#Did those electrical car designers finally Get something right. Will cars stop looking like absolute piss and also shit?

[slasherholic]

(psst... did someone say Mikey whump? guys I think someone said Mikey whump…) 

Frisky February Prompt: Electricity~ (yes it’s 15 days too early shush)  @slashthedice

synopsis: Michael gets served up some nasty, nasty revenge by someone who really, really has it out for him.

warnings: torture in a medical setting, sexual assault, mikey has a bad time ok

foreword: the opinions expressed here by the POV character about certain sensitive topics in no way reflect my own beliefs <3

No Faith in Medicine | Michael Myers x Reader | NSFW

The hospital corridor is long and grey and stretches onward toward a single bolted door, labeled by the rectangular sign hanging above it as Therapy Theater No. 5.

This deep within the bowels of the sanitarium, below the patient wards and the enrichment centers and the checkered courtyard, there is hardly any of the familiar clamour; so as you stride closer to the door the clack of your bootheels over the beige linoleum carries like thunder.

Smith’s Grove was never the sort of place you had pictured yourself ending up during all those sleepless nights studying for your Ph.D, and truthfully, you can’t stand it here. The deliberate blandness of the hospital, with its color palettes limited to inoffensive whites and blues and greys—meticulously designed so as not to provoke its residents—wears on you more than anything else.

You feel like you’re suffocating here; but it doesn’t matter.

This job was never about you to begin with. It was never about some commendable interest in the healing of troubled minds, either; oh-no. There are two-hundred-and-forty-nine permanent patients living inside these sound-proof walls, and while it may not be a very doctorly thing to admit, you don’t give a rat’s ass about two-hundred-and-forty-eight of them.

...and as for that last “troubled mind,” well…

The breezy summer afternoon that Michael Myers was sentenced to life imprisonment exists in your head as vividly as a snapshot picture.

Almost as vivid is your memory of the Halloween that a policeman had come knocking at your front door to inform you in a strictly-business-voice that your sister was found dead in her kitchen, her throat slit open from ear to ear.

You remember watching from your couch as the gavel came down and the judge ruled the man who had taken your sister’s life away as criminally insane—and not responsible for his actions on that fateful October night—and therefor not legally a candidate for the death penalty.

You remember the burning, frustrated tears streaming down your face, the shatter of glass as you hurled the remote at the television screen, and then sinking down in a heap on the floor and screaming until your lungs were raw and your voice was in tatters, because it wasn’t fair, wasn’t fair, wasn’t fair.

So when the news came out that Myers was to be transferred back to Smith’s Grove—hardly a forty minute commute from your own house—you had been out the door that very same day, speeding in your car down the highway, ready to accept any available position the Sanitarium would offer you for your credentials.

It had been your one shot at revenge on the sick, evil fucker who had ruined your happiness; and you were prepared to move heaven and earth just to bring Myers hell.

It had taken eight months before you even laid eyes on the man for the first time.

You’d landed yourself a patient therapy position, but only had the clearance to treat patients who fell under the “medium” and “high-risk” categories. In the entire hospital there were only two patients who fell under the third and final category: a spitting lunatic of a man, who couldn’t be safely approached without first being drugged half-asleep with antipsychotics...

...and Myers.

You had possessed the patience of a saint, climbing through promotion after promotion.

And the very minute that you were handed back a fresh copy of your I.D, now with a little red stamp at the bottom, the stamp that meant you were cleared to work with Myers, you had raced down to the front desk to file your recommendation for treatment.

Three days later, after hours of debriefing by Dr. Ashton, Myers’ new court-assigned psychiatrist, you came face to face with the worst criminal the sanitarium had ever known.

You had seen Myers’ face pictured in black and white on newspaper articles and in fuzzy low-definition on T.V. 

And absolutely none of that could have prepared you for witnessing him in the flesh.

The thing that had startled you most when you were led by Dr. Ashton into Michael’s barren, cramped room—the thing that practically had you reeling when your eyes fell on the motionless figure sitting on the cot in the corner, chained at the wrists and ankles by a metal link fastened to the floor—the thing you still despise yourself for thinking—

—is that Myers was jaw-droppingly, stunningly handsome.

His were the kind of ethereal good looks that you might expect to find in some renaissance painting, or a Grecian statue, or a fantasy book.

You had stood staring across the room at the motionless young man, drinking in all the features of his vacant, pretty face; overcome by complete and total disbelief that this was actually the person responsible for all your grief.

And the very next second, that disbelief was shattered like a dropped vase; when you looked into Myers’ stare.

It brought down the temperature in the room like a cold-snap. It was not directed at you, only at the floor, yet it had you shuddering anyway, had all the hairs on your arms standing straight up. It was not a lights-on-but-nobody-home sort of gaze, the kind you were expecting from how Myers had been described by his former psychiatrist. His face was blank, yes; that was accurate enough.

But his eyes, they were the furthest thing from it. 

Michael Myers had the eyes of a ruthless, calculating, viciously deliberate predator.

The longer you had stood there, gawking at Myers as if he were a tiger in a cage, hardly listening to Dr. Ashton’s rambling about his admiration of your interest in his patient’s treatment, the more you became aware of the charge crackling in the air; like the moment in a thunderstorm just before lightning rips through the sky. It was as if every fiber in your body could sense the danger radiating from this man; you could all but see and smell the invisible blood staining his hands.

It had turned your vision into a seething cloud of red. 

Here was a murderer—the worst kind of murderer, who was perfectly, undoubtedly aware of his crimes, a fact you could tell from just his eyes—who carried in his heart not a single shred of remorse for the lives he’d ripped away. Who, when he was unable to kill, had resigned himself to sitting and anticipating the day when he might once again have his hands around a warm throat, the day when he would pick right back up where he left off and take another life as carelessly and thoughtlessly as one snuffing out a candle.

And this man had been allowed to keep breathing.

You think of all these things as you reach the end of the corridor and swipe your I.D card on the door to Therapy Theater No.5. Hidden locking mechanisms whirr and click open.

You place your hand around the cool metal handle. For a moment, you just stand there. Feeling your pounding heart in your chest.

It pounds not because you are fearful; you don’t care if you get caught because of what you are about to do. You don’t care if you get fired, or if you get your license taken away, or even if you go to jail. Those are the most trivial, unimportant things in the world. No. Your heart does not pound for those reasons.

It pounds because, finally, there will be justice.

Finally, the evil son-of-a-bitch who slaughtered your sister is getting what he deserved all along.

And you get to be the one to flip the switch.

You turn the door handle and step into the room.

Therapy Theater No.5 is bathed in bright fluorescent light and smells strongly of antiseptic and sterilization. Three people are already in the room: two armed guards, who nod in acknowledgment at you when you enter.

And laid out at the center across a white padded table, dressed in a pale blue hospital gown, strapped tightly down at the wrists and ankles by hospital-grade cuffs, looking up at the ceiling as if utterly uncaring, motionless save for the rise and fall of his ribs—Myers.

A nurse had come in before you to prepare the room for treatment. The therapy you’re meant to be administering is simple and painless: electrodes are fixed to the patient’s body and a weak electrical current is passed through, stimulating choice muscle groups—and in more recent cases, even parts of the brain.

You had emphasized that part specifically in your pitch of the therapy to Dr. Ashton, referencing a study which showed how violent tendencies could be soothed in patients who underwent the treatment.

And no, you’d reassured him, it was nothing like electroconvulsive therapy.

The electrical current used in E.S.T is never strong enough to induce seizures. The only thing the subject feels is a mild, if not pleasant, buzz...

·…or at least that’s how it’s meant to be administered.

Tampering with the wattage of the machine had turned out to be laughably easy. A few snipped wires here, a few crunched numbers there, and now the bulky device sitting atop the roll-around table beside your “patient” can deliver a shock nastier than a taser with every throw of the switch.

It’s not strong enough to stop a human heart (god, you wish.) But it is enough to make Myers hurt.

Enough to make him writhe on that table.

Maybe even enough to make the heartless bastard feel something for a change.

You thank the guards before dismissing them. They leave the room but you know they won’t go far; no further than right outside in the hall, waiting through the entire session with their hands on their batons in case Myers gets out of hand.

Their security would be a welcome thing, if you were actually about to /treat/ Myers instead of torturing the living daylights out of him. But now, the guards are just another problem in need of a solution.

Though you are almost confident that Myers will retain his silence throughout the ordeal—that he’ll uphold his veil of distance and aloofness and total lack of care with the stubbornness of an ass—you’re not about to bet your shot at justice on it.

That’s what the ball gag in your coat pocket is for.

Reaching down to check that it is still there, excitement swells in your belly as your fingers graze the black silicone.

On the table, Myers is still motionless. He doesn’t tilt his head to regard you. He pays you no attention at all, in fact, as if you aren’t even there to begin with. Never do his steely eyes move from their fixed place on the ceiling light hanging above him.

As you walk up to the roll-around table, plucking a pair of latex gloves from a box stashed on the shelf beneath before snapping them curtly on, for a reason that you can’t put into words, you find yourself hesitating to look Myers in the face.

It doesn’t matter that he’s restrained; it doesn’t matter that there are two armed and capable guards standing watch right outside. Despite both these things, that vitriolic, charged aura you had felt in his cell still surrounds him now, polluting the room, hanging like a storm cloud over your head. 

It’s as if some submissive animal instinct has gripped your brain and now screams warnings at you: Predator. Danger. Don’t look it in the eye. Don’t provoke it.

You do your damndest to dismiss the feeling as nerves.

In a little white tray next to the E.S.T machine sits a filled syringe; a sedative. Dr. Ashton has insisted on it to better ensure your safety, as well as Myers’ cooperation. In the psychiatrist’s exact words:

“These days Michael is, ah, fussier about this kind of treatment—you know, the kind they gotta bring in the guards for, the needles, the cuffs, the whole nine-yards. 

It’s a theory of mine that, after living with the sort of power Michael did, the loss of his own control doesn’t sit as nicely anymore. He doesn’t like it. And he’s not afraid to let us know just how much he doesn’t like it.”

Fussy. That was the word Ashton had used to describe Myers. 

It had taken every shred of self-control you possessed not to scoff in the Doctor’s face at that; as if the man laid out before you now were some sort of stubborn, overgrown toddler, and not a remorseless, murderous psychopath.

You don’t spare the sedative a second glance as you unravel the bundle of wires and nodes connected to the E.S.T machine; Myers is going to be awake to feel every goddamned second of what you do to him.

Only after you’re finished with him will you finally send him under.

You can picture the conversation with Ashton now: Yes sir, the sedative worked like a charm, he was out like a light the entire time; no sir, no complications at all.

You take your time setting up the machine because you’re still hesitant to even look at Myers, let alone touch him. But when the wires are all connected, the red power button flashing idly in standby, there is nothing left to do except attach the electrodes.

You force yourself to look him in the face as you approach. You should not be afraid of this man; you should resent him, should despise him, but should not fear him. He doesn’t deserve to hold that sort of power over you, or anyone else, ever again.

So you look.

Michael is still watching the ceiling. According to his eyes, he does not acknowledge you.

But just from how the hair on your nape stands on end you know you’re being watched.

Myers is regarding you coolly in his periphery with the curiosity of a feline, feigning detachment and disinterest; but the weight and pressure of that penetrating gaze could not be more obvious if it were a ton of bricks coming right down on your head.

With a deep breath to rein in your resolve, you reach down, your fingers working to undo the first knot on Myers’ hospital gown.

Quickly, you discover that it is one thing to look at Myers; to feel for yourself his ruthless awareness, the raw intensity of his presence.

But to touch him is another thing altogether.

He draws a breath of his own as you fidget with his gown, his strong rib cage expanding beneath your fingers. You shudder at the sudden pressure of his body; whether out of disgust, or anger, or some fucked up fascination, you aren’t sure.

After undoing the ties on both sides, you lift the front of his gown up and off—

—and find that Myers is totally naked underneath.

Standard hospital procedure for a therapy like this one. Nothing new.

But it’s different when the patient looks like this.

You hate yourself for ogling him. You detest the way your eyes rove across Myers’ body, lingering on all the features that your lizard-brain decides it likes; from the stark tendons in his neck to his sharp and angular collarbones, from his broad, rounded shoulders to the beautiful definition in his abdomen, and down even further than that before you can stop yourself.

To the V of his obliques—to the trail of curly brown pubic hair on his pelvis—and all the way down to his flaccid penis.

You snatch a towel from the roll-around and drape it hurriedly over his hips. Not for the sake of his modesty; just so you don’t have to worry about your eyes straying down to the cock of the man who murdered your sister.

As far as the placement of the electrodes on his body, you honestly haven’t given it much thought. It seemed like the sort of thing that would come to you like an epiphany, as if suddenly, in the moment, you would know exactly where to hit Myers to really make him suffer.

But no such epiphany comes. Oh well; you have an hour to experiment.

Grabbing the two nodes off their holders, you run the wires across his chest and press the little round circles down flat against his pectorals.

When your gloved fingers graze Myers’ skin you nearly jerk back your hand, startled. The man is hot like a stove.

Your medical fascination is instantly piqued—Myers must have the hottest resting body temperature you’ve ever encountered. You have to force away intrusive thoughts of sticking a thermometer in his mouth to see that number for yourself.

Focus.

Tugging up on the wires, you test the integrity of the node’s suction. They don’t budge from his chest, lifting his skin with them as you pull. Perfect; It’s nearly time. 

Now for the gag.

You just have to cross your fingers and pray that you can actually get it in his mouth.

Looking Myers in the face a third time proves to be no less jarring than it had been the second or the first. You’re just relieved that even after all your poking and prodding he is still pretending not to be interested in you, or in the things you’re doing to his body.

You clear your throat before speaking to him because you don’t trust it enough not to crack.

“Open up,” you command him, mustering every authoritative bone in your body and sounding very official even to your own ears.

Removing the gag from your pocket, you hold it up as if to show him, taking care to conceal the black silicone ball with your hand.

“Mouthguard.”

You doubt that Myers has seen this sort of gag before. Or that he even knows what a gag is. Still, you’re not taking that risk. If this doesn’t work then you’re going to have to drug him just to get the damn thing in place, then wait for him to sober up again—a colossal waste of time.

For a tense second, Myers does not respond to your command. He just lays there on the table, inhaling and exhaling, looking incredibly bored with you, with his nakedness, with the electrodes strapped to his chest.

Your jaw goes tense. You nearly repeat yourself.

But then, he opens up his mouth.

Beneath the harsh overhead lighting his teeth gleam wetly. You suspect immediately that he’s going to try and bite your fingers off the second you get too close.

Game on, fucker. 

From the shelf below the roll-around you snatch up a small blotting rag. Walking around to stand at the head of the table, you gaze down at Myers again.

“The strap goes underneath.” You inform him. “I need you to lift your head up.”

He does.

And you strike. Faster than you had thought yourself capable.

You drape the rag over his eyes so that he can’t see what’s coming. Thrusting the gag hard into his open mouth, you wedge it firmly between his teeth. In the corner of the room, Myers’ heart monitor spikes suddenly, the electronic beeping speeding up momentarily—a sound that has you beaming with pride.

You’ve actually managed to startle him.

As you clip the strap into place around the back of his head, a strange sense of accomplishment floods your body—you’ve done it. You’ve actually done it. Everything is ready. 

Every sacrifice you’ve made in these past eight months, every hour spent in this godforsaken hellhole, it was all worth it just to bring about this single moment.

The moment is made only sweeter when you rip the rag away from Myers’ face.

Oh. Now you have his attention.

Those pale eyes are looking straight up at you. Considering you with the cutting gaze of a hawk. Working out the situation. 

You glare right back down at him. You stare deep into his eyes, the triumphant fire now raging in your chest burning hotter than the ice in his stare, more furiously than all the danger—and you find that you are not afraid of him anymore. Like this, Myers is nothing. He’s not a boogeyman. Not a phantom. He’s just a man—stripped of all his mysticism. Strapped to a table. Naked. Gagged.

Powerless.

Just as powerless to stop what you’re about to do to him as each and every one of the people whose lives he took away.

“Hello, Michael.” You hold his fierce eye-contact as you speak. “Ten months ago you broke into my sister’s house and murdered her.”

Myers doesn’t blink. But neither do you.

“When they tried you, you were supposed to leave that courtroom a dead man walking; you were supposed to die. That's how our justice system works—when you do the things you did, you don’t get to keep on living.”

Nothing changes on Myers’ face as you speak. Nothing changes in his eyes. Not one molecule in his body has an atom of care to give about the words you’re saying. He breathes around the gag, his heart monitor beeping slow and steady.

“I don’t give a single fuck about what that judge said,” You continue. “And I don’t care how sick in the head you really are. You knew exactly what you were doing that night. I can see it in your eyes, Myers—you loved every fucking second of it. And that’s the only thing that matters.”

You draw a long breath. One that you hold in your lungs before letting slowly out again.

“You’re the evilest son-of-a-bitch on this entire fucking planet; and you deserve to die.”

Walking over to the E.S.T machine, fighting back with tooth and claw against furious tears now threatening your eyes, you place your finger over the power switch.

Myers watches you; and you notice something flicker to life in his glacial eyes. Not an emotion. Just a realization.

Good. He understands now. He understands what you’re about to do to him.

“Someone has to make you pay. Someone has to.”

Michael just stares. Watching you. Watching your finger on the switch. His pulse on the monitor ticks as leisurely as if he were about to fall asleep.

“And guess what, you sick fuck?”

Still staring—not blinking—breaths coming slowly.

“I’m so fucking happy that it’s me.”

You throw the switch—

—the wires crackle with live electricity—

—and all of Myers’ deliberate, calculated control is shattered like a dropped glass.

His body seizes. His eyes snap shut. His fingers curl into fists that turn his knuckles whiter than the table beneath him. The tendons in his neck and forearms jump out, straining beneath his skin. His heart monitor beats erratically, the little green line on the screen spiking sharply, racing out of control.

Your eyes are glued to the grisly scene. You devour each and every involuntary reaction, relishing in the complete and utter breakdown of his control.

Fifteen gorgeous seconds pass before you remember that you were supposed to be counting to ten. Whoops. You might be frying his brain into an unfeeling stupor at this point. You flip the switch off in an instant because you need him awake, aware.

Myers’ back falls flat against the table, the current cutting off as abruptly as it began. The muscles in his chest continue to contract and seize beneath his skin long after the electricity is gone; you count the spasms as they tear through his pectorals like sets of waves.

When the spasming stops, his chest heaves up and down, winded. His breaths around the gag come heavily. His eyes are still shut; but no longer are they /squeezed/ shut.

