#welcome to the goddamn ice cube

[travelingviabooks]

Welcome to the Goddamn Ice Cube by Blair Braverman ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Genre: nonfiction, memoir, sports, travel

Country: USA, Norway

Review:

This book wasn’t quite what I was expecting, but it was still so good. I anticipated more information about dogsledding, but this book is more of a journey of healing. There were some parts of this book that were hard for me to read, but the ending and it’s joy and hopefulness made it worth powering through.

Would I recommend this book?:

I would definitely recommend this book, but with caution as the author does discuss sexual assault and emotional abuse.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

ash i love vince so much he is my number 2 babygirl (antoni number 1 babygirl forever)

i would like to formally request some vince having a Bad Time, either past stuff with owen or present with recovery being a bitch

because there is nothing better than lovely characters having bad times that they absolutely do not deserve

CW: Alcoholism, withdrawal/cravings, alcoholic anger, Vince and Jameson both PTSD-ing all over the place, guilt

Oh, poor Vince. Takes place post-the Same Bed Arc, after Vince is living with Nat and Jameson.

-

Vince doesn't even look up when he hears Jameson stop in the doorway. He just pours a few shots worth of the gin into the glass, staring fixedly down at it. The liquid, clear as water but with the herbal scent washing over him like a welcome spring rain, spreads over the ice with those gentle cracks he knows better than his own heartbeat.

God, it looks good.

His hands don't shake, now. His heart doesn't race. He doesn't feel sweaty, or upset, or like he'll be sick.

He just feels like he's staring at the solution to all his problems, and all he has to do is swallow it down.

This should feel awful - he knows it should. It should taste awful, there should be something to remind him of the damage he does to himself every time he drinks again. He should hear his sponsor speaking in the back of his mind, he should hear the voices of the others at the meetings he goes to - one for alcoholism, one for survivors of sexual assault, twice a week there's movie star Vincent goddamn Shield among the normal people and admitting he's barely human, just a wreck that only survived Owen Grant because Nat decided she gave a fuck about him for reasons Vince still doesn't understand.

Here he stands, a hollow shell wearing a nice face who let someone else suffer in his place and was grateful for it for far too long.

Kauri hates him but it's nothing compared to how much he hates himself.

Vince lifts the glass, hesitating at the last second with the cool rim just touching his lower lip. Gin smells like blacking out and right now he could use the blessed darkness, hangover be damned.

He can worry about that when the headache kicks in tomorrow morning.

He realizes he's waiting for the sickening crawl of guilt at letting Nat down, at-... at letting himself down. Maybe that will come later, but right now... He feels goddamn good. Settled. Calm.

He and Jameson meet eyes just as he tosses the drink back, three large swallows of juniper-scented gin down his throat like water, leaving only the ice cubes behind.

The burn is perfect.

He pours himself another drink, feeling the warmth slowly spread through his chest to his shoulders, eyes briefly closing. God, it feels like goddamn heaven.

He looks up.

Jameson is still standing there in the doorway, looking oddly soft in a loose sweater that's far too big for him and a pair of old jeans that probably cost a dollar at a yard sale and even that was too much. Vince has jeans that distressed, somewhere.

His cost more than five hundred dollars.

He chokes on the next drink from trying not to laugh.

Jameson's eyes narrow. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Vince takes another sip, eyes half-closed, letting himself take it slow this time and really enjoy the taste.

He'd honestly been surprised the little liquor store down the block even carried this brand of gin. Not that he wouldn't have bought whatever he could get, when he stood there feeling like he would die if he had to go another day, but still. It's nice to have seen his favorite stuff, top shelf, pricier than it had any right to be. It's not even that good, but it's still his favorite. It still tastes, to him, like the nights he sleeps without nightmares, few and far between.

Gin tastes like those nights he gets to sleep at all.

The cashier had looked surprised as she wiped off the dust and rang it up for him. Then, with a shy smile, she'd asked him if anyone ever told him he looked a lot like Vincent Shield. He'd been kind of sad she didn't card him - it would have been nice to see the look on her face when she saw his name.

Instead, he paid in cash, laughed, and told her the standard I get that a lot, actually.

Jameson doesn't move closer, or leave. "It looks like you're fucking yourself up," He says, lingering in the doorway. "You can't just start drinking again. You know that, right?"

"Oh, I sure as hell can." Vince laughs, but it's a bitter sound. He licks the gin lingering on his lips, then gestures at the bottle. "Have some with me."

He's caught, for just a moment, when he sees Jameson wearing an expression Vince has never seen on him before. He looks... nervous. Afraid, almost, instead of angry.

"I-I don't want to," Jameson says, but there's a way he says it that makes Vince think he'd drink if he offers again. Maybe he wants to, or maybe he just doesn't want to make Vince mad.

If he commanded it, if he gave an order... Jameson would be as he's told, wouldn't he? Damn, that would be some power to have over someone.

This must be why Owen liked it so much.

No.

He won't think about Owen right now.

Vince gulps down liquid until he's breathless, almost panting. The warmth is like the familiar cradle of a softer reality settling in. He makes himself slow down this time, picking up an ice cube and sucking the juniper taste right off it before crunching it with his teeth.

"Vince." Jameson's voice gets harsher, and something seems to break his brief paralysis. He moves closer, grabbing the bottle and pulling it away when Vince puts a hand out to pour the third drink. "Fucking... look at me. What the fuck?"

Vince's hand just... hangs out there, reaching for a bottle that isn't where it was. He stares at the empty space, and feels that dark inside of him threaten to well up yet again. "What?"

Jameson swallows, his eyes moving to the glass, back to Vince's face. He steps backwards, and Vince watches the bottle go with him with a piercing need that could easily knock him off his feet if he weren't holding onto the back of a chair. Jameson clears his throat. "Aren't you... like, sober now?"

"Mmmn. Was. Got the like... three month chip thing and everything." He's gotten thoroughly wasted so many times in his life. Nothing relaxes him better than enough alcohol to force his body to stop living in constant, unending fear of who might hurt him next. "Right now, I am tipsy instead. In about an hour, I'm going to be absolutely fucked up. Give me back my gin."

Jameson's hand moves - then he jerks it back, taking a few steps backwards until he's back in the doorway. His eyes are on Vince's face, watching him with a total focus that Vince recognizes from the others he's worked with over the years - Jameson's just a trained pet, in this moment, watching to see if the master will be angry.

It makes him laugh again, more bitterly this time. Is he the master? Has he ever been his own master, let alone anyone else's?

"I... I can't do that," Jameson says, and Vince hears that he doesn't say no. When Vince moves towards him, he backs up a little more, and Vince comes to a stop just a foot or so away.

"Am... am I scaring you?" He asks, suddenly.

It wasn't what he meant to say, he meant to demand his drink again. Instead, this question that... that just sort of falls out of him like a waterfall.

Jameson's jaw sets and his eyes narrow. "You're not doing shit to me," He snaps, but Vince knows he's really saying yes.

Is this why people buy pets? So they can see something pretend not to be scared, and know they're the monster not just under the bed, but in it?

"Oh," He whispers. "What is it? Why are you scared? I'm just a drunk asshole, why are you scared of me?"

Jameson bristles, but then he offers - as if it's pulled out of him against his will - the softest explanation. "Brute and Robert got drunk all the time. I know what happens when-... when people get this kind of drunk."

There's a look in his eyes Vince has seen before in Kauri's. Not fear of him, not directly, but fear of someone like him, maybe. Fear of having demands made that can't be denied.

Is this how Owen felt, every time Kauri had to playact the loving boyfriend with bruises on his wrists and terror making his heart race? Is this how it feels to have power over somebody else when you can't even control yourself?

It's... it's good, almost.

It feels better than he thought it would.

"Back up, Shield," Jameson hisses, like a cat spitting and arching its back, ready to attack with claws and sharp teeth not because it's confident in victory but because it's so small it has to fight to have even the slightest chance to survive.

Vince looks him over, reading with an actor's expertise how he's projecting a confident swagger he never feels, how the irritation layers itself so carefully over a vulnerability that he sees as weakness. Vince has lived that way, too, since he was twenty-one, since his best friend turned out to be a rapist who wanted Vince to himself, since he started drinking to forget every single night and putting on the perfect face during his days.

They both survived, didn't they?

Jameson just did it by fighting his way out, and Vince by pretending to be someone he wasn't until nobody knew who he actually was, and that's a way of surviving, too. Wear another face, and make sure no one sees the fear in your real one, so they can't refuse to help you... because you've never asked.

"No." At least one of them can say it. Although that makes Vince's heart twist with ugly guilt, the petty cruelty of the thought. "Give me my gin," Vince says, pitching his voice low, and holds out his hand. "Now, Jameson. Give it to me."

"I can't." The strength is gone from Jameson's voice, and he looks at Vince with those dark eyes searching his own, trying to make himself understood. "If you drink, your-... your body's not used to it anymore, if you drink the same amount you'll fucking kill your stupid liver."

"What do you care about my liver?" Vince's voice drops low, almost a whisper. "What do you care about me, about my goddamn joke of a life, huh? What the fuck do you care? Why should anyone care?"

There's a flicker of something in Jameson's eyes - recognition, maybe. Something that lights up, just for a second, before the other man shoves Vince to the side with sudden violent strength and stalks to the sink, turning the bottle over and pouring that expensive artisan gin right down the drain.

"No!" Vince's voice is a ragged shout as he lunges after him, but it's too little too late.

Jameson's foot kicks out and slams into Vince's calf, sending him stumbling, clawing desperately as the gin is gone, glug glug glug, down into the pipes, disappearing towards the ocean.

Rage and terror fight in Vince's mind in a sudden white noise and he gets to his feet, grabbing Jameson by the arms and squeezing as hard as he can, shoving him back across the room. He hears Jameson hit one of the chairs, the clatter of wood and Jameson's grunt of pain as both hit the ground hard. The bottle is in the sink, and even when Vince scrambles to pick it back up, there's less than an inch of gin left.

He sucks it down, and only once he's gotten that final drop does he suddenly go still.

Oh.

There's the guilt and the horror and feeling sick at himself, just... twenty minutes too late. He sets the empty bottle carefully down, and then turns slowly around to look at Jameson.

Jameson sits on the kitchen floor, staring up at him with wide eyes. His face is pale, making the scar that twists the corner of his mouth stand out even more. His hair is nearly grown back in now, the bald patches hidden by the rest.

Vince exhales in a rush. "Oh, hell. Jameson-" He holds out a hand.

Jameson flinches.

Vince pulls his hand back, backing up until his back hits the edge of the sink. "Right. Okay. I'm-... I'm sorry Jameson-"

"Yeah." Jameson's voice is gruff, all the vulnerability and fear wiped away as soon as he realizes it's showing. He gets to his feet, shoulders protectively hunched, arms crossed in front of himself defensively. "Whatever. Sure you are. Drink yourself to death, shitbag, if that's what you want."

"I'm so sorry."

Jameson's jaw works. "... Everybody's always sorry. Then I get fucking hit again." Then he turns and walks - limps, really, his knees threatening to give out with every step - away. Vince stands there, frozen, listening as he makes his slow, painful way up the stairs.

Vince stares at the place he was for a while - he isn't sure how long. The gin is sinking its velvet claws into his mind, and he's drunker than he should be after only two drinks.

But then, it's been months.

Months, he made it without taking even a sip.

He swallows, again and again, and then pulls his cell phone out of his pocket, finds a contact, and presses the button to make the call.

The phone rings until he's certain it'll go to voicemail, before a voice he knows as well as his own is in his ear.

"What the hell do you want?"

"I-I need to talk to you," He stammers, his heart cold. "Please. Please. I-I've been drinking. I need... I need help."

There's a pause.

"From... me?"

"Yeah... yeah. You'll-... I need somebody who won't be nice to me-"

"Oh, well, if there's anything I love it's the chance to be mean to you, let me drop my entire life to come listen to you whine about yours."

"Please."

An exhale. "Whatever. Yeah, okay. I'll be over there in like... half an hour? An hour, maybe. Drink some water and I'll be there as soon as I can. Don't leave the house."

"Thanks... thank you, Kauri."

Kauri hangs up.

Vince pours himself a glass of water over the leftover gin-soaked ice, sipping it, barely flavored with a hint of the liquor he wants so badly. He rights the chair he'd accidentally shoved Jameson into, and listens to the creaking floorboards and muffled cursing above him as Jameson makes his halting painful way from stairway to his room, a couple thumps when he clearly falls and had to force himself back upright, until the pacing abruptly stops when he must have collapsed into his bed.

He hears the gentle patting of Trash Cat's paws as she leaves her place on the living room couch and follows him, too, her soft meowing until Jameson opens his door to let her come in after him. Then silence again.

Vince sits back down at the table, leaning over with his head in his hand, staring as the ice slowly melts, cooling the water around it.

He should have called his sponsor instead.

Whatever Kauri is about to say can only make this worse.

But he deserves it, anyway.

Vince doesn't move a muscle until he hears the sound of Jake's truck pulling into the driveway, crunching briefly over gravel before it's on the pavement again, when he raises his head.

Kauri walks in without knocking, stops in the doorway to the kitchen, and looks at him like his younger self ashamed of what he's grown into. Vince knows Jake must have driven him, but he's nowhere to be seen - maybe just staying outside, for now. He's clearly dressed for bed in a matching navy blue silk button-up and pajama pants, barefoot even.

"Hey," Vince says, weakly. The alcohol feels like poison now, not the soothing warmth it had been before. "I... I fucked up, Kauri."

"Yeah, I can tell just by looking at you, you're a goddamn mess." Kauri looks at Vince head-on, even though it still hurts him to do it, and Vince can see the flinch he suppresses as the headache kicks in. His blue eyes are identical to Vince's in nearly every way, except that Kauri's gaze has always been stronger. "What the hell did you do?"

"I got... I drank."

"Yep. I can see the gin bottle. Did you drink all of it?" Kauri's voice is flat and businesslike. It's like having his own younger self dressing him down, and somehow that feels... really good. Better than he thought it would.

"... No. Just a couple drinks. Jameson poured the rest out."

"Good for him." Kauri flickers a smile. "Where is he?"

"I-... I scared him."

"... you scared him?"

