bone shivering out of tune with each other, like she’s shaking inside of herself. “She’d always been interested in him. She’d thought he was brilliant. And she was a sociopathic, deluded, evil woman.”   She’d said, “I can’t get ahold of Percy.”   She’d said, “Please, Vex’ahlia, I’m begging you. Find him.”   But Vex had started to move before Cassandra had even asked.   --   The flight is an hour and a half of torture, every terrible circumstance and situation Percy may possibly be in playing like the b-roll of a film on loop. She’s so wired by the time she arrives at his apartment complex that she throws two hundred dollars at the cab driver, even though the ride had only cost her fifty.   There’s no security to wrestle with, no difficult front desk management; Percy likes to be prepared, if nothing else. She marches up to the man sitting behind the counter and says with all the charm she can muster, “Hello, sorry to disturb you, but I’m Vex’ahlia Vessar - I believe Percival de Rolo mentioned I’d be staying with him this week and left me a key? I’m a few days early; I wanted it to be a surprise.” She slides him her I.D., not wanting to waste any time, and not even knowing if she has any time to waste.   The man smiles kindly up at her and says, “Of course, Ms. Vessar. Welcome, and what a lovely surprise - I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.” He reaches into his desk drawer and hands her a small envelope, the weight of the key heavy inside of it; well, Percy does pay a fortune to live here, so it shouldn’t be any surprise that the staff are extremely well-trained and professional.   “He’s on the eighth floor - 8A. There are only two apartments, so you can’t miss it.”   She unlocks his door with her blood pulsing in all the wrong places. The pit of her stomach, the base of her skull, the bottoms of her feet, the creases of her elbows. It opens with a short click, and then swings inward, and Vex is immediately relieved that he isn’t face-down in the entryway.   The second thing she thinks is that his apartment is entirely too green for him, but exactly enough for Keyleth; another time, the observation will be amusing, but it isn’t now.   “Percival?” she calls, and hears no answer in response. She doesn’t take her time. She rushes from room to room, searching him out; the fear of finding him doesn’t outweigh her need to find him. Library, work room, guest room...   In the bathroom off of the master bedroom, the water is on, beating against the bowl of the sink.   (As long as Vex lives, the sight of endlessly running water in stillness leaves her with a mark; an uncomfortable emptiness, and the sound of death.)   She pushes the door open further, and hits something with a gentle thud, and she has never faced anything as terrifying in her life as Percy’s limp body on the tiled floor, curled up in itself.   “God,” she exhales, dropping to her knees, her hands immediately finding the pulse strong in his throat; it’s fast, actually, too fast, and he’s sweating through his clothes, forehead hot and clammy. “Christ, Percy, fuck--”   He makes a low noise in his throat, but doesn’t move. She turns him onto his back, her palms, cupping his face, stroking his cheekbones, trying to get a response. “Percy,” she says, shaking him a little. “Percy, I need you to open your eyes, darling, please.”   She glances around the bathroom, knowing he must’ve taken something to wind up in this state; she remembers horror stories, celebrities and their painkiller addictions, and tries to think of any recent injury Percy could’ve had that would’ve allotted him the same treatment--   Her eyes fall upon a small prescription bottle by the sink, and she reaches for it, fearing the worst--   She steadies herself on Percy’s shoulder. He grunts again, a cross between a groan and a word. She shakes the bottle and it rattles; it’s Percy’s anxiety medication, and it’s mostly full. She sighs, relieved; so, he didn’t overdose.   Vex lifts herself up and fills a cup with water from the still-running sink. “Percy,” she says, “I need you to drink this.” She slips her hand underneath his neck, and with a disturbing, macabre thought, she realizes that the dead weight of a head is really quite heavy. “Percy,” she says louder. “Open your eyes.”   And then she pours the ice-cold water onto his face.   --   He blinks blearily and the world is upside-down, out of focus, shadowed in hues of grey. There’s something hovering above him, but he can’t make out what it is. His mouth is dry and dusty, and his skin feels liquidized, like it’s melting off of him, like it’s not there at all.   “Percy,” a voice says. “Can you hear me?”   “Yes,” he thinks he says, but it comes out sounding all wrong. “Yes,” he says again, louder but still nonsensical.   The person’s fingers brush his hair away from his forehead. “Gods, Percy,” the voice says, and he recognizes this voice. It’s a good one, full of gentle lulls and lilts, and not the horrible thing of possession he’d been hearing for the past few hours. He tries to center his gaze, but his eyelids are so difficult to hold open, and it doesn’t seem worth it.   “Who?” he tries to ask, the word slurred.   “Vex,” Vex says, staring down at him.   “Vex,” he repeats, and grins to himself. “Nice dream,” he sighs.   Something is slipped behind his ears, resting on the bridge of his nose.   “This isn’t a dream,” she says softly. “Open your eyes, darling. Please.”   So he does, and this time, it’s in focus.   Vex is hovering above him looking every bit as beautiful as if he had dreamed her up himself; she’s smiling and stroking his face with the tips of her fingers, tracing across his pronounced jaw line, his bottom lip, his cheekbones.   “Vex,” he says, surprised, and it comes out sounding more and more like it’s supposed to.   “Yes,” she says, and he’s startled to find tears spilling down her cheeks. “I’m so happy to see you.”   --   It takes her ten minutes just to get him to sit up, and even then he can’t do much more than that. He can’t seem to look at her for too long - she’s reminded of the first time they met, and the brutal contrast between then and now has her heart swollen in her chest - but it’s because of the tremendous effort it’s taking him to raise his head. He sits with his legs bent, one knee up and drawn in, breathing deeply through his nose.   “Percy,” she says, reaching for his arm; he’s still clammy to the touch, and she doesn’t know much about caring for someone but she does know she shouldn’t let him sit around in his damp clothes for much longer. His jeans seem fine, but the shirt’s soaked in water and sweat, and he’s started shivering. She tugs on the hem of it, attempting to get him to focus. “Dear, you’ve got to take this off.”   He nods without looking at her, but doesn’t move.   She tries again. “Is it alright if I help you?”   Another pause, another nod, and then she kneels in front of him and carefully lifts his shirt over his head. The fabric sticks to his body in places, his muscles shaking like the movement costs him extraordinary effort. Her eyes trail down, inspecting him from a clinical angle. It’s unsettling to see a man so in-shape and well-defined unable to even stand.   “I can stand,” he says haltingly, and for a moment she fears she’d spoken aloud, but it’s rather as if clarity in some regard is returning to him. “Need...a moment.”   She rests a hand against the top of his head in an acknowledgment, straightening up, running over a checklist. She’s in survival mode, the fight side instead of flight. Fresh towels, she thinks. New shirt. Drinkable water. Bed. Company. She can handle all of those things.   She rummages through his dresser and grabs the first things she finds: a white v-neck and a pair of sweatpants. She fills a glass from the filter in the sink and sets it on his nightstand. She pulls back the covers. And then she returns to the bathroom, where he’s holding onto the counter and trying to hoist himself up.   Vex extends a hand. Percy looks at her and takes it, her fingers grasped tightly in his, and they’re both surprised to find that she can support his weight. Once he’s standing, he’s a little steadier, a little more alert; she takes one of the towels and drapes it around his neck, his shoulders, rubs the middle of his back. He lets her work, recognizing that she’s doing what’s good for him, fighting back against the impulses he has to not fight at all.   It’s another twenty minutes until she gets him in bed. He manages to change into his sweats and stops there, still shirtless, but she doesn’t push him on it. She removes her jacket, kicks off her sneakers, undoes the braid from her hair; he watches from where he’s leaning against his side table, entranced. And then, before she can talk herself out of it, she unzips her jeans and rolls them down her hips, her thighs, pulling them over her feet and off. She doesn’t have an ulterior motive; she doesn’t intend on leaving him alone and they aren’t comfortable to sleep in.   He stays silent, processing. She slips under his deep blue sheets, and says, “Come here.” She pats the space next to her as if he requires the visual reference to understand.   After a moment, he says, “This isn’t how I...imagined having you in my bed the first time.” His hesitation, she realizes, comes from regret, and not from reluctance. He’d wanted to be better, not falling apart. That had been the point.   “Percy, it’s okay,” she says gently, mirroring his own sentiment from that night on his couch back at him; it’d helped her for reasons she couldn’t explain, so maybe it’ll help him, too. “Come here.”   He moves slowly, but he comes; he sits on the edge of the bed with one foot still planted on the floor, the other knee bent, resting flat. He stares straight ahead at the dark screen of the television and says, “You don’t have to do this,” but the drugs make it much harder for him to sound convincing.   “I know,” she says, “but I want to,” and it’s not a lie.   He lifts his other leg onto the bed, but still faces forward. “Why?” he asks.   Vex bites her lip. “The same reason you’d do this for me,” she confesses, a shot not quite in the dark.   She isn’t sure why she says it. She’s kept it to herself for so long and so well, content to burn, and burn, and burn. Maybe it’s time for confirmation of something, if not the thing itself. Maybe it’s time they do what they promised to do months ago on a balcony in New York and tell the truth. Maybe it’s what he needs to hear.   It catches him off-guard, exactly enough to finally get him to turn his body and meet her eyes, and the intensity in his stare is so staggering that she forgets any thoughts following. His pupils are slightly blown but it’s him looking at her, not the ghost of a tortured boy from long before she knew him. He studies her with a clarity he doesn’t fully possess, and he seems to make a decision.   He leans in towards her, supporting his weight with a palm flat against the bed, and oh, my God, he’s going to kiss her. And even worse, she wants him to.   “Percy,” she whispers, and he’s so close she can feel him exhale against her lips. God, she wants him more than she’s ever wanted anything in her life, but she can’t. He’s playing directly into her own coping mechanisms. She understands misdirection of emotion better than anyone, and how it comes back to haunt. “If I thought it would help you, I would,” she states softly. “But I think you’d be angry with yourself, later.”   “I just want to forget,” he says, voice so small and plain it breaks her heart again and again and again. “I can’t think about it anymore, Vex. It’ll kill me.”   His elbow shakes against her, and he can’t hold himself up much longer; she wraps her arms around him, one hand cupping the back of his head, and pulls him against her like breaking against an ocean.   The way his body falls into hers is almost graceful in nature; there are no hard edges or sharp corners, just his cheek pressing against her shoulder and his torso half-resting on top of hers, legs intertwined. He shudders slightly and adjusts his arms underneath hers, holding her in an embrace that quickly turns into a quiet sort of desperation.   She lays her chin against the top of his head, running her fingers through his hair, nails scratching his scalp comfortingly. She asks, “Do you want to tell me about it?”   “No,” he says against her collarbone, and then, “yes.” He breathes steadily for a second, composing himself to the best of his ability. “I want you to know everything about me.”   He says, “Anna Ripley is dead.”   She says, “I know.”   He says, “I’m not, and sometimes I think that’s the problem.”   --   (He spills everything out to her, whispers in a darkened room. She holds him tightly against her and he touches her skin to keep himself grounded. Sometimes she’s there, he rambles, like I can feel her watching me, like I hear her voice in my head, telling me how proud of me she is, how I’ve done such great things, how I’ll bring about so many more. How intelligent I am. How all I need is a tragedy to make me understand that I should be shared with everyone.   Vex doesn’t bother pointing out that the rhetoric of a madwoman doesn’t make sense; he’s long since figured that out. It’s not what matters. What matters is that it was damning, shameful, blaming, celebratory. It carried an algorithm meant to break him as a person, warping his innocence into something worthy of punishment. Cassandra survived by accident, he says. She snuck out. It was supposed to be just me. Only me. It was my fault.   But it wasn’t, Vex points out, her lips above the shell of his ear. You were young and impressionable and content with your life, and that doesn’t make you a fool, or somehow responsible.   He’s hanging onto her every word, his tears hot and pooling against her shirt, body shaking with every breath. Maybe this is what he’s been building to all along, what he’s been dreaming for: someone to simply hold him and let him cry.   You’ve suffered a long time and a very great deal, she says, but you’re not alone anymore. I’m here.)   --   It’s late afternoon when Keyleth’s session ends; they’d worked hard, focusing entirely on their task at hand, and so she’d felt it inappropriate to check her phone throughout the day. It’d actually felt nice to disconnect for awhile, to be away from all the noise, the alerts, the responsibility. She leaves Percy a few doodles and comments on the script for his lines, thanks the director and assistant director, and finally powers on her phone.   She’s hit with ten missed calls, three voicemails, and about forty texts from various numbers. It takes her a second of scrolling in complete confusion before she realizes she’s being asked about Percy.   Vax is responsible for at least fifteen of the texts and two of the voicemails, so she calls him without listening to anything, her blood suddenly flooding with adrenaline. She can’t think of anything good that would force this level of contact, and she’s panicking by the time Vax answers with a visibly relieved, “Keyleth! Thank God, I haven’t been able to get ahold of anyone--”   “What’s going on?” she asks immediately, stepping out of the studio and towards the car waiting to take her home. “I haven’t been able to check my phone today, and I have all these missed calls and messages--”   “Cassandra rang me,” he says, and Keyleth stops walking mid-step, almost falling over at the unexpected twist. “She - I don’t know much, or what this all exactly means, but it’s all over the news - Anna Ripley is dead?”   Something cold pools at the base of her skull, the name alone sounds like a curse. “Anna Ripley is dead?”   “Yeah, and Cassandra was worried about Percival, so she spoke to Vex for a few minutes and Vex took off,” he says. “She should’ve been there awhile ago, but I haven’t heard from her--”   “I should’ve known,” Keyleth says blankly, getting into the car. “Shit! I should’ve known something was wrong when Percy didn’t show up for work - I thought - is he okay? Damn it!”   “Breathe, Kiki,” Vax says, and the use of his nickname for her calms her somehow. “I think Vex is with him. I haven’t heard anything to suggest otherwise.”   “Change of plans,” Keyleth says to the driver. “Drop me off at Percy’s instead, but do you mind waiting for a few minutes?”   “Not at all,” the man says with a polite nod.   “I’ll go over there and let you know,” she says into the receiver. “I should’ve been there for him.”   “Maybe,” Vax answers vaguely, “but maybe not.”   --   She doesn’t get what he means until lets herself into Percy’s apartment with her own key and finds nothing amiss.   The silence is weighted down by something, though, and it’s a strange feeling, sort of like she shouldn’t be there at all, like she’s intruding. She doesn’t call out his name; she glances between rooms, searching for signs. A bag in the living room. Kitchen cabinets open, glasses on the counter. His bedroom door is cracked slightly; she places a hand against it and peeks around--   “You can come in,” a low voice says, “but be quiet, alright, Keyleth?”   It’s Vex, stretched out in Percy’s bed, hair spilling across his pillow and his head resting against the nook of her shoulder, sleeping soundly. Her arms are around him and her eyes are red, drained, but she looks like she’s where she’s supposed to be.   “Oh,” Keyleth says quietly, observing with a restrained type of relief. “You are here. Good.”   “Cassandra called me.”   “I heard. Text your brother. He’s worried about you.”   Vex’s eyebrows raise, but lower again just as quickly with a nod of understanding. “I will.”   Keyleth doesn’t comment on the state of them; Vex’s fingers trailing up and down Percy’s bare back, her clothes strewn about the floor, the undeniable and unshakable truth of intimacy. She asks, “Is he alright?”   “He wasn’t,” Vex says, “but he will be.”   Keyleth doesn’t make a move to leave, but she doesn’t speak again, either. She hovers in the doorway, overcome and overwhelmed and jealous.   Vex says, “Whatever it is, spit it out. I won’t be offended.”   “How can you do it?” Keyleth asks, being given permission. “You just - hopped on a plane the second he needed you and - gave yourself over to him. Like, wholeheartedly. You didn’t even really know what was wrong, or what to expect, and you did it anyway. Why?”   She can’t wrap her head around it, stumbling over the building blocks, all the roads and bridges; she wants to say she’s that kind of person, too, but she also wants to know every facet of it, every secret and hidden piece.   Vex smiles sadly at her. “I think you know exactly why.”   Love is suddenly sitting in the room with them, spread out across the bed, lounging in all the chairs, filling up the sink. Vex starts, “It might be careless to you.”   “It is,” Keyleth says, “but that doesn’t mean anything.”   “People who are going to hurt you will hurt you regardless of the walls you build,” Vex says gently.   “So you shouldn’t even try?”   “I knew there was a possibility I’d end up hurt today,” Vex says. “And I was. But not by anything Percy did - by things I couldn’t protect him from.” She absentmindedly strokes his hair while she speaks. “It’s impossible to protect yourself from everything, Keyleth, but aren’t there people you hold dear who you want to protect? People who you want to keep safe, and you’d do so, without a second thought to yourself?”   “Of course.” Her eyes fall to Percy, breathing steadily, and her heart wanders to Vax. Of course she wants to keep him safe, wants him to stop torturing himself, gathering up burdens like toys.   “So doesn’t it then hold that there are people who want the same for you?” Vex says. “Percy and I - we’re fighting to protect each other, but for us, it sometimes means protecting each other from ourselves.” She hesitates before continuing. “You, on the other hand, aren’t trying to protect yourself as much as you’re simply...afraid, I think.”   “Afraid of what?”   “Losing someone,” Vex says. “You’re afraid that if you have Vax, you can also not have him, and you’re trying to convince yourself it isn’t worth it.”   “No, I--” Keyleth interrupts, and stalls, wringing her hands together. “It is worth it, but I guess - yeah, I am afraid of...knowing what it’s like to not be alone, and then have to be alone again.” She gestures to Percy, still sound asleep. “I get it with you, Vex. Like, I get the two of you have this - this deeper understanding. But Vax is...the kind of guy who runs blindly into burning buildings without even knowing if anyone is inside to save. And me - I’ll save people but I won’t die for nothing.” She grimaces. “Sorry, I know that was convoluted, I’m not the best with metaphors--”   “No, I think I understand,” Vex says, but lowers her voice notably when Percy shifts his head. “You’re afraid you’re going to lose him to - what, his own spontaneous, self-sacrificial nature? That he’ll take something on too big for him, or...”   “Something like that,” Keyleth concedes. “I feel like Vax is always - searching for the next thing to punish himself for.”   “So give him somewhere new to go,” Vex says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You don’t want him running into fire - fine. Let him run to you instead.” Keyleth frowns at the advice, because it seems like addressing part of the problem and not the whole thing. Vex continues, “He’s learning to stand up for what’s important to him, and you’ll be first on that list if you give him the chance. Keyleth, he’s devoted to you.”   “I know,” Keyleth says, because she does. “I know.”   “You’re afraid,” Vex repeats, softer. “Reasons look a lot like excuses when you whittle them down.”   “So are you,” Keyleth says, “or you would’ve told Percy already. And maybe that’s fine. Maybe it’s okay to be afraid as long as you don’t intend to let it stop you.”   “Maybe,” Vex agrees. “Do you intend to let it stop you?”   “No,” Keyleth decides. “Do you?”   “No,” she says, voice quieting, looking down at the boy in her arms. “No, I don’t.”   Keyleth rests a hand on the door frame, smiling, eyes averted away. “Good luck,” she says as she backs out of the room. “To both of us.”   --   (Keyleth leaves and the apartment is once again silent, no television hum, no running fan.   So are you. Vex hears Keyleth’s accusation like she’s still standing there, shouting it at her. Or you would’ve told him.   It isn’t that simple, she wants to say, but there’s no one left to argue with. It isn’t, it isn’t, it isn’t.   It is.   Percy has an arm slung across her waist, and his face is peaceful, dreamless. Nobody has ever seen him this exposed, vulnerable by his own choice, and he has let her in as if there were never even a lock. She touches her lips to the crown of his head.   “I should’ve told you,” she murmurs into his hair. “It’s yours.”)   --   Keyleth calls him as she slides back into the car, and Vax answers on the second ring. “Hey.”   “Hey. I saw them both,” she tells him. “They’re fine. She’ll text you soon.”   He sighs in relief. “Oh, good. Thanks, Kiki.”   “No problem,” she says, and works a fingernail in between her teeth, caught up in thought; Vex had given her a lot to contemplate. She can’t get the image of them out of her mind, curled up together, damaged and hopeful and whole. She says, “I get what you meant, by the way. When you said maybe it was good it wasn’t me who got the call.”   “Yeah?”   “Yeah,” she says, gazing at the palm trees peppering the skyline outside her window, streets flying by. She presses the tips of her fingers against the glass.   “Why?”   It’s almost wrong to say, like a confession that isn’t hers. “Because she loves him,” she says.   Vax is quiet for a moment. “I know.”   “That means something, doesn’t it.”   It’s not really a question, but he answers anyway. “Yeah,” he says wistfully. “It does.”   --   When Percy drowsily stirs from sleep, he’s disoriented and sluggish and not quite sure where he is, but he’s pressed up against something warm and alive, breathing slowly.   He blinks his eyes open into a mess of dark hair and the dim glow of a phone screen; painted blue nails tap out a message just above his shoulder, and then a hand drops, stroking up and down his arm as if it’s out of habit.   It doesn’t hit him all at once - it passes over him slowly, like waves that foam at the tip and never quite crash. Vex. Vex hovering over him, holding him. Vex leading him to bed. He becomes acutely aware of his left arm, tucked between their bodies, hand laying against her bare thigh. Vex’s face, getting closer and closer--   He sighs against her collarbone, and she stills, setting her phone down. She whispers, “Percy?”   “Mm,” is all he can make out, groggily trying to pull himself out of it. He lifts his head carefully, and with a groan, immediately drops it onto his pillow and off of her shoulder, sliding onto his back.   She mirrors him by rolling onto her side, one hand on his chest, eyes tracing his face. “Are you - awake?” she tries again. “Are you alright?”   “Yes,” he says, and after a period of stillness, reaches blindly for his glasses sitting on the nightstand, almost knocking over the water in the process. “Just...out of sorts.”   She’s silent as he lifts himself up, angling his back against the headboard. He takes a moment to blink against the sudden clarity of his vision, shaking his head lightly, like it’s full of loose parts, metal rattling around. He grips the glass of water and she tracks his movements sharply, the bob of his throat as he drinks, his muscles flexing.   He won’t keep her waiting any longer, no matter the oppression of his lethargy. He says, “I owe you an explanation,” setting the glass back down.   “Alright,” she says, put a little more at ease after hearing him speak.   “I had a - panic attack,” he says tentatively. “It was...the worst I’ve had, I think, ever. And I couldn’t remember...if I’d taken my medication. So I kept taking it without realizing. I couldn’t - I couldn’t see, I couldn’t think, I couldn’t hear.” He clears his throat, sparing her a short glance and down. “I wasn’t trying to--”   “I know,” Vex interrupts so he doesn’t have to say it. “I - had the thought, briefly, but I somewhat figured it out.”   “I’m sorry,” he tells her plainly, spreading his fingers, palms facing up and then contorting into fists.   “You don’t have to apologize,” she says, but she sits up and she’s close again, almost against his side, and he thinks of how he almost destroyed them both.   “No, I do,” he says, and reaches up, taking her chin in his hand gently. It’s not the time for shame. “I shouldn’t have tried to...kiss you. You did the right thing.”   Her teeth tug on her bottom lip, and she exhales in breath shorter than it should be. She says unsteadily, “I almost let you.”   “I know,” he answers softly, and his hand drifts to her hair, wrapping a curl around his fingers.   She releases her bottom lip and it’s red, slightly swollen. She looks at him from under her eyelashes, and he suddenly is hit with what she’s implicating. She says, “Percy, I was so close. I almost - I almost ruined this with you.”   “But you didn’t,” he says, and senses the need for weightlessness. “And thus, I’m here, awake and coherent and perfectly capable of stopping you from jumping me, should your unhealthy method of handling stress rear its head again.”   At that, she finally laughs, angling her neck and resting her cheek against the palm of his hand. “Well, in that case…” she trails off dryly. Her eyes are shining and her heart is still frantic, fluttering. “Now I’m convinced you’re feeling a bit better.”   He observes her casually for a moment, as if from a great distance, finding the cracks. “Do you want to talk about it?”   “This isn’t about me,” she says.   “It can be about us both,” he says. “I’ve had my time. Please, distract me.”   She pulls the sheet back up over his hips, aware of how little she’s wearing, and hunches over her knees. Her hair flows down her spine, against her shoulders, curling and wild. She starts slowly, “I haven’t actually - acted on it as much as it seems like I have. I don’t just...fuck people. But for awhile after - after Syldor - I’d seek it out, you know, the detachment, the roughness. I didn’t know how to...feel anything else. And I’d remember that I was real and that I was - desireable, I guess.” She’s leaning closer to him without realizing it, drawing comfort and stability from his presence. “But with you...it’s different. I won’t say I don’t want you to want me, because I do, but when I look at you--” she breaks off suddenly, her thought losing its way. She struggles momentarily and says, “I want you to be real.” There’s a long pause populated by only the two of them staring at each other. “And I want to know that - there’s a difference between using someone, and someone...caring about you.”   He watches her with eyes that never judge and a body that simply listens; he doesn’t ask for more than she’s giving, and he doesn’t pull her closer. He merely strokes her cheekbone with the pad of his thumb, and then says, “Thank you for telling me.”   “I want you to know everything about me,” she echoes, aching for reasons she can’t comprehend.   “I want you,” he says bluntly. “I didn’t - return the sentiment before, but I do, Vex. How could I not?” He brushes over her bottom lip, still red, like it’s beckoning him. “But more than that, I don’t want to hurt you. And I want to be the person who shows you the difference between - being used, and something with - real emotion as the motivation.”   Vex smiles, genuine and quiet, something reserved for only him to see, and says, “As long as we’re on the same page.”   “We are,” he says. “And as for me - I’ll tell you the rest when I’m ready. When I know how I feel about - her - and why I feel it, you’ll be the first person I’ll come to. Or second, depending on when I meet with my therapist.”   “I’m flattered,” she teases without malice.   “First, then,” he replies decisively, kidding. “After all, she probably didn’t even bother to call. You flew across state lines. There’s a clear winner.”   “Charming.” She rolls her eyes at the bravado, and then, sensing the need for distance - not from each other, but from their problems - she says, “Well, it’s almost six and I’m famished.” She gathers her hair at the nape of her neck and ties it into a sloppy bun. “Thai alright with you?”   She slips out of bed, facing away from him, and she can almost feel his gaze fall to her ass. She turns and smirks over her shoulder at him, and he flushes, unable to avert his eyes in time.   He says, “Erm.”   “What,” she says, “never seen an attractive woman in her underwear before, Percival?”   “Not that I can ever remember,” he says stupidly, like he’s just letting whatever words he has stockpiled in his mouth fall out of it.   “Well, I wouldn’t want to be a distraction,” she says nonchalantly, and opens his first drawer, remembering where his clothes are organized from her earlier search. They’re mostly boxer briefs, but she finds a navy pair of boxes with white dots on them and slips them on, rolling them over her hips. “Do you have a normal delivery place, or should I Google it?”   He’s speechless for a solid thirty seconds - she’s left the room entirely and is standing in the kitchen with her phone when he finally appears from the hallway behind her.   “Good God, woman,” he says, shaking his head. “I guess it’s true what they say about rock stars.”   “I’d suppose similar things are said about movie stars,” she shoots back, grinning, and even though they’re both exhausted, emotionally drained and bodies bruised instead of broken, the world feels conquerable.   --   Percival @PercivaldeRolo · 36m Like Real People Do - Hozier https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yrleydRwWms   aya @suntree · 25m um _______________________________________ Percival @PercivaldeRolo Like Real People Do - Hozier https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yrleydRwWms   vex’ildan Retweeted Percival @PercivaldeRolo · 48m Like Real People Do - Hozier https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yrleydRwWms   aya @suntree · 7m Replying to @imvexthatsvax @PercivaldeRolo UM   --   (She’s leaning on her elbows against his kitchen island, one foot kicked over her other ankle, scrolling through her phone. She’s since put on his sweater while waiting for their food to be delivered, and as he approaches from the hallway, freshly showered and fully clothed, he hears the song he’d tweeted playing through her speakers.   She doesn’t hear him coming, but straightens her spine, adjusting her weight between feet. He steps up behind her, chest pressed against her back, and places his hands flat against the marble, arms on either side of her body. She starts slightly, arching her neck, and he realizes just how much taller he is, how easily he envelopes this lithe woman in front of him. He thinks about being somebody bigger, not in size but in spirit, in heart. Somebody who can keep her safe.   He doesn’t speak for a moment, letting her settle comfortably into him. Finally, he lowers his lips to the shell of her ear and murmurs, “Thank you.”   She rests the back of her head against his shoulder and the music plays on.)