For a moment, you really think that he’s passed out.

Then his eyes twitch beneath their lids and flutter open again. Blinking. Focusing—

—flitting right back on your face. Right back to the spot where he had left them before the current forced them shut.

Myers’ eyes are devoid of care. He is entirely unperturbed by what has just happened to him; entirely unthreatened. But now, that murderous intent—the charge which until now you’d only felt in the air around him—is written in his stare as plain as day.

I am going to kill you, says Michael’s gaze, as nonchalant as if he were stating some trivial fact about the universe, like water is wet, or the sky is blue.

It makes your blood boil.

Adding insult to injury, the speed at which Myers regains control of his body is nothing short of infuriating. You fume as you watch the way his breaths level out again, the beeping from his heart monitor falling back into the former slow, rhythmic pace.

You feel as though you should say something to him; like you should retaliate to this defiance in some way that isn’t staring, because you’ve already lost that battle; you cannot possibly hope to match the severity of Myers’ gaze.

But you don’t.

In your heart of hearts you know that your words will go right through his skull, unheard. There is only one language that Myers understands; only one language that he can comprehend down to his marrow. So you’ll speak it to him.

Without wasting another breath, your fingers find the power switch again. And those defiant eyes of his snap shut a second time.

When you shut the current off the results are the same as before; Myers is heaving on the table. But he takes back his control just as quickly, his stoicism prevailing.

By the third time however, his breaths have begun to linger in their heaviness—

—by the fourth he draws them as shallow as a winded sprinter running a race—

—by the fifth, the intervals between the violent seizing-up of his body are too brief for him to catch his breath—

—and the way he now gasps around the obstructing gag, fighting and failing to suck in air past its silicone, his nostrils flaring rapidly to compensate, is the most beautiful display of desperation that you have ever witnessed.

The sixth time you throw the switch, Myers actually does pass out.

When the current stops his body loses its tension with the abruptness of a cut wire. You wait impatiently for him to open his eyes again with your finger lingering over the switch, preparing to meet that steely gaze with another brutal jolt of electricity.

You wait; and Myers’ heart monitor chugs away like a freight train going up a hill.

Still waiting… waiting...

...and nothing happens. Myers is out cold.

The contentment now pulsing through your veins is what you imagine a shot of heroin feels like. Snapping on a fresh pair of gloves, you walk up to the side of the table to admire your work.

The first thing you notice is the sweat. Myers’ body is drenched in it. It beads up on his chest and clavicle, on his biceps and shoulders, on his brow and cheeks, the skin there flushing a shade of stark, exhausted pink. Gorgeous.

Your eyes travel down his body to continue the examination; you stop at his hands.

Myers’ hands are bloody.

Crescent-shaped cuts litter the skin of his palms, marking the place where his own blunt fingernails had dug in uncontrollably, over and over and over again. The fresh blood streaks in little rivulets down his hands and pools on the white padding of the table beneath. 

You chew the inside of your lip as you stare at the mess; these cuts might be tricky to explain away. You’ll have to gauze them and tell Dr. Ashton that his patient did it to himself; maybe recommend that he be switched to a higher Thorazine dosage to really sell the lie.

Luckily, that’s a problem for the future. As for right now, you’re rather enjoying the irony of Myers’ own blood staining his hands for a change.

The inspection continues. Further down his body, you finally notice it; the bulge beneath the towel strewn across his pelvis. 

Oh my god, he isn’t. You think, lifting the side of the towel for a peek.

And oh my god, he is.

Rather frustratingly, just like the rest of him, Myers is pretty down here, too. Pretty and big. Which is not a compliment, you reassure yourself. Just a medical observation. You let yourself stare this time, because you’re not ashamed anymore. You’re not threatened by the notion of admiring Myers’ physiology anymore.

Not when he’s so completely at your mercy.

Somehow, Myers doesn’t seem to be the masochistic type, so you highly doubt that actual arousal is responsible for this. Sheer adrenaline coupled with his frantically pumping heart are probably to blame, his brain mixing and misinterpreting the signals, resulting in this little accident.

The longer you stare down at the “accident,” the more you find yourself wondering what Myers would look like fully-erect.

You cannot rip the electrodes off his chest fast enough. Plucking the towel from waist and discarding it on the floor, you stick the two nodes down flat against his obliques, then hurry to rig up a third. That one you plant just above his penis; as close to its base as the curly dark hair will allow.

You stand with your finger ready on the go-button again, opting to let Myers’ still-racing pulse dip out of the red before you pull the trigger and plunge him back into hell. Bloodied hands you can explain away, but cardiac arrest? Not so much.

The beeping slows. The green lines on the monitor settle. You throw the switch.

Myers’ pelvis bucks uncontrollably up from the table—

—and he grunts.

The sound makes your heart sing. It is muffled by the gag, low and reverberating, not very loud to begin with. Most definitely not on purpose; just a reaction that’s managed to slip through while his barriers are down.

Myers’ groin is still quivering when you cut the current off. His cock stands upright, stiff and swollen, totally erect. A line of saliva now dribbles down the side of his mouth, trickling between the gag, collecting in a shimmering mess on his shoulder. He blinks sluggishly up at the ceiling light as if transfixed; still dazed, you would guess.

Something twisted occurs to you as you drink in the scene. Something that you can’t deny.

Seeing Myers like this—fighting for his very consciousness, struggling to retain some sliver of control—is the single most arousing thing you have ever witnessed. You want nothing more in the entire world than to climb onto this dangerous, wounded man’s hips and claim him. 

You want nothing more than to give him a taste of what true powerlessness feels like.

It’s a lovely fantasy, a beautiful temptation, and a real shame that it can’t happen. You don’t feel like getting knocked up with the child of your sister’s murderer today; or ever, for that matter. Instead, you think you’ll make a game out of guessing how many more shocks will have Myers coming on his own thighs.

Striding up to the head of the table again, you plant your arms on either side of his shoulders, leaning over him, hardly ten inches from his face.

“Looks painful Myers.” You jest. “How about I make you a deal?”

Michael looks up at you. Unfocused. Blinking slowly.

“I flip the switch,” you continue,

“—and I keep it flipped until you’re covered in your own semen, and after that I jam a needle in your arm, pump you full of drugs, and you get to live out your next eight hours as an unfeeling fucking vegetable. Fair?”

You wait for Myers to do something. For your words to register in his brain. For some flicker of a response to let you know that he’s even still in there.

To your immense disappointment, Myers does nothing. Absolutely nothing. He just...

...well, you can’t even call it staring anymore.

He doesn’t seem able to manage that sort of focus, you realize, inspecting his face closer. His eyes are alarmingly barren; there really isn’t much of anything there, now. None of the ruthlessness, none of that predatory awareness, none of the murder.

You’ve actually shocked the bastard totally, one-hundred-percent out of it.

Whoops.

Back at the roll-around, you snatch up a hand light. Returning to the table, you shine it in his eyes, assessing the damage. His functioning pupil is slow to dilate. Worryingly slow. You click the light off with a contemplative frown.

Half of your mind begs whatever force might be listening that this isn’t a passing affliction, that whatever damage that’s done is done. If the courts insist on keeping Myers alive, then maybe reducing his brains to soup is what it takes to keep him docile. To keep him from hurting another living thing ever again. You can only hope.

As much as you’d love to do so, electrocuting the living daylights out of him some more isn’t likely to bring Myers back to awareness; and the session is supposed to be over soon.

You glance at the clock on the wall—

—Shit. Very soon.

You need to find out right the fuck now if you’ve just rendered Dr. Ashton’s patient catatonic.

Walking around the side of the table, you take Myers’ swollen cock in your gloved hand—trying not to think about the fact that you’re jacking off a condemned murderer—and pump hard, stroking him all the way from the shaft to the swollen tip, squeezing the head, massaging your thumb over it, rubbing all the way back down again.

“Come on, asshole,” you spit. “That can’t be all the fight you’ve got.”

Myers’ hips jerk slightly up from the table as you touch him. Probably just an involuntary reaction. You’ll need him to do better than that. Stroking him faster, squeezing even harder, you pray that the friction of your latex glove against his cock feels just about as pleasant as a rug burn.

As you watch his vacant face like a hawk you see him begin to blink harder, his eyes squeezing shut, twitching beneath their lids, staying closed for a beat before opening up again, like he’s struggling to wake from a deep sleep. A much more deliberate motion; he’s coming back to it.

“Can you feel that? Hurts like a bitch, doesn’t it?”

He breathes hard around the gag. His knees lurch up from the table, the cuffs around his ankles straining, holding him in place.

You give his cock another hard squeeze.

“Forget where you are Myers?”

His jaw goes absolutely rigid with tension.

Ah. He heard you that time. He’s back.

How unfortunate that his brain isn’t fried after all.

You can see it all coming back now as his eyes flit down, locking on your face, rebooting within him like a program on a script; the chilling intensity, the sharpness, all the things that had made your skin crawl in the days past. Despite the torture, nothing at all about Myers’ demeanor has changed.

“Welcome back.” You state dryly. “We aren’t done yet.”

As if to make your blood boil on purpose—as if the battered state of his body means less to him than dirt, as if he hasn’t spent the better part of the hour being brutally, mercilessly tortured by you—

—Myers just watches you. Damning you with his eyes alone to the same grisly demise as before.

An odd sense of something, not quite admiration, sparks in your gut. Looking into Myers’ eyes, there is one single thing that you are willing to give this monster credit for:

What sits before you is a creature that cannot be broken. One that will never be dissuaded from its primal, violent nature. To try it is an impossible task. You suspect that you could stand in this room for days, flipping the same switch, delivering the same current, knocking him to and from consciousness, and into all the states in-between.

And the result would never change. Not ever.

He’d still be looking at you with that same deadly stare. A stare as cold and sharp as the blade of a carving knife.

And it would only get more piercing.

And what a relief it is that your goal in the first place was never to break Myers,

just to bring the gates of hell down on his pretty, curly head.

And you have. You can hear it in every breath he takes; he’s struggling. Although he draws his inhales slowly, with mechanical control, the ragged wheezing in his chest is no longer possible for him to hide. Myers is hurting—he’s hurting bad.

As much as you would love to stay and twist the knife in even deeper, it's time to wrap things up. You’re all out of time.

Pulling the electrodes from his groin and thighs with one hand, you let two of the nodes dangle freely off the side of the table.

The third you stick against his cock.

“Count your lucky fucking stars that not everyone in the world is as heartless as you are.” You tell him, walking back around to the E.S.T machine.

Myers follows you with eyes the entire way, stone-faced, impassive. Like the fact that you’ve just fastened a live wire to his dick is about as boring to him as watching paint dry.

Flick goes the switch.

His back arches off the table like a bent bow. He scrunches his eyes shut, breathing hard around the gag, tugging furiously at the cuffs, the muscles in his calves and biceps straining dangerously, pulling upwards with a brutish force that has table whining beneath him.

You’re transfixed as Michael comes. His mess shoots out in thick ropes, reaching further than you thought possible, coating the table, getting on his legs. The sheer power of his body is a stunning thing to witness. You keep the current running to milk him down to the very last drop.

When he stops coming, you power off the machine.

The node comes away from Michael’s skin in a “pop” that is all-too satisfying. Bundling all the wires and electrodes back into place on the machine you listen to the only measurable signs of the man’s distress; the tortured intake of his breaths, the elevated beeping of his heart monitor.

Then, picking up the needle from the little white tray, you cross back to Myers’ side.

The vein in his forearm is thick and pronounced and the needle slips in beautifully. You press slowly down on the plunger, grateful when he doesn’t try to yank his arm away, relieved when he accepts the drug without a struggle. He must be exhausted.

The sedative works its magic quickly. You pull up a stool and sit down beside him to watch.

The vitriol in his eyes begins to melt and soften. One by one his strained muscles are allowed to relax again, the tension ebbing away; from his jaw, his shoulders, his abdomen, his legs. The electronic beeping on the monitor slows and slows until its powerful rhythm beats steadily again.

Evidently, Michael has decided he isn’t ready to go under just yet. Though sleep pools in his eyelids he blinks it away, clinging in a death grip to his consciousness.

Just to leer at you. Just to picture in his mind the day he will have his hands around your throat; as if it is already set in stone. As if it is just a matter of when.

Then, Michael’s eyelids flutter—

—fighting to stay open, still staring—

—closing, for just a beat too long—

—lingering shut—

—staying shut.

You move to clean him up quickly. The gag comes out first. Lifting his head to unbuckle the strap, you tug out the black ball, letting his strained jaw fall shut again for the first time in an hour; then carelessly drop his head. It thunks satisfyingly as it comes down hard against the table. Glancing at the gag’s silicone, you notice the deep markings worn into it, perfect impressions of Myers’ top and bottom teeth. You almost shudder; a bite from him would have been nasty.

You blot away the drool dribbling down his chin and shoulder with a rag, and then move on.

The last thing you expect as you begin to clean Michael’s bloodied hands is the tears that spring to your eyes. Even with your fear of the man gone and buried, you wish that you didn’t have to touch these awful hands; let alone treat them, bandage them, heal them.

You wipe away the tears on your sleeve as you gather your supplies together on the roll-around.

Grabbing each of his wrists just above the restraint cuffs and turning them so that his palm is facing upward on the table, you hastily swab him down with alcohol pads, wiping up the clotting blood from his skin, squeezing out a blob of antiseptic from a tube to smear across his cuts. As you wrap Michael’s palms tightly in gauze you try your hardest to snuff out that invasive thought when it comes searing like a bullet through your skull—

—these are the hands that killed my sister.

You simply can’t afford to linger on those thoughts right now. Maybe when you’re at home tonight, alone in your bed, you will let yourself cry; but not now. Not while you still need to clean up after Myers’ unfortunate mishap.

Toweling him down from his forehead to his calves, you soak away the sweat. And the semen. Then, you fasten back up the front of his hospital gown, knotting each and every tie.

And just like that, the job is done.

You knock on the door. The guards come in and wheel Myers’ unconscious body out of the room.

The next day, you have a debriefing session with Dr. Ashton. You feed him your meticulously rehearsed lie: that the therapy went without a hiccup, that you firmly believe this treatment could be the key to alleviating Michael’s tendencies for violence.

The moron laps up your every word.

Ashton ends the session with a delightful little surprise; he’s pulled some strings to allow for Michael’s therapy to be carried out bi-weekly. He is so impressed by your drive to treat his patient that he’s offering you a position as Michael’s secondary caretaker. He only hopes that you’ll accept.

The smile you give him is bright and sincere, one that beams from ear to ear.

“Doctor, believe me when I say that nothing in the world would make me happier.”

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs, “Premier.”

Since so many of you have been asking about the movie, I wrote something for you this morning. I wrote it in two hours and have to get it out before class starts, so give me a little slack here. 

“Stop fidgeting will you.”

“Sorry! I’m just nervous….. Do I look stupid.”

“You always look stupid, that’s not going to change anytime soon.”

“Ha ha, Hilarious, Just answer the question.”

“You look fine stop worrying.”

Adam turned to face the mirror tugging at the sleeves of his dress shirt, fidgeting obsessively with his tie, and the open front of his jacket. Conn floated over his shoulder grinning somewhat malevolently at him.

Krill slapped his hand as he tried to reach for the tie again, “Stop messing with it. Look what you did now. We will have to do it all over again.” 

The little doctor angrily undid the tie and began to redo it.

Adam sighed, “Thanks mother.”

“Don’t give me your sass.” he finished tying the knot stepping back so Adam had room to button the vest back up before turning around to face the mirror. Conn had sidled over to the side of the room still leering at him as he was prone to do.

He tried to ignore him and eyed himself feeling more than a little strange in such formal attire, a three piece suit minus an eye patch, and plus a shiny pair of dress shoes he could have seen his reflection in. He reached up to grab his tie again, but his hand was slapped away.

“What did I say!”

“Sorry, Sorry.” he grumbled pulling back to message his hand .

There was a hiss as the door at the far end of the room popped open, and Sunny stepped inside trailed by waffles, “Look.” Sunny began, pointing proudly towards the dog, who trotted into the room to sit politely before Adam looking up at him with her big brown eyes head tilted slightly to the side.

He laughed, “Is that a bow tie?”

Sunny Hummed to herself, pleased, “Why yes, yes it is. She's adorable and you’re welcome.”

He reached down to rub the dog’s ears before looking up, “You look nice.”

“I know.” Sunny announced striking a rather, heroic pose, which, all jesting aside, actually completed the look: bright silver armor, a horned helmet, all pulled together by the electric blue silk cape that hung at one shoulder.

“Wish I could wear a cape.” He frowned crossing his arms in mild dejection.

“Why not?”

“What do you mean why not?”

“This is the movie industry, Adam, they wear outlandish stuff onto the red carpet all the time.”

He seemed rather miffed at the observation, mostly from the fact he hadn’t thought of that before, “Well now it’s a little too late, don’t you think?”

“Sucks to suck, you look good though.”

He sighed and turned back towards the mirror adjusting himself, “I look like a poser.”

“Stop worrying so much, and stop fidgeting. The fidgeting is what makes you look like a poser. Relax and own it, you know for someone who spends a lot of his time unwaveringly confident to the point that I worry about your health, you can be very insecure sometimes.”

“Thank you so much! for that boost of confidence, Sunny.”

His sarcasm wasn’t lost on her, though she chose, rather obviously to ignore it. 

“There is one thing I think you should do.” 

“Oh, and what is that.”

“Put the eyepatch back on. Be you, just the fancier version. I have a theory that the reason people aren't comfortable is because they aren't being themselves.” 

He raised an eyebrow at her then shrugged, “If you say so, I guess.” 

He could hear Conn snort internally, “That is horrible advice for most people, since the vast majority of them are miserable hacks.”

He ignored the starborne, again. 

There was a sudden knock at the door, and they all turned to see another man dressed in a fine black suit, “Mr. Ellis has just arrived, and is his car is waiting for you outside.”

Adam took a deep breath glancing down at the eye patch one more time before slipping it on, “Alright, ready everyone?”

They chorused their readiness, and he squirmed with nervous energy. 

How were they all being so calm?

Together they made their way out the door and down the hallway to the large, black limousine waiting for them just outside the door. The man from earlier was waiting for them, pulling the door open and motioning them inwards.  

Conn floated in first, Krill climbing in second, followed by Adam and then Sunny.

Director Clayton Ellis sat just inside the door grinning widely.

Adam had to blink a few times to determine which part of the man was which. There was just so much of him ... everywhere . He wore a white… something absolutely crusted with sequins and jewels including the frames of his glasses. As far as Adam could tell he could have been wearing a dress, or a suit with some strange alteration, though it was difficult to see sitting here in the car.