"Yeah. I was-... I wasn't-... I didn't mean to, but-"

"Shut up. All right. Tell me what you did. I'll fix it. This time, taking your place so I suffer for years while you run off and become obscenely wealthy is off the table, got it?"

Vince looks at him in horror only to see a surprising warmth in Kauri's smile. Not... not affection, but something like it. A wry compassion, maybe. Something else he doesn't deserve. "I don't know. I don't know if I can fix this, Kauri. I don't know."

"Well... I happen to the resident expert in trying to avoid dealing with your problems while making them all worse, so talk to me. Tell me what you did, start to finish. We'll figure out what comes next."

Vince lowers his head into his arms.

"Thank you," He says, muffled.

"Not enough thanks in the world, dumbass. Lucky for you I'm an amazing person who just happens to have spent most of my twenties making stupid drunk mistakes. So stop stalling and start talking."

-

@finder-of-rings @endless-whump @arlin-always-writing @newandfiguringitout @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @whumpyourdamnpears @cubeswhump  @whump-tr0pes @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @outofangband @hackles-up @grizzlie70 @mylifeisonthebookshelf @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @autophagay

[roothelittlereddoggo]

Day 2: (alt) Fever

@medwhumpmay

Content: Caretaking | Stubborn Whumpee | Comfort | Working While Sick | Fever | Cuddling | Cats | Avengers OC’s

-

Super soldiers didn’t get sick.  They couldn’t, the serum wouldn’t allow it, at least that’s what Eamon always believed.  He had never seen Steve or Bucky get sick, he had never heard about them getting sick! So he wasn’t sick, he couldn’t be.  It didn’t matter if it felt like a blunt pole was being driven into his temples repeatedly, or if his throat burned each time he swallowed back the snot dripping from his nose, or if his body was so unnaturally hot that it felt so wrong.  Eamon normally was like an ice cube (a side effect of the serum) so usually any warmth was more than welcomed (especially if it was from Matthias) but right now it was like he had walked days across the desert in a thick wool sweater, his shirt kept sticking to his body along with the longer strands of hair falling out of the bun he kept it back in.  On top of that, he couldn’t stop shivering— which made no damn sense because if he was this hot he shouldn’t be shivering!  But his body evidently didn’t get the message.

But he wasn’t sick.  He couldn’t be.  Plus, the team had a mission to go on, a rather simple one in all honesty.  Evidently there was some bank robbery where there were hostages involved (and of course the robbers had some weird-ass superpowered weapons which is why the avengers were called in to help), so he couldn’t be sick.  He had a job to do.

The drive was rather short, carpooling in Matthias’ truck to get to the site but Eamon could tell Matt was worrying over him, he had that look in his eyes, every half glance in the other tom’s direction, the way his paws were tightening on the steering wheel— hell, Matt had cranked the heater up for a reason and not because it was cold outside since it was goddamn June.  When they finally parked, Eamon unclipped his seatbelt just as Matthias finally decided to speak up.  “You sure you’re alright, Eam?” His tone was so gentle and concerned that Eamon considered admitting that he felt like someone kept hitting his head with a brick and his stomach was churning so much he was pretty positive he was gonna puke any minute now and that his damn body couldn’t decide if he was too hot or too cold!  But his attention then turned to the street, the police gathered around the entrance of the bank, he could faintly hear the hostages screaming inside and Tony’s muffled voice just outside.  No, they needed him, plus he wasn’t sick.  

“Yeah, m’fine, Matt.  It’s jus’ allergies, pollen an’ shit like that y’know?”

Matthias fixed his stubborn boyfriend with a disbelieving look but before he could open his mouth to speak up again, Eamon opened the door and headed out to where the rest of the team was.

So… the mission might not have gone to plan.  Eamon… might’ve given away their position and might’ve gotten stuck in a three vs one fight after his gun had been kicked away.  But it was fine! He was fine! His head just throbbed is all and he couldn’t stop coughing every half second- but that was from the smoke.  Unfortunately, all it took was one well aimed strike to the stomach to send him sprawling to the ground, the nausea he’d been keeping at bay surging up into his throat all at once as a violent shudder wracked his body.  Through his blurring vision he could see some gun-like weapon being aimed at his face and it was glowing… probably not good.  The robbers were talking but he couldn’t hear it over the loud, annoying ringing in his ears which only aggravated his headache, so he resorted to squeezing his eyes shut for a moment or two.  Then there was a muffled thud- a few muffled thuds and grunts and yells.  Silence for a few seconds then a distinct but still distant:

“Eamon!!”

Huh, he knew that voice.  Eamon dared to open his eyes as a familiar face came into view, golden fur and bright sea green eyes.  “Matthias?”

“Shit!” Matt hissed and bent down, urging Eamon to stand which he managed to do so with so difficulty.  “I knew it- I knew you were sick! You’re burning up for Christ’s sake!”  His tone was scolding but definitely held worry and concern and it only made Eamon’s ears drop in response.  His head was swaying from side to side and he only squeezed his eyes shut again as the world started to spin.  “M’sorry-.. I jus’ thought-..” A gag cut him off as the nausea surged again.  Swallowing it back, Eamon let out a hoarse groan and dared to crack open his eyes again.  Matthias’ face was full of concern, maybe annoyance or disappointment but concern was the most prominent.  A sigh escaped his jaws and he moved closer to let his boyfriend lean against his side, his fluffy tail going to lay across Eamon’s back.  “God, you’re an idiot.”  He sighed out, though his tone held no real heat.

When they finally made it outside, Eamon winced as the sunlight assaulted his senses, and turned to hide his face against Matt’s shoulder until things became less bright.  “Sheesh, he’s not looking too good.”  Eamon heard Tony say but didn’t lift his face from the other’s fur just yet.  Matthias let out a sigh and answered the billionaire.  “Yeah, he’s got a fever, went out doin’ this today sick.”  His tone was laced with light annoyance.  Tony sighed and Eamon got the sense he was shaking his head.  “Yup. Sounds like Eamon alright.”  Matthias huffed and started forward again with Eamon in tow.  “Ya’ got things handled here right?”  “Yep,” Tony answered.  “You just take care of Frosty over there.”  Eamon was being steered back to the truck but managed to lift his head finally and fix the tomcat with a bleary glare.  “Don’t call me that, tin man.”  He muttered.  Tony smirked just slightly and waved Eamon off with a fake salute.  “Uh huh, kick my ass for it after you’re better.”  Eamon rolled his eyes (immediately regretting the motion that made his head spin again) and climbed back into the truck, slumping against the passenger seat as Matthias got back in the driver’s seat and started the vehicle up.

“Where’re we goin’?”  Eamon finally asked after a few minutes of driving.  His cheek was pressed against the window, eyes half lidded, threatening to droop further down and drag his tired, feverish body into some much needed sleep.  Matthias let out a breath and glanced over.  “My apartment, ya’ need actual rest an’ frankly I don’t believe you’d stay in that room ya’ have in the tower.”  The golden tom answered.  Eamon hummed in response.

By the time they actually arrived at the apartment, Eamon had dozed off, being startled awake by a calloused paw nudging his shoulder.  Eyes flicking open, he stared up at Matthias who was helping him out, his own paws feeling heavier than normal, like heavy chains had been locked onto his ankles and wrists.  He trudged up the stairs, following the gold-pelted tom up to his apartment door, the metallic rattling of keys being fumbled with muffledly hitting his ears.  The next thing he knew, Eam was being led upstairs, climbing onto a soft bed though before sleep could claim his mind, a soft voice spoke and roused him.

“Hey, you’ll be a lot more comfortable if ya’ take your gear off.”

Oh, he didn’t even realize he was still wearing that stuff.  Eamon looked down and only gave a noncommittal hum, fiddling with his heavy paws to undo the straps.  Matthias sat in front of him, helping to shrug off the gear onto the floor, reaching over to detach his prosthetic.  Eamon gave an appreciative hum as the vibranium arm was sat on the nightstand and he settled down against the pillows.  “Wait right here for a moment, ok?” Matthias had told him, which Eamon had been planning on regardless.  Through half lidded eyes he watched Matt pad into the bathroom and return a few moments later with some Tylenol and a glass of water.  “This’ll help the fever.”  The gold tom said as he handed his sick boyfriend the pills and the water which Eamon gulped down.  The tomcat slumped back against the pillows as Matt reached out, carding a gentle paw through his sweat-slicked hair as his eyes drooped down.  “Get some rest, darlin’.” Came the quiet murmur.  Matt leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to his boyfriend’s forehead which Eamon leaned into before his eyes fluttered shut finally and sleep claimed his feverish mind.

-

Damnit, Eamon was too stubborn for his own good in Matthias’ opinion.  Going out sick on a damn mission was just plain idiotic!  His boyfriend could’ve gotten himself hurt or worse and did he just- not care?!  No… Matt knew that wasn’t it, but Eam had a habit of just ignoring his body’s cues, a habit developed by HYDRA (go figure) and a bad one at that the tom was still trying to break.  Still, it could be annoying, even if Matthias understood it.

He couldn’t really sleep, his mind far too wired to lay next to a conked out Eamon.  Instead he had gone downstairs to try and call Steve or Bucky since they’d gotten sick once despite being super soldiers.  Matt figured it was just like taking care of any other cat with a fever but he didn’t fully know if the serum changed anything.  From what it sounded like, it didn’t- thank god- nothing was amped up, no adverse side effects, etc etc.  Still, he couldn’t sleep even after his phone calls.

It was around 1 in the morning when Matthias finally got back up from the couch to pour out his cold mug of coffee, he’d been planning on just turning on Yellowstone and watching it until he felt tired enough to head up to bed.  At least until someone came up from behind, arms wrapping around his waist, a muzzle pressing against his the back of his shoulder.  Matt almost jumped ten feet and his first instinct would’ve been to incapacitate whoever was grabbing him, but he narrowly stopped himself when he caught the scent, and heard the groggy voice.

“… you’re warm…”

Turning his head the gold-pelted tom saw his boyfriend snuggling up against his back, eyes shut, his hair a long, tangled mess.  Wearing an oversized hoodie he had evidently found in Matt’s closet and baggy sweatpants, truth be told Eamon looked adorable in the clothes.  He would’ve been cuter if he wasn’t still sick.

“And you’re supposed t’be in bed.”  Matthias countered, turning so he could face Eamon properly.  The sick tomcat mumbled something incoherent and Matt only sighed.  Maybe he’d had a nightmare, or maybe he felt cold despite his still unnaturally warm temperature (considering Eamon was always like an ice cube), or maybe Eam was just feeling cuddly right now.  Whatever it was, Matthias didn’t have the heart to send him back upstairs.  So with a soft sigh, he led his boyfriend over to the couch and let him curl up on his lap as he turned on Yellowstone just for some background noise.  “Better?” He asked softly, running a paw through Eam’s messy hair. 

“Mmhm.. s’better.” Came the hoarse, mumbled response and Matt gave a soft nod.

“Good.  Now get some real sleep, ok?  Ya’ need it, Eam.”

Eamon made a soft noise, though for once he didn’t argue and it wasn’t long before his body went lax against Matthias’ and his breathing evened out.

[cricketnationrise]

Congrats on the followers!!

I would love some Kent Parson, 1:13am, in Vegas. I’m thinking The (Shipped) Gold Standard - Fall Out Boy for vibes and the rating is up to you, I’m good with any!

I’m dairaliz on AO3

ngl, as much as i love this song on its own and for Kent post-draft in particular, i was really worried about writing this one. i haven't actually written Kent POV before, so i hope i did him justice and that it's even a little bit what you were hoping to get 💜🦗

read the rest of the ficlets here

🏒🏒🏒🏒

1:31am, las vegas

Parson! Over here, Kent! What do you think about Jack Zimmermann’s overdose? No comment.

The bar Kent’s sitting in didn’t even card him. 

For all Kent wants to pretend he’s got his life together—he’s got his dream job, he’s moved out of his parents’ house for good, he’s making enough money to buy his mom a goddamn mansion—he’s scared fucking shitless. 

Every clink of the ice cubes against the bottom of his glass grates on his brain, a sharp reminder of the weight of an entire fucking franchise sitting on his shoulders. A franchise that might be settling for second-best, the only option available. Kent will never know—too terrified to ask—if Vegas would have drafted him regardless of Ja—Zimmermann’s presence; will never know just how he and Zimmermann would have done playing on opposing teams, how they would have stacked up.

And the bar didn’t even card him. Sure, he was dragged out by his new teammates, was being welcomed to the fold with alcohol and non-diet-approved bar food, was surrounded by boisterous young men who were putting their faith in him—

It’s fine, probably. They definitely picked this bar because they don’t card regularly. It’s not his teammates’ fault that the idea of one night of drinking being enough to tip the scales, to irrevocably tank a promising career, a future—is spiraling around Kent’s head, circling the drain. Zimms had been right there with him, neck and neck, constantly battling for more points, for bigger numbers. They’d pushed each other, pulling the best performance out of the other both off and on the ice. And in the blink of an eye, the flash of lightning, the space between one breath and the next: Jack had been ripped away—from hockey, from the NHL, from Kent.

Kent knew. He knew as soon as he saw Jack on the floor, skin a shade no skin should be, empty orange pill bottle next to his limp hand, and dialed 9-1-1 that life as he knew it was over. No matter what happened next, this would change everything. Part of him was panicking, practically hyperventilating, as he half-yelled, half-sobbed through the phone at the dispatcher, as he hovered ineffectually around the medics as they strapped Jack to a backboard. The other part of him railed from behind a wall of mute shock and horror and resignation as Jack blocked his phone number, kicked him out of his room, told his parents not to let Kent visit.

Each time Jack shut him out, another layer of chill settled around Kent’s heart. The wall around his real self got another brick higher every time a reporter asked about the draft. Deep in the core of himself, he wants to lash out, to push back, to scream that the boy he loves won’t talk to him and what did he do to deserve that—but even Kent isn’t self-destructive enough to say any of that where someone else can hear. So he’ll drink with his teammates, in a sketchy Vegas dive bar, and count down the days until the season starts.

It’s the only thing he’s got left.

Kent, what do you say to those people who say you only went first in the draft because Zimmermann wasn’t there? Haha, um...I guess we’ll never know what would have happened, will we? A great big mystery for us all. I’m just excited to get started on winning the Aces a Cup.