[bubble-tea-bunny]

passing through

[fp jones x reader]

author’s note: took my med hum midterm today. i think it went pretty well. been wanting to write for fp for a while but held off all writing until after this midterm, so i could focus on studying. i would like to continue writing for him, and maybe even fred idk.

word count: 1,361

Forsythe Pendleton Jones II knows practically every face in this town.

Riverdale isn’t large to begin with, nor is it exactly the perfect “tourist destination.” The closest thing considered to be an attraction here is the Twilight Drive-in, now a novelty of times long gone, a projector showing black and white flicks against a black night sky with white hot stars dotting the expanse. But it’s hardly something that merits making Riverdale central to travel plans. If anything, this place is just a pit stop, a place to pass through on the way to bigger and better destinations. It’s a town that’s easy to forget. But small as it is, it does well enough on its own. Everybody knows everybody, it seems like. At the very least, faces are familiar.

So the day he spots you through the chok’lit shoppe window, sat on a stool at the bar by yourself looking through the menu, he knows you’re not from around here. He gathers that from a combination of the fact he’s never seen you before and the fact you’re actually using a menu. No one here uses one. They’re all locals and they all already know what they like.

The jingling of the bell as FP walks in doesn’t grab your attention. You don’t look up at all until he’s neared you, and you only do because you assume it’s the waitress having come to take your order. When you notice that it is not, in fact, a nice lady in a diner uniform but rather a gruff man in a leather jacket, you start turning your attention back to the menu. Your reading about the burger that’s been labeled a fan favorite is promptly staggered when the man takes the seat right next to you. It wouldn’t be odd if not for the fact you’d been the only one seated at the bar until he arrived. But it’s not like you can control where people sit, so you leave him be.

“The strawberry milkshake is Pop’s most popular drink,” the man starts.