The ribbons that flowed down from his back and hips sort of reminded him of Conn.

“Adam! So good, so good to see you. I am so glad you could make it for the premier. I think you're going to love it, absolutely visually stunning, heart rending at times, and just the right amount of action. Best piece I think I have ever directed, and all thanks to you, the man of the hour. And don’t you look sharp, absolutely working for me very old fashioned very provincial late 1990s early 2000s maybe.”

Adam rubbed the back of his neck, blushing, “Er, thanks…. You look good…. Too.”

“Well thank you! Designed it myself, well with the help of some famous friends.” He motioned towards Conn, “Took the concept idea from your starborn there, very ethereal, very flowey, though doesn’t look so elegant when sitting in a car.” 

Adam just continued to nod along adding an mmhmm or a yes, or and of course whenever he thought it was necessary. Luckily Mr. Ellis provided most of the conversation, so he didn’t have to open his mouth too much.

He noticed almost immediately when the car slowed down glancing out the window and finding…. An absolute mob of people. His stomach lurched and churned as cameras flashed, some held in hands, others as little ball drones hovering over the crowd. He craned his neck to see ahead of them, watching as a line of fancy dark cars slowly scooted up the line.

His stomach was churning.

From where he sat, he watched as Keith Jenning, the actor who had played him, stepped from the car. The lashing grew in intensity, outside the window he could hear a muffled roar. 

Mr Ellis Grinned, “Me, you, and then your extraterrestrial friends, eh? Give them something to talk about.

The next car ahead of them stopped, and Rita. Ortiz, and Adler Handen, krill’s voice actor, stepped from the car. Rita was dressed in a tight black suit, not dissimilar to his own, silver watch shining on her left wrist.

And there it was.

He suddenly needed to pee.

Their car lurched forward as the cameras flashed and stopped. Clayton Elllis got ready, and then the door was opened releasing a wave of sound that absolutely deafened him. Clayton stepped from the car trails of ribbons billowing behind him, hands raised to the crowd. Lights flashed pictures snapped.

Adam was ushered out next, Stepping from the car, foot planted straight on the red carpet. Lights dazzled his eyes, and in a daze he stepped forward to follow Clayton, who was making the most of his moment. 

“WE LOVE YOU COMMANDER!”

He turned his head to the side suddenly blinded by another flash of light, as one of those camera drones zipped past him.

He blinked the light from his eyes just in time to see a group of women leaning out over barricade waving their hands and screaming furiously.

At that moment he wondered which was redder, his face or the carpet.

He gave a rather awkward wave towards the girls who absolute erupted into screaming and jumping.

Then the crowd silenced a moment later, the lights stopping.

And he turned to see Sunny step foot after him, light glittering and sparkling form her armor and carapace. She held her regal armored head high.

IThe moment of silence continued for a second, and then it was as if the world around them was alight with stars, a flashing roaring thunder, which only grew louder with Krill and finally with Conn, who flouted outwards completely stealing the spotlight with his ethereal presence. Together they slowly walked forward stopped on occasion to get group pictures

In their turn, each of them was kidnapped by Ellis and forced to pose for a thousand pictures.

He just grinned dazed and confused star struck as he looked around him.

He even thought he could hear his name being called from the crowd, though that was uncertain.

TV reporters stood at the end of the red carpet speaking frantically into their cameras and waylaying celebrities as they walked by.

“Keith Jenning, tell us about what it was like to make this movie.”

The man flashed a charming smile, “Well, at first I was a little unsure. I mean I had never done anything based on a real life story before, and emulating another person was hard. I worked with posture coaches, and accent experts for weeks. A mid Americana accent is surprisingly subtle, but very hard if you want to get it right. Over all, I actually ended up really enjoying shooting the movie despite my doubts at first.”

“Rita, was it hard to perform in stilts and motion capture, we heard you almost broke your legs.”

She laughed, “It was hard yeah sure, but it was so, very fun. You know what you act normally, you do your best to act as convincingly human as possible, but when playing an alien, the rules change, go out the window. I had so much fun learning about Drev culture, and the way they think about war. It was a fascinating and eye opening experience. I loved it, and I encourage everyone to get to know a little more about our interstellar neighbors.”

Lights flashed, more cameras snapped.

“Did you find it hard to connect with the character?” Someone asked Adler Handen.

“Not in the slightest, it was actually a very excellent way to get out there and stretch my proverbial wings. It’s always good to get out of your head on occasion.

Sunny was grabbed and pulled to stand in a picture with Rita, who seemed more than pleased to be spending time with Sunny.

It was the same for Krill, and finally Adam who was dragged forward to get a picture with Keith.

Off to the side Clayton Ellis was excitedly rambling on, “Oh I absolutely love the movie, couldn’t be happier. I really think we did the source material justice, and honestly I think it really puts perspective on the Drev war, and the people involved. You know with all the negativity going around about the LFIL, there are a lot of people who are scared of aliens, Xenophobic in nature, and I think this really puts into persepctive just how similar we all are. They are intelligent sentient lifeforms not so dissimilar to us at all, and I think this movie, this real life story really demonstrates how we can all get past those differences.”

Adam was quite pleased to hear the relative positivity that was coming off the actors and the director, even if it was fake.

That was before the camera crews descended like vultures around him, and he was surrounded by a wave of cameras.

“Commander, Commander Vir! Tell us how you feel about all this.”

He hemmed and hawed for a moment stuttering over himself before taking a deep breath, “Look I’m A kid from mid Mericanda, I honestly ended up here mostly by accident, and I’m pretty sure this is some kind of insane dream.”

“What did you think of the movie.”

“Well, I haven't actually seen it yet, I was deployed when they did the beta testing, but I’ve gotten to know Director Ellis a little, and he was very open to my suggestions and the story, so I feel confident he did his best to do it justice.” 

“We hear that you won’t be taking any of the royalties.”

“Well no, not entirely. Maybe a little for my family, but most of it is going to a charity for Drev war survivors, especially operation Steel eye. A lot of those people had it rough after the war, and I want to make sure they get something back.”

Across the red carpet, Sunny had been stopped, “Do you worry that depictions of the war will put your society in a bad light.”

Sunny tilted her head, “Why would it. The Drev are warlike, and we always have been. The only difference is that we practice and view war differently than humans. War has never come close to destroying our planet. To die in war is an honor and a victory, so we do not hold grudges against each other or assume it to be a tragedy. War on our planet's mean two different things.”

“Dr Krill, is it true that you were the first alien surgeon to perform on a human trauma paitent.

“That is actually true, yes, even during the Drev war, it turns out 98% of attending physicians were human because humans tended to be the highest rate of survivors from injury. Humans being slightly more durable than the rest of us.”

In the center of the red carpet, Conn had taken up a large space given a certain amount of personal room by the awed  crowd, “Is it true that you’re a telepath.”

The starborn raised his hands signing, voice dictation taking over as he did so, “Think of something, try it.”

“Oh, Ok.”

“Big purple muffin.”

“You could have just made that up.”

“But he didn’t, that’s exactly what I was thinking.” 

“Don’t be nervous. I promise not to spill any of you deep dark secrets.” Conn laughed like the psycho he was.”

After more pictures, more questions and a hundred more handshakes, they were then ushered into the building, and sat down on comfortable seats facing the screen.

Adam breathed a heavy sigh of relief and leaned his head back. 

Director Ellis grinned at him.

Light overhead went dark and speaking turned to distant quiet muttering.

The screen was dark for a long moment before.

“Mom?” A child’s voice 

“Yes Adam?” A womans 

“I know they’re out there .”

The woman laughed, “Who is out there.”

“Aliens of course.”

“Oh?”

“I’m gonna prove it one day.”

You could hear the smile in the woman’s voice, “I know you will.”

 And then the room began to shake with the thrilling roar of the F-80 Darkfire engine. 

He would have known that sound anywhere.

It sounded like home.

[kaplanwrites]

02.6 Michael

Part1. Meeting.

For the last 40 hours Tim’s going only on caffeine and taurine from energetics, empty cans of which piles in trash bins +and that probably will go to the chapter where Kon calls Dick to take over the meeting because Tim sleeps exhausted after rehearsing his major defend+

He probably should sleep, but he just defended his minor, and he’s unable to move anywhere himself. He doesn’t want to try to resemble a human being right now, to be a responsible parent to his - beloved, but much too noisy - toddler, to check the fridge for milk and cupboards for cookies. Everyone coax him, so he tumbles down the street to the local bar which is surprisingly more fancy that any bar placed near campus ought to be, and crumples down at the nearest table, bracketed by fellow red-eyed caffeine-overdosed pre-grads and TAs.

After a couple of drinks (Irish coffee, don’t hold on whiskey, double sugar), he spots that one guy at the bar. The guy… he looks exactly like him; the buzz-cut, and wide shoulders, hair black in a yellowish light. He sits at a barstool, shapely legs clad in too-tight bootcuts, and sips on something creamy - is that a milkshake? He turns head to ask the barman something, and as light catches on a thick rim of glasses, so does Tim’s breath. He probably makes some sort of sound, because girls notice his attention, and one of them - Trish, probably - heard that The Guy’s name was Mike, and Mark, who actually lives at the campus, says that they heard that The Guy’s dishes out to cover his tuition.

And Tim’s wouldn’t do that just to relax, but then Mike turns to stand up, and his eyes glint blue, and he even has a slight curl in hair, and Tim _wants_.

It is convenient, really,  no strings attached as they say,  and nothing would happen if he’ll be covert,  and if Tim is capable of anything - it’s stealth.

So after Mike leaves to the bathroom, Tim drops his contact card on his barstool and makes sure to lock eyes, to flash trademarked Wayne’s smile at Mark, when he returns.

***

Part2. Sex.

Mike calls, and they meet at the hotel and they kiss, and Tim stops and starts to backpedal because “he shouldn't be here, he has kid, and Mike - it's Michael, actually, - probably has STD’s, and they argue a bit, and then laugh, because Michael is indignant and Tim’s nervous, and Michael make monthly checkups, and anyways his clients are improbable to carry something, and Tim wonders why he would do it, and Michael wonders why TIM would do it, he’s gorgeous and rich can probably pick up anybody anywhere.

Tim says that people on campus know Mike’s occupation, but no one knows his clients and that what Tim needs.

They kiss some more and gropes each other a little until Tim’s phone goes off, and he needs to go. He pays the whole, and for the room.

***

Second time they’re in a fancier hotel, with decent-sized bed, and it’s midday and Tim wants to watch him strip, and to touch himself, and they fumble on bed, Michael naked, and Tim fully clothed, and Tim fucks him from behind until both of them sated and spent, and kisses Michael shoulders before leaving cash on the table and leaving the room.

Michael’s eyes are actually hazel, but it doesn’t matter.

***

Michael offers to rub his back, or to get a long bath together,  when on a fourth or fifth time Tim actually chooses hotel near city center, fancy and with spacious bathroom - because Tim’s always dressed in at least one layer, and stiff and rigid underneath and Michael  begins to suspect some kind of disfigure under clothes.

They talk, well, Michael talk at Tim as Tim sucks him off while spreading him with fingers, that it will be okay to show anything he hides under clothes, that it will be good to let go, and suddenly Tim gets up with an obscene pop, and Michael’s eyes want to cross, but he soldiers on and holds Tim’s intense gaze as he begins to undress.

And then Michael just stares at the scars that appear with each discarded garment, pale skin crisscrossed with long gashes and peppered with barely visible burn marks, and Tim says it’s sort of fun to have father and two older brothers addicted to extreme, and then he chuckles when Michael's eyes slips to the puckered bullet-hole, and says that that’s the price for charity in Gotham.

And then Michael is too preoccupied with remembering watching on tv a shooting of a  philanthropist teenager,  who then spent two years on crutches,  with the thought of ‘how couldn’t I figured earlier that dark gotham and gorgeous was anyone but a Wayne’, and then he’s too busy getting properly fucked.

***

Tim’s careful not to meet Michael after visible injuries, but he makes sure to visit him every other week. He has ready stories about mountain bikes and rock climbing.

Afterward, he feels more focused, and he lashes out at people (at Kon) less, and, besides, he actually enjoys Michael’s presence.

***

Part3. Wrong name.

He holds a Wayne Tech Gala, and he gives a ticket to Kon, as a truce. He thinks, maybe Kon chooses to go with him.

Kon brings someone; she’s not even a name, she is blond and beautiful, like Cassie, and she is starry eyes, and happy to be here just because it’s luxurious - unlike Cassie.

Tim drowns his bourbon and prays that Ted will manage their little devil for one night. Kon doesn’t even have the decency to look smug, he just shakes hands, and smiles, and visibly relaxes when his plus-one leaves to gossip; and Tim isn't even jealous or disappointed, he’s just angry.

That night he makes Michael fuck him, and maybe he’s moaning the wrong name all the way through.

***

One morning Tim’s in the shower, and Michael’s barely awake, and there are Wayne tech blueprints scattered on the table, and those designs are awesome, and Michael cannot keep his eyes off them until Tim’s out of the shower. And:

‘I'm sorry, the designs of that power source, it’s beautiful, even more than I’ve anticipated’ - ‘You know what those are?’ - ‘You kidding me? I’m in electrical engineering, that’s all we talked about at campus after last ‘expo’’

They speak geek, and Tim tentatively proposes to get him an internship in the WayneTech. They visit once together, and Michael is absolutely enamored with the lead engineer, Cecil Walters.

At the first day of the internship, Michael comes up to him and asks him out to a date later, when he will be able to afford to take Cecil to a decent place. Everybody in the lab is scandalized, except for Tim (who is amused) and Cecil (who think it’s hilarious). Worse: Michael’s absolutely serious.

***

One time Michael comes with bruises in interesting places. Couple others he refuses to come at all. Tim sees him at the campus, with a split lip and marks on throat.

Tim makes Michael’s handsy client disappear, and Michael doesn’t ask questions about his dean sudden retirement.

***

Part 4. Truce.

They speak, mostly after sex, and Michael says that he’s going to lose this job. Tim frowns on this phrasing but keeps silent. Michael keeps explaining, that he was doing it to get through college, and it was nice and easy money and that once he’s finished, he wouldn’t need that anymore, especially with WT internship. And anyway he already got rid of most of his clientele, but Tim was always welcome to call, and is still, but only, like, a booty call. For free. Because Michael liked Tim’s dick that much, and also was somewhat addicted to this hotel’s jacuzzis’

‘So it’s not about Dr. Walters?’ Tim asks, after.

Michael looks up incredulously from where he’s pulling his socks on.

‘Huh, nah, it’s not about him yet. When I’ll finally get my hands on that genius of a man, no jacuzzi in the world would be able to separate us’

Tim shakes his head and actually laughs.

***

Tim calls him the next afternoon, and it’s unusual. Michael checks if he forgot something at the hotel, or in the car, but Tim’s frighteningly careful with that. They meet in the half-empty bar, and Tim says, that he wouldn’t be able to keep Michael’s company during long nights anymore.

Michael turns his smile away to the window, and Tim again astonished of the striking resemblance - the rounded jaw, thick neck - Michael’s bathed in the evening sun, haloed curly hair, and eyelashes golden in the slanted beams.

‘Tell me it’s not about you’re turned off by the free sex,’ he sips contentedly his latte, ‘And about your blind guy’.

Tim’s brow pitches, and then he pushes to put a smile on, cold and fake. ‘Why do you think he’s blind?’

‘One should be positively blind not to see a guy that hot under one’s nose. He’s that second dad to your kid, isn't he?’

Tim remembers a photo in his wallet, with two of them, Eli and Kon, and nods. ‘Yeah… and he... He basically forbade me to keep seeing you.’ He chuckles, the smile genuine now. ‘He actually caught me red-handed yesterday’.

‘Huh,’ Michael shakes his head. He wasn’t sure how those relationships worked; he was sure that Tim was too busy for anything between his kid and his job, and his mad brothers and this thing Michael and Tim has. Had. But apparently, Tim also managed to nurse this crush on the other dad - presumably the straight one. ‘So, did he got jealous?’

Tim nods, then shakes head ‘it’s not like that, it’s…’ He shrugs.

‘...complicated.’ Michael finished for him, taking cliche from his mouth. ‘Well he better be good for you in bed, or I will need to step up again, and you know, I was going to get serious with our department head.’ Michael huff's, pretending to be exasperated. Tim chuckles again, now mostly for the joke’s sake.

‘Tim, you know I would know that you’re not having any, we’re going to work in the same place in two months’

‘I’ll be fine, geez. And it will be Mr. Wayne two months from now, so you better get used to it’

Michael rolls his eyes and finishes his coffee in one gulp then hops from the barstool, leaves a tenner on a bar for their coffees. They shake hands, half-awkwardly, then Michael half-hugs Tim.

‘See you later, Mr. Wayne. And Good fuck.’

[silence-burns]

Please Hate Me //part 13

Fandom: Marvel 

Summary: Based on "Imagine having a love/hate relationship with Loki." by @thefandomimagine

After brief consideration, Loki decided that if there was ever a universal way of immediately obliterating one's good mood, it would certainly involve getting tied, blindfolded, and kidnapped. 

An iron net tied Loki with savage, brute force as he saw men nearing him right before the world turned dark. He shouted and cursed, but nothing made them halt as they threw him into what he supposed was a car. Loki felt the dim flickering of his magic pulling on the metal around his wrist. Hate flooded him as he imagined all the ways he would make those fools pay for what they did. And Stark too, with his unnerving ability to make Loki's life miserable even when he was far away. Once Loki got free, he'd break that damned bracelet off his hand, whatever it took, and make Stark swallow the parts-... 

Something heavy landed on him, forcefully emptying his lungs. It didn't move and for a very surreal moment he wondered if it was a dead body. On that disastrous day, he wouldn't even be that surprised.

Then he made out the familiar scent of a thoroughly wet body clad in fighting leathers, and decided that getting kidnapped together with you sounded much worse. 

"Please tell me you're not dead," he whispered into the darkness of a thick fabric thrown over him. 

A man's voice from above warned him to shut up and kicked the words into Loki's back for more effect. The door closed.

It was then that Loki decided a quick death wouldn't suffice. He'd break those people's legs into tiny pieces and make their owners pay for each second spent in that dusty container, whatever it was, and for the iron net cutting through his skin and bruising the already sore flesh. And for the stinky cloth over his head.

In the background, he heard faint voices of more people, some shouting orders, some probably shooting. Loki would understand more about his situation and surroundings if your very brief introduction to Earth's culture ever involved being locked up in a car's trunk. 