[sergeifyodorov]

Do u perhaps . Have a list of book recs ? I actually went over to a local library to check out the Russian 5 partly bc of u, so that'll be a read for thr near future :D

sorry I took so long to get to this one! there was a book that i was midway through that i planned on adding, but i had to finish it first 😭

hockey nonfiction

the russian five: a story of espionage, defection, bribery, and courage, keith gave. the book that made me a fedorovista. fascinating study of soviet an post-soviet hockey politics. a story both heartwrenching and batshit insane.

the game, ken dryden. did you know that canadian member of parliament ken dryden played hockey once. he was pretty good at it, too

the game of our lives, peter gzowski. this one is kind of a deep cut and it might be hard to find -- as far as im aware it's been out of print for a while. a thorough examination of the freshly post-merger edmonton oilers, gretzky, canadian culture, and what makes players generational.

other nonfiction

moneyball, michael lewis. equal parts philosophy, business, and baseball. what really makes a team good?

welcome to the goddamn ice cube, blair braverman. on fear, misogyny, and arctic survivalism. this woman is possibly my celebrity crush.

[lazyrants]

The LazyTown Snow Monster (prod 210)

Original airdate: December 15, 2006

Story by Magnus Scheving

Written by Magnus Scheving, Mani Svavarrson, Noah Zachary

Directed by Magnus Scheving

Executive producers - Magnus Scheving, Ragnheidur Melsted, Raymond P. Le Gue, Brown Johnson, Kay Wilson Stallings

Starring Magnus Scheving, Stefan Karl Steffanson, Julianna Rose Mauriello

Puppeteers - Gudmondor Thor Karason, Jodi Eichelberger, David Matthew Feldman, Julie Westwood, Sarah Burgess, Ronald Binion

Review of a Christmas special - valid because Christmas in July!

Sportacus is in his airship and he's playing with a katana. Oh, go ahead and motivate kids to play with sharp things, okay. He throws a strawberry in the air and catches it with his katana. Same with a grape, a lemon, another strawberry, and a blueberry. He decides to unlock/open the door, AND HE THROWS THE KATANA OUT.

Then, he gets out a hook to bring the katana back up. The fruits are all in ice cubes, and he puts them all in a bowl. He calls them 'Sportscandy Ice Cubes' and puts them in a glass of water, and takes a sip.

I should probably point out he calls them cool. I really hope that pun was intended. It's a lovely snowy day in LazyTown, and Milford seems to be looking for something when Stephanie comes in. Stephanie questions the smell ('Welcome to LazyTown' reference?), and it's Milford's bait for catching fish. He tells Stephanie he can't find his fishing hat. Whaddya know, he was WEARING IT. But Stephanie is looking for something of her own.

It turns out to be a costume. The kids have been playing Catch the Snow Monster and Stephanie is the snow monster this time, so she needs a fluffy, scary, tremendously horrifying. What do you know, Milford's wearing it. So they do a hat swap.

Stephanie looks ridiculous. Milford thinks he looks pretty. Self-love crosses into delusion, but OK. So the kids are playing Snow Monster on the field, when Steph sees Ziggy on the court, scanning in front of him for her. Then she scares him and he dives for some reason. Pixel has a device to catch her. (Why does he wanna catch his crush..?) And Trixie's going old-school, using a net (that she just found). And Stingy asks when it's his turn to be the Snow Monster. Meanwhile, Milford is fishing.

He thinks he found a fish but he goddamn well knows he didn't. The kids are still playing Snow Monster when Stingy's whining about being it wakes up Robbie. He questions why they're playing outside in winter (If I was them, I'd be drinking hot cocoa with marshmallows next to the heater, watching a movie.. ah... these Americans, so lucky with their snow. IT'S WINTER WHILE I'M WATCHING THIS AND IT'S NOT EVEN COLD!!). He decides to check out what they're doing, and he sees the Snow Monster Steph, and RUNS AWAY while dabbing.

Stefan Karl brought so much life to Robbie Rotten. Then he realizes snow monsters aren't real and reluctantly goes back to the periscope. He realizes it's just the silly kids. THEN he feels something coming. It's either a brilliant idea or his periscope hitting him in the back of the head.

Double dipper. Coincidentally and conveniently, Robbie literally already has a SNOW MONSTER COSTUME. Meanwhile while Milford is fishing, the ice starts to crack and instead of getting out of there he watches as it breaks. Or maybe he's waiting for Sportacus to save him, because the crystal beeps and he does exactly that. He drives the skutla over Milford and tells him to tie his fishing rope to the Skutla's wing thingy. And Sportacus turns over the skutla and drops Milford in a pile of snow. He pulls over in the air, puts on his scarf and checks on Milford.

It turns out he didn't know how dangerous frozen lakes were because he didn't see Macaulay Culkin in 'The Good Son'. Sportacus tells him abut the danger of frozen lakes, then goes back to his airship. Milford puts up a sign. Back at the lair is a fourth-wall break, and I hate fourth wall breaks mostly because most kids shows have annoying characters talking to the camera and LazyTown wasn't the type of show for that and it never should've did that, and they didn't! Well, with some promos and LazyTown Extra as an exception. Anyways, Robbie was fourth-wall breaking in the worst way - talking to the camera.

Robbie puts on the costume FINALLY. This disguise time doesn't rhyme unfortunately, it's just weather descriptions 'too rainy, too sunny..' Anyways, when he discovers it works he is extremely happy. It's Stingy's turn to be the Snow Monster, and he says no-one can catch him. Then someone catches him.

Too soon. Sportacus flippity flops into the game to see what they're doing and they explain everything to him. Stephanie asks him what his favourite thing to do as a kid in the snow was, and he says it was building a snowman. They do so while performing 'Snow, Give Me Snow'. Then once they finish he goes back to the airship. Anyways, for some reason Pixel thinks they need some tunes so he goes to get his solar-powered boombox which is stupid because it's SNOWING. Anyways, the kids go in the fort, thus bringing us some funny dialogue. Ziggy says he wishes he could have a fort all year long, Trixie says it'd melt and become water, Ziggy says he'd just make it a water fort and Stingy says it would melt. While they're all having fun, the party diarrhea-er Robbie comes out the shell.

As he falls down climbing over the wall, the kids hear him and wonder what it is. Stephanie goes outside to check what it was and she sees a 'The LazyTown Snow Monster' as she said at the beginning of the episode. Robbie says that was great after Stephanie hides in the igloo. Trixie wants to catch the Snow Monster, but Stingy says they need a bigger net. Then Stephanie decides a way to stop a SNOW monster is by throwing SNOWballs at him. ???? They think it's a good plan but the Snow Monster falls off the chair (I genuinely chuckled) so they can't put it in action.

Meanwhile, Milford is on the field and he sees the igloo and decides to check it out. But the kids have their snowballs in their hands at they aim at the guy who runs the town. It takes them SIX SECONDS to figure out it's not a snow monster.

He tells them that there is nothing to be scared of and they should come out. He tells them if there was a real snow monster there would be footprints. And the footprints he are talking about pop up TWICE. Then Milford has a nice surprise. He just needs to turn around. Which he does. And he screams. And he runs into his house and so do all the kids. Trixie decides to look out the window for the monster, Milford decides to lock the doors and Ziggy decides to run to Milford asking how much candy he has because apparently 'we need supplies until summer'.

Anyways, Stephanie devises a plan (Julianna's acting is AMAZING in this episode.) - Ziggy wears the extremely terrifying white hat & jumps onto Milford's back. Stephanie covers them with a white sheet. This is supposed to apparently scare the Snow Monster away.

Then they go outside, struggling to move. Trixie & Stingy are doubting the plan. And the two falling is the LAST STRAW for Trixie so she decides to go outside. Stingy asks to have her toys if she gets eaten. If I was Steph, I'd smack him. Anyways, when Robbie sees Trixie he starts to hide. When Trixie's close to him, he keeps on moving and falling down so that she can't find him. So if Trixie follows the sound he won't even be there, until Robbie decides to lie down until she comes. When she finds him she isn't so brave anymore.

She runs and hides behind a tree. Meanwhile, at Milford's house, Stephanie and Stingy are convinced they're fine. Trixie is still hiding and Ziggy/Milford are still trying to scare away Robbie. Robbie is scared of them. They are scared of Robbie. Pixel has finally got the boombox (weren't you away for like ten minutes? slowpoke) but he doesn't know where they are. So while he is looking around he spots the Snow Monster behind him. Meanwhile, Trixie has literally CLIMBED THE TREE BRANCH and it's about to fall.

Sportacus' crystal beeps, and it's seemed to be taking him the whole episode to get back to the airship. Anyways, he sees Milford and Ziggy and says 'A snow monster scaring the kids away! This is serious.' He flips his way over to Trixie. As he jumps over a wall, he calls for a snowboard and skis over to Trixie, catching her after she falls.

Trixie notices and tells Sportacus the snow monster is getting away, so he decides to throw a snowball at the sign, whacking Milford's gyatt (why did I type this), and he falls over. Sportacus unveils the snow monster. Trixie tells him that's not the snow monster he saw, and then Robbie shows up.

Robbie runs into the frozen lake and falls in. He grabs onto the sign and Sportacus gets the skutla. He attaches the hook to the sign and lifts him up. He drops him right outside Milford's house, where the head of the disguise falls off, and everyone knows it's him. His response? He admits it's cold, and he goes back to the lair. They sing Bing Bang. Back in the lair, Robbie is so cold, he's covering himself with two towels, putting one of those squishy bottles you put warm water on on his head, and his feet in BOILED WATER. He notices there's a fish inside his shirt somehow and takes it out.

7.5/10 - It was better then the last Christmas special and acting was good.

[aresuwiwiwiwiw]

the full greeting, copy it and edit the greeting message and paste it

The wind howled through the snow-covered forest, biting through the layers of gear and clothing as Krueger trudged along. His breath misted in the frigid air, and every crunch of snow underfoot felt like an intrusion into the oppressive silence of the Arctic wilderness. His sniper rifle was slung over his shoulder, and his eyes, shielded by the darkened lenses of his visor, scanned the surroundings with relentless vigilance.

He glanced back at you following him, making sure you’re not freezed yet “still alive? Good job kid.” He says in a low cold tone that carried a bit of mockery to itThe snowstorm was relentless, and visibility was down to a few meters. Krueger grumbled to himself as he adjusted the strap of his rifle, cursing under his breath. "Damn weather's getting shitter… I can barely see my own damn hand in front of my face Stay sharp kid, or we’ll end up as ice cubes." krueger shouts to you

The safe house was a few clicks away, a faint outline barely visible through the storm. Krueger’s thoughts were a mix of irritation and focus. "Move it, lady! We’re not out here for a sightseeing tour. If we don’t get to that safe house soon, we’re going to freeze our asses off. And trust me, frostbite’s not on my list of things to deal with today." krueger says to you, patting your back firmly wanting you to move faster

He pushed through the snow, his heavy boots leaving deep impressions in the snow. The cold was a relentless beast, gnawing at his exposed skin despite the insulated layers of his suit. "Damn, this place feels like a goddamn freezer," he muttered, pulling his scarf tighter around his face. "We better have some damn hot chow and a warm fire waiting for us… And if we don’t, I swear I’m going to start throwing snowballs at whoever’s in charge of this damn mission." krueger says to himself,

As they approached the safe house, Krueger’s mood shifted slightly. The building loomed out of the storm like a beacon of salvation. He led the way to the reinforced door, which he unlocked with practiced ease. The warmth of the interior was almost overwhelming, a welcome contrast to the bitter cold outside. He stepped inside, shaking off the snow from his gear and unfastening his outer layers.

*he looks down at you, then he took a step closer, and pointed his index finger at you as he spoke in a low calm tone over you "Alright, listen up," he said, "We’re here, finally. Get out of those damn wet clothes and get yourself warmed up.” *he pauses, brushing the snow off you, and then patting your head* “u aint dying of hypothermia on my watch” he pauses.. his tone calm, now giving your shoulder a pat We’re taking a breather and regrouping. I don’t want any excuses or slackers. Kid.. we..” he points at himself and you, like he’s speaking to a child “got a job to finish” he pauses , looking you down right in the eyes ”and we’re not letting a blizzard stop us.. right kiddo?” he gives you a reassuring smile, “come on.. go and change..” he says, motioning you with his head to go

Krueger moved to a corner of the safe house, pulling out a thermos and pouring himself a steaming cup of coffee. "Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to enjoy this goddamn coffee before it freezes solid” he says before stretching,

[bigcats-birds-and-books]

Books of 2025: January Wrap-Up.

I read a lot this month! Finally got around to the novella kick I had been hoping to do after NaNo (thanks, Tor!), PLUS the weather was fabulous for reading through some Snowy Winter Books, and I managed to daisy-chain between them really well!

Photos and/or reviews liked below:

TIME'S AGENT - ★★★ I had outrageously high hopes for this one (Pocket Worlds?! dimensional fuckery?! scientist MCs?!? queer?!), and unfortunately it turned out to be Just Okay for me. Very much a grief-centered book, very much a corporate hellscape future (I suppose it does have some Murderbot overlap, in that regard). How time worked in the Pocket Worlds was wild and cool, but I found the grief-strained relationship between the MC and her wife exasperating--maybe it'll hit right for allos, but it was not my cup of tea.

WELCOME TO THE GODDAMN ICE CUBE - ★★★½ I don't usually peruse non-fiction, but I'm doing a subscription box of nature writing this year, and they sent me this! Interesting cultural window to far-north Norway, very winter-approved, and pleasantly surprisingly queer. Glad I read it! (CW for much sexual assault/abuse, though, broadcasted clearly in the first couple pages.)

CAMP ZERO - ★★★½ This near future cli-fi was comped to Station Eleven (which I loved) and The Power (which I have not read), and takes place in far north Canada where something sus is going on at a building project. I was really enjoying it up until the last hundred pages or so, when things suddenly felt very rushed and thrown together--I might've given it 4 stars if she stuck the landing. Another good winter read!

BLACKFISH CITY - ★★★½ I can't decide if this is 3.5 or 4 stars, but since I didn't slam the 4-star button on Goodreads, I'm going to leave it as 3.5. I really liked this one, though! Love a good futuristic floating city in the Arctic. The worldbuilding was very cool, and the polar bear was appropriately terrifying. Had a lot of POVs and jumped kind of rapidly between them, which I didn't have a ton of bandwidth for this month. Overall had a good time! Might reread when the time is right.