You glance up at him. He’s staring down at the menu you laid out on the counter, but then his gaze slides up to meet yours. His hair is dark but his eyes are darker and you almost swear they’re hypnotizing. “Do you speak from experience?” you ask.

He shrugs. “I’ve had it myself once or twice. All those calories are no good for me.” He puts a hand on his stomach and pretends to grimace in mock sickness, which pulls a chuckle from you.

“Well i think I’ll give it a try then.” You smile, assuming that to be the end of the conversation. And it is, for the time being, as the waitress comes over to take your order—you get the strawberry milkshake, and just that for now. You’re not really hungry, but you did need to take a break from driving.

“You’re not from around here,” the man continues. It’s a statement, not a question.

You shake your head. “just passing through.”

“Same goes for a lot of the unfamiliar faces we get in Riverdale. Where were you headed?”

“North. I’m visiting my brother for the weekend. So a lot of people come through here?”

“Plenty. Just a rest stop, this town.”

“If the milkshake is as good as you say, maybe I’ll stop by again on my way home.”

He smiles. “I’m FP,” he introduces himself, holding out his hand.

You tell him your name just as you shake his hand. His skin is rough in comparison to yours and the firmness of his grip takes you slightly off guard. “Is FP short for something?”

“It is, but it’s long and unimportant. Most everyone knows me as FP. I don’t think half of them even know what it stands for.”

This earns him a laugh from you just as the waitress sets down your milkshake. You thank her and slide it closer to you, positioning the red bendy straw so you can bring it to your lips. You take a cautionary sip, testing it out, and it feels like pure sugar sitting on your tongue. You love it.

“Well?” FP inquires, raising a brow.

“It’s perfect,” you respond, pausing a moment to take another sip. “I think i’ll definitely stop by here again on my way home.”

“Pop’s never disappoints,” FP states matter-of-factly, as though it is a saying all Riverdale natives know and abide by. Which in all likelihood they might.

“Were you going to get anything?” you ask, suddenly embarrassed that your blabbering had potentially kept him from placing his own order.

“No. To be honest, I just came in here because I saw you. I like to talk to the people passing through Riverdale.”

“You like to hear their stories?”

“Exactly. Offers a source of excitement. Riverdale is… lacking, in that regard.” FP’s eyes go downcast to the way your plush pink lips are puckered and enclosed around the straw as you sip your way through your milkshake. he focuses on the shifting of your throat muscles as you swallow, concentrates on the visible movement of the sugary drink as it travels down the smooth column.

FP isn’t trying to be subtle with the way he’s staring, so you notice it right away. You stop drinking and sit up straighter. “Well,” you start, “I’m afraid you won’t get anything like that from me. I work at a bookstore back home making minimum wage and I’m driving to visit my brother because it’s cheaper than catching a flight.” You shrug, as if to say that’s it.

“C’mon, there’s gotta be something more,” FP presses. “Adventurous, maybe? I mean, you tried a milkshake based on the recommendation of some old man,” he teases.

“I guess I did, yeah,” you agree with a laugh.

FP also chuckles. “Well if you’ve got a few hours to spare I could show you some of the small bits of excitement this town’s got.”

“What happened to Riverdale lacking excitement?”

FP shrugs. “I never said it didn’t have any at all.” His smile is teasing and secretive and it matches his eyes. You double down on your claim that he possesses an air of hypnosis, for you can’t find yourself saying no, nor do you really want to.

Suddenly the deliciousness of the milkshake is the least interesting thing on your mind. “Okay.”

And that’s how you find yourself hooking up in the backseat of your car with a man whose full name you don’t even know—but you don’t discredit yourself too much for that one, because he did say not many people in general know it either, and a nickname is better than no name. But that’s besides the point.

What is the point is that FP’s lips are at the column of your throat, tongue tracing the path your milkshake took on its way to your stomach. Your breath catches when he goes down, past that notch at the base of your neck and down to the edge of your v-neck, and only when the cloth blocks his trail does he stop to push your shirt up, taking your bra with it.

He smells like leather and cigarette smoke and when you curl your fingers into the material of his jacket, your nails harshly dig into the image of a green snake. You know there are words framed around it but it’s upside down for you and you don’t have the mental capacity to focus on deciphering what it says. Instead your eyes slide closed as you focus on the feeling of FP’s lips and hands on your body.

The Twilight Drive-in is basically deserted in the daytime. Right now there’s only the two of you in your blue car against a blue sky and the lace panties FP is carefully sliding down the length of your legs is blue as well. With a hazy mind you decide that you’ll definitely be passing through Riverdale on your way home, and not just for the strawberry milkshake at the chok’lit shoppe.

FP was right. Riverdale has its share of excitement.

[mychristopherstokes66world]

https://cnn.it/2Itd2mY And this comes one week after Trump was briefed on ufos (as he claimed in NBC interview on sunday). >Tucker suddenly talking about ufos >Wolf Blitzer suddenly talking about ufos >Jake Tapper suddenly talking about ufos the fuck is going on here???????? you know how hollywood is out of fresh new ideas and rehashes old movies to increasingly anoyed audiences? well the government is doing the same, rehashing old distractions to distract the masses. what i dont know yet is what they are trying to distract us from ((They))) know what is going to happen. This is why they are forced to push their UFO narrative. The Script was never made to play out in such a short time. This is why it looks so odd. Out of place. They are forced to get the UFO narrative over, to a point where they can start Blue Beans. What is forcing them? What is going to happen soon? soon pain? 4th july Blackout? 10 days? june 23? coincendent? think about  sudden false flag sudden push to ww3 sudden pizzagate back at the table -yet no new news in there -video about the lie detector is from 2018 sudden ayy image threads all over the board sudden slide threads everywhere sudden bob lazar sudden tic tac ufo what is going on that they need so much derail? what is going to happen? soon? think about it Dont ask me how I know this but this capeshit culture and “ayylmaos” invading jewyork etc in hollyshit flicks are just tier 1 level conditioning. In phase 2 the U.S will be perfecting their “mothership” trials capable of launching ALCM nukes In phase 3 the U.S will set them off on countries for depopulation and declare their own manufactured falseflag as “alien attack” The great thing about this is that nobody would doubt them because zoomers and millenials are already programmed to react to alien invasions on the big screen. Instead of being shocked to oblivion it’ll be “as seen on tv” moment for them As their open-onions-mouth pose lingers till they are nuclear dust https://thedevilman666.blogspot.com/https://www.facebook.com/groups/qanonreports https://twitter.com/CIACLOWN1 https://www.bitchute.com/channel/ciaclown16661/

Look who is pushing the UFO narrative they are all clinton dogs why are only those people pushing for it? Do they want to keep their hands on ayys? Do they think Trump has something? Do they know? Do they fear he is gettnig there first? When will he make his move? How much time is left for the left ufo society? 23? 4? run rabbit run enjoy the show pain is coming There’s the declassification Multiple investigations in Clinton enterprises. Inspector general shit gonna drop. NXVIUM (or whatever the fuck) Look at all the weird weird shit too Merkel literally shaking Obama visiting Italy Tides turning, so deep state is pulling out all the stops they can. Shits actually pretty pathetic. ive been doing some listening to videos on MK Ultra and its starting to make a little sense. >emotionlessly sets himself on fire >some random local government employee snaps and shoots people im not saying people don't lose it, but this event specifically kinda makes me wonder  I've seen some shit that would make the matrix movies seem like a nice walk in the park. Imagine what people 2000 years ago knew... multiply that by 3 times by what people know nowadays. That's the future I have seen. All I can tell you.... it's very organic. You need not worry. Well, some people will die but the majority will be really well off.  I've seen some shit that would make the matrix movies seem like a nice walk in the park. Imagine what people 2000 years ago knew... multiply that by 3 times by what people know nowadays. That's the future I have seen. All I can tell you.... it's very organic. You need not worry. Well, some people will die but the majority will be really well off.

 >>Tucker suddenly talking about ufos >>Wolf Blitzer suddenly talking about ufos >>Jake Tapper suddenly talking about ufos Time to bury REAL news

Iran is going to be a combat exercise to demonstrate true next generation military aircraft to Russia and China without giving them controlled combat data. They are currently massaging public opinion on UFOs for the same reason fusion reactors are gradually being introduced as a difficult thing to build. There is a good chance that the technology is relatively simple in the current technological landscape and potentially volatile on a nuclear scale.

>nukes on countries We got ebola transmitted through the air. We got holograms in the sky. We can transmit noises/voices directly into the skull. Why wouldn't we convince the whole lot of them to kill each other (even faster)? Lockheed has already built a mini tokamak that fits in the bed of a truck and can power a small City. https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lockheed_Martin_Compact_Fusion_Reactor the message of these sightings is that the Navy doesn't want to investigate it's unclear if the Navy lacks the technology to shoot these motherfuckers out of the sky or lacks the will to shoot them down the point is that ANY rival nation could be operating the UFOs, possibly Russia, possibly Israel, and it doesn't have to be a rival nation, it could be an ALLY that is doing this, like the UK if it is an ally, then you can see what an important thing it is to shoot them out of the sky, reveal the traitor, and break the will of the traitor to fly these fuckers at us anything that takes time away from other operations is a waste of taxpayer/public funds it's basically a leaky boat if you're just complaining about UFOs all day long, then you're taking taxpayer funds and pointing at the sky and drooling it's fucking pointless, and you look like a dork people are going to lose respect for the USA You live on a planet in the very center of the entire observable and measurable universe. The.exact.center. >Axis of Evil >CMB >coincidence You are a fractal microcosm of the macrocosmic universal consciousness. You are too stupid to understand what this means. The same energy that created everything in existence, GOD in the original form as consciously aware energy, exists within you as it is you. You are a God within THE GOD, albeit throttled because you have proven yourself incapable of becoming consciously aware of your own subconscious creative power. >prove aliens dont exist If aliens do exist... it is because you are so fucking stupid and lost that your subconscious has to create a retard dimension where you learn mind creates reality in totality. >very few will understand this The Universe literally revolves around you

What's incredible is that the Gimbal UFO video, which we know now was in 2015 off the East coast of the US, does exactly what Lazar describes - rotates to turn onto the "bottom" of the saucer. As time goes on, Lazar is being vindicated.

>Does anyone actually believe this guy? I think he was taken for a ride on his occasional visits to a theoretical research facility he was more or less consulting at should be taken in consideration. They did test saucer like things that turned into hovercraft once. Pic related. It was for the navy. Maybe the were researching better ways to do it and had lots of jokes on past projects. He didn't seem to be a full member. Yeah, that makes sense. But the stuff lazar predicted and filmed was weird. This suggests that on those test nights, the military was testing shit unlike anything ever seen. Doesn’t necessarily mean ayys, but it does show that bob had knowledge of the government having very advanced stuff and he also knew when they were testing it. Showing his buds is what got him fired. deep state trying to save themselves. Iran didnt work, now they're trying for UFOs. It wont work either, but rats are most dangerous when they're cornered. I've seen UFO's in my time in the military, but somethings off on this, I ain't buying it. All you need to know is the guys "disclosing" ufos are podestas buddys, elizondo literally said he was told by higger ups theyre demons, greer is affiliated with these guys. Greer literally preaches meditating and prayer to summon lights in sky. Ayyyes are real but this isnt ayes boys theyre trying to convince us their dmt demon buds are the ayes come to save us. All you need to know is the guys "disclosing" ufos are podestas buddys, elizondo literally said he was told by higger ups theyre demons, greer is affiliated with these guys. Greer literally preaches meditating and prayer to summon lights in sky. Ayyyes are real but this isnt ayes boys theyre trying to convince us their dmt demon buds are the ayes come to save us. Dont believe them anons hold steadfast pol has and always will be a Christian board !!! Americans used to fly F-117s into their bases in the UK, before it was even known that they existed, they'd fly them in at night, with no lights on, and go straight into a hangar, from an unlit runway theres probably loads of secret aerospace projects that'll be common knowledge in 20 years, but by todays standards it seems like whacko-tech that's been going on for years though. The amount of media coverage on UFO's seems to be one of two things: 1) They are attempting to distract from the Deep State losing the covert war against the United States and the recent happenings with Iran seem to correlate with this. or 2) The lying mainstream media is grasping at straws in attempts to attract more viewers. It could be a combo of both, but I'm leaning more towards option 1 being the NIXVM degenerate sex cult is being busted wide open and (not to sound like a Qtard) but I'm beginning to believe we might at last see Justice. It's ALL a complete diversion. (((They))) don't want the public to see or know something. My guess is the NXIVM cult, its ties to pizzagate, hollywood, government, Clinton Global Initiative, etc. Remember Anthony Wiener's laptop that got seized in Oct of 2016? That laptop is now legal evidence in the NXIVM trial. What if this just means the US finally has craft capable of complete air superiority and wants to test them in the real world without risk of subversion by our enemies? If one were to go down or be shot down by Russia or China or something they could reverse engineer, but if they test the craft against the US Navy there is no risk if one is captured. What if they're just using aliens as cover for the fact that the US is close to complete air superiority. Once these craft have been field tested and verified, which one can imagine would take a long time, they'll be ready for primetime. The US could then seize control of any asset it desires totally uncontested. According to Werner Von Braun, the plan to weaponize space always revolved around providing more and more dangers that would require escalated military strategy and orbital placements for espionage/communications and then weapons. 1. Communism 2. Terrorism 3. Rogue nations 4. Meteors 5. UFOs STARLINK is checkmate for the government that controls it. 24 hour real time monitoring likely managed by AIs of every inch of the earth with the ability to run facial recognition on people and read text written on a notepad from orbit. Directed weapons anywhere on the planet in seconds of response time Weather control Various forms of population suppression methods The aether is real, you were lied to in physics class, the US government has had earthquake machines, electromagnetic weather control, death rays that can melt an engine block from hundreds of miles away and antigravity since the 1940s when they confiscated everything Tesla owned when he died. I am tired of spoonfeeding you lazy fuckers. >And the FBI released it? Not DARPA or the pentagon or whatever? It was a Freedom of Information Act request, all they admitted was that they were interested in his work after he stopped working at Westinghouse, that they collected all newspaper articles they could find describing his work, a few descriptions and that they confiscated everything he owned when he died. Official finding was that nothing was of practical value and all of it was classified and remains so. I started looking into Tesla's lectures and notes after that, I have a few pages of copypasta I have made talking about this stuff, but it is too much effort to get through the captchas and post it in every thread, I already dropped the basics in the redpills thread (which 404d and isn't in the archives despite hitting over 330 posts) earlier this evening and I have no intention of bothering again tonight. Newfrens need to stop filling the board with idiotic garbage, understand that the shills are real, know that important information is drowned out intentionally, learn that really important topics are deleted on sight and most importantly LURK MORE. "On Light and Other High Frequency Phenomena" "On The Problem of Increasing Human Energy" He was taken to a room and shown. Documents....allowed to read them all etc. CIA purposely disinforms people working on SAPS. They let everyone individually read the "secret files" with each copy having variations unique to each person. This is how you find out who is sharing classified information. He was given a bs story on its origin and tasked with reverse engineering it...essentially seeing if/how long it takes a civilian scientist to unravel your exotic technology using observation. Then you have a cost/threat assessment on the consequences of crashing your shit in the Soviet Union for example. How long would it take for a foreign adversary to have a working prototype were this to fall into the wrong hands

https://www.metabunk.org/debunking-bob-lazars-drawing-of-s-4-hangers.t9839/ Check this out everyone. Quite a hole in Bob Lazar's claim in seeing 9 craft one day. https://www.ufosightingsdaily.com/2019/06/bob-lazar-and-george-knapp-did-rare.html?m=1 bob was not very nice to our guy tesla Because the glowniggers refuse to acknowledge their real sources, which come from two places 1. From God fearing scientists their predecessors robbed and/or murdered Nikola Tesla Wilhelm Reich Viktor Schauberger Many many others, those are the ones worth reading first in no particular order. 2. From aliens, which are demons, sometimes they channel or remote view, sometimes they interact with their physical offspring, the Nephilim, which are all 100% evil and hostile to both God and men. >is it talkin about him talkin to aliens agen? That part of Tesla's work is vastly overblown and intentionally misrepresented. Some of Tesla's later devices picked up signals that Tesla claimed were clearly of intelligent origin, he tried to decipher them and what they were saying spooked him enough to not bring the subject up again or use such machines. Our science would probably call what he was doing entanglement, which is a product of local geometry, certain geometries entangle things with malevolent spirits that our ancestors would rightly call demons, but the more correct term is Watchers and the book of Enoch describes their last time interacting with the earth before they were sealed away

Bob is full of shit.