Loki kicked the metal door, but with the net restraining his movements, all he managed was a dent. The car vibrated and moved, the voices quiet. 

You woke up a few minutes later to the unmistakable swaying of a car and a headache erupting from the right side of your forehead. You didn't remember getting into a car nor did you remember having your head ripped open, but there you were, restrained in the cold, wet darkness. The panic was slow to raise as the car heaved over the bumps in the road, and you used that little time to wriggle your way out of whatever restrained you. 

A curse rippled through the stuffy darkness. "That was my leg." 

A relieved sigh escaped your lips. "My absolute favourite god, please tell me why we are in a trunk?" 

Sadly, Loki had no idea. 

You tried to wriggle your way out of the net again, but to no avail. Whoever designed it, knew very well how to capture their prey. What a wild concept - you, captured like a wild animal, alongside with a living, breathing Nordic God. You wondered who would be arrogant enough to kidnap you. 

As well as the monsters, whatever they were. You faintly remembered them being captured as well, right before you blacked out. 

"How long was I out?" you asked into the dark. 

"A few minutes. I didn't even manage to have a break from your babbling." 

Good. It meant you, probably, hopefully, didn't receive any major brain damage. 

You shivered, your cold and wet clothes doing little to warm you. You must have been a pleasure to lay next to, but Loki mercifully didn't speak about you drenching him. 

The car buckled, speeding through what must have been one of the main streets. You wished you could take a hold of your position, but you lost track of where you were being transported to a while ago. The only sounds you could hear above the car noises were faint male voices, probably sitting in the front. The words were too quiet to make out. 

The trunk was too small for you to get rid of the old, dirty blanket, or maybe even a carpet someone covered you with. With every squirm you made, trying to uncover it and at last see anything, Loki grunted as various parts of your body jabbed his. 

"Could you stop?" he at last lost patience, shoving you off his side the best he could in the limited space. 

"Sorry for trying to get out," you snarled. 

"You're not going to succeed this way-" 

"Oh, so what is YOUR plan, o mighty god? I can't see you doing anything about it, and it's definitely not because of that stinky rag over us." 

Ice-cold fury filled Loki's veins. He did not like that tone. 

"I've already tried, but it's too tight to do anything now-" 

"Can't you just snap the net? Where is your super strength?" 

"On vacation," he snarled. "Have you forgotten about that damned thing around our wrists?" 

"It's for magic, not for muscles." 

"Well, surprise, but I'm not a mortal. Magic is in my very essence and limiting my access to it prevents me from-" 

A loud thud sounded behind your heads, startling you. 

"Shut the fuck up," shouted a male voice, muffled by the metal plate and car noises. 

Growling like a wild animal was below your (already trampled) dignity, so you stopped at sending a nasty glare in the vague direction of the voice. Another thought struck you. 

Animals. Monsters. Who would need both you and the monsters from the park? You couldn't see, but you were sure some of the captured beasts were being transported as well. Thankfully, in another vehicle. 

Your breath shifted as you thought about the park. Peter seemed to take all the people to a safe ground, and the police forces were already coming to the site. But with the Avengers far away on another mission, days from New York, and Loki and you being driven to some distant place, who was left to protect the city? 

The police could surely make it, they had already faced so many supernatural threats in the past years, they were ready. Peter could make it too. He surely was far enough to be safe when those people came and kidnapped you. He would be fine. Right? 

You had to get out. You didn't really care what would happen to you, but you had to make sure Peter was fine and safe.

During the long years before Stark offered you a place in the Avengers, you'd taken enough dangerous jobs to be thrown at many unfortunate situations. Technically, it wasn't something worth bragging about but it surely gave you the advantage of priceless experience. 

No matter how well prepared those guys were, they were only people - and people make mistakes. Sometimes on their own, and sometimes thanks to some subtle help. 

"You're surprisingly quiet," Loki noticed after a while. 

"I was just overwhelmed by the happiness of getting kidnapped with you. What's a better way of getting to know each other than risking our lives together?" 

"I wish they took me alone. I won't survive another day with you." 

"Don't worry, if they kill us, you won't have to." 

Loki sighed. "Why are you like this?" 

"Honestly, I think it all started back when I was in kindergarten and-" 

The car stopped. The engine died, surrounding you with such a deep silence, that for a moment you forgot about your dramatic and tearful story. 

The trunk opened and strong hands pulled you out with very little gentleness. With even less of it, you were dragged through what felt like a few rooms, and finally met your destination. The dirty rug over your face was ripped off. Light blinded you for a moment, but you managed to notice you were in some sort of a warehouse, with a light bulb high up in a space free of any items except for two metal chairs. 

Men pushed you towards one of them. One of them leaned in to loosen the net around you. You waited patiently, letting them believe you were more dazed than in reality. 

The moment your legs came free, you kicked one of the men on the side of the head. He fell, but you didn't look how stunned he was. Your head collided with whoever decided holding you from the back was a good idea. Loud curses told you he would rethink that. 

The last bits of the net came loose as you wriggled your arms out of it and rushed to-

The world swayed and hit you with the floor. A billion tiny needles punctured your body as the electricity mercilessly rampaged through your every muscle, wave after wave after wave. 

"We need them both alive!" 

You couldn't see who shouted that, but it made the pain stop. Your body slumped despite your will. Someone heaved you onto the chair and chained your limbs. More people, some with masks, entered the empty room. One of them held the taser that still had its teeth sunk into you. 

Loki claimed the seat next to you a few moments later. He didn't look well. It was difficult to look at him. Colorful constellations were hovering before your eyes. Your vision was unstable. 

The man with the taser stepped closer and assessed Loki and you. A wicked smile crossed his lips. 

"Gentlemen, we’re gonna be rich."

Taglist: @writerjmlove @drakonwild @eeveesjourney @lokislilcaribbeanprincess @oatballsoffury @inumorph @ejectur @nerdybabywrites @twhgirl @nikkoliferous @unlikelygalaxygiver @multifandomreaderinsertfanfics @dreamingofonceuponatime @iamfelixc @bluebunnlee @effmigentlywithachainsaw @sadwaywardkid​ @ravenclawpossum​ @waitforthehurricane​ @absentmindeduniverse​ @unicorniorosacomefrutillas​

[artificialqueens]

Mateo's Eight chapter 2 (Branjie) - athena2

Summary: Con artist Vanessa Mateo has just been released from prison, and she’s planning one last heist to erase her debts and start a new life for herself.

But for this to succeed, she needs the help of the very person who ratted her out to the cops: her ex-girlfriend, Brooke Lynn Hytes.

(An Ocean’s Eight AU)

Previously: Vanessa began setting up a heist and was forced to call her ex, who ratted her out to the cops Now: Brooke answers a phone call from Vanessa, who she hasn’t spoken to in six months

A/N: Thank you all so much for your feedback on chapter 1 and interest in this so far! It really helped encourage me and I hope you can leave some more on this chapter. Thank you to Writ for being the most amazing beta!

—

Brooke has a million reasons not to answer that phone.

Hell, she has a million reasons why she should have thrown the thing away in the first place.

But she didn’t.

She’s not only held on to the phone, but has also kept it fully charged in her bedside table, along with the pictures of her and Vanessa that hurt to look at, for six months.

Brooke had stared at it for hours after that day, the day when everything came crashing down around her. When the life they had imagined went up in smoke. After they released her from the police station, Brooke had dialed Vanessa’s number until her fingers ached and that number was the only thing in her head, trying to explain what happened, why she did it, even when she knew Vanessa wouldn’t answer, would never answer again because of what Brooke had done to her.

Brooke should have thrown the phone away then and there, killed her last connection to Vanessa, the same way she’s tried to kill her feelings. She’s succeeded for the most part, except for when she rolls over in bed, expecting to meet warmth and finding cold, empty space, when she goes four blocks out of her way to avoid the diner, when she automatically reaches for creamer in the grocery store even though she takes her coffee black.

She’s wide awake–Brooke doesn’t think she’s slept through the night in six months, when she started sleeping alone again–when the ringing tears through the room and makes her heart stop. That clunky Nokia would buzz in Brooke’s pocket and signal the start of a con, one they had built together in the diner, taking notes and picking steps apart as their feet in their scammed-for boots wrapped around each other under the table.

There’s no way anyone but Vanessa could be calling that phone. But why now? Why at all?

Brooke does some quick math in her head. It’s been six months since that day. Vanessa must be out of prison now. Could she really be calling Brooke after what she did? Brooke knows Vanessa won’t easily forgive something like that, if she’ll forgive it at all.

But she’s still calling, and there has to be a reason.

If this is a chance for Brooke to explain herself, tell Vanessa the secret she was hiding for all those months–the secret that forced her into confessing–she has to take it. At least it will help Brooke sleep better if Vanessa knows the truth.

“Who is this?”

—

Brooke frowns at the unfamiliar number on her phone screen. She barely answers the phone for people she does know, but she takes the chance and picks up anyway.

“Hello?” She asks.

“Brooke?”

“Yeah, um, who is this?” The voice is strangely familiar, with a roughness that makes Brooke’s heart pound.

“It’s Vanessa. You know, from the store?” Her question quirks up with hope at the end.

The phone almost slips through Brooke’s hands. She orders herself to stay calm despite the excitement burning through her, the endless possibilities on the other end of this call.

“Oh, hey, Vanessa,” Brooke says.

“Hey.” Is it just Brooke, or she can hear the smile in Vanessa’s voice? She pictures Vanessa’s bright teeth flashed in a grin for no one to see.

“So,” Brooke recovers herself quickly, “would you like to do something tonight?”

—

“How long have you been doing this stuff?” Brooke asks. Vanessa hovers around Brooke’s shoulder but is loud enough for Brooke to hear even with the honking cars and endless bustle of people.

“That day you found me was my first big one,” Vanessa admits sheepishly. “Before that it was just street stuff with my friend Silky. Three card Monte, that kinda thing.”

“Seriously?” Brooke asks. She leads Vanessa into a department store, their arms brushing quickly and making Brooke wish they could stay that way forever, that her arm could always feel the tingles of Vanessa against her. “I would’ve never guessed that was your first. You were so natural.”

“I was screamin’ on the inside, Mary,” Vanessa says. “I thought I was gonna piss myself a few times.”

Brooke snorts and nudges Vanessa toward the purses, gesturing at them all. “Pick a purse. Any purse.”

“You sound like a magician.” Vanessa giggles. “You got a magic wand and a cape somewhere?”

“Maybe,” Brooke teases. “I do have some tricks up my sleeve.”

“Will I ever get to see any of ‘em?” There’s a definite flirty tone to Vanessa’s question, one that makes Brooke’s cheeks flush and her mouth dry.

“Maybe,” she says with a nervous smile.

Vanessa raises her eyebrow and Brooke’s knees weaken. “Any purse I want?” Vanessa checks.

Brooke nods. She watches with a smile as Vanessa stalks among the purses like a lion after its prey, stroking the faux-leather and modelling them in the mirror. There’s such easy confidence in the way she moves, like she’s going to take up all the space she wants and everyone else just has to get out of her way. Brooke could watch her for days.

“This one.” Vanessa triumphantly hands Brooke a scarlet purse crisscrossed with little black studs.

Brooke peeks at the name and designer on the tag, blinking in shock at the number of zeros, then beckons Vanessa to follow her upstairs, looking down into the purse department from the second-floor balcony.

“Watch,” Brooke commands, enjoying herself maybe too much, wanting to show off a little for Vanessa. Vanessa’s brown eyes roam over her skin and Brooke’s whole body heats up.

Brooke calls the purse department, adjusts her voice, and begins. “Hi, this is Elizabeth Smith. Account number 415793. Can you get me this purse”–she gives the details she memorized from the tag– “and have it ready at the counter? My assistant will be there in a few minutes to pick it up. Just charge it to my store card. Sorry for the rush, it’s a present for someone and I’m late.”

Vanessa stares at her with an open mouth as the cashier takes the purse, rings it up, and bags it. Brooke then walks downstairs and pretends to be Elizabeth Smith’s assistant, returning upstairs and handing the bag to a still open-mouthed Vanessa. Brooke can’t help but smile. She’s never had someone else to share in the thrill of it all with her, someone to put her skills to use for.

“You must’ve been at this a while, then,” Vanessa says finally.

“A few months.” Brooke doesn’t want to talk about what stole her hope and pushed her into this, why she has so many bills. She doesn’t want to talk about the box under her bed where she stashes money in the hopes of affording a good lawyer one day. She’s just not ready for Vanessa to know yet.

“Well, you’re a pro.”

“I like the planning of it, I guess,” Brooke says, face flushing at the praise. Planning and organizing has calmed her since she was a kid, rearranging stuffed animals and alphabetizing books to drown out her parents arguing. A way of getting the control she didn’t have in her big, cold house. “Writing it all out, making sure it’ll work. That’s how I came up with this one. I was here yesterday. I heard Elizabeth Smith giving her info at the counter and planned it out,” Brooke explains.

“Holy shit,” Vanessa mumbles. “Well, thank you.”

Her awestruck eyes look up at Brooke, and the sheer joy of making Vanessa happy hits right in Brooke’s heart. It’s something she wants to experience forever.

“Hey,” Brooke says. “Um, next week, do you–can I take you on a date? A real date, with dinner and no scams?”

Vanessa smiles. “I’d like that.”

—

“I have something planned,” Vanessa says.

That’s the absolute last thing Brooke expected, especially when Vanessa hasn’t even been out of prison 24 hours yet, and it’s a few seconds before she can muster up words through her shock.

“No.” Brooke has given all that up, given up the schemes and lies and the designer clothes she scammed herself into. She’s lived a perfectly normal, perfectly safe (perfectly boring) life the past six months, another way to separate herself from the old life she had with Vanessa. She told herself she would never con again, that she would just chip away at her debts and the ever-rising interest rates using her paycheck from the dance studio like everyone else. No cons, no scams, no lies. (And no hope of ever freeing herself of those bills).

“It’s the biggest thing I’ve ever thought of. I need you to see this through.”

Vanessa needs her.

Those words would have once sent Brooke running no matter what time it was or what Vanessa needed. There were mornings when she woke early and the sun hit Vanessa’s face just right, and suddenly an angel was wrapped in the white sheets of Brooke’s bed. It was times like those that Brooke would have harnessed the damn moon and pulled it down if that was what Vanessa wanted.

“No.”

“I know you still have bills. They could all be gone in one night.” Vanessa was always quicker to show her emotions than Brooke was, feelings passing across her face and bursting in each word. She’s trying to keep them out here, trying to lure Brooke in with cool logic, but there’s a hint of desperation in her tone that she can’t quite conceal.

All her bills gone in one night. Brooke can’t let herself consider that possibility, because she doesn’t need this danger. But the relief of having her bills paid off, never having to worry about how to pay for groceries and electricity, is growing too great to resist. She’s been conning almost two years, saving money where she can in the hopes of paying things off, all of it feeling like one huge battle she’ll never win. One night could end that battle.

Brooke feels the itch tugging at her fingers, the thrill pulsing in her heart, the urge in her to just forget her boring life and rob someone blind, to send a giant middle finger to the universe that let her sink into tens of thousands of dollars in debt for medical bills when the assholes she conned had garages full of collectible million-dollar cars that collected nothing but dust.

Some part of her wants to do it, wants to fight for something again, wants to win. She didn’t fight hard enough when it counted in court, wasn’t able to win against her ex-husband, and he took the person she loves more than anyone. Vanessa is promising big money, probably enough for her to take him back to court and win.

But if this is the biggest thing Vanessa’s ever thought of, the risk must be astronomical. Vanessa always saw the reward, jumping into danger for the rush of the prize. Brooke was always stuck with the responsibility of seeing the risk, putting a net under each of Vanessa’s jumps, preparing for a fall. It had suited her–suited them–Vanessa with the drive to make it happen and Brooke with the meticulous nature to make sure it would work.

“No,” Brooke says for the third time, cursing herself inwardly for her stupid idea that Vanessa called to hear her side of things, that there was even a chance Vanessa still loves her. But it’s a lot harder for that refusal to come out than the other two.

“I didn’t want to do this…” Vanessa sighs, “but who’s to say I don’t go back to the cops and let them know who my accomplice was?”

Brooke stills, heartbeat in her ears. “You wouldn’t do that,” she manages around the lump of fear in her throat. The normal life she created for herself, the future she sometimes allows herself to dream of, everything she’s worked for, would all be ruined, just like that. Just like she had ruined Vanessa’s life.

Vanessa laughs bitterly. “Wouldn’t I? ‘Cause you did the exact same thing to me. After you promised you would always protect me.” Vanessa’s anger jumps through the phone and slaps Brooke in the face, but there’s a touch of pain under there. A touch of hurt in trusting the wrong person.

Brooke deserves it, she knows she does. But she can’t bear to have Vanessa in pain, especially when she caused it, even if she knows she had to do what she did. If only she could explain it, try to make Vanessa understand that Brooke never wanted to hurt her.

“Vanessa, I—”

“You help me, you get the money, and I stay quiet. I think you kind of owe me, don’t you?” Vanessa poses the final blow, and Brooke’s resolve crumbles. If she can do this for Vanessa, they can at least be even after what happened last August. They’ll each get their money and go their separate ways, though hearing Vanessa’s voice again makes Brooke realize how much she’s missed it, and she’s not sure she wants to go her separate way.

“How much?” Brooke asks.

Vanessa whispers the number in her ear.

Damn it. With that kind of money she can get rid of her debts once and for all, even with the interest. She won’t ever have to choose between paying the water or electricity bill, or silence her rumbling stomach when she smells fresh bread from a bakery. She can buy a nice house, set up a flower garden and a vegetable patch–hell, with that money she could buy a mansion with a freaking fountain in front–away from the dust and noise of the city, instead of this apartment that smells like fish and is barely big enough to fit her, sometimes suffocating in its size. It’s more than enough for a strong lawyer to help get Zoey back.

Brooke looks at the picture on her nightstand, blonde hair and blue eyes smiling back at her.

“I’m in,” Brooke says.

[softiejcw]

Christmas present [Choi Youngjae]

Paring: GOT7′s Youngjae x reader

Genre: Fluff, Soulmate au

Word count: 2,077 words

Warnings: none

A/N: Hi! I’ve been into Christmas stuff these days and here’s the result lol, I’m sorry! Also, thank you so much for the request and sooorry for updating until now, but the electricity has been HORRIBLE because of the rain :( Also english is not my firt language, sorry for any grammar or spelling mistakes.