LOST ARK DREAMING - ★★★★ I thought this one was also about a floating city based on (not looking closely enough at) the cover art, but it turns out those are Super High Rise Skyscrapers where the first few floors are underwater. More climate fiction, but this one takes place off the coast of Nigeria, and the comp to Rivers Solomon's THE DEEP is absolutely loadbearing (affectionate). Enjoyed this one a lot, too, to the tune of Some Of The Interspersed Poetry Made Me Feel Shrimp Emotions, And I Busted Out A Sticky-Tab To Flag A Few Lines.

THE DEAD CAT TAIL ASSASSINS - ★★★½ This was a lot more fun than I anticipated! I've really enjoyed all of Clark's novella-length work, and this one was funny and surprisingly weird and perfectly fucked up and unfortunately I cannot state specifics without being spoilery. Definitely worth picking up, if you like assassins and mind-bendy plot twists.

ADRIFT IN CURRENTS CLEAN AND CLEAR - ★★★½ One of my favorite January Traditions is reading the latest installment of Wayward Children. I really enjoyed the waterworld in this one, and All Things Russian are my jam! I should go back and reread Sugar Sky, though.

OVERGROWTH - ★★★★½ I received an ARC, and it was SO GOOD HOLY SHIT!!! I actually wrote a Thoughtful Review about it. Out May 6, 2025! Great things to look forward to!!

THE LANGUAGE OF THE NIGHT - 94*/259 pages read; will report back. Really enjoying this so far! It's very thoroughly introduced, and I appreciate the thematic organization over chronological. (*asterisk: By the page numbers, I'm up to 94, but there are definitely xl pages of General Introduction before the book itself starts--I am not exaggerating about Thoroughly Introduced haha.)

Under the Cut: A Note About ~*★Stars★*~

Historically, I have been Very Bad™ about assigning things Star Ratings, because it's so Vibes Heavy for me and therefore Contingent Upon my Whims. (Example: I don't like that stars are Odd, because that makes three the midpoint and things are rarely so truly mid for me)(I have hacked my way around this with a ½, which is really only applicable for me at ★★★ and up). Here is, generally, how I conceptualize stars:

★ - This was Bad. I would actively recommend that you do NOT read this one, no redeeming qualities whatsoever, not worth the slog. Save Yourself, It's Too Late For Me. Book goes in the garbage (donate bin).

★★ - This was Not Good. I would not recommend it, but it wasn't a total waste or wash--something in here held my interest/kept my attention/sparked some joy. I will not be rereading this ever. Save Yourself (Or Join Me In Suffering, That Seems Like A Cool Bonding Activity).

★★★ - This was Good/Fine/Okay/Meh. I don't care about this enough to recommend it one way or another. Perfectly serviceable book, held my interest, I probably enjoyed myself (or at least didn't actively loathe the reading). I don't have especially strong feelings. You probably don't need to save yourself from this one--if it sounds like your jam, give it a shot! Just didn't resonate with me particularly powerfully. I probably won't reread this unless I'm after something in particular.

★★★½ - I liked this! I'll probably recommend it if I know it matches someone's vibes or specific requests, but I didn't commit to a star rating on Goodreads. More likely to reread, but not guaranteed.

★★★★ - I really enjoyed this!! I would recommend it (sometimes with caveats about content warnings or such--I tend to like weird fucked up funny shit, and I don't have many hard readerly NO's). Not a perfect book for me by any means, but Very Good. This is something I would reread! Join me!!

★★★★★ - I LOVED THE SHIT OUT OF THIS, IT REWIRED MY BRAIN, WILL RECOMMEND TO ANYONE AND EVERYONE AT THE SLIGHTEST PROVOCATION (content warning caveats still apply--see 4-star disclaimer). Excellent book, I'll reread it regularly, I'll buy copies for all my friends, I'll try to convince all of Booklr to read it, PLEASE join me!!

[myriad-ofmuses]

Deficiente. You shoulda just fuckin' left.

Down went another shot of iced amaretto, the singular ice cube clacking against the bottom when the shot was placed back down, shuddering from the somewhat bitter almond tang that came in strong, but the numbing warmth was welcomed.

He sighed when his little one started fussing again, arm pulling her up to cradle against his chest, thankful she'd mostly expended her wailing for the time being, but he was desperate for her to actually sleep.

His sockets ached, he'd been up with her all night while she cried, knowing it was pointless to try to soothe her when it was her fear of the dark that kept her awake, but still trying all the same.

"M'sorry, my little bambina. But we can't go back there.. not tonight."

He wasn't drunk enough not to realize that reasoning with a newborn was a fool's errand, but he'd run out of options hours ago. In truth, there was nothing barring them from what had become routine, other than his own reluctance.

Chances were he wouldn't be there. But fuck.. was he absolutely not prepared to risk it. He couldn't handle another confrontation like that. Especially not with Mia in the mix.

He was still kicking himself for getting her involved. The fucker was never supposed to find out about her.. he'd been managing that for months.. what in the angels had gotten into him?

Why, just why.. had he been worried?

He'd tried to convince himself that it was just fear that Mia had been sensed. But that.. wasn't the whole story, and he couldn't fool even his currently-tipsy ass into believing it.

After everything that coglione had done.. how, even for a milisecond, had he still cared..?

It still rankled. That he'd been such a goddamn fool in believing any of it had been true.

'You really think I ever actually felt anything? I used you. Plain and fuckin' simple. Got a lot of info out of it, even if it absolutely sickens me how far I had to go for it.'

There had been more, so much more. But that memory in particular still haunted him. That he'd put his family at risk for a fabrication, that he'd fallen, hook, line and sinker, for a Suit's fucking bullshit.

And he was supposed to be taking charge of things one day? Pah.. they were better off grooming Luca.

He blinked when he felt a tiny hand bap his cheek, breaking the tear he hadn't even been aware was rolling down his face. His gaze shifted down to hers, her eyes a reflection of her absent parent's, wide and curious, whereas his were equally blazing, and crazed.

He closed his eyes and leaned down to press his head to her much smaller one, careful of pressure due to her fragility.

Regardless of the deceit she had resulted from, the love he harbored for her was unshakable. He would do everything in his power to protect her.. and if that meant shielding her from Juke? He wouldn't hesitate.

His confidence had been shaken, at the reminder that there were still many challenges to overcome.. because of her mixed heritage. That much was true.. but he wasn't about to let himself be fooled into believing her "father" would ever have her best interests at heart.

He already knew that aside from his own family, he was in this alone. He couldn't trust anybody else, and that went triple for Juke.

Even if the way he'd looked at her.. for a moment.. had seemed almost.. tender.

His mouth twisted, curling more into his protective cradle around her, leaned forward from his slump against the wall of his room, the capped amaretto bottle thunking to the floor in his shift.

No.

Quel sogno era morto e sepolto..

Never again, would he gamble with his daughter's safety.

Never again.. would he trust Juke.

..Never.

[bookclub4m]

Episode 186 - Suspense Fiction

This episode we’re discussing the fiction genre of Suspense! We talk about crime, mysteries, horror, and even suspense!

You can download the podcast directly, find it on Libsyn, or get it through Apple Podcasts or your favourite podcast delivery system.

In this episode

Anna Ferri | Meghan Whyte | Matthew Murray | Jam Edwards

Things We Read (or tried to…)

Ascension by Nicholas Binge

The Best American Mystery and Suspense 2023 edited by Lisa Unger and Steph Cha

Malice by Keigo Higashino

Dead Woman Walking by Sharon J. Bolton

Alice in Borderland by Haro Aso (Wikipedia)

Night Fever by Ed Brubaker and Sean Phillips

Reckless by Ed Brubaker and Sean Phillips

A Solitude of Wolverines by Alice Henderson

Read But Not Mentioned

Find Me by Anne Fraser

Ghost Eaters by Clay McLeod Chapman

The Midnight Line: Jack Reacher #22 by Lee Child

The Phantom Scientist by Robin Cousin, translated by Edward Gauvin

Wyrd, vol. 1 by Curt Pires and Antonio Fuso

Colorless, vol 1 by Kent

Project Hail Mary by Andy Weir

Kiss the Girls and Make Them Cry by Mary Higgins Clark

Other Media We Mentioned

Scalped by Jason Aaron, R.M. Guera, and others 

Case Histories by Kate Atkinson

At the Mountains of Madness by H. P. Lovecraft (Wikipedia)

Welcome to the Goddamn Ice Cube by Blair Braverman

Small Game by Blair Braverman

Links, Articles, and Things

Hark! Podcast

Category:Fiction about death games (Wikipedia)

What Matthew described as “escape room fiction”

Final girl (Wikipedia)

20 Suspense Novels by BIPOC Authors

Every month Book Club for Masochists: A Readers’ Advisory Podcasts chooses a genre at random and we read and discuss books from that genre. We also put together book lists for each episode/genre that feature works by BIPOC (Black, Indigenous, & People of Colour) authors. All of the lists can be found here.

The Decagon House Murders by Yukito Ayatsuji

Dirty Laundry by Disha Bose

A Person of Interest by Susan Choi

When No One is Watching by Alyssa Cole

Sleeping with Strangers by Eric Jerome Dickey

The Between by Tananarive Due

Shutter by Ramona Emerson

The Other Black Girl by Zakiya Dalila Harris

We Lie Here by Rachel Howzell Hall

The Mantis by Kotaro Isaka

My Sweet Girl by Amanda Jayatissa

The Leftover Woman by Jean Kwok

Are You Sara? by S.C. Lalli

Cherish Farrah by Bethany C. Morrow

The Man in My Basement by Walter Mosley

Ride or Die by Gail-Agnes Musikavanhu

Fish Swimming in Dappled Sunlight by Riku Onda, translated by Alison Watts

Sinister Graves by Marcie R. Rendon

There Should Have Been Eight by Nalini Singh

In the Dark We Forget by Sandra S.G. Wong

Give us feedback!

Fill out the form to ask for a recommendation or suggest a genre or title for us to read!

Check out our Tumblr, follow us on Instagram, join our Facebook Group, or send us an email!

Join us again on Tuesday, December 19th it’s time for our Favourite Reads of 2023!

Then on Tuesday, January 2nd it’s time for trains, planes, and automobiles (and bicycles) as we discuss non-fiction books about Transit and Transportation!

[freshlybrewedbookreviews]

Welcome to the Goddamn Ice Cube: Chasing Fear and Finding Home in the Great White North by Blair Braverman

Blair Braverman is a skilled writer. She weaves past and present stories together in a way that builds toward a mutual purpose. I don't know much about dog sledding or the colder places on Earth in general, so I found the natural elements of Braverman's story particularly captivating. Her experience as a woman in these male-dominated spaces was also fascinating, and, in some cases, relatable.

After reading this memoir, I sought out more writing from Braverman, and now have read a good number of her articles for Outside Magazine and her social media feed. I hope she writes another book: it's not every day I read memoirs that I know will stick with me for a long time to come.

[eurekavalley]

“December came, and with it the last sunset of the year—the Time of Darkness, when the sun did not cross the horizon for fifty-seven days. The outside world was lit only by campfires, headlamps, and the pulsing, snaking aurora, which at its brightest lit the mountains a marbled green. Time passed without measure, an endless dusk punctuated by sleep, so that even I forgot what we were waiting for.

“It seems almost too obvious to emphasize how much I was scared. In the morning, during the day, at night. I was often acutely frightened—of a sharp turn in the trail, of a tricky river crossing, during storms—and I lived, too, with a deeper fear: that the winter was only starting, that I had so many minutes and hours and days of cold and risk and potential injury. But it was refreshing to be afraid of something concrete. I was no longer scared of some unknown force, of confusion; no, I was afraid of hypothermia. I was afraid of being stranded in the wilderness. I was afraid of crashing the sled. I was as afraid as I’d ever been, maybe more, but suddenly that fear didn’t make me crazy: It made me brave.”

-Blair Braverman, Welcome to the Goddamn Ice Cube

[sergeifyodorov]

where would YOU put an expansion team. also, whats the progress on that book you were going to try to get at the library?

Second Toronto Team Be Upon Ye

notes

called the whiskeyjacks after the bird (other common names for the bird: canada jay, gray jay, and... camp robber?). the bird name whiskeyjack is an anglicization of the algonquian name wisakedjak who is a fairly important figure in algonquin/cree mythology. which i think is cool

get it, gray jay... blue jays... toronto siblings... anyway.

blue and white. toronto team thing. i guess

no i don't know why the raptors are like that

the pegulas would veto this team existing in real life but i hate the pegulas for what they did to jeichel so im putting a team here. it's not like mlse cares. if anything they'd like it

also on the book front i found the first book, small game, finished it, pretty good, and today i got the email from the central branch saying the other book, welcome to the goddamn ice cube, is also free! so we are vibing

[atths--twice]

Chapter Three

I Did What You Asked

Checking into the motel and meeting some locals.

Pines Motel

8:30 p.m.

“He didn’t speak to you?” Skinner asked.

“No, sir,” Scully said, rotating her neck as she stood at the back of the rental car and Mulder took out both of their bags from the trunk. “The doctors said his blood pressure had begun to rise and he was extremely agitated. They sedated him so he could rest.”

“And his injuries?”

“Dehydrated as you mentioned. Cuts and bruises, a few that are…” She drew in a breath and let it out, not quite of how she wanted to phrase her words.

“What, Agent Scully?”

“The injuries are odd. I hesitate to say until I know more, but they seem almost… ritualistic.” She paused, catching Mulder’s expression of raised eyebrows as she heard Skinner sigh loudly in her ear along with the sound of ice cubes falling into a glass.

“Ritualistic?”

“Yes, sir.”

“It can’t ever just be cut and dry, can it?” he mused and she turned away from Mulder as she smiled softly.

“Not usually, sir,” she said and he huffed out a breath.

“Okay, thank you for the update. Hope for better news tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Goodnight, Agent Scully.”

“And to you.”

She hung up and put her phone in her pocket, turning back to Mulder and sighing.

“Was he angry that we couldn't speak to the victim?”