He's went to a different college to his claims of MIT and Caltech records his records and other students remember him being at

>Pierce College

>California State University 

He's a disinfo agent. 

The FBI have been sent on a fool's errand by top brass in the Pentagon.

He's a disinfo agent. 

The FBI have been sent on a fool's errand by top brass in the Pentagon.

Caller:

Can you list your credentials?

Lazar:

As far as what?

Caller:

Schooling, degrees.

Lazar:

I have two masters degrees; one’s in physics; one’s in electronics. I wrote my thesis on MHD, which is magnetohydrodynamics.

I worked at Los Alamos for a few years as a technician and then as a physicist in the Polarized Proton Section, dealing with the accelerator there.

I was hired at S-4 as a senior staff physicist to work on gravitational propulsion systems and whatnot associated with those crafts.

Caller:

What school did you go to?

Lazar:

I’d rather not say, the reason being I am currently working with them under contract, and I’m having enough trouble with this as it is.

>From “Alien Contact”, by Timothy Good, in a March 1990 interview:

“Bob told me that he had attended Pierce Junior College, California, then the California Institute of Technology (Cal Tech), and the California State University at Northridge. A period of employment by Fairchild was followed by a return to Cal Tech. He claims to have obtained master’s degrees in physics (his thesis: Magnetohydrodynamics) from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT) and in electronics from Cal Tech. To date, no evidence for these degrees has been forthcoming. Although physicist Stanton Friedman has been able to verify that Lazar did indeed attend both Pierce Junior College and California State University, he drew a blank at MIT. ‘There’s no trace of him at MIT and no record of him having attended any course. Maybe he took a lot of courses but didn’t get a degree – that’s a possibility'”.

(Note of correction from TM: In personal correspondence, Stanton Friedman informed me that Good’s statement about Friedman’s verifications was in error. The only school Friedman was able to find evidence of Lazar’s attendance at was Pierce College. Friedman stated to me he drew a blank on Lazar at Cal State Northridge.)

>From the Pre-Sentence Report, dated 7/27/90, for Lazar’s pandering conviction. This was as related by Lazar to the Parole/Probation officer preparing the report:

8-76, high school graduate, Westbury, New York (verified)

1978, Bachelor of Science Degree in Physics and Electronic Technology, Pacifica University (correspondence university).

1982, Masters of Science in Physics, MIT, Cambridge, Massachusetts.

1985, Masters of Science in Electronic Technology, Cal Tech, California.

>From the “Ultimate UFO Seminar” at Rachel, Nevada, May 1, 1993:

Question:

Bob, could you tell us about your education? I’ve heard a lot of conflicting things; I’d like to hear from you.

Lazar:

That varies widely. As far as electronic technology, my degree there is from CalTech and physics is from MIT.

Question:

Did you go to Pierce College?

Lazar:

Yeah, I did. Where did you hear that?

Question:

A friend that said something, somebody I don’t even know. I just thought, it’s something I want to ask, to clear my mind.

Lazar:

Yeah, I went to Pierce and Northridge and then…I’m terrible at dates. I don’t know what date I was at Pierce, probably like in seventy-six or something, I was at Pierce and then seventy-seven or eight I went to Northridge just for a short time for some classes, then I was at CalTech, and MIT after that.

Later…

Question:

What was the year of your graduation from MIT, and did you get a Ph.D.?

Lazar:

No, it was a Masters Degree. The year. What was the year of graduation? Probably 82.

On the “Lark and Craig Morning Show” KOMP 92.3 FM, November 1994

Craig:

Well, you’re a smart guy. Where did you go to school? How many degrees do you have?

Lazar:

Two degrees.

Craig:

In what?

Lazar:

Physics and Electronic Technology.

Craig:

So what is that? A Ph.D.? What is that?

Lazar:

No, they’re Masters degrees.

Craig:

Masters degrees.

Lark:

Wow!

To summarize Lazar’s academic claims on the basis of his public statements he received the following:

A Bachelors Degree in Physics and Electronic Technology from Pacifica University in 1978.

A Masters Degree in Physics from MIT (Thesis: Magnetohydrodynamics) in 1982.

A Masters Degree in either Electronics or Electronic Technology from CalTech in 1985.

Note that there is a reasonable amount of consistency to his story over its various tellings. However, at Lazar’s Rachel talk he said he went to CalTech, then MIT.

Analysis:

There is a lot of data to cover, so for a first pass through, let us just look at where Lazar was at various points in time, and consider the possibilities of his attendance at the various schools he’s claimed.

Lazar graduated from high school in August of 1976 on Long Island, New York. Following that, the Lazar family moved to California, purchasing a home in the San Fernando Valley in June of 1977. It’s reasonable to assume that they had rented something in the area prior to purchasing the house, so that would have put Lazar in the area by late 1976 or early 1977.

Lazar has claimed to have attended Pierce College, a 2 year community college, in 1976. His attendance at this college, although not the precise time period, has been verified by Stanton Friedman. Lazar’s attendance at Pierce is quite likely given that he would have lived fairly close at that point in time.

Also in this general period, Lazar claimed to have attended Cal State Northridge “…just for a short time for some classes..”. This is possible and wouldn’t conflict with his general whereabouts.

The next time we can pin down Lazar’s whereabouts was on July 27, 1980 when he married his first wife Carol. According to the marriage certificate he was living in Canoga Park and he listed his occupation as “Electronics Engineer”. Curiously, he also listed his highest grade of schooling completed as 12. His location is consistent with statements he has made about working for Fairchild Industries, which was located in the San Fernando Valley.

Moving into the future, Lazar again surfaces 2 years later in the famous “Los Alamos Monitor” Jet Car story on June 27, 1982. The paper said the Lazars had moved to Los Alamos “…about a month ago from California.” >From other statements in the article, it’s apparent the Lazars had been in California for some time and that he had just started work at LANL.

Yet this is the year Lazar claimed, on at least two occasions, to have received a Masters degree from MIT. However there is no evidence whatsoever that Lazar was anywhere other than California or Los Alamos during this time. Indeed, there is no evidence in ANY of the numerous public records concerning Lazar that he had ever been in or around Cambridge Massachusetts.

When Lazar filed for bankruptcy in July of 1986, the information he was required to provide gives a snapshot of his whereabouts and activities in the years immediately prior to his filing. Is there anything in this mass of data that could even remotely allow for Lazar to spend a year at CalTech, obtaining his Masters degree, as he has claimed, in 1985?

Well, in it he states that the only places he’s lived in the previous 6 years were 2 addresses in Los Alamos (Note that this is already incorrect since he didn’t arrive in Los Alamos until mid-1982). He also states that his occupation for the previous 6 years was as a photo processor at his residence. Oddly, Los Alamos employment was not mentioned.

It also shows that he was very active in the Los Alamos area in 1985, borrowing heavily, apparently in part to support his photo processing business. For example, the records show that in March, 1985 he borrowed $12,000 to upgrade his business’s film printers. Other purchases in 1985 included a Corvette for $19,000, a number of personal loans, and finally a house in Las Vegas in June of 1985.

If we are to believe “Omni” magazine (and I’ll leave that to the reader’s discretion), in 1985 Lazar was on vacation in Nevada and bought into a legal brothel near Reno.

Again, the records clearly show that in 1985, and the few prior years, Lazar was either at Los Alamos or occasionally Las Vegas. There is not the slightest hint that he may have been working away at a Masters degree in Pasadena at CalTech.

Now that we have an idea of where and when Lazar was, let’s take a more detailed look at what information is available for each school.

W. TRESPER CLARKE HIGH SCHOOL, WESTBURY, LONG ISLAND, NEW YORK:  There doesn’t seem to be any debate that Lazar did indeed attend and graduate from this school. In correspondence with Stanton Friedman, he stated to me, “Re the High School. Bob was graduated in August, not June, 1976, strongly suggesting that he had to take a summer course to get enough credits. He ranked 261 out of 369 (bottom third). He did take Chemistry. I obtained this information myself first hand from the school. They will undoubtedly deny giving the class rank to me since that is privacy act protected…it is a long story.”

PACIFICA UNIVERSITY:  The statement in his Presentencing Report that he received a Bachelors degree from Pacifica, and labeled it a “correspondence university” is rather unique. I have seen a lot of statements made by Lazar concerning his education, but in none of them does he say where he received his undergraduate degree. It’s a subject he seldom mentions.

Unfortunately, Pacifica University has proven difficult to locate. A number of national college directories were consulted, including those listing vocational and correspondence schools. A few of the guides were “The College Blue Book”, “American Universities and Colleges” and “The McMillan Guide to Correspondence Study”. Nowhere was there a Pacifica University listed.

The State of California Department of Education’s Council for Private, Post-Secondary and Vocational Education was contacted. They regulate all vocational and correspondence schools within the state. They informed me that they had no listing for a Pacifica University within California, either now or in the past.

A search of statewide phone records, at least in California, did turn up a Pacifica Liquor Store, but as tempting an explanation as that might be, it probably has no relevancy. Assuming Lazar was enrolled in a correspondence school by the name of Pacifica University in the late 1970s, it would now appear to be out of business. Unless Lazar himself is forthcoming as to just where this establishment was, additional verification efforts are likely useless.

PIERCE COLLEGE:  Lazar’s attendance at this institution has been corroborated, although the extent of his attendance is not known. This was done some time ago by Stanton Friedman.

It was also done a second time by Friedman after Lazar spoke at Rachel, Nevada in May of 1993. When asked to name some of his professors at MIT and CalTech, Lazar responded with the name “Dr. Duxler” at CalTech. According to Glenn Campbell, the only Duxler listed in the 1993 “National Faculty Directory” was a William Duxler, Director of Computing for Pierce College.

According to personal correspondence, Friedman then contacted Duxler at Pierce, who was found to teach physics and math at Pierce. Duxler stated he never taught at Caltech. Further, Duxler checked his old records and told Friedman that Lazar took at least one of his classes in the late 1970s.

CALIFORNIA STATE UNIVERSITY AT NORTHRIDGE:  Some people looking into Lazar’s schooling at Cal State Northridge may have picked up a false positive due to an interesting coincidence. There WAS a Robert Lazar who attended Cal State Northridge and graduated with a Bachelor of Science degree in Business in 1978. However a review of the photo in the 1978 CSUN yearbook, the “Sunburst”, clearly shows this is not our beloved Lazar, but rather someone else.

As previously mentioned, Stanton Friedman stated that he checked with CSUN and found no evidence that Lazar had attended there. Timothy Good has apparently misstated that fact in his book “Alien Contact”.

MASSACHUSETTS INSTITUTE OF TECHNOLOGY:  Standard inquiries have been made by George Knapp and Stanton Friedman and turned up nothing. Friedman informed me that he took the additional step of checking with the alumni office and at least the 1982 commencement list.

Glenn Campbell visited MIT in 1993 and searched through a number of the printed student records there. The idea behind this particular effort was that while elimination of computer records could be within the realm of possibility, it is essentially inconceivable that some agency would have the capability to change printed records that had widespread distribution.

Lazar, or any obvious misspellings of his name, was not listed in any MIT student directory between 1978 and 1990. Other publications checked included the MIT faculty/staff telephone directories from 1978-1990, the MIT “Degree List” from 1979-1990, and the 1989 “MIT Alumni/ae Register”.

This exhaustive searching, coupled with the June 1982 Los Alamos “Monitor” story that puts Lazar in Los Alamos newly arrived from California, leads to the inevitable conclusion that Lazar did not attend MIT as he claims.

CALIFORNIA INSTITUTE OF TECHNOLOGY: Lazar has claimed, on different occasions, a Masters degree from CalTech in either electronics or electronic technology. Standard inquiries by Friedman and Knapp found no evidence of his attendance.

A recent visit by me with Natalie Gilmore of the CalTech Graduate Studies Department provided some important information. CalTech does not currently have, nor has it ever had any sort of graduate degree in “electronics” or “electronic technology”, or anything near those names. CalTech does offer a degree in Electrical Engineering.

Now if you have a friend or relative with an EE degree, you might, in conversation, refer to them as having a degree in “Electronics”, not realizing the distinction. However, if it is YOUR degree, it is highly unlikely after all the effort it required you would misstate what it was. People with advanced degrees, particularly in the science and engineering fields, are usually quite precise in the “pronunciation” of their degrees.

Assuming Lazar had a bachelors degree from an unaccredited school (The two year schooling period and correspondence status infer this), I asked Ms. Gilmore what the possibilities were for admittance into a Masters program at CalTech. She said it was possible, although extremely slim, due to the intense competition for admittance to CalTech. She also added that the Masters programs there are one year and require full time attendance.

However, Ms. Gilmore provided some additional data that actually support Lazar’s case, and in fairness should be mentioned. It seems that for most Masters programs at CalTech (including EE), a thesis is not required. Lazar has only claimed one thesis, in MHD, at MIT.

Furthermore, I had previously made a fairly exhaustive search through many years worth of the CalTech yearbook, “The Big T”, and was unable to turn up any trace of Lazar. However, Ms. Gilmore informed me that graduate students are usually not included in the publication. So it would seem that my efforts in this area, as reported in the timeline, are inconclusive.

However, the lack of on-campus evidence, coupled with his physical whereabouts still force the conclusion that Lazar never attended CalTech. His statement to the probation officer of a 1985 degree is particularly absurd in view of the activities he himself listed for 1985 in his bankruptcy papers.

After plowing through all this data, it is enough to satisfy me, personally, that Lazar never attended either CalTech or MIT. Of this I am certain of beyond a reasonable doubt.

How then do I explain the mystery of why Lazar clings so tenaciously to his claims of degrees from these institutions? I can’t really. To me it is one of the great mysteries of his story. I find it hard to swallow he would maintain such a story in light of all the means of verification. Of course there are other alternative explanations, but their probability is very small.

Only Lazar has the answer of why.

Possible Explanations:

Lazar has lied, and continues to do so, about his educational background.