(I do not own this gif, credits to crescentmoonlikeyoungjae)

Christmas season has been one of your favorites since you were little. The Christmas lights all over the city were just so stunning, stores playing Christmas’ carols, even the guys dressed as Santa Claus made you very happy, but this year was very different. Suddenly, your father got transferred to Korea because of his job and your whole family had to move too.

The past few days were tiring; unpacking things from here and there, putting everything on shelves, drawers, etc. It was just too much for you but the fact that you didn’t know anyone in the city made you stay at home.

“You’ve been doing this since we arrived here. Don’t you want to go out and explore the city?” asked your mom, standing under the door with arms crossed.

“Well, I really do not feel in the mood for exploring anything you know?” you shrugged your shoulders and put another t-shit in the drawer.

“You need to go out and get fresh air, why don’t you go and buy some groceries for me?” she held out a few bills.

You nodded, she would make you go anyways.

~ ~ ~

Not so far away, Youngjae was also unpacking. After a great month of vacations, he had to come back to the real world. Not like he didn’t like his job, but vacations were simply amazing.

“I don’t know why your flipflops were in my luggage but here they are.” said Jackson, throwing them to Youngjae.

“Oh, I thought I had lost them.” He smiled brightly, catching them in the air.

Few hours later they were both sleeping. It was a tiring flight and they had no more energy. It was about four in the morning when Youngjae woke up breathing heavily.

“Yah! Is everything okay?” Jackson asked from the other side of the room. “Did you had a nightmare? Why are you crying?”

Youngjae frowned and touched his face, in fact there were some tears falling down his cheeks. Was this because of the girl in his dreams? I mean, he saw her getting ran over by a car but why it made him cry?

“I’m fine. Sorry for waking you up.”

~ ~ ~

“Mom! Did you see my book?” you shouted from your room. You were moving all you stuff but you couldn’t find it anywhere. It probably stayed in your hometown, great.

“Which one?”

“My Jane Eyre’s book dad gave me last Christmas. The one with the note inside the cover.” You moved other things from the shelf when a piece of paper fell.

You put all the things back to its place and bent down to take the paper. It was handwritten and it had some piano notes. You had been in Korea for a week but you already recognized the calligraphy used here so right away you knew it was Korean. Curiosity took over you so you took your phone and open the dictionary app. It was a little bit difficult transcribing the symbols written in the paper but you finally made it.

“Woah, this looks like a song” you mumbled, leaving your phone next to you. “But how did it…”

“Who are you talking to?”

“Me? Oh, no one, just… I’m crazy, you know” your mom laughed at the comment.

“We’re going out for dinner. We’ll be leaving in an hour. Please be ready.” You nodded, folding the paper you were holding in your hands.

~ ~ ~

“Hyung, is everything okay?” Yugyeom asked, giving him a bottle of water and sitting next to him. “You look very worried these days.”

Jackson sat next next to Youngjae too. “If anything is bothering you, you know you can tell us.” He patted Youngjae’s back.

“Well actually there is something that has been on my mind these days” he paused and took a deep breath. “I’ve been dreaming of a girl.”

“I don’t know if I want to listen.” Jackson joked.

“Remember that day I woke up in the middle of the night crying? Well I saw that girl in my dream, and I have dreamt of her so many times these days. I don’t who she is, I’m not even sure if I have seen her before but I’m sure I haven’t. She’s not Korean, though.”

“Maybe you have seen her at a concert or…”

“Maybe.” He said, but he knew it was not the case. He also omitted the fact that a book appeared in his luggage when he was unpacking. This was so weird.

Rehearsals were as tiring as always, the next comeback was going to be very soon so they needed to practice, record songs, do photoshoots and all those things that come with the comeback. Youngjae thought this could help him to distract himself of all the dreams he had had the past days but it didn’t happen. He really wanted to know who that girl was and he knew someone that might help him.

“Hyung, are you busy?” he knocked on Jinyoung’s door before stepping in. He shook his head. “Do you remember you told us about how you… how… well, you know… how you…” why was this so difficult to ask?

Jinyoung looked at him confused and then he noticed the book Youngjae was holding really tight. He frowned, it was weird seeing him reading, and apparently the book was in English. Was he taking language classes?

“Jane Eyre?” Jinyoung asked.

“Do you know the book?” he showed him the book. Jinyoung examined it.

“For my daughter, never stop dreaming everything is possible. Is this yours?” he looked at the guy still standing in front of him.

“Hyung, I think I found my soulmate.”

~ ~ ~

You were two days away from Christmas, the first one in another country, with no friends and no other family but your parents. It was sad but it also started to sound exciting. Maybe it was because of the holidays, but suddenly, you wanted to actually start living in Korea, get a job, make new friends, have a pet and why not, even have a boyfriend; if you were lucky enough.

Today you had nothing to do at home so you decided to go out and get some presents for your parents. Your mother loved cooking so you visited some cooking stores and got so many beautiful things for her. Your father was really into music, classic music to be honest, so you asked for music stores and after getting some help from strangers, you arrived to a beautiful store full of albums and instruments. It was just amazing.

There was a lot of people, maybe because everyone was looking for last minute Christmas’ presents, just like you. A really nice guy approached to you and help you to find the kind of albums you were looking for, he even recommended some. You thanked him and then looked around the store. You stopped when you saw a guy sitting in front of a piano.

“Woah, you play amazing.” You said, giving him a friendly smile, he smiled back. “Oh! I can see you understand English, can I ask you a favor?”

“Yes.”

“Er, could you play this for me? Here.” You handed him the piece of paper you found in your shelf.

He nodded and placed the piece of paper in front of him. When he started playing, a chill ran through your body, it was a very beautiful melody.

“Thank you so much! I know I’m being annoying but, could you translate this for me?” you pointed at the piece of paper in front of him.

“Well, it says something about finding your true love…most like waiting for it. Did you write it?”

“Oh no, I barely understand Korean” you giggled. “Thank you so much.”

~ ~ ~

“Hyung! That’s my song! I composed that!” Youngjae said grabbing Jinyoung’s arm and pulling him through the aisle.

“Did you write a new song?” he looked at Youngjae, eyes wide opened.

Youngjae walked through the store with Jinyoung following the sound of the melody. It was not a big store but there was a lot of people and you could barely walk in there. Between apologizes and shoving, he made it to the end of the aisle were the pianos were. There was a guy picking up a plastic bag.

“Hi, I’m sorry, but were you just playing?”

“Ah, yes.”

“Were did you learned that song you just played?” he asked.

“Well, a girl asked me to play it for her. She gave me a paper with the notes in it.”

Youngjae looked at Jinyoung.

“Where is she?”

“I don’t know, she left a few minutes ago.”

Jinyoung thanked him since Youngjae turned and walked to the entrance without saying a single word.

“Are you okay?” Jinyoung asked him, Youngjae nodded. “Just take it easy, you’ll meet her sooner or later. Why don’t you come to the book store with me? I need to get some new books.”

~ ~ ~

If you were getting Christmas gifts for your parents, why not getting a gift for you too? Thinking about what kind of gift would be perfect, was not difficult thanks to the book store at the end of the street. You went through the place looking for the English section, most of the books were in Korean because… well, you were in Korea. When you found them, you stayed there around 10 minutes trying to decide which book to buy.

When you finally picked a book, another one caught your attention. It was a copy of Jane Eyre with a hardcover and very lovely design. You tried to take it but unfortunately it was at the top of the shelf.

“Can I help?” asked someone behind you in korean.

“I’m so sorry, I don’t speak nor understand Korean.”

“Oh. You need help?” you nodded.

“The book at the top, the one with the black background and the red leaves, please.” The guy took the book and looked at it before giving it to you.

“Jane Eyre.” he paused. “Aigoo, are you…wait here please.”

You frowned and saw the guy get lost between the hall. Weird. You didn’t have any idea of what he said but soon he came back with another guy. You were absolutely confused right now.

“This is my friend Youngjae.” He said.

“Hmmm…hi” you greeted him, your greeting sounding more like a question.

“I think you have something that belongs to him and he might have something that is yours.”

“Excuse me?”

~ ~ ~

Now you were laying on the couch thinking about what happened today at the books store. You finally knew to whom the song belonged to and he had your book. Isn’t it weird? But the most unbelievable thing was the story about the soulmate. Do they really believe in such stories?

“Are you tired?” you sat properly and looked at your mom.

“Mom, how did you meet dad?”

~ ~ ~

So you were here, waiting for this stranger in a café, a very beautiful café to be honest.

You couldn’t believe this was actually happening. When you asked your mom about your dad, she started to talk about this soulmate stuff and how she found his agenda between her college books. Apparently, your dad had a bracelet your grandmother gave her when she turned fifteen. Amazing, totally amazing and unbelievable.

“You came.” His voice caught your attention. There he was, looking absolutely stunning in that light blue stripped shirt and blue jeans. You had to look to another direction and let out the air you were holding in. You were wondering if your mom felt the same when she first saw your father. Was this guy, Youngjae, feeling the same way right now?

He sat in front of you leaving your book on the table right next to the cup of coffee you ordered for him. It was probably cold by now.

You took out his song from your handbag. “I think this is yours.”

“Yes. Here’s your book.” He gave it to you. You opened it and saw the note at the back of the cover; yes, it was your book.

You didn’t say a single word for about 2 minutes.

“Youngaje,” you called him. “I don’t know how this soulmate thing works but I guess I’m yours too.” You said in a shy tone. I mean, not everyone goes around telling other people they belong to them, right?

“Well, such a beautiful Christmas present I got, huh?” he smiled.

[exophilelovings]

Golden Gate

This is January’s Short story, Golden Gate! 

Want February’s? Go to my patreon now to get access to it for a $1!!

https://www.patreon.com/monsterlover2018

Going to her grandmother’s had never been a problem for Katrina. Her whole family had been living up in the appalachian mountains in Pennsylvania for quite a long time. They had settled there according to her grandmother with some of the first German settlers in the area. It had been a bit crazy for her family when she had moved to Carlisle instead of opting to stay up in the little mountain village her family had made. It did make their lives much easier, as every weekend she would come up and visit and bring the mail from the P.O. Box since the little cabins were way outside city, and the mail man’s, limits. Katrina placed the grocery in the bed of her truck in baskets before starting her way up the mountain road. Every week her grandmother sent her with a list even though she swore she didn’t need anything from ‘down the mountain’ as she would say. She watched as the trees grew more dense as she drove up the pass, as the asphalt disappeared into gravel. When she pulled up to the large cabin she couldn’t help the deep breath. The smell of burning pine and the thick plume of smoke coming from the chimney let her know her grandmother was baking something in that old archaic stove of hers. She gathered two baskets from the truck bed before heading into the cabin.

“Hey Grandma.” She said, setting the baskets on the table. The old woman looked up from poking at the biscuits in the stove.

“There you are girl!” She huffed, closing the door on the stove. “Late this week!”

“Told you I had to work late this weekend if I was going to be able to stay the night so I could pick out those Red Mulberries you want so much.” Katrina said, looking her grandmother over. The old lady huffed as she stirred the stew on the stove. While her grandmother was a bit hard, she knew it was because she loved her. “I got you those things you asked for, along with some of those crisp lemon cookies.” As Katrina set the package on the counter she could feel her grandmother’s stare.

“If I wanted cookies I could make my own.” The elderly woman huffed, but she knew that come morning that package of cookies would disappear into her grandmother’s bedroom so she could hide them from her uncles if they came to visit. Katrina grabbed the last of the groceries before heading to the guest bedroom, setting down her bag. She was thankful there was some cell service out here, so she would be able to at least scroll through facebook and get a few emails out before bed. She set her bag down on the bed with a sigh, knowing that the bed was less than comfortable, but she didn’t want her grandmother going out into the woods to pick mulberries. Old woman would probably break something and be stuck out there for days.

Katrina pulled her blonde hair up into a ponytail, knowing as soon as she came back out of the room her grandmother would be putting her to work. Even though she had moved to the city years ago, she knew what her chores would be before she got some dinner. She immediately grabbed the bucket to fill with water so they could heat it up to wash dishes when dinner was over. Katrina walked to the pump just on the other side of the cabin, setting the bucket on the ground and began to pump water as she remembered when she had told the family she would be moving to the city for good. Sure, some of her family had jobs in Carlisle, but no one actually lived in city limits. They had all had the same argument. The family had been living on the land for years, they worked in town and always came back home. This land had been with their family for generations and would be for generations to come, thus the family had to stay.

Even though they had been plenty upset, Katrina had still left. She had found an office job in the city and an quaint little apartment all things considered. She hadn’t always been excited to head into work to patch phone calls around the office, but there was something about the forest that...Well, that had honestly scared her. Something about the shadows that danced in the trees that sent shivers down her spine and caused her to sweat. She felt much better nestled in her apartment, doors locked and the sounds of car engines up and down the street. She didn’t know why but it was just safer to her.

She grabbed the bucket and brought it back to the cabin. “You know you could move in with Uncle Donny. He has running water and electricity at least.” Katrina said as she put the bucket on its designated place on the wood stove.

“And I’ll tell you the same thing I told your Uncle Donny. Once I cant take care of myself no more, I’ll move.” Her Grandmother said as she moved the tray of biscuits out of the oven. Katrina rolled her eyes. She was sure her grandmother would die alone in this old cabin, but she knew that was what her grandmother had wanted. She had been raised like this, and she would die like this. Katrina grabbed cups and bowls as she cleared the kitchen table off of the groceries and mail she had brought.

“I’m going to bring Uncle Donny his mail when I go to pick Mulberries, is there anything you want me to bring him?” Katrina asked as she brought the stew pot to the table. Even though her grandmother fussed that she could do it, things were getting too heavy for her now a days.

“You could bring the leftover biscuits if we dont eat the rest at breakfast...Oh! I’ve got some Jam I made that's finally done setting that you could bring a jar.” Katrina nodded as the list got longer and longer of things she would need to bring. She was glad she had packed her clothes for the weekend in a backpack this time.  She ate dinner and helped her grandmother with the dishes, taking a moment to sit out on a stool just outside the cabin. It was thankfully cool enough that she wasnt batting away swarms of gnats and mosquitos. Even though she was happy in the city, she did miss this. The absolute quiet that the woods brought. She sighed, leaning her head back against the wood cabin as she listened to the rustling of the trees and a few birds call as they settled in for the night.

What she hadn’t expected was the figure standing at the very edge of the woods. She noticed him when she stood to finally head inside and get some sleep. He was amazingly tall, standing along the brush just inside the woods. Katrina blinked before deciding to speak. “Are you lost?” She asked. It had happened before, hikers going along the appalachian trail would get lost and end up at one of her family’s cabins. The figure didn’t move, only gently swaying with the brush as the wind blew through it. Katrina took a step closer, but was still cautious. Anyone up this far in the woods was family, a hiker, or a murderer, and this guy was starting to lean towards the third option in Katrina’s mind. “The trail isn’t far from here, I can get you on your way, no need to worry.”

The figure stood still as she stepped closer before suddenly setting something on the ground and disappearing into the woods. Katrina debated a moment, staring at the object the figure had placed on the ground. At this distance she could tell it was a bowl filled with something, but the contents were obscured by the brush and growing darkness. She swallowed. Definitely a murderer. Maybe a psycho, giving her a bowl full of someone's intestines. Even though she wanted to turn her back to the woods and book it into the cabin, something drew her to the bowl. If it was a bowl full of human organs she would need to drive a bit to find some cell signal to call the police. She stepped closer, still keeping an eye on the brush. One crinkle of a foot step she would be in the cabin in seconds and dragging her grandmother into her truck.

What she hadn't thought it would be would be a decent sized bowl of mulberries. She blinked, picking up the bowl. The wooden bowl was smooth, carved with flowers and leaves, little fairies dancing among the vines. As she went to inspect the berries again, seeing if a heart was under all the berries, she heard a voice.

“Cake please.” It was like a whisper on the wind, but right next to her ear. Katrina shrieked, turning quickly and dropping the bowl. She had expected the man to be there, towering over her, but there was nothing. She breathed heavy, whipping back around to the woods to see the bowl on the ground, still full. She had flung that bowl, there should have been berries everywhere, but there it sat. On the ground by her feet, still as full as it had been before.

“Careful.” The voice whispered again and Katrina swore she could feel a hand pass over hers. “Greta will know.” As those words were whispered, the wind completely stopped and Katrina swore she couldn’t hear a thing. Not a single thing in the woods and she was completely unnerved. Yet, Katrina still picked up the bowl from the ground, bringing it into the cabin. Her grandmother looked up from where she had begun to pile all of the things she would need to bring to her uncle’s house. She set down the book, going to the kitchen and grabbing her apron.

“What will he like this time?” She asked, beginning to gather baking ingredients from shelves around the kitchen.

Katrina stared at her grandmother moment. “Um...Cake?” She said, setting the bowl down. “But there are about a hundred questions before we even get to that part.”

Her grandmother raised an eyebrow. “Must I answer them?”

“If you don’t want me dragging you out of this cabin this instant you damn straight you’re going to answer them.” Katrina said, arms crossed.

“Language.” Her grandmother scolded as she took up the bowl. “It’s the Erlking.”

Katrina blinked as she stared at her grandmother. “The Erlking. Like fairytale.” Katrina would have to call her Uncle in the morning. Her Grandmother had finally lost it.

“King of the Fairies and all that, yes yes.” She said, getting a bowl from the shelf and beginning to add her dry ingredients to a bowl. “Can you get a fire started back in the oven so it’ll be hot in time?”

“Um, no? Because you’re currently cooking a cake for either an imagination or a homeless psycho, either way we are going to Uncle Donny’s for the night.” She said, but before she could move she was getting whapped on the back of the head with a flour covered wooden spoon.

“Get the fire going Katrina, wasn’t a question.” She scolded. “And if you keep doing as your told, I’ll explain.”

Katrina rubbed the throbbing place on her head, going to grab wood just to keep her grandmother happy. In the morning they would be on their way out. “Fine, Fine, but you better keep talking.”

Her grandmother continued to mix in ingredients to the bowl. “When our family settled here, back when the immigrated from Germany, They were led here by...well the Erlking.” Her grandmother said, cracking an egg. “He said that if we smuggled him out of Europe, He would find us a place to live. And it was truth. We were given this land up in the woods by him. After a while though….Children in the local towns began to go missing. Our family knew immediately it was the Erlking and we went out in the woods to hunt him down. A redemption for all of the children taken.” She gestured for the bowl of berries and Katrina handed it to her, listening intently. “When they found him though, it was way too late. This wasn’t the man they had faked papers for anymore. He had found power here he hadn’t found in Germany because too many knew his name. He said he desired sweet things, like the innocent children in the village. My grandmother made a deal with him. Our family would make him sweets if he left the children alone.” She finished buttering a cake pan and began pouring in the batter. “My grandmother made him hard candies, as did my mother, but I can never get them right, so I began baking for him.” She slid the pan into the oven and sat to wait till it was done. “I’ve got to talk to your Uncle Donny’s wife, see if she will take up the deal after I’m gone.”