“No,” she said, taking her bag from him. “But, I believe we may have driven him to drink. I heard ice filling a glass.” She gave him a look and he nodded.

“Or… maybe he has company,” he suggested as they made their way to the motel rental office. “Did you hear any dulcet tones asking him to please leave work at the office and to join her?”

Scully stopped in her tracks and closed her eyes as she tried not to allow that image into her mind.

“Maybe Peggy, the receptionist on the third floor? I’ve heard her mention him before,” he continued.

“Mulder,” she warned as she shook her head.

“Agent Rhodes, Jackie, do you know her? She said one time she’d like to bounce a quarter off his ass. No wait, I think she said a fifty cent piece. Said she thought he could handle it.”

“Could you stop?” she asked, opening her eyes and staring at him. “I don’t want to have those thoughts about Skinner in my head.”

“Everybody does it, Scully. Didn’t you say so yourself once?” He grinned at her and she shook her head.

“There’s a huge difference between the discussion of the drive of a species to procreate and thinking about your boss having a fifty cent piece bouncing off his ass, thank you very much.”

“Hmm,” he hummed, smiling at her as he reached for the handle and pulled the door open, a bell tinkling from above as he held it for her. “He wears tighty-whities, Scully. I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”

She stopped again and looked at him as he raised his eyebrows and nodded.

“Goddamn you, Mulder,” she said under her breath as she walked beneath his arm into the lobby and he laughed as he followed her.

“Hello,” said the young woman behind the counter with a smile. “Welcome to the Pines Motel. I’m Darcy. Do you have a reservation?”

“We do,” Scully said, smiling back with a nod, and taking out her badge. “Agents Scully and Mulder.”

“Oh, you’re here about the missing men,” Darcy stated, shaking her head, her long black hair brushing the tops of her shoulders. “It’s terrible. Just terrible.”

“Do you know any of the men?” Mulder asked and she shook her head again.

“Not personally, no. But I know of them. One of them is… was? the brother of a girl I knew in elementary school.” She sighed as she looked up their reservation on the computer and nodded as she reached for two room keys with on green keychains.

“Do you have any idea as to why they would have disappeared?” Mulder continued his questioning and Darcy stared at him, unblinking.

“I don’t,” she said in a low voice. “But… I mean, you’re with the government, right? You’re here to help?”

Mulder glanced quickly at Scully and then smiled at Darcy as he leaned against the counter.

“We are,” he said with a nod and Darcy nodded back.

“Brent, my old classmate's brother, he… he was into some weird shit.”

“What do you mean?” Scully asked with a frown.

“I… I probably shouldn’t say, but if it helps to find him…?” She looked at Mulder and he smiled kindly at her. With a sigh, she nodded. “Drugs mostly. And he hung out with this group of people who liked going to old graveyards and having “parties” where they acted out deaths or held seances, calling back spirits from the graves around them.”

“Did you ever go to the parties?”

“Once,” she said, rolling her eyes. “It was during a weekend home from college a few years back. Honestly, the parties are really just an excuse to get smashed and then have sex in the graveyard. Not really my thing. Then or now. It’s too creepy.”

“Well,” Mulder said and shifted slightly. He cleared his throat and Scully frowned, wondering what was causing his discomfort.

“Maybe people saw them continue with the parties, especially around this time of year, and they didn’t like the desecration of a sacred place?” Scully offered and Darcy shrugged.

“I don’t know. I just know it wasn’t my scene and the next time I was asked, my answer was no thanks.” She smiled as she handed them the keys to rooms six and seven. “I hope you’re able to find Brent and the others. He’s not the best person I know, but he doesn’t deserve whatever happened to him.”

“Thank you, Darcy,” Mulder said, smiling at her as they stepped back. “We-”

“I did what you asked,” a young boy said as the door opened suddenly, slamming against the outside of the building, the bell tinkling loudly. “What else do you want me to do, Darce?” He ignored Mulder and Scully, walking between them and toward the counter as he pushed his dark blonde hair from his eyes.

“Jesus, Steven,” Darcy said, rolling her eyes. “Be careful. The door nearly came off its hinges.”

“Oh, calm down,” he said, looking back at the door and finally noticing Mulder and Scully standing there. “Who’re you?”

“They’re FBI agents, Steven.”

“Really? Like in the movies?” he asked excitedly, walking to Scully and smiling. “Can I see your badge?”

She looked at the boy, who could not have been older than twelve, and nodded as she took her badge out to show him.

“Wow,” he said, touching it and then looking at her. “That’s so bitchin’.”

Steven! You better not let mom hear you say that.”

“I won’t,” he assured her, rolling his eyes at Scully and she felt an instant liking to him. “Can you tell me about being an FBI agent? Have you ever arrested anyone? Or… oh, shot anyone?”

“Steven,” Darcy groaned. “Let them go to their rooms. Sorry. He’s my little brother. I know he can be a pest.”

“I’m not a pest,” Steven shot back. “I just want to know.”

“If you help me with my bag, I’ll tell you,” Scully said and Steven’s eyes widened as he took her bag and nodded.

“Which room are you in? I can show you where to find it.”

“Well, there’s some debate on that,” Scully said, taking Mulder’s key from him with a sly smile. “Point us in the direction of rooms six and seven, please.”

Mulder smiled as he thanked Darcy again and then opened the door, letting Scully and Steven walk out first.

It was not far to their rooms and soon they were saying goodnight to Steven, who seemed awestruck by both of them after hearing how they had both arrested people, though they did not mention people they had shot, even as Mulder had rubbed near his right shoulder with a wink to Scully.

Setting her bag down in room six, she turned the heater on to its maximum level. Mulder waited outside while she then opened door number seven and again turned on the heater, staring at him from the doorway.

“Shouldn’t take too long,” she said and he shrugged with a smile.

“Okay. But can I at least set my bag down?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head and crossing her arms. “Holding it while you wait for the rooms to warm up will be your penance for the information you shared about Skinner. I can’t unhear that or scrub that image from my brain, so you get to stand in the cold, with your bag, while I choose between the rooms.”

He laughed and nodded, his bag hanging from his shoulder, as he put his hands in his pockets.

She walked back and forth, testing out the warmth of each room and muttering tighty-whities under her breath every time she passed him. Finally deciding that room six would be best for her, she handed him the key to room seven.

“Of course, if the heater craps out in the middle of the night, I will be taking your room,” she informed him as he took the key.

“No, you’ll be sharing the room,” he corrected her. “I don’t have any plans to move from a comfortably warmed room into a cold one. I’ll be sure to save you a nice warm spot, if your heater does indeed crap out.” She stared at him as he smiled. “Goodnight, Scully. Give a shout if you need to join me.”

He walked to his door and she walked to her own, glancing at him as he paused and looked over at her.

“For any reason,” he said, his smile gone and his eyes serious. He nodded and went inside his room, closing the door behind him, as her breathing rate increased and she stood on the threshold of her room.

Stepping into her room and closing the door, his words continued ringing in her ears for quite some time.

Give a shout if you need to join me…

For any reason…

[compo67]

Sam.

Hrmm? Dean?

Wake up.

I'm up.

My stomach hurts.

I told you to stop eating cereal so late and to quit putting ice cubes in it.

This isn't I'm gonna barf hurt. It's different.

Anxiety?

Maybe.

Sugar before bed won't help it.

Lay off my goddamn cocoa puffs. It's not that.

Then what is it??

Look, Professor. What do you know about anticipatory grief.

Anticipatory grief?

You heard me.

Uh. Well. It's like grieving, but ahead of schedule.

It messes with your brain, right?

I suppose. Yes. It puts your brain into fight flight or freeze mode for an extended period of time. I'm not a psychologist though.

Kiss me, Sammy.

O-Kay, sure. Here.

Did anyone else mention how good you are at that?

A few.

I'm the only one who got to bring home gold, huh?

That's one way of putting it, yeah.

Imagine the two of us, our brains crazy with anticipatory grief, running ourselves into the ground.

I don't know where you're headed with this...

Sometimes I'm still running myself into the ground just so I can... never mind.

Dean.

Hmm.

Dean, you should kiss me.

Why?

Because.

Because why?

Because I want you to.

If I do, I'll wake up.

You're already awake.

Tell me something you haven't told me before.

Something I haven't told you before? Like that exists?

I know you keep your secrets, Professor.

Hmm. He wants a secret. Okay. I hate crunchy peanut butter.

Real mature, Sam.

I'm sorry, I didn't know you expected me to bare my soul.

Make with the secret.

Ugh, must I?

You must, you must.

Okay, Waco Kid. Listen up. I've had a lot of dysphoria in my life. That's not a secret. The secret is that I hated my body the most when I was soulless.

What? Why...

You said share a secret, don't go full Godfather and shoot it up.

I never knew.

Sorry for the snark, but it was a secret.

Okay, okay. Fair. But why? I mean. I get that you weren't you.

I've never been muscular like that. I had muscle, but that was a whole new level. It took me a few years to feel... at home in my body again. I don't know how 'I' did it, you know? Steroids? Protein shakes? Constant push ups? I don't remember.

I'm sorry, Sam.

You don't have to apologize, Dean.

Still. Why is so much of the past so painful? You'd think it'd hurt less over time, but nope. Not for yours truly.

Well, maybe it's the way you approach your past?

Sometimes, Sam, I wake up and I immediately feel lonely. It doesn't go away until I hear or feel you breathe for a few seconds.

Dean.

I want to accept loss. I want to accept that things hurt and shit fucked me up. I want to accept that I can feel peace and be a good person. That I deserve it.

You do deserve it.

Be nice if that'd sink in.

I'll make it sink in and remind you. Every single day. You deserve this. You deserve me and I deserve you. That's what happens when you choose each other.

...it is?

Absolutely.

Does looking back hurt for you?

Sorta. If I think about it too much. Or too often. I prefer to stay as present as possible. Dean, don't hog the blankets.

I'm not hogging. I'm... strategically gathering.

Whatever.

So, staying in the present. How's that working out for you?

I get plenty of kisses, that's one thing.

Kisses? What about smooches?

Gotta have the smooches.

Sam, you make me laugh.

Dean, you make me want to make you laugh.

My stomach feels better. Thank you.

Oh, good. You're welcome.

I might need a smooch though.

Here. You can have two.

[wh6res]

UP IN SMOKES — DOYOUNG

psych student! kdy | tw. college au, violence, a knife, GASLIGHTING, hallucination, psychosis, swearing, just pure manipulation, minor charac death, there's a court scene, this is a repost! | wc. 10k she a beast

life could’ve been simple;

you shouldn't have met kim doyoung.

what does a freshman in college hate the most other than the high-stress levels of moving into a new dorm? a shitty roomie and a smelly, moldy mattress. the girl you call roommate refuses to help move the mattress because it will ruin her new manicure. what a fucking classic. 

"sounds like a 'you' problem. figure it out yourself, plain jane." 

she said before heading out, annoyingly popping her bubblegum as she kicks a few of your scattered boxes by the front door. you roll your eyes; classes haven't even started yet, so why is she already making your life miserable? as much as you'd like to snap at her, you don't, merely glaring daggers at her back as she finally turns the corner of the hallway and disappears. 

"bitch," you mutter under your breath. 

you eye the abomination that is supposed to be your bed, cursing how you shouldn't have made a 15-minute pit stop to starbucks for a drink when you could've just bought one from the instant coffee vending machines in every corner of the hallway of this dorm building because if you didn't, maybe you could've beaten regina george wannabe from taking the better bed. sighing, you suck it up and start getting to work. life's full of shit, anyway; no point sulking.

moving a moldy mattress is easier than you thought, to say the least. you can't ask for help from the other freshmen you bumped into in the hallway because they, too, are under a huge amount of stress from the move and are busy getting their affairs in order. it was a good thing, though, that a committee was formed specifically for this day to help out the freshmen if they were to stumble upon problems or mishaps with moving in. they were all around the campus, and they prove to be way friendlier than your batch mates. since this morning, three people have already offered help in carrying your luggage — which you have politely declined.

"hey, uhm… is this the stall for the welcoming committee? oh, wait. i'm sorry, there's a sign right there —"ugh.

you mentally shut your eyes in humiliation. why do you have to be this bad, this awkward at communicating with strangers? why couldn't you be born like all those socialites who already (probably) got their contacts filled with new numbers on the first day of school or something?

"yeah, this is them — welcoming committee, i mean. how can i help you?" he smiles, sweet, radiating the epitome boy next door aura as he looks up at you from where he's sitting behind the stall. your eyes quickly land onto the name tag stuck on his varsity jacket before meeting his eyes again. 

"i have an issue with my mattress. it has mold, you see..." your voice slowly trails, becoming quieter as you feel small under the weight of his piercing stare. oh, come on. he's just a guy with a beautiful face, woman the fuck up.

"really? let me see..."

he needn't finish rounding the stall when his nose is hit by the pungent smell brought forth by your mattress. frankly, you weren't that picky. you could've covered it with bedsheets and call it a day, but the odor is too strong to ignore. you mentally hope the smell didn't latch onto your clothes, especially not when someone so cute is around — what a bad first impression.

"oh, god!" he exclaims the moment he lays eyes on it, taking a step back. “now, that has to go. and you lugged it from the fourth floor?" 

ah, yes. according to tradition in these dormitories, which you've only found out today, freshmen get the curse of climbing four flights of stairs up while the seniors strut into their rooms on the ground floor like the hallway is a goddamned runway. 

"doyoung! help me carry these!"

someone calls his name as you both turn your head to spot a chestnut-haired girl clad in the same varsity jacket he's wearing. you grimace at the sight of her. for someone so small, she just had to volunteer to carry all those heavy bags. however, he doesn't move in front of you and brushes her off as if she doesn't look like she's carrying rocks over her shoulders. "i'm already helping someone else! go find taeyong or something. i'm sure that shit's loitering around here somewhere!"