In addition to all his other activities, Lazar was able to find time to pursue higher education and actually may possess a degree or degrees, but for unknown reasons wants to keep it secret and uses the CalTech and MIT degrees as a cover, taking the resultant abuse.

The boys at S-4, as part of their efforts to discredit Lazar, in some way implanted the absolute conviction in Lazar’s mind that he possesses the degrees, making him appear a fraud to anyone checking his past.

A note to the readers:

This pretty much concludes the series, although I have 2 more installments planned. One is a list of little nagging questions, while not full fledged flaws, are still uncomfortable loose ends to the story that perhaps Gene can explain. Then finally a wrap up where I’ll look at a number of various theories from the wild to the sublime.

Caller:

Can you list your credentials?

Lazar:

As far as what?

Caller:

Schooling, degrees.

Lazar:

I have two masters degrees; one’s in physics; one’s in electronics. I wrote my thesis on MHD, which is magnetohydrodynamics.

I worked at Los Alamos for a few years as a technician and then as a physicist in the Polarized Proton Section, dealing with the accelerator there.

I was hired at S-4 as a senior staff physicist to work on gravitational propulsion systems and whatnot associated with those crafts.

Caller:

What school did you go to?

Lazar:

I’d rather not say, the reason being I am currently working with them under contract, and I’m having enough trouble with this as it is.

>From “Alien Contact”, by Timothy Good, in a March 1990 interview:

“Bob told me that he had attended Pierce Junior College, California, then the California Institute of Technology (Cal Tech), and the California State University at Northridge. A period of employment by Fairchild was followed by a return to Cal Tech. He claims to have obtained master’s degrees in physics (his thesis: Magnetohydrodynamics) from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT) and in electronics from Cal Tech. To date, no evidence for these degrees has been forthcoming. Although physicist Stanton Friedman has been able to verify that Lazar did indeed attend both Pierce Junior College and California State University, he drew a blank at MIT. ‘There’s no trace of him at MIT and no record of him having attended any course. Maybe he took a lot of courses but didn’t get a degree – that’s a possibility'”.

(Note of correction from TM: In personal correspondence, Stanton Friedman informed me that Good’s statement about Friedman’s verifications was in error. The only school Friedman was able to find evidence of Lazar’s attendance at was Pierce College. Friedman stated to me he drew a blank on Lazar at Cal State Northridge.)

>From the Pre-Sentence Report, dated 7/27/90, for Lazar’s pandering conviction. This was as related by Lazar to the Parole/Probation officer preparing the report:

8-76, high school graduate, Westbury, New York (verified)

1978, Bachelor of Science Degree in Physics and Electronic Technology, Pacifica University (correspondence university).

1982, Masters of Science in Physics, MIT, Cambridge, Massachusetts.

1985, Masters of Science in Electronic Technology, Cal Tech, California.

>From the “Ultimate UFO Seminar” at Rachel, Nevada, May 1, 1993:

Question:

Bob, could you tell us about your education? I’ve heard a lot of conflicting things; I’d like to hear from you.

Lazar:

That varies widely. As far as electronic technology, my degree there is from CalTech and physics is from MIT.

Question:

Did you go to Pierce College?

Lazar:

Yeah, I did. Where did you hear that?

Question:

A friend that said something, somebody I don’t even know. I just thought, it’s something I want to ask, to clear my mind.

Lazar:

Yeah, I went to Pierce and Northridge and then…I’m terrible at dates. I don’t know what date I was at Pierce, probably like in seventy-six or something, I was at Pierce and then seventy-seven or eight I went to Northridge just for a short time for some classes, then I was at CalTech, and MIT after that.

Later…

Question:

What was the year of your graduation from MIT, and did you get a Ph.D.?

Lazar:

No, it was a Masters Degree. The year. What was the year of graduation? Probably 82.

On the “Lark and Craig Morning Show” KOMP 92.3 FM, November 1994

Craig:

Well, you’re a smart guy. Where did you go to school? How many degrees do you have?

Lazar:

Two degrees.

Craig:

In what?

Lazar:

Physics and Electronic Technology.

Craig:

So what is that? A Ph.D.? What is that?

Lazar:

No, they’re Masters degrees.

Craig:

Masters degrees.

Lark:

Wow!

To summarize Lazar’s academic claims on the basis of his public statements he received the following:

A Bachelors Degree in Physics and Electronic Technology from Pacifica University in 1978.

A Masters Degree in Physics from MIT (Thesis: Magnetohydrodynamics) in 1982.

A Masters Degree in either Electronics or Electronic Technology from CalTech in 1985.

Note that there is a reasonable amount of consistency to his story over its various tellings. However, at Lazar’s Rachel talk he said he went to CalTech, then MIT.

Analysis:

There is a lot of data to cover, so for a first pass through, let us just look at where Lazar was at various points in time, and consider the possibilities of his attendance at the various schools he’s claimed.

Lazar graduated from high school in August of 1976 on Long Island, New York. Following that, the Lazar family moved to California, purchasing a home in the San Fernando Valley in June of 1977. It’s reasonable to assume that they had rented something in the area prior to purchasing the house, so that would have put Lazar in the area by late 1976 or early 1977.

Lazar has claimed to have attended Pierce College, a 2 year community college, in 1976. His attendance at this college, although not the precise time period, has been verified by Stanton Friedman. Lazar’s attendance at Pierce is quite likely given that he would have lived fairly close at that point in time.

Also in this general period, Lazar claimed to have attended Cal State Northridge “…just for a short time for some classes..”. This is possible and wouldn’t conflict with his general whereabouts.

The next time we can pin down Lazar’s whereabouts was on July 27, 1980 when he married his first wife Carol. According to the marriage certificate he was living in Canoga Park and he listed his occupation as “Electronics Engineer”. Curiously, he also listed his highest grade of schooling completed as 12. His location is consistent with statements he has made about working for Fairchild Industries, which was located in the San Fernando Valley.

Moving into the future, Lazar again surfaces 2 years later in the famous “Los Alamos Monitor” Jet Car story on June 27, 1982. The paper said the Lazars had moved to Los Alamos “…about a month ago from California.” >From other statements in the article, it’s apparent the Lazars had been in California for some time and that he had just started work at LANL.

Yet this is the year Lazar claimed, on at least two occasions, to have received a Masters degree from MIT. However there is no evidence whatsoever that Lazar was anywhere other than California or Los Alamos during this time. Indeed, there is no evidence in ANY of the numerous public records concerning Lazar that he had ever been in or around Cambridge Massachusetts.

When Lazar filed for bankruptcy in July of 1986, the information he was required to provide gives a snapshot of his whereabouts and activities in the years immediately prior to his filing. Is there anything in this mass of data that could even remotely allow for Lazar to spend a year at CalTech, obtaining his Masters degree, as he has claimed, in 1985?

Well, in it he states that the only places he’s lived in the previous 6 years were 2 addresses in Los Alamos (Note that this is already incorrect since he didn’t arrive in Los Alamos until mid-1982). He also states that his occupation for the previous 6 years was as a photo processor at his residence. Oddly, Los Alamos employment was not mentioned.

It also shows that he was very active in the Los Alamos area in 1985, borrowing heavily, apparently in part to support his photo processing business. For example, the records show that in March, 1985 he borrowed $12,000 to upgrade his business’s film printers. Other purchases in 1985 included a Corvette for $19,000, a number of personal loans, and finally a house in Las Vegas in June of 1985.

If we are to believe “Omni” magazine (and I’ll leave that to the reader’s discretion), in 1985 Lazar was on vacation in Nevada and bought into a legal brothel near Reno.

Again, the records clearly show that in 1985, and the few prior years, Lazar was either at Los Alamos or occasionally Las Vegas. There is not the slightest hint that he may have been working away at a Masters degree in Pasadena at CalTech.

Now that we have an idea of where and when Lazar was, let’s take a more detailed look at what information is available for each school.

W. TRESPER CLARKE HIGH SCHOOL, WESTBURY, LONG ISLAND, NEW YORK:  There doesn’t seem to be any debate that Lazar did indeed attend and graduate from this school. In correspondence with Stanton Friedman, he stated to me, “Re the High School. Bob was graduated in August, not June, 1976, strongly suggesting that he had to take a summer course to get enough credits. He ranked 261 out of 369 (bottom third). He did take Chemistry. I obtained this information myself first hand from the school. They will undoubtedly deny giving the class rank to me since that is privacy act protected…it is a long story.”

PACIFICA UNIVERSITY:  The statement in his Presentencing Report that he received a Bachelors degree from Pacifica, and labeled it a “correspondence university” is rather unique. I have seen a lot of statements made by Lazar concerning his education, but in none of them does he say where he received his undergraduate degree. It’s a subject he seldom mentions.

Unfortunately, Pacifica University has proven difficult to locate. A number of national college directories were consulted, including those listing vocational and correspondence schools. A few of the guides were “The College Blue Book”, “American Universities and Colleges” and “The McMillan Guide to Correspondence Study”. Nowhere was there a Pacifica University listed.

The State of California Department of Education’s Council for Private, Post-Secondary and Vocational Education was contacted. They regulate all vocational and correspondence schools within the state. They informed me that they had no listing for a Pacifica University within California, either now or in the past.

A search of statewide phone records, at least in California, did turn up a Pacifica Liquor Store, but as tempting an explanation as that might be, it probably has no relevancy. Assuming Lazar was enrolled in a correspondence school by the name of Pacifica University in the late 1970s, it would now appear to be out of business. Unless Lazar himself is forthcoming as to just where this establishment was, additional verification efforts are likely useless.

PIERCE COLLEGE:  Lazar’s attendance at this institution has been corroborated, although the extent of his attendance is not known. This was done some time ago by Stanton Friedman.

It was also done a second time by Friedman after Lazar spoke at Rachel, Nevada in May of 1993. When asked to name some of his professors at MIT and CalTech, Lazar responded with the name “Dr. Duxler” at CalTech. According to Glenn Campbell, the only Duxler listed in the 1993 “National Faculty Directory” was a William Duxler, Director of Computing for Pierce College.

According to personal correspondence, Friedman then contacted Duxler at Pierce, who was found to teach physics and math at Pierce. Duxler stated he never taught at Caltech. Further, Duxler checked his old records and told Friedman that Lazar took at least one of his classes in the late 1970s.

CALIFORNIA STATE UNIVERSITY AT NORTHRIDGE:  Some people looking into Lazar’s schooling at Cal State Northridge may have picked up a false positive due to an interesting coincidence. There WAS a Robert Lazar who attended Cal State Northridge and graduated with a Bachelor of Science degree in Business in 1978. However a review of the photo in the 1978 CSUN yearbook, the “Sunburst”, clearly shows this is not our beloved Lazar, but rather someone else.

As previously mentioned, Stanton Friedman stated that he checked with CSUN and found no evidence that Lazar had attended there. Timothy Good has apparently misstated that fact in his book “Alien Contact”.

MASSACHUSETTS INSTITUTE OF TECHNOLOGY:  Standard inquiries have been made by George Knapp and Stanton Friedman and turned up nothing. Friedman informed me that he took the additional step of checking with the alumni office and at least the 1982 commencement list.

Glenn Campbell visited MIT in 1993 and searched through a number of the printed student records there. The idea behind this particular effort was that while elimination of computer records could be within the realm of possibility, it is essentially inconceivable that some agency would have the capability to change printed records that had widespread distribution.

Lazar, or any obvious misspellings of his name, was not listed in any MIT student directory between 1978 and 1990. Other publications checked included the MIT faculty/staff telephone directories from 1978-1990, the MIT “Degree List” from 1979-1990, and the 1989 “MIT Alumni/ae Register”.

This exhaustive searching, coupled with the June 1982 Los Alamos “Monitor” story that puts Lazar in Los Alamos newly arrived from California, leads to the inevitable conclusion that Lazar did not attend MIT as he claims.

CALIFORNIA INSTITUTE OF TECHNOLOGY: Lazar has claimed, on different occasions, a Masters degree from CalTech in either electronics or electronic technology. Standard inquiries by Friedman and Knapp found no evidence of his attendance.

A recent visit by me with Natalie Gilmore of the CalTech Graduate Studies Department provided some important information. CalTech does not currently have, nor has it ever had any sort of graduate degree in “electronics” or “electronic technology”, or anything near those names. CalTech does offer a degree in Electrical Engineering.

Now if you have a friend or relative with an EE degree, you might, in conversation, refer to them as having a degree in “Electronics”, not realizing the distinction. However, if it is YOUR degree, it is highly unlikely after all the effort it required you would misstate what it was. People with advanced degrees, particularly in the science and engineering fields, are usually quite precise in the “pronunciation” of their degrees.

Assuming Lazar had a bachelors degree from an unaccredited school (The two year schooling period and correspondence status infer this), I asked Ms. Gilmore what the possibilities were for admittance into a Masters program at CalTech. She said it was possible, although extremely slim, due to the intense competition for admittance to CalTech. She also added that the Masters programs there are one year and require full time attendance.

However, Ms. Gilmore provided some additional data that actually support Lazar’s case, and in fairness should be mentioned. It seems that for most Masters programs at CalTech (including EE), a thesis is not required. Lazar has only claimed one thesis, in MHD, at MIT.

Furthermore, I had previously made a fairly exhaustive search through many years worth of the CalTech yearbook, “The Big T”, and was unable to turn up any trace of Lazar. However, Ms. Gilmore informed me that graduate students are usually not included in the publication. So it would seem that my efforts in this area, as reported in the timeline, are inconclusive.

However, the lack of on-campus evidence, coupled with his physical whereabouts still force the conclusion that Lazar never attended CalTech. His statement to the probation officer of a 1985 degree is particularly absurd in view of the activities he himself listed for 1985 in his bankruptcy papers.

After plowing through all this data, it is enough to satisfy me, personally, that Lazar never attended either CalTech or MIT. Of this I am certain of beyond a reasonable doubt.

How then do I explain the mystery of why Lazar clings so tenaciously to his claims of degrees from these institutions? I can’t really. To me it is one of the great mysteries of his story. I find it hard to swallow he would maintain such a story in light of all the means of verification. Of course there are other alternative explanations, but their probability is very small.

Only Lazar has the answer of why.

Possible Explanations:

Lazar has lied, and continues to do so, about his educational background.

In addition to all his other activities, Lazar was able to find time to pursue higher education and actually may possess a degree or degrees, but for unknown reasons wants to keep it secret and uses the CalTech and MIT degrees as a cover, taking the resultant abuse.

The boys at S-4, as part of their efforts to discredit Lazar, in some way implanted the absolute conviction in Lazar’s mind that he possesses the degrees, making him appear a fraud to anyone checking his past.

A note to the readers:

This pretty much concludes the series, although I have 2 more installments planned. One is a list of little nagging questions, while not full fledged flaws, are still uncomfortable loose ends to the story that perhaps Gene can explain. Then finally a wrap up where I’ll look at a number of various theories from the wild to the sublime.

Caller:

Can you list your credentials?

Lazar:

As far as what?

Caller:

Schooling, degrees.

Lazar:

I have two masters degrees; one’s in physics; one’s in electronics. I wrote my thesis on MHD, which is magnetohydrodynamics.

I worked at Los Alamos for a few years as a technician and then as a physicist in the Polarized Proton Section, dealing with the accelerator there.

I was hired at S-4 as a senior staff physicist to work on gravitational propulsion systems and whatnot associated with those crafts.