Katrina blinked, staring at her. She slowly sat down in the chair across from her. “Grandma...You know how crazy that sounds right?” She said, watching her.

Her grandmother sighed. “I...I know.” She looked at her. “But you saw him, and heard him.”

Katrina couldn’t deny that. “There is probably some crazy homeless man Grandma.”

“You know he’s not.” She said, eyeing her. Katrina was in her own head about that. She was right about that. “...Bring him the cake when it’s done. You’ll see.”

Katrina looked at her. “Grandma, you’re crazy! That could be some crazy-”

“I’ve been doing this for years Katrina.” Her grandmother scolded. “If he wanted to kill me, he could have easily done it years ago.” She scolded. Katrina swallowed. “If I do this, and I realize it’s some homeless crazy man, you go live with Uncle Donny.” Katrina eyed her grandmother. “Deal?”

She looked at her a moment before nodding. “Deal.”

Katrina waited in quiet as the cake baked, playing on her phone even thought she wasn’t truely connected to anything. She looked up when her grandmother finally stood and took the cake from the stove. “Alright.” She said, taking the cake out and wrapping it up in a cloth. “He likes it still hot.” She said, setting the cake on top of the bowl. “Go on.”

Katrina took the cake, rubbing her face. It was close to two a.m. at this point and she couldn’t believe she was not only up, but going to bring a cake into the woods. She took the cake and brought it back to where she had found the bowl.

“...Alright Erlking, if thats who you are, its two in the morning and I’m exhausted and if you could just take this stupid cake that would be great.” Katrina stood in the quiet a moment, looking around as her eyes tried to adjust.

“Well Katrina, that was terribly rude.” She jumped, spinning around to see the tall figure. He towered over her, and as her eyes continued to adjust she realized he wasn’t right.

He was not only amazingly tall, but he seemed to be oddly lanky. Long arms at his sides, reaching towards the cake. His hair was pulled into a complex series of braids around the crown of his head, a tangle of flowers and leaves tucked in and his eyes….his eyes were just white. No color or pupil. She wasn’t sure if she would have been less unnerved if his eyes were completely black or like this. He took the cake, immediately tearing off a piece and taking a bite.

Katrina blinked as she stared as he ate torn off pieces from the cake. “H-How…” He groaned at the bite. “So sweet, she always does so well.” He looked at her. “...Been a long time since I’ve seen you. Not since you were a young one.” He blinked as Katrina took a hesitant step back.

“I-I...um…” She looked back at the edge of the woods, wondering if she could make it if she booked it.

“I could catch you if you tried.” Her eyes shot back as he smiled. “How have you been? I have missed you since you moved to the city.” Katrina more made gasping noises and mouth movements than answering. “I appreciate you visiting your grandmother. She is lonely often.”

Katrina held up her hands. “Wait a dang second.” She said. “How..How do you know all this?”

He took another bite of cake. “I have been with your family since they immigrated in the twenties, I owe them quite a bit.” He said, flicking crumbs from his fingers. “Well Katrina…” He held out a hand. “Would you like to take a walk with me?”

Katrina blinked. “Walk?” She asked. “Are you crazy? You can get super lost out here.”

He chuckled, gesturing against with his hand. “I know very well where I’m going.” He said. “Spend the night, just one, and I’ll let your grandmother get some peace by ending this age old contract I have with your family. You know it’s why she stays right?”

Katrina glared then. “How do I know you aren’t just going to kill me?” She said.

He raised an eyebrow. “I haven’t tried yet, have I?” He took her hand then, taking a few steps that Katrina ended up following. She couldn’t believe she was following some...creature deeper into the woods. She could hear the leaves crunch under their feet as they walked. “Just about there…” He said, helping Katrina over a fallen tree. In the middle of an empty grove stood a rusty looking garden gate. The fence had fallen away long ago, only the gate entrance remaining.

“And where are we supposed to be staying, hmm Mr. The Erlking?” Katrina huffed.

He raised an eyebrow but chuckled. “Just call me Oberon.” He said, pushing the gate open. It creaked loudly, but as it opened Katrina could hear a weird echo. It almost sounded like talking. “Follow me and you’ll see.”

Katrina swallowed, but took the couple steps forward. When she stepped forward, there was a blast of warm air...then they were in the bustling city. Though it was night, the streets were still busy with nightlife. They stood at the base of a golden archway and he brought his arm around her, pulling her to his side.

“Welcome to Golden Gate.”

[bnrobertson1]

EXCELLENCE IN PRODUCT PLACEMENT

Death Stranding* is a wowing mind-fuck of an experience, surreal and mundane and draining and invigorating. Unafraid to constantly show you Norman Reedus’ bare ass while pontificating on the nature of modern existence, the game is unlike any before it, a venerable nightmare for marketing people and gamers expecting something more tried-and-true. 

Choose a Caption!: “I intend to help all of humanity through these apocalyptic times. But first, a peek of me bottom for the ladies.” -OR- Reedus Rump: Kojima’s Metal Gear-esque Weapon to Appeal to Women. 

Death Stranding is also the host to the best piece of product placement in recent memory. The product? Monster mahfucking Energy** drink, a (demonic?) elixir that boosts main character Sam’s stamina when consumed- a life-giving tonic with only 160g of sugar. You don’t drink water in the game, you drink Monster. Hell yes. For a game about wandering the wreckage of a nuclear-ish event, it’s a masterful touch, eloquently capturing our need as humans to technologically improve everything (yes, even the liquid responsible for life), a destructive compulsion that is the vertebrae and driver of the game’s narrative. Many in the press find this shameless money-grab to be tasteless, but the fact Coca-Cola (a corporation!) undoubtedly paid millions to get it so prominently in the game only speaks to its preposterous-yet-probable presence. It’s probably too subtle to be a Kojima-nod to the futuristic satire of Idiocracy, but Monster Energy will undoubtedly go down as the real world’s Brawndo (just without the electrolytes).    

*More Thoughts on Death Stranding (BEWARE NON-SENSICAL SPOILERS): God Bless Hideo Kojima, the man goes for it. Arguably video game’s most beloved auteur and inarguably the one who most wants to be referred to as “Kubrikickian” and/or “enigmatic,” the mastermind behind the beloved Metal Gear games proves incapable of working small or with gloves with his Death Stranding, leaving both fingerprints all throughout and editors’ calls unreturned. Hours-long cut scenes waxing philosophical about technology’s dooming yet liberating role in our future? Check. 4th wall breaking, star-fucking pop culture references? Check. Singular gameplay whose laborious nature quite soundly proves larger points about things ranging from literary theory to the gig economy? Check. Check. Check.

But between the preposterous acronyms, convoluted packing systems, and Conan O’ Brien cameos, there glimmers dots of genius. Those willing to wade through the oft- incomprehensible industrial-military-complex babble are rewarded with “Holy Shit” moments, those boundary and/or sense exploding things of which Kojima is King. Death Stranding is no different, and although the game never reaches the heights of the Metal Gear games, there are specific parts that unleashed that goosebump wave of awesomeness. The bolo gun that wraps up your enemies instead of killing them, your ability to hog tie the unsuspecting with an elastic strand, the focus on oil and blood as the life force of all things- these are but some of the elements of the game that really work, dripping into the game at just the rate where you keep interested but not overwhelmed.

But the best moment in the game is in a cut-scene where your baby companion (did I mention Kojima is weird?) literally stops bullets with its mind to save you. Now, the prior sentence shouldn’t make sense, and probably doesn’t. But the real nonsensical thing is just how powerful it hit. In a game about loneliness and the brutal nature of existence, this self-less act is totally unexpected but gives you the real feeling that someone has got your back (even if it proves to be a futile gesture). It’s effect was reminiscent of similar film sequences. After about 15-months of Covid I would say the point was comforting in a way I was not anticipating whatsoever. 

Being the only one of my friends insane enough to finish the game’s deliberate but nonetheless grotesquely overlong runtime (60+ hours of fetch quests!), my fellow Metal Gear fans have asked: is it worth playing? To which I really don’t know the answer. It’s absolutely bold and tries to tell a tale that could only be told in the video game medium, but then again, video games aren’t particularly great ways of telling stories. At points it felt like its design was made to be played in the pandemic: it’s time-consuming, meditative, and at times utterly mind-numbing. At its peaks, the game is reminiscent of Grandaddy’s The Sophtware Slump, another generally somber post-technological tale, albeit with less alcoholic robots and more characters named things like Die-Hardman. It’s not nearly as *fun* as other AAA titles, but then again the diametrically different approach of Doom Eternal didn’t inspire a couple thousand words.    

**I can’t remember my first cigarette, beer, or kiss but I do remember the first time I had a Monster Energy drink. Due to some mental, emotional, and physical deficiencies, I was unable to fly for about 6 months- just the thought of driving to the airport turned my anxiety- and palm sweat- on like a firehose. But knowing this fear was simply incompatible with modern life, I gave myself a building block of a goal- make a flight from my then-home of Austin to somewhere close enough that I could rent a car and drive home. I chose Dallas because I had an incentive: to see obscure musical group Nine Inch Nails*** performing at one of the Metroplex’s many arenas.

Getting on the plane took some assistance- specifically in the form of about 2 grams of Alprazolam. The barbiturate calm pressed the right buttons beautifully, having me giggling about clouds as opposed to obsessing about how we were in a speeding steel cylinder 7 miles above the surface of the earth. But when we landed in Dallas about 30 minutes later, the ease evolved into a potent sleepiness. Which is fine if you’re headed to a hotel, or virtually anywhere else in the Dallas-Fort Worth area, but not so much when you’re about to see an Industrial concert with 8,000 other people not exactly known for their chill. Plodding along, I finally made it to the concert, hoping to order a Red Bull as big as its namesake to get me out of blah bliss and into banging. The venue only sold Coke products, so in my apathetic exhaustion, I decided to order a Monster, an energy drink to that point I identified with redneck culture and thus avoided. Finding the whole thing pretty funny- and strongly buzzing off the fact that I had somehow faced my fear and gotten on an airplane- I figured there was probably no better place on earth to try a tall boy Monster Energy Drink Zero Sugar than FUCKING DALLAS, ie, the Monster Energy Drink of America.

The flavor I ordered was in a white can and poured out looked like some sort of large sea mammal had just bricked into a cup. Disgusted but not discouraged, I grabbed the glowing goblet like it was the reins of a dragon and took it by its mighty wing, by which I mean swig. Surprisingly tasty, I thought. Not the Pepsi-fied version of Red Bull I was fearing. The house lights then were dimmed, indicating it was game time. I wisely bought another Monster and went into the show, thinking 32 oz of liquid electricity was exactly what I needed to match Reznor’s energy.

You’re goddamn right I took a picture of my first Monster! 

Whatever chemistry was going on in my body was probably bad, because it felt awesome. Even though Nine Inch Nails had performed a majority of my favorite stuff the night before (their first of two nights in Dallas), the concert was as engrossing as was hoped- the loudness and lights simultaneously pummeling and transcendent. While it goes without saying that it wasn’t for everyone, the entire 3-hour ride back to Austin I was laughing like a maniac, having won a small battle (flying) and getting a big reward for my efforts (NIN). So, when anybody asks me what the ludicrously huge can of white can of energy drink I’m proudly, obnoxiously enjoying tastes like I am genuine when I tell them: “Carbonated Capri-Sun. And Courage.”      

*** I had been scared of NIN growing up too, specifically the video for “Closer” which made my 10 year old guts squirm like worms with its hanging meat and imagery that was confusingly gory yet sexual. I also went to a conservative all-boys school where wearing NIN stuff was rarely allowed, and when it was you’d be shamed by one of the change-petrified cliques that ran the place. My position softened a bit after the landmark Johnny Cash cover of “Hurt,” but what confirmed my fandom was when I heard “The Hand that Feeds” on a Chicago strip-club sound system- since then, they have soundtracked much of my life. Lesson: There lies wisdom in Strip Clubs.      

[caroline18mars]

Into the night - Chapter 126

Jordan's eyes fluttered open but instead of sweet memories of last night's lovemaking, she was waking up with a painful nagging in her heart, every moment of pleasure or fun cost her so dearly these days and right now she just wanted to ignore it and so she crawled up to Jared who was still sound asleep or so she thought he was. “You ok?” he breathed all sleepy as he turned around and put his arm around her so she could snuggle up to him “I'm ok, you?” she lied, “I'm ok if you're ok” he gave her a dreamy kiss. “Ma-maaa” there was a knock on the door before it opened and Noah walked in, “pumpkin, what is it?” 

Jordan sneakily kissed Jared's chest before she turned her head and looked at her nephew, all their hopes for a lazy sexy continuation of last night flew out the door. “I had a bad dream” he said all upset as he clutched his inseparable Yoda doll tighter to his chest, “come here” Jared was the first to let go of Jordan and patted the tiny spot between them, Noah crawled on top of the bed and clumsily over his aunt who quietly hissed in pain, something wasn't right but she was going to deal with that later. “What happened in your dream?” Jared let Noah fall in between them while his hand lazily kept caressing Jordan's shoulder, “mama and I were alone at home and her heart got really really sick and I tried to call the doctor but he didn't answer” Noah looked at his aunt who nervously smiled at him. Jared noticed how uncomfortable she was getting, “and so I tried to drive to the hospital but I didn't know how the car worked..I couldn't reach the pedals because I'm too small” Noah sadly said “but then I woke up and I thought that mama had died, so I came to see if you were still alive”. Trying to change the mood, Jared quickly added “she is, your mama is ok, she is right here, it was just a silly dream, and dreams never are real, ok?” he sighed as Noah put his head on Jordan's chest and started listening to her heart making absolutely sure of that “whoa, your heart is beating so fast” he stated the obvious. “Pumpkin, you're getting a bit too heavy, you're almost crushing me” Jordan exaggerated and gently pushed him away from her chest, she wanted both of them happy and looking forward to the party instead of worrying about her. Noah glanced at her, lately he had developed a sixth sense for her hiding the truth from them it seemed, “want to help me go shopping for a dress for the party tonight? I really don't have anything to wear” it would get them out of the house and give them some time alone. “But why? Jared's got all these really nice clothes in that room next to mine” Noah frowned while Jared's hand stopped caressing her shoulder, “they're not my clothes, I can't wear those..we're going shopping for something new and you're coming, alright?!” Jordan said all stern, “now come on, go get ready, I'll be right there, ok?”. Noah sighed and crawled out from between them, mumbling and dragging his feet as he walked out the door, Jared closed the gap between them again “you don't have to go out..” he started but she shook her head, “don't you start..I'm not wearing anything of Charlotte's..na-ah no way” the stern tone in her voice was still there as she sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. “Where are you going? Stay just a little bit longer” Jared tried to stop her, but she was already reaching for her robe “tempting as that sounds, I'm just gonna get up and start this day, I'm not in the best of moods and the last thing either of us need is another row about Charlotte”. He had absolutely no idea what was happening, he was just scared of her clamming up on him again “What's going on? I'm not gonna start a row..” he tried to reason with her but she kept shaking her head “I know you're not, but I just don't trust myself right now, so instead of running the risk of having another argument, I'm just gonna walk away and try to calm down with a quick shower and some breakfast”. Before she could get up, he grabbed her wrist “kiss?” those big puppy eyes he gave her made her so sad and she answered with a quick peck on his lips before she finally pushed herself off the bed and tried not to stumble too much on her way to the shower. She gasped as she stepped under the hot water and her heart gave a painful squeeze, things weren't right, she could feel it, maybe if she didn't spend too much time shopping she could go to the hospital for a quick check-up? There was no way she was gonna let Jared or Shannon call her a doctor, they had a party to look forward to and she refused to spoil it, they deserved to unwind after all the stress and the hardship they had gone through lately. Slowly she started washing her hair, even something as simple as that got her out of breath these days, come on Jordan, deep breaths, then all of a sudden it was like someone had taken a hammer and swung it against her chest so hard she had to look for support against the cold wet tiles, it was just a flash because the pain subsided almost the minute she felt it, she slowly pushed herself back into a standing position and waited for the next blow as the water washed her clean, but nothing came, her heart picked up a more normal, slower beat, it was nothing, just a minor twitch, nothing major she told herself.

Constance watched her walk inside the kitchen, she was starting to look more and more like a ghost every day “Goodmorning, I'll get you some tea” she beamed at Jordan who seemed to be so distracted she sat down on a chair filled with folders, Constance quickly walked up to her “wait, let me get those..Shannon and his crazy ideas for this party, he's always making such a mess”. Jordan shot back to reality “Oh Mrs. Leto, I'm so sorry, I'm such a clutz” and shot up from her chair making Noah laugh out loud about her silly shenanigans, “you're just so silly mama, didn't you see Grandma point at the other chair?” he hiccuped. “I didn't..I just..” but before she could throw herself into another apology, Constance said “Noah, eat your oatmeal while your mom and I take these to Shannon”. She guided Jordan out of the room “something's wrong I can see it! Want me to call a doctor?” she whispered as she closed the door behind her, “no! I”m fine really..” she tried but the look Constance gave her made her confess “I uhm had a moment..in the shower..like an electric shock, I don't know how to explain it..but it's gone now”. Constance put her hand against Jordan's forehead, you do feel a bit warm..” but then Jared came walking down the stairs “what's going on? Did something happen?” even the littlest of signs was enough to have him out of his mind with worry. “No” she instantly stepped back “everything's fine, just a little overwhelmed by the heat, that's all”, Constance looked at her all shocked, why did she constantly try to humour her son? Like she couldn't talk about it to him? Sure she didn't want to worry him, but she couldn't stop her obvious fate, she knew that and he knew it too, was he gonna wake up some day soon in the exact same way as a year ago, alone and clueless?. “Maybe it's best if you stayed home? Or I can come with you if you want?” these days having Jared look at her was like being pushed through a scanner, not the slightest change in her demeanour seemed to escape him, “No..no,  I really need something new” she hastened to say “and I know that I just need to snap my fingers to have you order an army of designers who'll come running with their latest creations, but I'd rather get myself something I like..something I'll be able to afford” she faked another smile “and organizing this party will make it a whole lot easier without a five year old running around, besides he and I need some time alone as well, I just got him back, and I want to start spending more time with him now”. Constance couldn't believe what she was hearing and seeing, just like that this girl's wall went right up, inpenetrable and impossible to break down, she knew her son always liked his women mysterious and strongwilled but this was a whole other level, but her surprise became even bigger when he didn't see right through her and just nodded “Ok..yeah..be careful, ok? Promise you'll call?” he leaned in for a quick kiss and then with a simple nod and a casual “sure” she called for Noah and  strolled out the door like nothing was wrong. Constance wanted to say something but she would never allow herself to come between her son and his lover, not with such delicate information anyway, “you ok, Mom?” Jared put his arm around her shoulder as he watched Jordan drive down his driveway, “yes of course I am, honey..breakfast?” she chirped like nothing was wrong, “I'd love some, I could eat a horse, but only if it's vegan” he grinned as he kissed his mother's cheek, and walked inside his kitchen “where's Shannon?”.