"oh, it's okay, you can go help her. i'll just look for someone else —"

"nah, it's fine!" you try hard to school your face into indifference when you notice his gummy smile. "plus… trust me when i say no other person from the committee will help you with this. this shit smells like my roommate's sweaty basketball socks!"

you can't help the smile forming on your face as you help him carry the mattress off to the side of the hallway, the stinky thing leaning vertically against the wall and behind a huge terracotta plant pot. "don't worry, let's report it to student affairs so they'll get you a new one. congrats! you'll have to share beds with your new roommate tonight, freshie. it'd be a great ice breaker."

the universe truly hates you.

your expression must've been a dead give away because he's suddenly patting your shoulder, regarding you with utmost sympathy. "been there, done that. i hated taeyong, too, when i met him last year. still, for some mind fuck of a miracle, we've grown to be friends and developed a talent of not wanting to kill each other every two seconds."

"highly doubt i'd be friends with a regina george-level bitch, but thanks, anyway," you mutter under your breath. suddenly, you whip your head towards him after internalizing what he just said. "you met your roommate last year? you're a sophomore?"

he scoffs, leaning down to your height to lowly mutter against your ear as he eyes the lobby's front desk. "why? do i look like some 4th year who radiates 'don't touch me' energy?" 

you feel the heat on your cheeks with how close he is, only releasing an exhale when he finally gets out of your personal space. "i'm kim doyoung. you've heard it from wendy earlier, but anyway — i'm a 2nd-year psych major."

"no way!" you exclaim, a little too excited. "i'm taking psych, too!"

"oh, you are? well, if you need anything or if you don't understand stuff…" he winks. "feel free to approach me anytime."

hmm… how sweet of him. 

it was only hours later that you found out who kim doyoung is in your department during the acquaintance party. and for god's sake, you found out from your best friend who is a major in english lit and has never even seen the guy. "seriously, you didn't know he's a genius? i hear the professors call him a prodigy, girl! a fucking prodigy. if i were you, i'd ask for his help in every subject."

"you know i prefer keeping to myself. how'd i know stuff like that when i have no one to talk to in the psych dorms?" you look down, making the ice cubes in your drink clink against each other. "i didn't think he was this big shot or whatever. he looks normal, and everyone treats him normally."

"well, what do you expect?" she hisses, hitting your arm. "the other students don't want to make him feel alienated or something just because he's tons smarter than them. but anyway… the real question is…"

you roll your eyes when she pauses for effect, tentatively leaning closer to whisper under her breath. 

"is he cute?"

you didn't want to answer her question, but he's been stuck in your head since he offered walking with you to the student affairs office. doyoung had smiled his cute gummy smile and had even ruffled your hair before leaving you for committee duties — saying he's cute would be an understatement. 

"you have no idea."

for his first act;

he gains your trust.

fast forward to one year, many things have changed, but the only constant remaining is the handsome sophomore — who is now a 3rd-year, by the way — whom you've met on your first day. coursework has been pretty tough this year. instead of the content written in your textbook, your mind is plagued by the horrible twist of fate your best friend had encountered; she didn't have enemies. or so you thought.

she disappeared in the middle of christmas break last year. her beaten up body was found only a month later, in january, floating around the university's lake. happy fucking new year. 

the first time she chose to spend the holidays with you instead of her family back in her hometown, and that happens? some rotten luck you both have. it's why you didn't put it past her family to hate your guts with strong convictions. it's okay. the feeling's mutual. after all, it had been your best friends' own family, the same ones who had been so willing to take you in when you got kicked out, that were so eager to pin you as the murderer of their child. all under the argument that you have been the last person seen with her. 

oh, the things her mom said about you when she had stormed into the police station, red in the face, tears streaming down her cheeks..."i warned my baby not to hang out with that — that bitch. came straight out of a cursed family, that one. abusive dad, a nutjob mom. that bitch is a danger! probably got her dad's nasty temper and beat my baby to death! i want her on the electric chair!"

in those times, you once again realize this world is fucked up and cruel in every bit of its glory as you fought tooth and nail to defend yourself. but even then, they never believed you — the law will only favor the rich . the prosecution had been so sure it was you until a certain witness appeared and presented himself before the jury.

"do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?" 

doyoung raises his right hand, fixing his stare straight at the judge. "i solemnly and sincerely declare that the evidence i shall give will be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth."

"how long have you known the defendant?" the prosecutor asks, arms crossed in front of her chest as she paces in front of the witness stand.

the boy briefly meets your gaze, and it's enough to make his heart sink. doyoung can't bear seeing you in those grey overalls when he knows it himself. you're being accused of a crime you didn't commit. "i've known her for one year."

"how'd you meet?"

and the questions went on and on; your defense attorney isn't all too keen on winning the case and had never once yelled "objection!" in her seat, but what could you expect? all the evidence kept stacking against you, and some of those you knew were even fabricated. you've never felt this hopeless in your whole twenty years of living. 

"what's the point in this, anyway?" doyoung snapped in the witness stand, fiercely glaring at the prosecutor. "how is my history — or lack thereof — with the defendant any relevant to the case? you're not even asking me about evidence nor what my statement is!"

"easy there," the prosecutor retaliates, jaw locked. "i have to first measure what exactly your relationship is with the defendant for us to think twice about your statement. who knows..." the prosecutor makes a grand gesture of turning her head in your direction, affixing you with a condescending stare. "she might've just hired you to say these things."

your attorney doesn't come to your aid.

"perjury isn't my thing." 

the prosecutor seems to have taken offense by the tone of doyoung's voice, but he doesn't let her speak further. "the victim isn't all sunshine and rainbows, you know. she'd been a part of a sorority and one with quite a nasty reputation in the college, too. i have to say she made very poor decisions, ones i'm sure her family didn't even know about. you see, they take their oaths and pledges very seriously. the victim wanted out. they didn't like that."

"and you have evidence to support this claim?"

without a moment to waste, he digs around the front pocket of his jeans before proudly presenting a black usb between his slender fingers. "knock yourself out."

the professor calls your name, snapping you out of your reverie. this isn't the first time your mind had transported you back to that particular day in the courtroom, where doyoung had swooped in and saved you from a lifetime in prison. the whole ordeal had been so scary, so frightening that you remember everything vividly as if it had only happened yesterday.

the classroom is empty. even your social psych professor has long packed up his stuff and is already standing by the classroom door. damn. were you that out of it?

"i'm so sorry." you mutter under your breath monotonously as you walk past him and out the door without another word. this is bad, very bad. no one would help, much less lend their notes to someone charged with murder — especially of their very own best friend. whether you were innocent or not doesn't matter to the student body. you've been ostracized, gossips of your problematic family spreading like wildfire, and the ridiculous part is only a fourth of the gossips are true.

the damage is done. 

at this point, you realize with a heavy heart that you have to face doyoung again sooner or later. you haven't talked to him at all since the start of the new school year, ignoring his lighthearted greetings in the hallways, rejecting his calls, ghosting his texts. you are afraid people would judge him harshly for hanging around you. frankly, you were embarrassed to ask any more favors from him with how much he's done for you already and the fact that he had seen you in such a state of vulnerability.

but you also didn't want to fail your subjects and lose the one thing holding your life together — your scholarship.

that is why you found yourself standing before him, in his favorite spot in the library tucked behind shelves upon shelves of books, next to the windows overlooking the empty football field. he's wearing black-rimmed glasses and is clad in the usual navy blue sweater as his head turns to and fro between a textbook and his notebook. the air had been so silent, you hear the aggressive scratches his pencil makes against the paper.

you feel a little hurt when he makes no move to acknowledge your presence, but you think back to what you have been doing and figured he has a right to act this way. 

"hey, doyoung." your voice is meek, hesitant.

"if you're not here to explain nor give me an acceptable reason why you've been ignoring me for the last few months, then please get out of my sight. i'm busy, as you can tell." he is brutally honest, knocking down the remaining hope you have left of ever reconciling with him.

something within you snaps, the steady streams of tears running down your cheeks as you pinned your stare on doyoung's open pencil case lying on the table. you have nobody left. your family — father, specifically speaking — has disowned you for taking a course your heart wanted, and the one friend you have lies motionless in a white coffin buried six feet under the ground. you didn't want to lose doyoung, too, no matter what role he plays in your life.

"i'm sorry," your voice cracks. "life's been… fucking shitty, and i'm sure you of all people know what i've been through. i've thanked you before for — for what you did, and i'm thanking you again right now but — i'm sorry, i'm really —"

your voice cracks when you feel him pulling you into an embrace. you feel the tension in your body breaking loose as you crumble in his arms. all those months grieving and wallowing in self-pity took such a heavy toll that you can't help but tightly clutch the sides of his hoodie, scared he'll slip through your fingers.

one of his hands comes up to push your face against the crook of his neck, muffling your cries in the silent library. doyoung felt like a jerk for snapping at you the way he did. how inconsiderate can he be? however, he felt elated because you sought him out yourself and wanted his help of all people.

his eyebrow raises in amusement. 

well, not that you have a choice, anyway.

it took you a few good minutes to calm down, cringing when you see the wet patch on doyoung's sweater because of your tears. 

"why don't you tell me everything, hmm? i'll help you as much as i can."

you sheepishly look down, fiddling with your fingers as you sit across him, the open textbook and notebook before him long forgotten. "well, i've been so out of it lately? my mind's just a whole bloody mess and i can't focus on any of my subjects at all and if i can't, then i'll lose the scholarship and it's the only thing i have in my life right now —"

"hey," doyoung cuts you off, placing a warm hand against your forearm to calm you down. "you won't lose that scholarship. trust me, okay? why don't we arrange tutoring sessions and i'll even lend you some of my notes from last year. what do you think?"

"okay... thank you, doyoung."

"for the record, you have me in your life, too. i'll always be here for you."

in the first session, you woke up from your deep slumber with only 15 minutes to spare from the scheduled time, but thankfully, your tutor only lives one floor down with the rest of the 3rd-years. bringing nothing with you but a pen and a pad of paper, your textbooks were destroyed as some students from your batch thought it'd be fun to throw them into the lake to "honor" your friend. 

you offer a small smile when taeyong opens the door, sporting an oversized shirt and track pants, eyes wide in shock when he sees you. "hi? can i help you?"

"hello! i'm here for doyoung. he's tutoring —"

"he doesn't live here anymore. his mom bought him a place outside the campus."

what?

"i'm sorry for disturbing you, then. do you by any chance know where he lives?"

that's weird. doyoung never mentioned he's already moved out. you feel a wee bit irritated that he forgot to tell you; it would've saved you the embarrassment of interacting with the varsity player. you weren't stupid, you can see the hints of repulsion in taeyong's eyes the moment he opened that door and saw you standing before him, no doubt thinking about: oh, look, it's the crazy murderer with a fucked up family standing in front of me.

he had shut the door in your face. you stood awkwardly for a good minute in the hallway until the door reopens, taeyong handing you a small piece of paper with doyoung's new address scribbled hurriedly in black ink. he doesn't give you a chance to thank him for he's already closed the door again without another word. 

you opted walking to his place instead of catching a ride because the money you have on you is enough to buy yourself dinner. to say the least, the apartment building is mediocre, not too grand, nor is it too rundown. double-checking the floor level written on the paper before pushing the elevator's button, you then realize doyoung lives on the very top floor of the building.

the hallways are painted a boring brown. some acrylic number signs plastered on the doors are broken, hanging vertically with one screw left. it says on the paper he resides in room 720. taking the right hallway, you mentally count as you eye the mahogany doors. 718… 719… there it is!

when you raise a fist to start knocking on his door, there is a tinge of hesitation surging through you. perhaps being alone with a boy in his apartment is not the best setting for a girl like you should end up in, but this is doyoung we're talking about. if he had ill intentions for you, it would've manifested a long time ago. you shake your head, feeling bad for thinking of him that way as you slowly knock on his front door. not long after, it swings open, revealing the 3rd-year in a white shirt and boxers as he lazily dries his hair off with a small towel. 

"you're late," is the first thing he says to you before spinning on his heel to disappear further into his humble abode. 

"you didn't exactly inform me you've moved out of the dorms. so, whose fault is it?" you retaliate, inviting yourself in and closing the front door shut.

"whatever. let's get started!" he plops himself on the floor, coffee table filled with loose papers as he struggles to find a specific one amongst the mess. "i've already scanned, exported to pdf, and emailed you my notes. it should be in your inbox by now. anyway, answer this quiz i made so i know what i'll be working on."

"you didn't really have to send your notes, doyoung. i could've just read everything from the textbook," you sit down across from him because otherwise, you'll be too distracted to remember information. 

a thought crosses his mind. with what textbook?

"i just think it's missing some essence. that's why i love reading over other psych books in the library for fun. be grateful, those notes are like my babies and i don't simply give them to anyone," he looks at you pointedly. "they've all been summarized and explained in layman's terms so you wouldn't have to spend grueling hours of reading and trying to make sense of the big words as i did — i know that's not the definition of 'fun' normally, but it is for me, and that's why i do it."

"okay, doyoung. you sound so defensive when there's nothing to be defensive about," you tease, feeling pleased with the hint of red on his cheeks as he averts his gaze from yours, muttering incoherent words under his breath.

you spent the following tuesdays, thursdays, and sundays like that; hours upon hours with no one but your tutor, laptops with tangled chargers, a printed copy of his babies, and a mountain pile of loose papers filled with the specialized quizzes doyoung makes to measure your progress. the location varies from a cafe or his flat. but in what you've gathered from the time you spent with him, doyoung's a homebody. cafe tutor sessions are rare, and he always complained about how "noisy" the atmosphere was — "i can't stand it."

but the conversation hadn't always been about academics. 

sure, for the first few sessions, doyoung kept an image of professionalism and had heavily insisted on it — "it's for your learning experience!" — despite your lighthearted teasing. but as time passed and he eventually grew more comfortable in your presence, you find the strict 15-minute break he had initially imposed between 45 minutes of studying turned into hours of talking about whatever; how he likes his eggs in the morning, your favorite coffee brew, his favorite show, your strongest pet peeve. 

and you wholly welcomed the change, not minding that it's practically dark out whenever you go back to your miserable dorm. you feel butterflies in your stomach whenever doyoung offers to walk you home but never had you taken his offer, still cautious of other people seeing you both together despite his constant reassurances. you've already thoroughly ruined your image. you didn't want to ruin his, too. 

kdy the cute tutor, 2:14 pm —last day of midterms! & its all majors today  —good luck —remember what i taught u —lets get ice cream after u cant say no

you shake your head bemusedly. his texting style is the most doyoung thing he does and it's as if you can hear him say these things to you in real life. too caught up in your own world, you fail to detect another student sitting next to you and had nearly fallen off your chair in shock when they spoke.