Caller:

What school did you go to?

Lazar:

I’d rather not say, the reason being I am currently working with them under contract, and I’m having enough trouble with this as it is.

>From “Alien Contact”, by Timothy Good, in a March 1990 interview:

“Bob told me that he had attended Pierce Junior College, California, then the California Institute of Technology (Cal Tech), and the California State University at Northridge. A period of employment by Fairchild was followed by a return to Cal Tech. He claims to have obtained master’s degrees in physics (his thesis: Magnetohydrodynamics) from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT) and in electronics from Cal Tech. To date, no evidence for these degrees has been forthcoming. Although physicist Stanton Friedman has been able to verify that Lazar did indeed attend both Pierce Junior College and California State University, he drew a blank at MIT. ‘There’s no trace of him at MIT and no record of him having attended any course. Maybe he took a lot of courses but didn’t get a degree – that’s a possibility'”.

(Note of correction from TM: In personal correspondence, Stanton Friedman informed me that Good’s statement about Friedman’s verifications was in error. The only school Friedman was able to find evidence of Lazar’s attendance at was Pierce College. Friedman stated to me he drew a blank on Lazar at Cal State Northridge.)

>From the Pre-Sentence Report, dated 7/27/90, for Lazar’s pandering conviction. This was as related by Lazar to the Parole/Probation officer preparing the report:

8-76, high school graduate, Westbury, New York (verified)

1978, Bachelor of Science Degree in Physics and Electronic Technology, Pacifica University (correspondence university).

1982, Masters of Science in Physics, MIT, Cambridge, Massachusetts.

1985, Masters of Science in Electronic Technology, Cal Tech, California.

>From the “Ultimate UFO Seminar” at Rachel, Nevada, May 1, 1993:

Question:

Bob, could you tell us about your education? I’ve heard a lot of conflicting things; I’d like to hear from you.

Lazar:

That varies widely. As far as electronic technology, my degree there is from CalTech and physics is from MIT.

Question:

Did you go to Pierce College?

Lazar:

Yeah, I did. Where did you hear that?

Question:

A friend that said something, somebody I don’t even know. I just thought, it’s something I want to ask, to clear my mind.

Lazar:

Yeah, I went to Pierce and Northridge and then…I’m terrible at dates. I don’t know what date I was at Pierce, probably like in seventy-six or something, I was at Pierce and then seventy-seven or eight I went to Northridge just for a short time for some classes, then I was at CalTech, and MIT after that.

Later…

Question:

What was the year of your graduation from MIT, and did you get a Ph.D.?

Lazar:

No, it was a Masters Degree. The year. What was the year of graduation? Probably 82.

On the “Lark and Craig Morning Show” KOMP 92.3 FM, November 1994

Craig:

Well, you’re a smart guy. Where did you go to school? How many degrees do you have?

Lazar:

Two degrees.

Craig:

In what?

Lazar:

Physics and Electronic Technology.

Craig:

So what is that? A Ph.D.? What is that?

Lazar:

No, they’re Masters degrees.

Craig:

Masters degrees.

Lark:

Wow!

To summarize Lazar’s academic claims on the basis of his public statements he received the following:

A Bachelors Degree in Physics and Electronic Technology from Pacifica University in 1978.

A Masters Degree in Physics from MIT (Thesis: Magnetohydrodynamics) in 1982.

A Masters Degree in either Electronics or Electronic Technology from CalTech in 1985.

Note that there is a reasonable amount of consistency to his story over its various tellings. However, at Lazar’s Rachel talk he said he went to CalTech, then MIT.

Analysis:

There is a lot of data to cover, so for a first pass through, let us just look at where Lazar was at various points in time, and consider the possibilities of his attendance at the various schools he’s claimed.

Lazar graduated from high school in August of 1976 on Long Island, New York. Following that, the Lazar family moved to California, purchasing a home in the San Fernando Valley in June of 1977. It’s reasonable to assume that they had rented something in the area prior to purchasing the house, so that would have put Lazar in the area by late 1976 or early 1977.

Lazar has claimed to have attended Pierce College, a 2 year community college, in 1976. His attendance at this college, although not the precise time period, has been verified by Stanton Friedman. Lazar’s attendance at Pierce is quite likely given that he would have lived fairly close at that point in time.

Also in this general period, Lazar claimed to have attended Cal State Northridge “…just for a short time for some classes..”. This is possible and wouldn’t conflict with his general whereabouts.

The next time we can pin down Lazar’s whereabouts was on July 27, 1980 when he married his first wife Carol. According to the marriage certificate he was living in Canoga Park and he listed his occupation as “Electronics Engineer”. Curiously, he also listed his highest grade of schooling completed as 12. His location is consistent with statements he has made about working for Fairchild Industries, which was located in the San Fernando Valley.

Moving into the future, Lazar again surfaces 2 years later in the famous “Los Alamos Monitor” Jet Car story on June 27, 1982. The paper said the Lazars had moved to Los Alamos “…about a month ago from California.” >From other statements in the article, it’s apparent the Lazars had been in California for some time and that he had just started work at LANL.

Yet this is the year Lazar claimed, on at least two occasions, to have received a Masters degree from MIT. However there is no evidence whatsoever that Lazar was anywhere other than California or Los Alamos during this time. Indeed, there is no evidence in ANY of the numerous public records concerning Lazar that he had ever been in or around Cambridge Massachusetts.

When Lazar filed for bankruptcy in July of 1986, the information he was required to provide gives a snapshot of his whereabouts and activities in the years immediately prior to his filing. Is there anything in this mass of data that could even remotely allow for Lazar to spend a year at CalTech, obtaining his Masters degree, as he has claimed, in 1985?

Well, in it he states that the only places he’s lived in the previous 6 years were 2 addresses in Los Alamos (Note that this is already incorrect since he didn’t arrive in Los Alamos until mid-1982). He also states that his occupation for the previous 6 years was as a photo processor at his residence. Oddly, Los Alamos employment was not mentioned.

It also shows that he was very active in the Los Alamos area in 1985, borrowing heavily, apparently in part to support his photo processing business. For example, the records show that in March, 1985 he borrowed $12,000 to upgrade his business’s film printers. Other purchases in 1985 included a Corvette for $19,000, a number of personal loans, and finally a house in Las Vegas in June of 1985.

If we are to believe “Omni” magazine (and I’ll leave that to the reader’s discretion), in 1985 Lazar was on vacation in Nevada and bought into a legal brothel near Reno.

Again, the records clearly show that in 1985, and the few prior years, Lazar was either at Los Alamos or occasionally Las Vegas. There is not the slightest hint that he may have been working away at a Masters degree in Pasadena at CalTech.

Now that we have an idea of where and when Lazar was, let’s take a more detailed look at what information is available for each school.

W. TRESPER CLARKE HIGH SCHOOL, WESTBURY, LONG ISLAND, NEW YORK:  There doesn’t seem to be any debate that Lazar did indeed attend and graduate from this school. In correspondence with Stanton Friedman, he stated to me, “Re the High School. Bob was graduated in August, not June, 1976, strongly suggesting that he had to take a summer course to get enough credits. He ranked 261 out of 369 (bottom third). He did take Chemistry. I obtained this information myself first hand from the school. They will undoubtedly deny giving the class rank to me since that is privacy act protected…it is a long story.”

PACIFICA UNIVERSITY:  The statement in his Presentencing Report that he received a Bachelors degree from Pacifica, and labeled it a “correspondence university” is rather unique. I have seen a lot of statements made by Lazar concerning his education, but in none of them does he say where he received his undergraduate degree. It’s a subject he seldom mentions.

Unfortunately, Pacifica University has proven difficult to locate. A number of national college directories were consulted, including those listing vocational and correspondence schools. A few of the guides were “The College Blue Book”, “American Universities and Colleges” and “The McMillan Guide to Correspondence Study”. Nowhere was there a Pacifica University listed.

The State of California Department of Education’s Council for Private, Post-Secondary and Vocational Education was contacted. They regulate all vocational and correspondence schools within the state. They informed me that they had no listing for a Pacifica University within California, either now or in the past.

A search of statewide phone records, at least in California, did turn up a Pacifica Liquor Store, but as tempting an explanation as that might be, it probably has no relevancy. Assuming Lazar was enrolled in a correspondence school by the name of Pacifica University in the late 1970s, it would now appear to be out of business. Unless Lazar himself is forthcoming as to just where this establishment was, additional verification efforts are likely useless.

PIERCE COLLEGE:  Lazar’s attendance at this institution has been corroborated, although the extent of his attendance is not known. This was done some time ago by Stanton Friedman.

It was also done a second time by Friedman after Lazar spoke at Rachel, Nevada in May of 1993. When asked to name some of his professors at MIT and CalTech, Lazar responded with the name “Dr. Duxler” at CalTech. According to Glenn Campbell, the only Duxler listed in the 1993 “National Faculty Directory” was a William Duxler, Director of Computing for Pierce College.

According to personal correspondence, Friedman then contacted Duxler at Pierce, who was found to teach physics and math at Pierce. Duxler stated he never taught at Caltech. Further, Duxler checked his old records and told Friedman that Lazar took at least one of his classes in the late 1970s.

CALIFORNIA STATE UNIVERSITY AT NORTHRIDGE:  Some people looking into Lazar’s schooling at Cal State Northridge may have picked up a false positive due to an interesting coincidence. There WAS a Robert Lazar who attended Cal State Northridge and graduated with a Bachelor of Science degree in Business in 1978. However a review of the photo in the 1978 CSUN yearbook, the “Sunburst”, clearly shows this is not our beloved Lazar, but rather someone else.

As previously mentioned, Stanton Friedman stated that he checked with CSUN and found no evidence that Lazar had attended there. Timothy Good has apparently misstated that fact in his book “Alien Contact”.

MASSACHUSETTS INSTITUTE OF TECHNOLOGY:  Standard inquiries have been made by George Knapp and Stanton Friedman and turned up nothing. Friedman informed me that he took the additional step of checking with the alumni office and at least the 1982 commencement list.

Glenn Campbell visited MIT in 1993 and searched through a number of the printed student records there. The idea behind this particular effort was that while elimination of computer records could be within the realm of possibility, it is essentially inconceivable that some agency would have the capability to change printed records that had widespread distribution.

Lazar, or any obvious misspellings of his name, was not listed in any MIT student directory between 1978 and 1990. Other publications checked included the MIT faculty/staff telephone directories from 1978-1990, the MIT “Degree List” from 1979-1990, and the 1989 “MIT Alumni/ae Register”.

This exhaustive searching, coupled with the June 1982 Los Alamos “Monitor” story that puts Lazar in Los Alamos newly arrived from California, leads to the inevitable conclusion that Lazar did not attend MIT as he claims.

CALIFORNIA INSTITUTE OF TECHNOLOGY: Lazar has claimed, on different occasions, a Masters degree from CalTech in either electronics or electronic technology. Standard inquiries by Friedman and Knapp found no evidence of his attendance.

A recent visit by me with Natalie Gilmore of the CalTech Graduate Studies Department provided some important information. CalTech does not currently have, nor has it ever had any sort of graduate degree in “electronics” or “electronic technology”, or anything near those names. CalTech does offer a degree in Electrical Engineering.

Now if you have a friend or relative with an EE degree, you might, in conversation, refer to them as having a degree in “Electronics”, not realizing the distinction. However, if it is YOUR degree, it is highly unlikely after all the effort it required you would misstate what it was. People with advanced degrees, particularly in the science and engineering fields, are usually quite precise in the “pronunciation” of their degrees.

Assuming Lazar had a bachelors degree from an unaccredited school (The two year schooling period and correspondence status infer this), I asked Ms. Gilmore what the possibilities were for admittance into a Masters program at CalTech. She said it was possible, although extremely slim, due to the intense competition for admittance to CalTech. She also added that the Masters programs there are one year and require full time attendance.

However, Ms. Gilmore provided some additional data that actually support Lazar’s case, and in fairness should be mentioned. It seems that for most Masters programs at CalTech (including EE), a thesis is not required. Lazar has only claimed one thesis, in MHD, at MIT.

Furthermore, I had previously made a fairly exhaustive search through many years worth of the CalTech yearbook, “The Big T”, and was unable to turn up any trace of Lazar. However, Ms. Gilmore informed me that graduate students are usually not included in the publication. So it would seem that my efforts in this area, as reported in the timeline, are inconclusive.

However, the lack of on-campus evidence, coupled with his physical whereabouts still force the conclusion that Lazar never attended CalTech. His statement to the probation officer of a 1985 degree is particularly absurd in view of the activities he himself listed for 1985 in his bankruptcy papers.

After plowing through all this data, it is enough to satisfy me, personally, that Lazar never attended either CalTech or MIT. Of this I am certain of beyond a reasonable doubt.

How then do I explain the mystery of why Lazar clings so tenaciously to his claims of degrees from these institutions? I can’t really. To me it is one of the great mysteries of his story. I find it hard to swallow he would maintain such a story in light of all the means of verification. Of course there are other alternative explanations, but their probability is very small.

Only Lazar has the answer of why.

Possible Explanations:

Lazar has lied, and continues to do so, about his educational background.

In addition to all his other activities, Lazar was able to find time to pursue higher education and actually may possess a degree or degrees, but for unknown reasons wants to keep it secret and uses the CalTech and MIT degrees as a cover, taking the resultant abuse.

The boys at S-4, as part of their efforts to discredit Lazar, in some way implanted the absolute conviction in Lazar’s mind that he possesses the degrees, making him appear a fraud to anyone checking his past.

A note to the readers:

This pretty much concludes the series, although I have 2 more installments planned. One is a list of little nagging questions, while not full fledged flaws, are still uncomfortable loose ends to the story that perhaps Gene can explain. Then finally a wrap up where I’ll look at a number of various theories from the wild to the sublime.

[thecoroutfitters]

Written by R. Ann Parris on The Prepper Journal.

There are lots of positives to growing food in small containers, especially when we can source them for free or very little money and upcycle into production space.

They’re versatile and mobile. We can cart them to new locations inside a season, maximizing light or giving them some shade. We can cart them to new homes. We can cart them indoors.

Being small, we can also pretty quickly and efficiently cover them using our salvaged and saved shower curtains, window screens, and clear trash bags. Size lends the ability to go vertical with many, increasing our growing space inside a footprint.

Many planters can be done using waste materials we salvage from our own homes and curbside pickups, making them pretty economical. They definitely decrease the work of hacking into soil, and amending really poor, compacted soils.

There are some pretty universal drawbacks. We have to produce or source soil or compost for them. That’s a biggie.

Another biggie: There’s commonly limited soil and limited soil depth. That’s going to affect what we can grow due to root space.

Micro- and mini containers won’t develop the positive soil biology of a larger filing cabinet or raised bed. That contributes to requiring more amendments and specific types of amendments.

All containers are a little more prone to weather sensitivity (both drying out and cold) and the micro-mini’s more so than others.

Still, in many cases, they offer us increased versatility and options, and the ease and efficiency can make them very attractive to preppers at all stages and locations, even on acreage with tractor-tilled gardens and field crops.

Laundry Baskets

Lined with plastic, cloth, cardboard, straw flakes, or a bird’s nest of yard waste, laundry baskets can be very handy, versatile, effective containers. The liners won’t last indefinitely (lifespan varies by climate) but large or small, laundry baskets can be a very inexpensive way to grow even larger plants like tomatoes and melons.