Noah was the perfect little helper, giving her his unsalted opinion on the dresses she pulled off the rack, “I really like this one” she sighed as she held the nightblue satin dress up, checking the finish on it, it was the dress she had been drooling over in the window of this quaint little boutique on the edge of town that had the coolest, terminally hip clothes in the most affordable prices. “I like it too, I think the colour is really pretty” Noah nodded his head like a pro “it's really shiny”, the shopgirl came walking up to them “would you like to try it on?” she flashed them a pearly white smile, “yes, yes I would like to try it” Jordan replied, taking a quick glance at Noah. “Can I come with you? I won't look if you have no clothes on, promise!” the boy already dribbled over to the fitting rooms, and dove into a cubicle with her “no playing with the curtain” she said as she started unzipping her dress and Noah's hand started ruffling with the velvet barrier between her nakedness and the people in the shop. Noah sighed and sat down on the little bench in the cubicle “how will they put a new heart inside of you?” he asked looking at her body that was only covered by her lace bra and panties by now, “they..uhm..oh god..” she sighed, this was the last thing she wanted to talk about right now “they'll have to cut my chest open, take my old heart out and put the new one in”. Noah' s face scrunched up like he had heard the most disgusting thing ever “ewww, that's gross..will they cut you open with a knife and all? Will there be a lot of blood too?”, Jordan swallowed hard and felt sick to her stomach, “I suppose so..” she breathed as she pulled the dress over her head and adjusted it around her hips, making it flare. “Are you scared?” he kept asking, “yes..yes of course I'm scared” she gulped, it all seemed so unreal and it probably was because she was never gonna get that heart, there was no more time, “wowww, you look so beautiful” Noah was so struck about the dress he completely forgot about the touchy subject. “Really?” her hands glided over the silky smooth fabric, it had been so long since she had actually felt beautiful, “really! Jared will like it too, he'll be all kissy kissy with you” Noah pursed his lips and closed his eyes making such silly kissing noises that it made Jordan giggle. “Alright, alright, enough, I'm gonna take the dress and since you've been such a really sweet boy in helping me pick a dress, we're going to have an icecream” she cupped his chin briefly before she wiggled herself out of the dress.

”Will you stop fidgeting? Just because you haven't heard her in half an hour doesn't mean she wrapped the car around some tree” Shannon hissed at his brother, as he greeted another one of the guests that started arriving, music blasting out on the terrace, some pretty girls in bikinis already soaking up the afternoon sun by the pool. “Oh that's just really convincing, thanks” Jared hissed back at his brother, he shouldn't have let her leave by herself, but just when he wanted to put his phone to his ear again, he saw the car drive up next door, and he let out a long breath he didn't know he had been holding. Jordan got out of the car and quickly circled it to get her bags and open Noah's door “ok, now remember, you don't tell anyone that we were in hospital, ok? It's gonna be our little secret, ok?” she quickly closed the door and took his hand, she hadn't told him the bad news about the deteriorating condition of her heart that was on the verge of just giving up, just to be on the safe side, if he did tell Jared or Shannon then he could only say that she had gotten another medicine, which in fact was nothing more than an inhaler for some extra oxygen and comfort. Noah nodded “promise!” but he was already too excited to get to the party. Zigzagging around the cars on the driveway, she could already see Jared walking up to her “Why didn't you answer your phone? I've been calling 4 times” he breathed clearly upset, “we got held up in traffic, sorry! I've parked the car next door, this driveway is packed already ” she quickly kissed him “I'll go get us ready” and then brushed past him inside of the house where she was greeted by slow, thumping beats and Shannon who she gave a quick wave before she rushed upstairs with Noah. “See? Nothing happened, told you so” Shannon rolled his eyes at Jared who was still thundering and grumbling, “yeah, yeah..” he growled, “will you get yourself a drink and relax? go do something else like entertaining our guests instead of moping around, go on, chop chop” his brother sent him on his way. Half an hour later, Jordan came walking out of the bedroom with her new dress on, she checked her make-up and her hair one last time in the mirror, thank god this actually looked stunning and not like the rushjob it had been. Noah took a step back and looked at her like he couldn't believe his eyes “you look really, really beautiful, mama” he breathed as he touched her hand to check that it was actually her, “really? You look really handsome yourself” she gave him a big smile as she admired him standing there in his rolled up, ripped new jeans, the tiny Slayer T-shirt and the suspenders that finished his hipster chique outfit “come on, I think we kept them waiting for long enough” she grabbed his hand and walked down the stairs with him. Downstairs, Shannon was the first to notice them and he bumped his brother's arm who was just pointing new guests in the direction of the terrace, Shannon was starting to get on his last nerve today but then when he looked up his breath got stuck in his throat “Oh my god..” he whispered at nobody in particular, she looked absolutely spectacular. “Honey..you look..” he stammered as he walked up to her and took her hands, “you like? Am I forgiven for being a bit late?” she giggled, it was so nice to see that this dress was such a hit, “I like! A lot! That dress..you..You look absolutely breathtaking, god I love you” he breathed and pushed a kiss on her lips. “I got a new outfit too” Noah tugged the leg of Jared's pants, starting to feel a bit neglected, Jared quickly turned without letting go of Jordan's hand “so you do! You look stunning too, buddy! Hey, I like these” he put his finger underneath one of the suspenders and gently let it snap back “can I borrow them sometime? they're really cool!”. He could see Noah grow a couple of inches “I'll think about it” he said with a deadpan expression on his little face making them all grin, “alright you do that, now come on, let's introduce you or more importantly show you off to our guests” he combed the boy's hair with his fingers. Shannon held out his hand to Noah so Jared and Jordan could have a minute, “I'm such a lucky bastard to have the most beautiful girl in the world by my side” he whispered in her hair as he let his fingers intertwine with hers, “shall we?” his eyes twinkled in admiration. Jordan nodded and put her hand on his arm as he slowly guided her to the terrace, all the compliments he gave her didn't stop the longing in her heart, the longing for a long lost time where she was healthy and happy and where her make up and clothes didn't have to hold her together like they did now, the memory was all she had but for a couple of hours she was gonna get lost in it, this was probably their last party and one of their last times together so she was going to savour every single second of it if there was no more distance to run.

[dointoomuchsworld]

Only Home

To put it bluntly, and to jump right in, climate change is quite possibly the most boring subject the science world has ever had to present to the public. Most attempts to narrativize the crisis are either science fiction or dismissed as science fiction.

Award-winning author Jonathan Sofran Foer writes, “It seems fundamentally impossible to pull the catastrophe from over there in our contemplations to right here in our hearts.”

History not only makes a good story in retrospect, but good stories become history.

For this topic, I’ve chosen to apply the Uses and Gratification theory in my discussion pertaining to political science, mass communication, and pro-environment/interdependence with nature. By definition, the Uses and Gratification theory discusses the effects of the media on people; it explains how people use the media for their own needs and get satisfied when their needs are fulfilled (communicationtheory.org). There are several needs and gratifications for people: cognitive needs, affective needs, personal integrative needs, social integrative needs, and tension free needs. 

People refer to the media for the topics to discuss among themselves. By referring to the media, they gain more knowledge and exposure to the world beyond their limited eyesight. Now, media studies have begun to take environmental topics into discussion. American culture influences the world through media. Depending on social and psychological circumstances, people have certain needs and expectations which propel them to seek out, read, and engage with certain media and content (Nerlich). This leads to differential patterns of media exposure, which results in the gratification of the initial needs but also has other consequences, perhaps mostly unintended ones.

We can consider the other hand, or the possible consequences wondered above. For many people, electronic connection is metastasizing into electronic “over”connection-- overwhelming our capacity for patience, interrupting the focus required to build real-time relationships, and herding people into unforgiving political tribes (Louv). In 1802, the English Romantic poet William Wordsworth composed a sonnet in which he blames the Industrial Revolution for substituting our connections with nature with the dissipations of materialism; never mind the consideration of the Internet yet in those times.

As writer Amitav Ghosh says in his piece, The Great Derangement, “The climate crisis is also a crisis of culture, and thus of the imagination.” We might call it a crisis of belief.

When I think about it, I’m not too sure how many versions of the climate change story that kindergarteners can re-create, and likewise there are not many versions that can move these childrens’ parents to tears. Our minds and hearts are well built to perform certain tasks, and poorly designed for others. 

Making science public involves things such as writing articles, speaking with people, commenting on articles, and much more. If none of us can figure out a way to make the climate crisis an interesting topic, or influential for that matter, how are we going to heighten it to the level that it needs? People, as consumers, want things that will make them feel satisfied or impactful, via the media. 

I’ve recently stumbled upon a quote, also written by Jonathan Sofran Foer, that reads, “We are good at things like calculating the path of a hurricane, and bad at things like deciding to get out of its way.”

Funny enough, (funny to me), after reading this quote I found myself leaning back in my chair, eyes and mouth like a fish, just saying -- Wow. Wow, wow, wow. Over and over. The endless… symbolism. And also, the absolute truth. 

In 2017 I took a family vacation to Disney World. Myself, my husband, my child, my two parents, my little sister. My other sister and her boyfriend did not join us, a last minute decision. Hurricane Irma was days away from landfall in Miami, and we knew this from where we stood in  our kitchen in Ohio. We deliberated, and determined that after Disney, who cares? We will take shelter in our condominium in Manasota Key, the bottom left corner of the state of Florida, on the Gulf of Mexico and just about right atop the Caribbean. Irma will hit the Atlantic side, so sorry for you Miami, but we will be OK.

A concrete fortress, my dad had called our condo located on the fifth floor. Indestructible. In those exact words.

The largest evacuation in American history. The largest mass exodus with nearly seven million people instructed to leave their homes.

 “Imminent deaths from coast to coast,” the media headlines began alerting, in those exact words. This is a Category Five hurricane, “we’re going to have to create a new category,” the experts advised whole-heartedly. There was an idea that at least 145-mile-per-hours winds were going to sweep across Florida, and this was going to be something America has never seen before.

The storm is no longer heading for Miami, it’s going up toward Jacksonville, now, the Carolinas. No, it’s going to obliterate the Caribbean and the Keys, rip up the gulf coast, and hit Tampa Bay. It’s going to annihilate the entire state of Florida, and you are going to die. The entire country had their eyes on us now.

As I stood in the living room of the condo, and the air and electricity of the island shut off-- an unsuspected occurrence to us-- I looked out our sliding glass doors and all I could see was water. The blue, tropical turquoise hues rippling in the outer rings of the incoming destruction. We hadn’t even filled the bathtub with clean water as a precaution. 

The ocean, swaying, with the motion of Irma coming down. The skies hadn’t changed yet, but I felt her. I turned to look at my four-year-old daughter. Would the glass shatter onto her perfect skin? Would the enormous coffee table be thrown and crush her? Should I muster herculean strength and push said coffee table, uselessly, in front of the sliding glass doors? Would the decision to move or not move the table affect whether or not the toddler is crushed? Would we hunker in the closet and be unable to see one another in the blackness until one of us is struck by a fatal shard of debris? Would it take weeks to find our bodies? Were all of these questions perfectly logical or illogical? I leaned over and tried not to vomit. I dialed the 1-800 Disaster Distress helpline, and was so blank in thought-process that I do not even remember what I sputtered. It was something, so flatly stupid, along the lines of, what should I do? But we were too late. We were supposed to evacuate, but we decided to press on southbound, despite the standstill traffic opposite in direction from us, and the island we were now on was cut off. But wait, one bridge was left open. A concrete fortress that we were supposed to be in, I didn’t think so. What about the fallen power lines, or fallen trees? If we survived the storm, how long would we be trapped on the island?

I pulled armfulls of laundry mid-cycle from the washing machine, smashed it wet into my suitcase, and through the hottest, blurriest tears I told my daughter we were getting back in the car. I’d have to get Daddy, he had just stomped out of the condo and onto the beach, to smoke an emergently prepared blunt and accompany it with two Budweisers. As if in his last moments, this was what he decided he’d do. I shoved my suitcase down the stairwell, because of course the elevators were turned off, and in this moment, I had dialed my boss, informing her that I will most realistically not survive and return to Ohio for my job.

Airlines shut down on our last day of Disney and still we stayed. In the grand scheme of it all, we ended up fleeing from Orlando, to Tampa, to Mannasota, back to Tampa, to Georgia, and finally found gasoline and a price-gouged hotel room in Chattanooga, Tennessee. We had tried to run, but this was it, and we had not even a powerless condo over our heads anymore. I turned around and looked at my darling child, full of patience in her car seat. We waited in line at a gas station that I cannot remember the name of, right before crossing into Georgia. What luck! We filled up. Both of our cars, as the rest of my family were following behind us. 

Cars drove overnight through the mountains for hours on the shoulder of the highway, creating a fourth lane. State troopers allowed it, stopping only for those who needed assistance with a tire change. Strings of ambulances evacuated hospitals and headed northbound, while federal emergency response vehicles bravely pressed on back southward to Irma. 

Nearly two thousand dollars over our budget spent on emergent nonsense, and we made it home to Ohio. For months, my family was torn apart. I wanted to quit my job, move far away, never allow them to babysit ever again. Who was responsible for us being closer to the feeling of death than I have ever been in my life, all of us together like some mass extinction?

There are many ways we can provide a feeling of engagement at the expense of engagement, in many ways that selfies make us feel present at the expense of being present, in ways that joining a cancer-support group does not shrink a tumor, but these things do make us feel better. But, it can be dangerous to feel better when things are not getting better. The feeling of making a difference doesn’t correspond to the difference made, and does create an inflated sense of accomplishment to relieve the burden of whatever obstacle we may be facing. The feeling of escaping the most powerful Atlantic hurricane in recorded history, but waiting for the next record-breaker to destroy someone else's lives. The feeling of posting a viral “Pray for Florida” statement on your Instagram, while being thousands of miles away from the site of disaster.

There are so many people out there, troubled by the direction of our country, and we do like to be reminded that we’re not alone. So who can blame us, for taking selfies, for joining support groups. Being alone together is not an alternative direction, and what the world needs is the opposite of a selfie. How do we square our own gratitude for life with behavior that suggests an indifference to it?

Here are some facts: Cattle, goats, and sheep produce a significant amount of methane, mostly belched, exhaled, farted, and passed in waste. Nitrous oxide is emitted by livestock urine, manure, and fertilizers used for growing feed crops. If cows as a whole were a country, they would rank third in greenhouse gas emissions (GHGs), after China and the U.S. Brazil’s deforestation plan of protected areas of the Amazon is estimated to release 13.2 gigatons of carbon. Animal agriculture is responsible for 91% of Amazonian deforestation. Carbon is released upon the burning of trees during deforestation. The Worldwatch Institute estimates that livestock is responsible for 51% of global emissions, more than all cars, planes, buildings, power plants, and industry combined.

We cannot change the planet without changing how we eat.

Even if we begin today, assuming global cooperation, a global conversion to wind, water, and solar power would take more than twenty years and require a hundred-trillion-dollar investment.

When the animated feature film “Happy Feet” came out in 2006, I was in high school, and I was obsessed with the movie. Aside from a moment of a blatantly suggestive penguin dance move, there is a separate moment in the movie that may have perplexed some kids. Maybe lost their interest, maybe confused them as to where the storyline was heading, or just filled them with an eerie and dark sensation and left them confused as to why they felt this way. 

The basic storyline of “Happy Feet” follows an outcast emperor penguin who cannot find his soulmate, because he cannot sing, therefore he has no Heart Song to match with anyone. All he can do is tap dance, which is catastrophic in his family’s eyes. However if we go deeper into the movie, our protagonist weaves eco-conscious warnings about pollution and climate crisis into his journey amidst the movie’s sing-song choreographed numbers. 

Our loveable penguin star of “Happy Feet” is eventually thrown into a zoo exhibit, demonstrating the mush-brained behavior we often feel our zoo animals adapt to. He must then grab the humans’ attention and call to action to save his homeland. As he’s tapping, screeching, and hallucinating, he is giving the audience, specifically the children that the movie is targeted towards, a general sense of unease. The camera zooms out, out, out in three major hits- then we are looking at a silent and real image of our planet Earth. The shot that is shown to us in the movie is so famous that it is named “The Blue Marble.” This is not the first photograph of Earth, but it is the first of the fully illuminated whole.

When astronauts experienced the sight of The Blue Marble, given the fact that they must be 20,000 miles of distance away from Earth to see it as a globe, they were overcome by awe and vastness. So much so, that astronauts and space travelers have deemed the phenomenon of seeing our planet as the Overview Effect. The experience is so powerful and profoundly moving; the phenomenon of seeing our only home from space, framed by infinite black emptiness; so unsupported, suspended. From this vantage point, mindsets have been changed. The environment is no longer an environment, a concept, or context outside of us… it is everything, including us.

Astronaut Ron Garan said upon his experience of the Overview Effect, “I was flooded with both emotion and awareness. But as I looked down at the Earth-- this stunning, fragile oasis, this island that has been given to us-- a sadness came over me, and I was hit in the gut with an undeniable, sobering contradiction.”

We can speculate on what his contradiction might have been. That our planet protects us from the harshness of space but we don’t protect it from the harshness of us?

While everyone knows we live on Earth, we can believe it only by leaving.

Journalist Oliver Burkeman wrote for The Guardian, “If a cabal of evil psychologists had gathered in a secret undersea base to concoct a crisis humanity would be hopelessly ill-equipped to address, they couldn’t have done better than climate change.”

A species of fish, called cleaner wrasse, is perhaps merely a species of fish. These creatures have the ability to recognize their reflection, next to the only other species (other than ourselves) who can recognize their reflection, which are orcas, dolphins, great apes, and magpies. If the Earth’s temperature rises merely two degrees, the reefs that these cleaner wrasse inhabit will become extinct.