"why are your notes like that?"

you fight the urge to glare at the person, especially when you turn your head and see lee jeno looking at you in genuine curiosity. he's the only batchmate that treats you a wee bit nicer among the rest. although he isn't technically your friend, at least he doesn't look at you like you're a piece of bubblegum stuck under his shoe like all the others.

"what do you mean?"

"they're… the definitions are all jumbled up. where did you even get that?" 

what? jumbled up? doyoung himself said these notes are a combination of most of the psychology books he had read last year concerning his subjects. how would it be jumbled up? then again, lee jeno was not tutored by the prodigy himself. maybe things are bound to seem "jumbled up" when information is too great to understand for a feeble mind. 

just as you were about to claim these notes aren't yours, the professor has already waltzed into the classroom with a thick wad of papers — the exams. after one last concerned glance directed your way, jeno averts his gaze with a confused tilt of the head. 

hours later, you walk out of the classroom with the biggest smile on your face. aced it, you thought. your hands feel numb with how much you wrote on the essay portion but it's worth it if it meant you get the full 25 points, which you no doubt will as it was a topic you surely tackled with doyoung. speaking of... he sure is a man of his word.

"what are you doing here?" you hiss, head ducked with hair framing your face as to not draw attention from the rest of the students filing out of the testing hall.

"i texted you that we're getting ice cream. remember?"

"i did. but i didn't remember agreeing."

he shoots you a comforting smile, planting his hands firmly on your shoulder. “i told you, y/n. i don't care if they all see us together, so what? we all know you didn't commit that crime and it wasn't your fault you were born into the family you had. i don't care about the trivial things, baby, so don't shy away from me, okay?"

how the fuck can you say 'no' when he's looking at you the way he is as he brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear? doyoung's just so bewitching that he has you wrapped around his slender fingers. he seems pleased when you stumbled over your words as you come up with a reply, caught off guard by his bold gestures.

"i just — you, uhh — fine..." you gave in, rolling your eyes out of pretense.

he just had to call you 'baby' and erupt the butterflies in your stomach.

it had been doing that for the last few months now and it had only truly manifested today when he took you out for ice cream to celebrate the end of hell week. and since you didn't want to go back to your dorm yet, you asked if you guys can watch some movies in his house but it had simply become background noise to your heart-to-heart talks. and what better accompaniment than the classic, chicken and beer?

you listen to him drone on and on about the little realizations he had on some of his past lectures even when you barely understood anything he's saying. doyoung's so lucky to be extremely good at something he's so passionate about, talks about the human mind and the complexity of a person's behavior will never fail to make his eyes light up in interest.

he calls out your name.

your eyes snap open.

"why don't we get you home? it's past 10 and it's alright, stupid, you don't need to pretend to be interested in my psychological findings." he chuckled light-heartedly, stealing the can of the now room-temperature beer from your hands before you can protest. 

"i wasn't dozing off, i swear."

"i caught you in the act. stop lying."

like all the other times he has you as his guest, doyoung once again offers to walk you home and you decline for the thousandth time. it really isn't that much of a long walk anyway. you don't see the need for him to go out of his way to secure your safety. plus, you were the one who insisted on hanging out in his house anyway. you weren't that thick-skinned to let him take you home, too.

"you're drunk!" he scolds.

“no, i’m not. i can perfectly handle myself."

"but —"

"bye!" 

you feel a little guilty for shutting the door in his face. still, a minute longer of his persistence and you would've taken his offer. unfortunately for doyoung, you are one stubborn girl. only if you don't make brisk movements with your head, then you won't see doubles. you'll be fine, it's just a quick walk and it's not as if you're stupid enough to pass by deserted alleys. 

but you had underestimated the divine prowess of your fucked up fate.

everything happened in a matter of three seconds; one, the blinding headlights illuminate your path from behind; two, you hear the loud honk, and as you turn around — three, the vehicle sends you rolling against the asphalt.

you should have taken the alleyways.

for his second act;

he alters your reality.

when you open your eyes, you thought you were dead and your spirit is wandering elsewhere — because you don't believe in trivial things like heaven and god — until an agitated doyoung comes into view. for a split second, you thought, is he dead, too?

"i'm not dead, you idiot." too dazed, you hardly register his anger. "i can perfectly handle myself, she said. i'm not drunk, she said. this wouldn't have happened if you had simply let me walk you home! you're damn fucking lucky you're alive and breathing right now!"

a person clears their throat.

"i don't think it wise to… nag at the patient the moment she wakes. don't you agree, sir?"

pink splotches on doyoung's cheek as he looks down, embarrassed at getting scolded as he stands closer to your bed. "i'm sorry, doc."

you didn't know when your vision cleared or when you started hearing normally again, but it was enough to find out what exactly had transpired on the very night of your tragic accident. a hit and run. fifty-fifty chance of surviving. doyoung getting a call from the hospital in the middle of the night —"they were trying to contact your dad, but he wasn't answering. i was the last person in your call history." 

six months in a coma. but today, you wake… only to find out your world has crashed and burned.

"what do you mean i lost my scholarship?"

"baby, listen to me —"

"why did they take it away? is it because of my accident? i'm behind by one term only and i swear i can catch up. they need to let me back in the program. there must've been some mistake —"

"your gpa didn't reach the cut-off grade."

that can't be possible.

"but you tutored me!" you claim with conviction, pointing an accusatory finger at him until you groan, bowing in pain as you clutch your head.

doyoung springs into action. the chair's legs screech against the tiles as he jumps to your aid, ushering you gently back against the hospital bed despite your refusal. "you're not well. lay back down, please."

you don't hear a single word he says, not when you had lost something so crucial. "i put in the effort and learned everything you taught me... i aced those fucking mid-terms! i know i did!" you were on the brink of tearing up as doyoung settled himself in front of you.

"i… i actually saw your papers," his lips set in a thin, hard-line. "everything was all wrong, sweetheart. what happened to you? i tried reasoning with the professors, mentioned your state — you know, with your best friend dying — but they didn't relent. i'm sorry y/n. i'm so —"

gone. everything is gone. the money. the dorm. what if they ask you to pay the fees from last year? what if they ask you to pay the tuition fee for this year? you have no money, no family, no relatives. no one to help. who's even going to pay for the hospital fees?

you weren't able to process anything after that. not with the sudden news of your now revoked scholarship. doyoung pulls you in a tight hug. "i was a bad tutor," he says, snapping you out of it. "maybe i shouldn't have pushed you that hard to learn them. why were your answers even mixed up y/n? i thought you knew those topics already…"

he pulls away, observing your confused state as your eyes dart everywhere in the room. "what — how are they mixed up? i know i got them right. there has to be some mistake. you taught me those topics, remember?"

"i did... "he averts his gaze. "but i don't remember teaching them to you mixed up, darling. i think you did that all on your own."

"but… why would i mix up my answers? that's —"

"see, what i mean?" he cuts you off, raising a hand to give your cheek the most delicate caress. "you're not well, baby. you need to be treated, especially with how much you hit your head during the accident. don't worry, i'm here. we'll try asking if you can stay in the dorms at least until you find another place —"

"am i a charity case to you?"

oh, the surprise on the junior's face when you push him away as you pin him with a hard stare. you just don't get it. why is kim doyoung so adamant about helping you? in becoming your hero, even when you never asked him to be? if you let him help you this time around, that'll be the 3rd time he came to save your ass. it's not as if you're ungrateful. simply, you've had enough of his help. you don't know how a person like you, who literally has nothing, can return the favor to someone like doyoung.

"what are you saying —"

"i'm saying…" you fix him a hard stare. "you helping me out doesn't even benefit you in the slightest. so why do you do it?"

he pauses, staring at you with hesitance in his eyes as this seems to be the very first time you've truly seen him speechless. when doyoung opens his mouth, he mumbles, and you hardly make sense of what he said. 

"do you really want to know why?" 

you urge him on with an arched eyebrow, his softened tone creeping into your heart. 

"you're someone special to me y/n. i don't know how or when i admitted it to myself, but you are, and it hurts me to see how shitty your luck is," he cracks a small grin, slowly settling back onto the hospital bed as he grabs your hand. "it's okay to seek help from others. it isn't a sign of vulnerability or weakness. i help you because i want to, and i'm more than willing to take care of you. will you let me?"

you're not blind. you've noticed the way he had slowly started coming closer as he continued to speak, hands held securely in his as he looked straight at your eyes then down at your lips. and so, you act in a way you know that will surely answer his question — with a kiss. 

the man before you immediately reciprocates, overpowering your own eagerness as he curls the tips of his fingers into the roots of your hair. he pulls you close, cradling you against his chest. you can taste his desperation in the way his tongue dances against yours, the kiss transporting you into an alternate reality where your world revolves around doyoung and doyoung alone. 

when he pulls away bleary-eyed, both of you ignore the thin strand of saliva connecting your lips. "how about you come live with me for the time being, my love?"

still high off his kiss and natural scent, you hardly mull over the question he asks you. "okay."

days later, after you've been discharged (he wanted to chip in for your hospital bills but you had given him a firm no), doyoung had been the one to show up at the dorm to collect all your things after leaving you in his apartment. the cutie had refused to simply drop you off and had deliberately accompanied you up the elevator, through the halls, and finally into his apartment. 

"i'll be out for just a minute, sugarcube."

"oh, can you get take out?"

doyoung had smiled, playfully booping the tip of your nose. "no, because i'll be cooking for us tonight as a little celebration for you getting discharged. you'll love it; i'm making your favorite!"

it was funny how the night had been nothing but utter bliss. the foreign feeling of being taken care of sprouting in your chest as you watch him cooking from behind the counter. it felt… nice. but funny enough, as if doing a 360, you both had immediately gotten into an argument the next day. 

"i don't see the need for skipping another day if i feel perfectly fine! i'll figure something out once we get there, doyoung, so can we just —"

"you' re not fine, babylove — hell, you got discharged yesterday! i'm not just about to let you back into the arena with those students. they've only grown more immature since your coma, love. i seriously don't want you near them."

"fine! then i won't talk to them. simple." you throw your hands up. "there. problem solved. now, can we please just go to uni? i need to talk to the dean and the head of student affairs, too —"

"i'm going to uni, not you."

maybe it had been the way he firmly stated his claim, the way his eyes pierced through your soul as if daring you to argue further with him that made you snap.

"i'm not a prisoner in this apartment, doyoung! don't treat me like i have the plague! i'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself — jesus christ, i've been doing it nearly half my fucking life!"

too caught up in your anger, you've failed to notice the tears pouring down his face as he sets his gaze on the floor. 

"you're right," his voice cracks. "i shouldn't be pushy like that. i'm sorry. you just mean so much to me and i'm so scared of losing you again. with your coma — i just — it's like i was fighting a losing battle each day that passed when i saw you in that hospital bed. i've never felt so scared in my whole life and i hated myself for not being able to protect you that night."

his tears run like waterfalls, and when you step forward with your arms wide open, doyoung sobs harder as he pulls you against him. you hardly comprehend what he says as he spoke, shaking against your frail body as you felt his tears stain your blouse. "i'm sorry, i never should've dictated what you felt — i'm so sorry."

"no, it's okay. i was feeling a little lightheaded, anyway. i'll stay here and i can come back to school next semester, right? doyoung? just… please stop crying."

he lifts his head, staring at you with bloodshot eyes before giving your forehead a kiss. you let a relieved sigh escape your lips, melting into his warmth as you prop your chin on his shoulder. if you had only been more attentive, you would've seen the reflection of his wicked grin on the tabletops. too easy.

living with him became a blur after that incident. everything fell into a routine for the next four days as you spent the day watching netflix, eating, reading, sleeping. nothing felt fun anymore. but your peaceful life had ceased during the fifth night — the whispers, they woke you up. you can hear them from behind your door at night, and when you rouse awake, you see doyoung walking around the hallway from the tiny gap at the bottom of the door. you had sighed, falling back into your plush bed as you pray to god, he keeps it down. 

but what he told you the next day rendered you speechless. "me, walking around the hallways? whispers?" he says, confused. "i was already asleep, love. knocked out cold the moment my body fell on the bed."

"but…"

he doesn't spare you a glance as he takes his sweet time skimming through his notes on the dining table, coffee in one hand. "maybe it's just the meds kicking in."

"no, surely it was real! i literally woke up in the middle of the night," you repeat. "it's okay if it was you, doyoung. i'm not mad."

he sets his coffee mug down a little too loud. 

"well, you can't be mad at me, sugar, because like i said — it wasn't me," it doesn't take a genius to notice he's awfully cranky today. you observe him, dark half-moons under his eyes as he relentlessly reads his notes with instant coffee in one hand. 

"you're just imagining things, okay? stop acting crazy."

for some reason, the way he had uttered certain words like 'imagining' and 'crazy' made you curl into your seat in embarrassment. he was right that your doctor did prescribe a generous amount of pills per day, but his tone made it feel off, made you feel like there was something wrong with you even when there wasn't… 

right?

you didn't say a word after that and had hesitantly pecked him on the cheek before he left for school. with the amount of time you're with him, two things stood out to you — his keen sense of observation and his knack for reading people. you highly doubt he didn't notice a shift in your behavior but a part of you thinks it's just the stress talking. he is about to take his finals and had recently started on his research paper. 

every psych student is required to present a paper in accordance with the department's annual theme. it could be anything from proposing a theory (if you dare) to constructing a well-developed psychology model. if you don't turn one in, you don't graduate — the paper's that important, and you've been bugging him for so long about sneaking a peek on what his study is about. but he always refused. 

the next week came rolling around, and both of you had been spending every day together due to the semestral break. the arguments have significantly lessened, but your episodes — eventually, you started calling it that way because that's how doyoung labels it — have only gotten worse. you end up moving out of the guest room and into his. privacy be damned. the whispers stopped momentarily but what came next became your imminent downfall.

the first time you heard it, you thought you were dreaming. but the doorknob kept rattling aggressively even as you sat up. just as you climb off the bed, your half-asleep boyfriend asks where you're going. 