*Tidbit Time: The “cheap” soft-flexible plastic baskets will actually hold up to weather wear better than stiff plastic, especially the inexpensive brittle storage totes and most buckets.

Basically, anything you’ve seen done in a 5-gallon bucket or storage tote can be grown in a laundry basket. They’re also applicable to most of the tower-barrel growing systems – to include adding an in-situ composting tube or watering hose/tube in the middle.

The increased footprint over a 5-gallon bucket makes them even better for sweet potatoes. Taller options are pretty much tailor-made for add-soil vertical potato planters. They can be used for vertical grow towers for strawberries, herbs, or salad greens – as-is sometimes, or by snipping only small pieces to expand the planting holes.

*Extra Tidbit: For any outdoor container garden, lay out some plastic or cardboard. (Mulch over it for appearance’s sake) and-or a pretty plastic tablecloth. It’ll decrease the number of weeds that want to pop up around and between containers, and limit the number of weeds that manage to find homes in those containers.

Tabletops & Drawers

We can easily produce chair-accessible “trug” style planters by breathing new life into desks, side tables, and even dining tables. We can also create a trug-style bed by sticking drawers (or anything else sturdy and heavy) on top of folding plastic or metal tables, or picnic tables with the benches removed.

The increased height means less bending and the ability to sit and work for everyone, but it’s a great way to keep seniors and those with injuries in the gardening game.

They’re also a great way to limit child, pet, and some pest damage to our plants.

A laid-flat bookshelf can give us the same benefits as a desk drawer, and create a somewhat larger and more conventional-appearing container garden for balconies, porches or right out in the yard. Buckets or block can be used to give it height if we reinforce the backing, or we can slide it onto a tabletop and fill it as-is.

While bookshelves and desk drawers are most usually restricted in depth, and most tabletop builds are also shallow, they’re plenty deep enough for the salads and strawberries that so many turtles, rabbits, and slugs like to munch.

For added depth with a container, we have the bodies/frames of filing cabinets (and some desks). Even using junk-log and straw-bale “fills” for those, they have plenty of root space for even shrubs and miniature trees.

Filing cabinets, desks, and deeper bookcases or drawers can also be lined or sprayed with FlexSeal to build a self-irrigated garden bed.

As with pretty much any freebie container, some types of drawers will have to be lined to hold soil and water, and increase lifespan, while others will need to have drainage holes drilled out.

Shelves as Shelves

Shelves can increase our growing space as-is, too. The wire-frame types allow a bit more light through, although we’ll still want to be pretty strategic as we lay out our under-the-bed totes, coffee cans, and 2L soda bottle planters.

We can also pretty cheaply and easily construct our own outdoor grow shelves with some cinder blocks and boards from darn-near anything we want to salvage. A couple coats of pant, and both our shelves and planters can even be cute.

Don’t forget: Soil holds water, and water is heavy. Build sturdy.

Canning Jars & Soup Cans

On the downer side of containers, let’s talk about the minis and micros. I know we’ve seen the cutesy DIY and retail racks of them, and I’ve suggested them myself. However, they’re even more limited and there are a few things to consider.

Some of the most frequent problems are even more exacerbated with glass jars, even the sizeable quarts and pasta sauce or pickle jars. See, those jars don’t breathe, and they’re rarely set up with even the drainage holes that cans are.

Plant roots must have oxygen to survive. That means we have to be careful with the soil types we use and how much we water them.

Flip side: Super-small containers dry out very easily, especially outdoors or in a sunny window. We may end up watering them a couple times a day to meet their needs without drowning roots.

We also have to look at the size. That goes to both the specific plant in each micro container and how many containers we’ll have.

Aquaponics, hydroponics, and aeroponics get away with super-small root space and soil/media plugs due to their oxygenated conditions and plants’ ability to expand their roots well past their small plug into the air, water, or media around them. Micro and mini planters are much more restricted.

A larger plant like rosemary, basil, and sage just isn’t going to be happy and healthy limited to a soup can or pint jar. Even a quart jar is pushing it, and will seriously stunt our plant.

Sometimes stunting is fine, but how much of our herbs are we looking at taking off at a time if the plant never gets much bigger than six or eight inches? How many tiny containers would it take to harvest reasonable amounts from those larger herbs?

There are herbs that are self-limiting enough to do well in tiny containers, and herbs that yield fast enough and get used in amounts that make it reasonable even if we only have one or two – chives, parsley, and especially the lemon-flavored balm and thyme among them.

There are also microgreens and small cut-and-come again greens that work well in even small soup cans because we can select harvest a leaf or two from a dozen and have ourselves a small salad, taco/wrap filler, or sandwich toppers.

We can also look to our wild edibles in many cases, or the less-common edibles.

If I’m growing peas for their spinach-like sprouts and tips, a small container and low number is fine. Wild violet, henbit, wood sorrel, bittercress, wild mustard, onion grass, and chickweed all handle cut-and-come-again grazing and small containers well – and handle them better than some of our domestic lettuces, mini mustards, and baby spinach.

Those restrictions commonly apply to pockets in hanging shoe organizer gardens, gutter-type gardens, and other cutsey stuff like hanging coffee mugs for planters.

They’re not total bunk. I’ve included them in small-space and winter growing suggestions. But when we’re growing for production — not decoration — the size, per-container and in-total harvest amounts, and some of the plant health issues require consideration.

The extra soil space in vertical pallet gardens, 2L bottles, larger pickle jars, and coffee tubs increases our options for planting, but as with any “small” garden we still want to pay attention to yield factors.

Upcycled Container Gardens

There’s plenty to be said for conventional raised and in-ground beds, but containers have their benefits, too. While there are some downsides, especially the micro-mini containers, they can all give our production big boosts and increase our growing season and versatility.

There are plenty of options out there available for curbside pickup, from filing cabinets and desk drawers to shelves where we can stack cut-down soda bottles. There are also options like laundry baskets that are pennies on the dollar what the same volume bucket/keg or weather-hardy tote would be if we can’t salvage what we want.

With so many options, there’s no reason not to get started right now, taking advantage of end-of-season seed and soil/compost sales to get some autumn salads and roots on our plates. Go get dirty!

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The post Prepper Up-cycling – Container Gardens & Micro Planters appeared first on The Prepper Journal.

from The Prepper Journal Don't forget to visit the store and pick up some gear at The COR Outfitters. How prepared are you for emergencies? #SurvivalFirestarter #SurvivalBugOutBackpack #PrepperSurvivalPack #SHTFGear #SHTFBag

[fadingfartconnoisseur]

A Journey Through Madagascar: Notes on the Privilege of Travel

Two years ago, I wrote about how privileged and lucky we are to be able to travel the world. No matter our circumstances, we are doing something most of the world will never get a chance to do. Most people never leave their own country, let alone their continent.

Even if we’re barely scraping two pennies together as we couchsurf the world, we’re pretty fortunate. I wrote back then (and sorry for quoting myself):

In the “quit your job to travel the world” cheerleading that happens so often on travel websites (including this one), we often forget that it’s not easy for everyone.

There are those for whom no mindset change, spending cuts, or budget tips will help them travel — those who are too sick, have parents or children to care for, face great debt, or work three jobs just to make rent.

After all, 2.8 billion people — nearly 40% of the world’s population — survive on less than $2 USD a day! In my home country of the United States, 14% of the population is below the poverty line, 46 million people are on food stamps, many have to work two jobs to get by, and we have a trillion dollars in student debt dragging people down.

Nothing any website can say will magically make travel a reality for those people.

Those of us who do travel are a privileged few.

That’s not to say that hard work doesn’t count, but hard work doesn’t exist in a bubble — the circumstances that create the opportunities for hard work to bear fruit are often just as important as the work itself: support from family and friends, jobs that allow for overtime, a strong currency, cheap flights, or golden passports allow you to find work overseas. All these things matter. Most of us who travel aren’t barely getting by or on social assistance nor do we wonder if we can afford the next meal.

Whether you are traveling the world on $10, $50, or $200 a day, the simple fact you are traveling for pleasure puts you in a global minority.

We’re a privileged bunch.

Traveling constantly teaches me to appreciate just how lucky I am to do what I do. It reminds me never to forget the fact that I have access education, support systems, and resources most of the world doesn’t. My visit to Madagascar in September was my most recent reminder of this. Madagascar is a country of 20 million people that sees only 300,000 tourists a year. In Madagascar, 90% of the population lives in poverty, and 25% live in areas prone to natural disaster. Almost half of all children under five are malnourished, and the GNP is just $420 per capita (with 92% of the population living on $2 a day). Madagascar is also one of the ten countries most at risk from the effects of climate change. The country is 152 of 188 on the UN Human Development Index. Things are so bad there was actually a recent outbreak of plague. Yes, THE PLAGUE.

While I’ve seen poverty before on my travels, it’s never been as open, vivid, and widespread as what I saw in Madagascar.

My guide Patrick told me about Madagascar’s plight: corruption, environmental degradation, poverty, poor infrastructure, and a lack of education (including sex education) that has led to overpopulation, too many kids, not enough jobs, and a vicious cycle.

In Madagascar the roads have more holes than a slice of Swiss cheese, and there are too many cars and frequent accidents. Going 250km can take up to eight hours. While I was there, a bridge on the only north-south road collapsed because a truck was too heavy for it (weight station bribes are frequent). We had to wade through a river for another bus to pick us up on the other side.

And trains? The three train lines, built by the French in the 1960s, run only a few times a month, are mostly used for freight, and frequently break down. They are worse than the roads.

Madagascar is a place where houses reminded me of early colonial US settlers: dirt and mud homes with straw roofs and one tiny window for air. I visited a few villages, and inside these homes, I immediately noticed the musty air and lack of ventilation. I thought to myself, This is how people get respiratory diseases.

It is a country where kids wear an amalgamation of whatever they can find — and more often than not, it is filled with holes.

It is a place where people live in shantytowns and on riverbanks where they also dry their clothes (and where it floods constantly during the rainy season). They fish and farm in urban areas next to factories dumping pollution.

It is a country where I saw people mining for sapphires in conditions so harsh it could only be described as a scene out of Blood Diamond. This is place where the mining industry keeps people in company towns under terrible conditions simply because they know the people have no other option.

It is a place where the kind of poverty you read about became very, very real.

This is not to say I never knew this stuff existed. I’m not naïve or stupid. I read the news. I’ve been around the world. I’ve seen corruption, political turmoil, and poverty before. But it’s one thing to read about stark poverty in the news and it’s another to see it in front of you. It’s another to be confronted with it and have it confront your views.

This isn’t a situation where it’s like “Ohh, wow, it’s poverty! Let’s go take a look!”

This is one of those situations where you feel like you’re seeing for the first time.

This is one of those situations where your bubble bursts and what you see on TV and the news goes from abstract to real.

It’s become so easy nowadays to travel in your comfort zone and never come face to face with aspects of the world that may utterly change who you are and what you think. It’s easy to visit developing or developed countries, stay on the backpacker trail, and never see anything that makes us confront our privilege. It’s easy to only see what you want to see, to stare at Facebook in hostels, visit backpacker bars, take big-bus tours, fly from resort to resort, and attend cultural events designed for tourists.

If travel is meant to push you out of your comfort zone and expand your mind, you need to visit places that do so. To me this is part of the beauty of travel. It forces you outside your bubble, which adds great perspective to life.

You realize how lucky you are to be able to travel — while getting to know how most of the world really lives. To see it, to experience it. While we argue on Facebook and debate Twitter memes, kids go to bed hungry across the world (and sadly too often in developed countries too).

This is not to say I am arguing for “poverty tourism,” but going to places so different from your own can open your mind to different cultures, lifestyles, behaviors, and income levels.

The locals in Madagascar were friendly, welcoming, and hospitable. They were genuinely curious in our conversations and appreciative of the fact we were there. They never made me feel like I didn’t belong. I loved all my interactions with people in the country and the happy smiles they had on their faces. I’m sure they would all love a little bit more fresh water, health care, food, and basic infrastructure. But it was nice to see kids playing in the streets not glued to their iphone. It was nice to remember that there’s so much beyond consumerism.

My trip to Madagascar was a deeply profound one because it pulled me out of my bubble and made me remember that’s there is stark inequality in the world and made want to do more about it.

It was a reminder to resubscribe to the Ralph Waldo Emerson school of thought:

To laugh often and much; To win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children; To earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends; To appreciate beauty, to find the best in others; To leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch, or a redeemed social condition; To know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded.

Words without action are nothing. I must not become too selfish and I must endeavor more to give back to the places that give me so much.

So, as I end this article, I want to highlight some good local development organizations that are working to improve the living conditions in Madagascar. I donated $250 to each already and will match every dollar you all contribute up to another $500 per organization.

Feedback Madagascar is an organization that helps to alleviate poverty by working directly with communities to recognize the relationship between poverty, environmental degradation, and poor health. It gives priority to project sites in remote areas.

SEED Madagascar specializes in sustainable development and conservation projects in the southeastern part of Madagascar. Its projects include school building, natural resource management, environmental conservation, and more.

Madalief is a nonprofit organization run by a small group in the Netherlands, and it aims to give poor children in Madagascar a better future. Madalief also helps offer employment to locals on the project site, like at its eco-social hotel in Ambositra (which I stayed in).

Hope For Madagascar – With a focus on disadvantaged children and women, Hope For Madagascar builds and repairs schools and offers scholarships to children in need. It also works to improve village self-sufficiency through clean water and permaculture projects.

Reef Doctor – This non-profit has been implementing conservation projects in southwest Madagascar for 15 years. Reef Doctor works to restore and preserve vulnerable habitats and overexploited resources, while also creating projects to alleviate poverty in Madagascar.

In a country where a meal is less than a dollar, corruption is rife, and higher education is uncommon, a little can go a very, very long way.

I encourage you to seek out destinations that make you rethink your life; to find organizations that help others and the environment when you travel; to get off the tourist trail, expand your mind, open your heart, and, as Gandhi said, be the change we wish to see the in the world.

P.S. – I’m hosting a community travel meetup in NYC on November 30th! If you want to meet other travelers, enjoy some cheap drinks, and hang out with the Nomadic Matt team then be sure to come by! You can find all the details on Facebook!

P.P.S. – Want to win a free trip around the world? I’m giving away over $18,000 to one lucky person so that they can travel the world! Check out the contest details to find out how you can make your travel dreams a reality!

The post A Journey Through Madagascar: Notes on the Privilege of Travel appeared first on Nomadic Matt's Travel Site.

via Travel Blogs http://ift.tt/2jc3Aqv

[touristguidebuzz]

A Journey Through Madagascar: Notes on the Privilege of Travel

Two years ago, I wrote about how privileged and lucky we are to be able to travel the world. No matter our circumstances, we are doing something most of the world will never get a chance to do. Most people never leave their own country, let alone their continent.

Even if we’re barely scraping two pennies together as we couchsurf the world, we’re pretty fortunate. I wrote back then (and sorry for quoting myself):

In the “quit your job to travel the world” cheerleading that happens so often on travel websites (including this one), we often forget that it’s not easy for everyone.

There are those for whom no mindset change, spending cuts, or budget tips will help them travel — those who are too sick, have parents or children to care for, face great debt, or work three jobs just to make rent.