"bathroom," you lied.

you were always the one to snort when it comes to the supernatural, claiming it's all bullshit. yet, as whatever outside continues to fight its way inside the room, the rattling progressing into loud bangs against the door, you're not so sure of your beliefs anymore. you're not crazy. nothing is wrong with you, and you're perfectly fine. this apartment is cursed, and you are going to prove that to doyoung.

grabbing your phone from the bedside table, you turn the flash on, pointing the camera at the door as you take a footage of the mad entity that has been playing games with you. a squeal escapes your lips when a particular bang! reverberates louder in the room than all the others. the phone slips your hand, falling onto the floorboards. you don't bother to retrieve it as you scramble to get yourself back under the blanket and into doyoung's comfortable warmth.

you snuggle yourself plush against his chest, shaking as you wrap your arms around his waist, inhaling his natural scent to anchor you back. 

bang! bang! bang!

you didn't get a wink of sleep last night.

"can't the video wait? there's a new episode of start-up, and i want to watch it already!" he whines, shoving his face further on the throw pillow situated on your lap.

you giggle, shaking your head as you scroll through your gallery to find the video. i'm not imagining things. i'm not hallucinating. i'm not crazy. "here! watch... i'm telling you this apartment is haunted, and the ghost probably likes you, which is why it doesn't bother you —"

your lighthearted rambling cuts off when you notice no sound emitting from your phone. weird. you could've sworn you started recording right when the loud banging has already started. your heart drops upon the wary stare doyoung shoots you before he continues to watch the video. 

no, no, no, no — please!

you quickly scoot over to his side, watching as the video unfolds before your very eyes. the shot was messy as the phone was handheld, not to mention you were panicking at the time. but the video is silent. not a single noise of a rattling doorknob or banging on the door can be heard through your phone's speakers. 

"maybe — maybe you didn't turn the volume up?"

you hardly contain the mortification in your face when you realize the volume's at 100 already. and as if on cue, your squeal is heard in the video and the noise of the phone hitting the floor.

doyoung's silence shakes your whole being. as you kneel before him teary-eyed, your voice breaks. "i swear, i'm not crazy."

but at this point, you don't believe yourself anymore.

for his third and final act;

he triumphs.

his deprivation began in minuscule ripples. 

it didn't take much effort on doyoung's end to convince you to stop studying for a year or two, at least, only until your hallucinations aren't as severe anymore. everyday felt like hell on earth as the fine line between what's real and what isn't has blurred over one too many times. in sheer paranoia of accidentally hurting him in his sleep, you moved out of his bedroom and had started sleeping in the guest room again — much to doyoung's frustration. 

but he's a smart man, one that recognizes an opportunity amidst the hurdles thrown on his path.

"why does my door need a lock outside again?"

he approaches you, who’s sitting cross-legged on the bed, after screwing in the last of the screws that came with the new doorknob. doyoung is familiar with the look written on your face, has observed and studied you enough to navigate his way inside your pretty little head with ease.

he can't have you doubting him, can he?

"you know i'm all about protecting you, right?" he starts. you nodded. "i've been doing it for a year now, and i will continue to do so until you need me to. the world is a bad place, sweetheart, remember? your own best friend's mother tried framing you. your dad disowned you. you've been ostracized in the whole college... do you think i'm just like the rest of them, baby?"

doyoung has already mastered the perfect expression of a kicked-puppy, one that easily pulls at your heartstrings and has you cooing at him.

"no!" you say with conviction, reaching forward to thread your fingers through his. "i know you're different, not like any of them at all. i know you're only doing what's… best for me."

he ignores the underlying hesitance in your tone. that will be corrected, sooner or later.

doyoung tightens his hold as he kisses the back of your hand. such an innocent gesture — but such ill intentions.

"the outside lock helps me in protecting you, love. you don't need to worry about anything. just focus on getting better, alright? i'll keep the bad guys away from you."

it was during his first semester of senior year, a few months back, doyoung and a good few students of his batch had been granted the opportunity to intern for a mental hospital located near the edge of the city. he was supposed to decline the offer but you convinced him to take the spot. it had only been a two-week “job” yet it was enough for doyoung to conclude — he’d rather kill you than subject you to the horrors of what the patients have to go through in the loony bin. 

eventually, the small ripples shift into unforgiving waves, dragging you into the depths as everything comes crashing down before your very own eyes.

it should have been like any other day inside the apartment. doyoung's already gone in the morning to attend classes. though not before setting a tray of your brunch on the nightstand, making sure to lock your door on his way out. he knew your nightmares and anxiety kept you up at night, resulting in longer hours of sleep during the day. 

turns out, you moving out of his bedroom had been a blessing in disguise. coming home to an empty apartment has become his biggest fear yet, and you unconsciously found a solution for him. one that doesn’t have him fidgeting on his seat as he counts down the minutes ‘til he’s back by your side.

doyoung smiles unconsciously as he listens to his professor drone on and on in front of him — his mind at peace, knowing you're safe and sound in your little prison.

until he received a text that made his blood run cold.

ty, 11:34 am —im done.

meanwhile, you rouse awake once more to thunderous poundings against your bedroom door. oh no, you thought. it's happening again. this time, there'll be no doyoung barging into your room, half-asleep and hair messy, as he tries to calm you down. you throw the blankets over you as you sob, hugging your legs against your chest as you try to 'wake yourself up' from the hallucination.

the person outside calls for your name, the desperation in their tone alighting a new-found fear in your heart. you don't know what's real anymore. is this truly happening, or is it another hallucination your fucked up mind has conjured up?

"please! it's taeyong! y/n, can you hear me?"

taeyong?

slowly, your head peaks above the blanket, warily staring at the door. doyoung has warned you about these kinds of things, has practically ingrained in your mind that whoever comes looking for you will take you away from him. not to mention, doyoung slipped one time and said he isn’t friends with taeyong anymore.

the banging on the door progresses.

“are you in there? answer me! i can’t find the key!”

you don’t say anything, merely pushing the covers off your body as you keep your eyes fixed on the beating door. it looks like it’s about to pop out its hinges as taeyong relentlessly fights his way inside your room. what are you going to do? do you open the door? oh. right. you can’t do that on your own accord. the key is with doyoung and he isn’t in the apartment at the moment.

all your thoughts come to a halt when the boy outside sends the door flying open, finally breaking the lock with one powerful kick. you flinch back, his actions pushing you on your feet, wanting to place a maximum amount of distance from the intruder. 

taeyong looks frantic, disheveled as he immediately notices your alarmed state. he approaches you cautiously, hands up to show his empty palms. “hey, hey… it’s just me, y/n. i’m not going to hurt you. i’m not the enemy here.”

“doyoung doesn’t know you’re here, does he?”

the look of surprise on his face is an answer in itself. for someone doyoung had proudly claimed to have “broken” you’re still quite quick to catch up on things, taeyong observed. and he doesn’t know what to feel about it — pity? guilt?

“that’s not important!” he claims, boldly surging forward to grasp your shoulders with a firm grip. taeyong felt his heart dropping when you flinch under his grasp. 

“listen to me. we need to get you out of here. doyoung isn’t — he isn’t everything you thought he is!” he can’t help but raise his voice, panic surging through him because there’s not much time left and you aren’t exactly cooperating. you’ve been trying to shrug off his hold the whole time. 

“do you think he actually loves you?”

“he does! stop saying bullshit!”

“doyoung never loved anyone and you want to know why? because he’s too in love with his research to care for anything else!” taeyong felt bad to have been so direct, especially when he sees the tears now falling freely down your cheeks. “listen to me, y/n! i’m not the enemy! if there’s anyone you should be pushing away, it’s doyoung! he turned you into his lab rat! you are nothing but a variable in his study! don’t you get it?”

taeyong grabs a firm but gentle hold of your head, trying to make you look at him straight in the eye for the gravity of what he’s about to say to you.

“doyoung had his eye on you since sophomore year. i told him this was a bad idea and that he should change the topic of the research and he was. fucking hell, he was about to scrap the whole thing until your bestfriend died and did you know what that psycho told me? that it was a sign for him to continue the research! and i’ve been pestering him so much that he moved out because he claimed i was going to get in the way of his discovery.

tell you what, if you can tell me right here, right now, that he has mentioned anything — anything at all — about his study to you then everything i’m saying is a lie.”

you have asked doyoung for the longest time about that research but the answers have always been the same. “not yet, my love. it’s not time for it to be seen with your eyes. soon, okay?”

with a voice not louder than a whisper, you ask. “what… what’s his research about?”

you fail to see the sorry look on taeyong’s face. “in psychology, they say a person only develops psychosis mainly through genetics or drugs. although you’re technically already a worthy “lab rat” considering your mom and upbringing, he wanted to expand the external factors of what causes the disorder — grief, grades, toxic family relations…”

you hear a ringing in your ear and a sudden urge to throw up. only, you didn’t have anything to hurl because your brunch remains untouched on your bedside. 

“but he hadn’t been successful. and that’s… that’s where i came along. doyoung thought the medications he’s been giving you isn’t doing what he wanted it to and he knew he needed a little push. i was… i gave him that push. remember the whispers, the banging on the door at night? it was all me. he made me do it. you know what that means, right? you’re not crazy. you don’t need to stay here cooped up like some kind of pet, believing all his lies as if it’s written in a fucking bible —”

he stops. and if he hadn’t, you wouldn’t’ve heard the familiar beeps of the front door’s automated lock going off. doyoung’s home. 

in lightning speed, taeyong has you sheltered behind him, throwing his warm coat over you in the process, hoping to give the smallest comfort amidst the chaos that’s about to erupt. there’s no point in pretending or hiding — one look at that lock and his crazy friend would know something’s off. 

taeyong feels you flinching behind him with every heavy footstep against the floorboards as doyoung wastes no time in getting to your room. and when he finally appears, hands braced against the door frame, you’ve never been this scared your whole life. his eyes are drawn into slits, fixated on taeyong alone. “how fucking dare you?”

“it’s over, doyoung. give it up or you wouldn’t have to suffer a longer sentence than you’ll already get.” taeyong tried with his whole being to appear intimidating.

“what’re you saying, yong? i meant, how fucking dare you barge in here and disturb my girlfriend in her sleep? that’s not very nice of you…” doyoung sports a disarming gummy smile as he approaches, hand outstretched and beckoning towards you. “c’mere, baby. i don’t think you’ve eaten lunch yet?”

“drop the fucking act, you psycho!”

“what act?” doyoung tilts his head innocently, gaze shifting from taeyong’s and yours, who keeps peeking from over his ex-friend’s shoulder. luring you out is a piece of cake unless taeyong decides to make things a wee bit more complicated, doyoung thought. “i’m just concerned for my darl —”

“we’re leaving.” taeyong cuts him off, breaking eye contact as he places a firm grip around your wrist. he pulls you towards him, farther away from your supposed lover as he tries walking past doyoung. 

but the said man pushes taeyong back with a humorless smile on his face. “and who told you that you can do that?”

a pregnant silence befalls the room as the two men size each other up. they regard each other with such hostility, you can't help but unconsciously fist the back of taeyong's sweater in nervousness, prompting the man to turn his head over his shoulder for a swift second to check up on you.

but a second is all that doyoung needed to deliver the first kick towards taeyong's legs, throwing him off his balance. if it was one thing doyoung knew, is that he needed to eliminate taeyong's agility all together if he wants to win against him. 

but taeyong isn't one to back down. the moment doyoung straddles him on the floor, with a fist raised to throw a punch, taeyong grunts as he rolls them around. doyoung now receiving taeyong's rain of fists as he yells. "fuck you! you manipulative asshole!"

you sat on the corner, horrified of the scene happening before you. you've never seen doyoung this way. he has always been your sweet, caring bunny, but after everything taeyong said, you aren't so sure you even know the man you've been living with. 

"everything i did, i did it for her!" you flinch at the sound of bones breaking as doyoung kicked taeyong's ribs. "she had nothing to lose! i saved her!"

the door is open, you noticed. wide-open and inviting you to make a run for it. and you would have made a run for it...  but taeyong. you can't leave him behind, not when he lays there bloody and grunting in pain as doyoung lets his anger take over him. so, as stupid as may be, you did it. you had to.

"you didn't save me," you say, schooling your face into indifference as doyoung whips around, forgetting about taeyong in the bat of an eye. "you caged me in here, treated me like there's something wrong with me, gaslighted me into believing everything you said! and... what did you say? 'saved me'? you made me go through hell!"

the whole time, taeyong tries his hardest to stand upright, but his broken ribs don't allow him to. the pain too great that he had no choice but to crawl instead, arms pulling his weight as he drags himself across the floorboards, desperately trying to get doyoung's attention back on him even if it meant getting beaten to death.

meanwhile, he had his eyes trained on you the whole time you spoke, sobbing as you walk backward in fear as doyoung approached you with a dark glint in his eye. he doesn't like what you're saying; that much is very clear. he wanted to yell at you, to scream of your ungratefulness despite his constant care but instead, he says.

"i thought we were making progress, baby. i guess i have to drill everything in your brain again. you're not okay, but you will be after i treat you."

you try to fight the urge to look at taeyong as he finds his strength, silently rising up from the floor to ambush doyoung while he's so busy preaching about you. 

"what i said is true, baby. do you actually think this scum over here is doing this to save you? do you actually believe everything he said? i've been here since day-1, my love. literally. and have i ever let you down? no. everything i'm doing is for us. even this damned research!"

taeyong surges forward to put him in a chokehold, but everything happened so fast, and the next thing you knew —

"did you actually think i'd fall for that?"

you didn't know the sound of a knife cutting through flesh could sound that loud, but nothing could beat the strained gasp that tumbled through taeyong's lips as he shakily held the knife pierced through his heart. you would've been concerned about how doyoung got it so accurate in one go or where the knife even came from. but you were too busy screaming, collapsing against the wall as you let out a broken sob. 

"no," you mutter. "no, no, no..."

you can't bear to avert your eyes from taeyong as he lies dying before you. the look of fear in his eyes would forever be ingrained in your mind, and no amount of brainwashing or gaslighting would ever make you forget.

doyoung killed him. you lost.

the knife clatters loudly on the floor as he slowly turns around as if he himself has yet to register what he did. you didn't know what to expect from doyoung's reaction but certainly not the eerie smile that starts spreading on his face. 

"now... how about that lunch, baby?"

✉ : a repost no one asked but i respectfully dont give a fuck <3