After all, 2.8 billion people — nearly 40% of the world’s population — survive on less than $2 USD a day! In my home country of the United States, 14% of the population is below the poverty line, 46 million people are on food stamps, many have to work two jobs to get by, and we have a trillion dollars in student debt dragging people down.

Nothing any website can say will magically make travel a reality for those people.

Those of us who do travel are a privileged few.

That’s not to say that hard work doesn’t count, but hard work doesn’t exist in a bubble — the circumstances that create the opportunities for hard work to bear fruit are often just as important as the work itself: support from family and friends, jobs that allow for overtime, a strong currency, cheap flights, or golden passports allow you to find work overseas. All these things matter. Most of us who travel aren’t barely getting by or on social assistance nor do we wonder if we can afford the next meal.

Whether you are traveling the world on $10, $50, or $200 a day, the simple fact you are traveling for pleasure puts you in a global minority.

We’re a privileged bunch.

Traveling constantly teaches me to appreciate just how lucky I am to do what I do. It reminds me never to forget the fact that I have access education, support systems, and resources most of the world doesn’t. My visit to Madagascar in September was my most recent reminder of this. Madagascar is a country of 20 million people that sees only 300,000 tourists a year. In Madagascar, 90% of the population lives in poverty, and 25% live in areas prone to natural disaster. Almost half of all children under five are malnourished, and the GNP is just $420 per capita (with 92% of the population living on $2 a day). Madagascar is also one of the ten countries most at risk from the effects of climate change. The country is 152 of 188 on the UN Human Development Index. Things are so bad there was actually a recent outbreak of plague. Yes, THE PLAGUE.

While I’ve seen poverty before on my travels, it’s never been as open, vivid, and widespread as what I saw in Madagascar.

My guide Patrick told me about Madagascar’s plight: corruption, environmental degradation, poverty, poor infrastructure, and a lack of education (including sex education) that has led to overpopulation, too many kids, not enough jobs, and a vicious cycle.

In Madagascar the roads have more holes than a slice of Swiss cheese, and there are too many cars and frequent accidents. Going 250km can take up to eight hours. While I was there, a bridge on the only north-south road collapsed because a truck was too heavy for it (weight station bribes are frequent). We had to wade through a river for another bus to pick us up on the other side.

And trains? The three train lines, built by the French in the 1960s, run only a few times a month, are mostly used for freight, and frequently break down. They are worse than the roads.

Madagascar is a place where houses reminded me of early colonial US settlers: dirt and mud homes with straw roofs and one tiny window for air. I visited a few villages, and inside these homes, I immediately noticed the musty air and lack of ventilation. I thought to myself, This is how people get respiratory diseases.

It is a country where kids wear an amalgamation of whatever they can find — and more often than not, it is filled with holes.

It is a place where people live in shantytowns and on riverbanks where they also dry their clothes (and where it floods constantly during the rainy season). They fish and farm in urban areas next to factories dumping pollution.

It is a country where I saw people mining for sapphires in conditions so harsh it could only be described as a scene out of Blood Diamond. This is place where the mining industry keeps people in company towns under terrible conditions simply because they know the people have no other option.

It is a place where the kind of poverty you read about became very, very real.

This is not to say I never knew this stuff existed. I’m not naïve or stupid. I read the news. I’ve been around the world. I’ve seen corruption, political turmoil, and poverty before. But it’s one thing to read about stark poverty in the news and it’s another to see it in front of you. It’s another to be confronted with it and have it confront your views.

This isn’t a situation where it’s like “Ohh, wow, it’s poverty! Let’s go take a look!”

This is one of those situations where you feel like you’re seeing for the first time.

This is one of those situations where your bubble bursts and what you see on TV and the news goes from abstract to real.

It’s become so easy nowadays to travel in your comfort zone and never come face to face with aspects of the world that may utterly change who you are and what you think. It’s easy to visit developing or developed countries, stay on the backpacker trail, and never see anything that makes us confront our privilege. It’s easy to only see what you want to see, to stare at Facebook in hostels, visit backpacker bars, take big-bus tours, fly from resort to resort, and attend cultural events designed for tourists.

If travel is meant to push you out of your comfort zone and expand your mind, you need to visit places that do so. To me this is part of the beauty of travel. It forces you outside your bubble, which adds great perspective to life.

You realize how lucky you are to be able to travel — while getting to know how most of the world really lives. To see it, to experience it. While we argue on Facebook and debate Twitter memes, kids go to bed hungry across the world (and sadly too often in developed countries too).

This is not to say I am arguing for “poverty tourism,” but going to places so different from your own can open your mind to different cultures, lifestyles, behaviors, and income levels.

The locals in Madagascar were friendly, welcoming, and hospitable. They were genuinely curious in our conversations and appreciative of the fact we were there. They never made me feel like I didn’t belong. I loved all my interactions with people in the country and the happy smiles they had on their faces. I’m sure they would all love a little bit more fresh water, health care, food, and basic infrastructure. But it was nice to see kids playing in the streets not glued to their iphone. It was nice to remember that there’s so much beyond consumerism.

My trip to Madagascar was a deeply profound one because it pulled me out of my bubble and made me remember that’s there is stark inequality in the world and made want to do more about it.

It was a reminder to resubscribe to the Ralph Waldo Emerson school of thought:

To laugh often and much; To win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children; To earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends; To appreciate beauty, to find the best in others; To leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch, or a redeemed social condition; To know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded.

Words without action are nothing. I must not become too selfish and I must endeavor more to give back to the places that give me so much.

So, as I end this article, I want to highlight some good local development organizations that are working to improve the living conditions in Madagascar. I donated $250 to each already and will match every dollar you all contribute up to another $500 per organization.

Feedback Madagascar is an organization that helps to alleviate poverty by working directly with communities to recognize the relationship between poverty, environmental degradation, and poor health. It gives priority to project sites in remote areas.

SEED Madagascar specializes in sustainable development and conservation projects in the southeastern part of Madagascar. Its projects include school building, natural resource management, environmental conservation, and more.

Madalief is a nonprofit organization run by a small group in the Netherlands, and it aims to give poor children in Madagascar a better future. Madalief also helps offer employment to locals on the project site, like at its eco-social hotel in Ambositra (which I stayed in).

Hope For Madagascar – With a focus on disadvantaged children and women, Hope For Madagascar builds and repairs schools and offers scholarships to children in need. It also works to improve village self-sufficiency through clean water and permaculture projects.

Reef Doctor – This non-profit has been implementing conservation projects in southwest Madagascar for 15 years. Reef Doctor works to restore and preserve vulnerable habitats and overexploited resources, while also creating projects to alleviate poverty in Madagascar.

In a country where a meal is less than a dollar, corruption is rife, and higher education is uncommon, a little can go a very, very long way.

I encourage you to seek out destinations that make you rethink your life; to find organizations that help others and the environment when you travel; to get off the tourist trail, expand your mind, open your heart, and, as Gandhi said, be the change we wish to see the in the world.

P.S. – I’m hosting a community travel meetup in NYC on November 30th! If you want to meet other travelers, enjoy some cheap drinks, and hang out with the Nomadic Matt team then be sure to come by! You can find all the details on Facebook!

P.P.S. – Want to win a free trip around the world? I’m giving away over $18,000 to one lucky person so that they can travel the world! Check out the contest details to find out how you can make your travel dreams a reality!

The post A Journey Through Madagascar: Notes on the Privilege of Travel appeared first on Nomadic Matt's Travel Site.

[theladyjstyle]

Two years ago, I wrote about how privileged and lucky we are to be able to travel the world. No matter our circumstances, we are doing something most of the world will never get a chance to do. Most people never leave their own country, let alone their continent.

Even if we’re barely scraping two pennies together as we couchsurf the world, we’re pretty fortunate. I wrote back then (and sorry for quoting myself):

In the “quit your job to travel the world” cheerleading that happens so often on travel websites (including this one), we often forget that it’s not easy for everyone.

There are those for whom no mindset change, spending cuts, or budget tips will help them travel — those who are too sick, have parents or children to care for, face great debt, or work three jobs just to make rent.

After all, 2.8 billion people — nearly 40% of the world’s population — survive on less than $2 USD a day! In my home country of the United States, 14% of the population is below the poverty line, 46 million people are on food stamps, many have to work two jobs to get by, and we have a trillion dollars in student debt dragging people down.

Nothing any website can say will magically make travel a reality for those people.

Those of us who do travel are a privileged few.

That’s not to say that hard work doesn’t count, but hard work doesn’t exist in a bubble — the circumstances that create the opportunities for hard work to bear fruit are often just as important as the work itself: support from family and friends, jobs that allow for overtime, a strong currency, cheap flights, or golden passports allow you to find work overseas. All these things matter. Most of us who travel aren’t barely getting by or on social assistance nor do we wonder if we can afford the next meal.

Whether you are traveling the world on $10, $50, or $200 a day, the simple fact you are traveling for pleasure puts you in a global minority.

We’re a privileged bunch.

Traveling constantly teaches me to appreciate just how lucky I am to do what I do. It reminds me never to forget the fact that I have access education, support systems, and resources most of the world doesn’t. My visit to Madagascar in September was my most recent reminder of this. Madagascar is a country of 20 million people that sees only 300,000 tourists a year. In Madagascar, 90% of the population lives in poverty, and 25% live in areas prone to natural disaster. Almost half of all children under five are malnourished, and the GNP is just $420 per capita (with 92% of the population living on $2 a day). Madagascar is also one of the ten countries most at risk from the effects of climate change. The country is 152 of 188 on the UN Human Development Index. Things are so bad there was actually a recent outbreak of plague. Yes, THE PLAGUE.

While I’ve seen poverty before on my travels, it’s never been as open, vivid, and widespread as what I saw in Madagascar.

My guide Patrick told me about Madagascar’s plight: corruption, environmental degradation, poverty, poor infrastructure, and a lack of education (including sex education) that has led to overpopulation, too many kids, not enough jobs, and a vicious cycle.

In Madagascar the roads have more holes than a slice of Swiss cheese, and there are too many cars and frequent accidents. Going 250km can take up to eight hours. While I was there, a bridge on the only north-south road collapsed because a truck was too heavy for it (weight station bribes are frequent). We had to wade through a river for another bus to pick us up on the other side.

And trains? The three train lines, built by the French in the 1960s, run only a few times a month, are mostly used for freight, and frequently break down. They are worse than the roads.

Madagascar is a place where houses reminded me of early colonial US settlers: dirt and mud homes with straw roofs and one tiny window for air. I visited a few villages, and inside these homes, I immediately noticed the musty air and lack of ventilation. I thought to myself, This is how people get respiratory diseases.

It is a country where kids wear an amalgamation of whatever they can find — and more often than not, it is filled with holes.

It is a place where people live in shantytowns and on riverbanks where they also dry their clothes (and where it floods constantly during the rainy season). They fish and farm in urban areas next to factories dumping pollution.

It is a country where I saw people mining for sapphires in conditions so harsh it could only be described as a scene out of Blood Diamond. This is place where the mining industry keeps people in company towns under terrible conditions simply because they know the people have no other option.

It is a place where the kind of poverty you read about became very, very real.

This is not to say I never knew this stuff existed. I’m not naïve or stupid. I read the news. I’ve been around the world. I’ve seen corruption, political turmoil, and poverty before. But it’s one thing to read about stark poverty in the news and it’s another to see it in front of you. It’s another to be confronted with it and have it confront your views.

This isn’t a situation where it’s like “Ohh, wow, it’s poverty! Let’s go take a look!”

This is one of those situations where you feel like you’re seeing for the first time.

This is one of those situations where your bubble bursts and what you see on TV and the news goes from abstract to real.

It’s become so easy nowadays to travel in your comfort zone and never come face to face with aspects of the world that may utterly change who you are and what you think. It’s easy to visit developing or developed countries, stay on the backpacker trail, and never see anything that makes us confront our privilege. It’s easy to only see what you want to see, to stare at Facebook in hostels, visit backpacker bars, take big-bus tours, fly from resort to resort, and attend cultural events designed for tourists.

If travel is meant to push you out of your comfort zone and expand your mind, you need to visit places that do so. To me this is part of the beauty of travel. It forces you outside your bubble, which adds great perspective to life.

You realize how lucky you are to be able to travel — while getting to know how most of the world really lives. To see it, to experience it. While we argue on Facebook and debate Twitter memes, kids go to bed hungry across the world (and sadly too often in developed countries too).

This is not to say I am arguing for “poverty tourism,” but going to places so different from your own can open your mind to different cultures, lifestyles, behaviors, and income levels.

The locals in Madagascar were friendly, welcoming, and hospitable. They were genuinely curious in our conversations and appreciative of the fact we were there. They never made me feel like I didn’t belong. I loved all my interactions with people in the country and the happy smiles they had on their faces. I’m sure they would all love a little bit more fresh water, health care, food, and basic infrastructure. But it was nice to see kids playing in the streets not glued to their iphone. It was nice to remember that there’s so much beyond consumerism.

My trip to Madagascar was a deeply profound one because it pulled me out of my bubble and made me remember that’s there is stark inequality in the world and made want to do more about it.

It was a reminder to resubscribe to the Ralph Waldo Emerson school of thought:

To laugh often and much; To win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children; To earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends; To appreciate beauty, to find the best in others; To leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch, or a redeemed social condition; To know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded.

Words without action are nothing. I must not become too selfish and I must endeavor more to give back to the places that give me so much.

So, as I end this article, I want to highlight some good local development organizations that are working to improve the living conditions in Madagascar. I donated $250 to each already and will match every dollar you all contribute up to another $500 per organization.

Feedback Madagascar is an organization that helps to alleviate poverty by working directly with communities to recognize the relationship between poverty, environmental degradation, and poor health. It gives priority to project sites in remote areas.

SEED Madagascar specializes in sustainable development and conservation projects in the southeastern part of Madagascar. Its projects include school building, natural resource management, environmental conservation, and more.

Madalief is a nonprofit organization run by a small group in the Netherlands, and it aims to give poor children in Madagascar a better future. Madalief also helps offer employment to locals on the project site, like at its eco-social hotel in Ambositra (which I stayed in).

Hope For Madagascar – With a focus on disadvantaged children and women, Hope For Madagascar builds and repairs schools and offers scholarships to children in need. It also works to improve village self-sufficiency through clean water and permaculture projects.

Reef Doctor – This non-profit has been implementing conservation projects in southwest Madagascar for 15 years. Reef Doctor works to restore and preserve vulnerable habitats and overexploited resources, while also creating projects to alleviate poverty in Madagascar.

In a country where a meal is less than a dollar, corruption is rife, and higher education is uncommon, a little can go a very, very long way.

I encourage you to seek out destinations that make you rethink your life; to find organizations that help others and the environment when you travel; to get off the tourist trail, expand your mind, open your heart, and, as Gandhi said, be the change we wish to see the in the world.

P.S. – I’m hosting a community travel meetup in NYC on November 30th! If you want to meet other travelers, enjoy some cheap drinks, and hang out with the Nomadic Matt team then be sure to come by! You can find all the details on Facebook!

P.P.S. – Want to win a free trip around the world? I’m giving away over $18,000 to one lucky person so that they can travel the world! Check out the contest details to find out how you can make your travel dreams a reality!

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