Right now, we are set amidst the great collectivity of a living and dying planet. We call for a restitution of the sacred—in its most inclusive form—so that we can face the climate crisis of our times with our finest remaining resources. 

To ultimately recap, Uses and Gratification theory as developed by Elihu Bulmer and Jay Katz, American sociologists (1974), suggests that media users play an active role in choosing and using the media, and we can directly infuse this in the way we manage ourselves and the role we play in the connection of sustainable agriculture and climate change. I have not necessarily provided a comprehensive explanation of climate change, or provided a categorical case against eating animal products, but I do explore the decision that our planetary crisis requires us to make on the immediate platform of social media. Media has the power to rouse and urge, to overwhelm those who feed it. We rely on our future generations as much as our own selves to accept the reality of human-caused climate change and to change our lives in response. How can we get our human reluctance to sacrifice immediate comfort for the sake of the future, trending on our media outlets? 

Everyone will eat a meal soon, and can immediately participate in the reversal of climate change. Self-recognition does not always indicate self-awareness, and as critical as we can be of someone else in charge, the blaming can also be a means of turning away from our own reflections. 

For a quote to muse on, consider the following, “Waves do not require feeling; they generate feeling... I have never resisted a wave” (Sofran Foer).

Works Cited:

Buerkeman, Oliver. 2021 Guardian News & Media Limited. www.theguardian.com 

Foer, Jonathan Sofran. We Are The Weather. First edition. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2019. 

Garan, Ron. The Orbital Perspective: Lessons in Seeing the Big Picture from a Journey of 71 Million Miles. Oakland, CA: Berrett-Koehler, 2015.

Ghosh, Amitav. The Great Derangement. First edition. University of Chicago Press, 24 July 2017. 

Louv, Richard. “Our Wild Calling.” Algonquin Books of Chapel Hill, 2019. First edition. New York, New York.

Nerlich, Brigitte. “Science/climate communication: A view from reception theory.” 28 September 2017. University of Nottingham. www.blogs.nottingham.ac.uk 

Reinert, Al. “Blue Marble Shot.” 1972, 2011.

ScienceDaily. “Bees, fruit, and money: Decline of pollinators will have severe impact on nature and humankind.” Pensoft Publishers. 4 September 2012. www.sciencedaily.com 

“Uses and gratification theory in mass communication, psychology, behavioral and social science.” www.communicationtheory.org

[jiminiesoreos]

Yoongi Smut - You Bet Your Ass

Requested by @thedawnsky​

As soon as the elevator doors opened, you rushed out, half sprinting towards your destination, glancing at your watch every three seconds. You took a sharp right turn and were immediately met with your boss’ secretary, hair facial expression similar to that of a stone as she glared at you “You’re late”

“Am I?” you cocked a brow sarcastically, finally arriving at the meeting, the table already crowded with 20 more people.

“Miss Y/N…” you boss acknowledged you as you pulled a chair to take your place at the table.

“I’m sorry sir, my car broke down. Sorry to have interrupted you” you took a sip from the glass of water placed in front of you and focused on the matters at hand.

“That’s alright, you haven’t missed out on much. They are from Mr. Lee’s company” he motioned towards the people sitting on the other side of the table and you gave a small nod in acknowledgement. “We will be collaborating with them while developing the software so I’d suggest you get to know some of them a little for further mutual assistance with any matters” you nodded again “And Mr. Min Yoongi has shared some valuable insights-” 

The rest of his words drowned out into white noise as you looked up so fast that you could have gotten a whiplash. That name, that very name that made you look up, scanning around the table to land your eyes on another set of dark brown ones that you knew all too well. He looked the same. Same soft features, same face, same eyes. Only there was no longer the bright green hair falling into his eyes. It was black, bangs cut short, bringing out his features even more. He blinked once, a subtle, silent greeting passing between you two as you let out a small sigh. 

Min Yoongi.

Finally done with the meeting, you bid goodbye to several of the employees, arranging your papers, you were almost ready to stuff them back in your briefcase and call it a day. However, this day kept getting more and more interesting.

“You never liked wearing gray” the all too familiar voice near you made you jump from the surprise. You turned your head to see him leaning against the table, arms crossed over his chest, the tiniest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. You felt your heart give the tiniest flutter at this feeling of familiarity after a long, long time.

“People change” you said, pressing your lips together in the smallest smile as you packed the rest of your things, tucking a strand of your hair back as you arranged the rest of your papers in order.

“And yet somehow a lot of you has managed to stay the same”

Your hands paused as you stood up to take a proper good look at the man in front of you for the first time in a while. “Min Yoongi” you crossed your arms giving him a once over from his head to toe.

“Y/N” he acknowledged with a small smile.

“It’s been what? Five years?” 

“Close, five and a half” he corrected flashing you that sweet gummy smile that you once used to drop dead at the sight of. You couldn’t help the nostalgia that hit you like a tsunami. Neither could you disregard how your heart skipped a small beat.

“Here, let me help you with those” he offered, arranging the few of the papers that were left and before you could protest he was already handing them back to you. You muttered a small ‘thank you’ and put them inside your briefcase. Just as you were about to fetch your phone from your pocket to call your friend to pick you up, he grabbed your wrist  to stop you, making a tiny electric spark course through where your skins met. “I have a car, you know”.

“So…” you spoke as Yoongi helped you out of your jacket when you reached what once used to be both of your home, having accepted Yoongi’s proposal for a tea to catch up after having spent such a long time apart. “Are you still that much into rap or has that phase-”

“It was not a phase!” he protested immediately making you laugh as you walked down the familiar hallway to the living room where the two of you had made too many memories to count. Good as well as bad ones. The soft beige wallpapers that you two had picked out together, the fireplace where the two of you had once snuggled together during cold winters as well as yelled your heads out at each other for the littlest things such as him smiling at a female cashier while accepting the change or being too exhausted from his work with his band to have any energy to engage in any of those passionate activities on some nights or perhaps having forgotten when your periods are due. It’s not like you hadn’t gone through hell either. He’d often skip dinners to hang out with his friends and he’d yell when you went out on a girls’ night and came home a little too late and you’d just accuse him right back.

You quickly shook the thoughts out of your head, not wanting to succumb to those old feelings. There’s a reason your past is the past and you had no intention of regretting the decisions you both knew were the best for you.”Oh come on” you smirked taking a seat on the white couch “Mr. Min Yoongi couldn’t possibly be holding onto Suga upto this day”.

He chuckled, going to the kitchen to make some tea for the both of you “Oh you bet your ass he very much is”

“Given I’m not at the risk to have it spanked now, I’ll say I’d be happy to do so” you quipped making him laugh and ending up laughing yourself. You missed laughing with him, to be honest. You hadn’t done much of that after your marriage which you now wished you did instead of picking those stupid fights. How could you let this incredible man slip through your fingers when you two could have made one of the tightest couples on earth. “But seriously though, how could you possibly convince me you’re in this huge company and still have that Suga flowing in you?”

“Well, it’s reduced from a professional level to just a sideline thing” he shrugged wiping taking the jar of sugar out of the cabinet “But yeah, it’s there” he smirked at you.

“Are you sure it’s not because your skills got rusty?”

He gave you a deadly glare, raising a brow “myeongpum baegeul jwigibodaneun nae soneul jabajuneun jiltusimgwa sigibodan doemdoemireul arajuneun geureon neowa hamkke uriui miraereul geuryeobwa uri keopeul sinbal saie eorini undonghwa”  

You gave him a small round of applause with a smile plastered on your face, making him weirdly happy. But somehow on the inside, your heart twisted at the fact that he chose specifically the rap that he had written for a song, keeping you in mind as his muse and rushed to you with the paper just over a few weeks after your marriage and had pulled you down on his lap as he made sure you were the first one who heard it.                                                                    ‘Instead of holding designer bags, you hold my hand Instead of jealousy and envy, you understand my nature With you, I draw out my future In between our couple shoes are a pair of baby sneakers’

You quietly sat there in the home that you noticed he had barely changed in any way. Kept every single detail you had wanted to add to it, even the ones he hated. The two large white dreamcatchers, the overly feminine bookshelf, everything.

You sighed, as you stood up from your position to join him in the kitchen. 

He just looked down at the cups he was pouring the tea into as you came over to stand beside him. You glanced at the kitchen island and noticed the chunk of wood still missing from it. “You haven’t repaired this?”

He just turned to smirk at you “The memory was too good to cover up”

“God, I couldn’t sit for like three days!” your eyes widened at the memory and the playful atmosphere suddenly changed at the memory of you bent over as he spanked you, your movements rocking the thing back and forth. Yoongi had been all but merciful in bed.

He leaned in closer to whisper into your ear “Wear something like that ever again and I’m willing to run to Norway just to fuck you” his hot breath made you shudder. It still had the same effect on you, leaving you breathless even though he backed away “Have you...found a boyfriend...yet?” he asked, almost hesitating as he looked down at you, breaking you out of your trance as you looked up, the tension between you two heavy in the air.

“Perhaps” you lied, smiling just a little, just to test him. You thought you saw his face fall for a moment before another smirk took over his features “Does he fuck you better than I did?”

Your eyebrows rose at his question. Wow. Moments passed with the two of you standing like that in the middle of the kitchen, staring into each other’s eyes as if waiting to pounce on each other. until you finally spoke up “Perhaps” you mocked him with a gaze.

“Can’t be” he muttered, looking into your eyes confidently “Do you remember the way you used to scream my name? Mrs. Kim from next door once stopped me in my tracks cause her children couldn’t sleep” he grinned at the memory and you suddenly felt heat pool at your stomach from the mention of those passionate, erotic moments.

“Maybe I was just young and didn’t know I’d ever experience better” you almost whispered back. “If it was now, I bet my ass you wouldn’t be able to get one scream out of me” You didn’t notice how suddenly the habit of challenging him till his dominant side broke out had come back to you the moment those memories had flashed through your brain. But that hadn’t stopped working it’s magic just like old times.

“Oh really?” he rose his eyebrows, backing you against the counter with a fierce look in his eyes “This is a dangerous game you’re playing, Y/N”

“Oh well, I know I’ll win” you shrugged as he leaned over you, biting your lip as you gazed up into his eyes.

“Just remember” he smirked, his eyes going dark “You bet your ass” 

And those lips you once loved so damn much were back on yours, his hand coming up to cradle your jaw as his lips moved heatedly over your own. You hummed as sparks ignited between your lips when his tongue swiped across your it, seeking entrance and you parted them, letting him slip that sinful tongue in as his hand left your jaw to move to your shoulders, down your arms and to your waist, pulling you closer to him. You whimpered softly against his mouth, arching against him as his mouth ravished yours. His teeth nipping at your bottom lip occasionally as his other hand trailed down to your ass, pulling you closer till your crotches met as he continued kneading the flesh in his palm. You softly gasped when he sucked your tongue into his mouth, just a second before pulling back. A trail of saliva connected your lips but he ignored that, his lips trailing down to your neck instead. He lowly hummed in his throat as his hand came to pull your shirt out of your pants before bunching up the hem of it in his hands and pulling it upwards and off of you in one swift movement as you raised your arms to assist him further. His hands trailed down your black bra to your stomach, rubbing circles into your sides which he remembered you absolutely loved. His lips wrapped around the base of your throat, sucking the skin in harshly, his teeth grazing the spot just enough to abuse the blood vessels beneath the skin, making sure it would leave marks later. You hissed from the pleasure when his hand trailed down to cup your sex over your pants, applying just enough pressure before deciding to rid you of that blasted piece of fabric.

His fingers worked quickly over the button of your pants, unzipping it before wrapping an arm around you to pull you up as your hands pushed them down to your knees. He pulled back to pick you up and place you on top of the kitchen island but you immediately, reached forwards, threading your fingers at the back of his hair and seeking out his mouth again. He hummed into the wet kiss, making you feel like you were back to the past, holding onto that green-haired hip-hop obsessed boy as he pleasured your body with all the skills he had picked up, having spent years doing this very thing every other night. 

You wrapped your legs around his waist, keeping him close as you reached up to unbutton his pale blue shirt. His hands unbuttoned the bottom simultaneously as you unbuttoned the top, his shirt falling open within seconds. You pushed the fabric off his shoulders, trailing your hands down his toned torso- his pecs, his abs, which were as defined as ever before you trailed down to his belt. Meanwhile his hands were already on your thighs, squeezing the soft flesh as his nails dug into it after such a long time. You undid his belt and pushed your thighs together, unable to take the sensations that were setting each of your nerves on fire.

He pulled down his pants as he moved to your collarbones, licking down to the top of your breast before he reached around you to undo your bra. He snapped it on your skin once on purpose just to send you gasping in surprise. He grinned and finally unhooked it, letting the fabric fall down your body.

His hand immediately went to cup your breast, his fingers wrapping around the mounds and applying enough pressure to make you squirm against him as his lips went to your earlobe, sucking it into his mouth. You rested your head against his shoulder, breathing heavily as his fingers worked over your nipples, tugging on them, knowing full and well how sensitive your breasts were. You bit down into the skin of his shoulder as your own hand reached forward to palm at his evident bulge. 

The contact did something as his movements suddenly turned more forceful, his hands digging past the waistline of your panties and his fingers moving up and down your wet slit. “So wet” he murmured right next to your ear as he slipped a finger inside of you, feeling your hot walls clench around him, urging him on to add another one. His second and third fingers soon followed, all the while his other hand squeezed and kneaded and rubbed every part of you he could find. When his fingers curled inside of you you couldn’t help the small “Oppah!” that fell from your lips. He growled at the sound and sped up his fingers inside of you. “Oh...” you started rocking your hips back against his hands. His other hand came down to pull your panties down to your knees as he thrust his fingers into you. 

Once your panties were no longer an issue, he stopped his movement to pull his fingers out of you, all three of them coated with your juices. His eyes darkly looked at you as he brought them up to lick your juices clean as you just stared at him with parted lips, breathing heavily, the heat almost being a haze to your vision.

He loosened your legs from around his waist and pushed you back so your back met with the wooden surface just as he went down to lick a stripe up your folds, your breath being knocked out both from the impact as well as his tongue.

He flicked your clit once with the tip of his tongue before delving it inside of you and you moaned, clenching around it as he swirled it inside of you, lapping up any of the juices you produced. He lowly hummed, his fingers parting your folds as he sucked your clit between his lips, giving it enough pressure for your legs to twitch violently at the sensation. “Oppa...oppa...I...”

And he left you hanging just like that, right at the very edge, stopping all his movements and standing back up as you whined from the lack of contact. He rid himself of his boxers before coming over to stand next to where your head was, length in hand, stroking furiously. He threaded his hands into your hair, pulling your head closer towards the edge. You hissed from the pain but it had no reaction on him. “Suck” he commanded, feeding you his cock as you wrapped your lips around it, his hand guiding your head back and forth by your hair as e groaned above you. You dipped your tongue into his slit, making him yank you down further. You choked around his cock, but of course he was indifferent to it, using your mouth in every possible way to pleasure himself. 

Somehow the thought of him using you to get himself off got you a lot more aroused and your hand sneaked down to rub yourself but he immediately slapped it away, glaring at you as he pulled out of your mouth.

He went back to position himself between your legs and you sighed in relief when his fingers were back inside of you. But the next moment, he was sliding his length in, alongside his fingers, making you squeak in surprise but it instantly changed into a long, drawn out moan at the stretch you could never feel from your fingers alone. He didn’t wait for you to adjust and began thrusting, snapping his hips forward, his fingers timed so that whenever he’d pull his cock back, his fingers thrust forward to hit your spot and vice versa, the double amount of friction, making you groan wildly as you reached forward to pull him down on top of you, kissing him sloppily as moan after moan spilled from your lips. His hips never lost rhythm, rocking you back and forth on the island, causing a few things to get knocked over but none of you had time to pay attention to that. 

His other hand reached up, squeezing your breast hard enough to leave bruises “Ahh, Yoongi” you cried out when he increased his pace.

“Yeah, baby, that’s it” he grinned, rocking into you furiously, his fingers curling up while he continued to thrust into you, pulling you closer to the edge with every passing second. He snapped his hips hard once, making you cry out from the pleasure and rake your nails down his back “Baby, why are you...ah!” he hissed as he continued to pound into you “So fucking tight? Ah! Your boyfriend-”

“I never had a boyfriend” you whisper against his lips, making him stop all his movements for a moment before going back at it with lighting pace, his mouth coming down to bite at your collarbone as his free hand roamed down your body “Ah, Yoongi...it...it’s painful...” you squeezed your eyes shut when he rubbed your clit with one hand, all the while his cock and fingers working inside of you. He showed no signs of slowing down as his mouth found your nipple, his teeth tugging on it as he sucked on your mound, making you grip at his hair “Ah! Fuck! Yoongi! Yoongi!” you screamed when he nibbled on the tender bud “AAAH! Yoongi, I’ll...”

“Beg” he just growled, his tone demanding as he switched to your other breast while pushing your legs wider with a hand, hitting unimaginable places.

“Yoongi, please! Please! Let me cum” you sobbed as his hips never stopped.He went back up to your lips, pulling your bottom lip between his teeth as you groaned “Yoongi”

“How bad do you wanna cum, baby?” 

“So bad” you mumbled against his lips and his hand was back on your clit, rubbing furious circles and before you knew it, the waves of heat were crashing over you, making you clench around him, sending him toppling over the edge as well “Yoongi! YOONGI! FUCKKK!” and your vision went black as you could barely felt him collapse on top of you, your sweaty bodies connected again after five long years. 

As you came down from your high, you felt a pair of fingers grab your chin and two lips planting a gentle kiss on your own. Your vision adjusted and you found him lying next to you on the kitchen counter, the stupidest smile adorning his soft features. “Why’d you lie to me about having a boyfriend?” he asked softly, his thumb tracing over your lips.

“Cause I’ve been wishing for five years that I didn’t let go of my last one” you confessed, scooting closer to him as he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you to his chest.

“Y/N...” he breathed out, closing his eyes, hugging you so tight you could almost break “What were we thinking?” he sighed and your heart stopped, thinking he was regretting everything that just occurred. The last thing you’d want was to leave another mistake that would stain both of your pasts again “How could I ever let you go?” he brushed his fingers through your hair softly “For all I know, if I didn’t screw up, if I didn’t spend those nights turned away from you, you could be mine right now. I could have you like this, in my arms all day, we’d have children-”

“I fucked up too” you blurted out, looking up at him, seeing a tear roll down his cheek. You were amazed at how steady he had been able to keep his tone as he spoke “I fucked up a lot and right now I just wish I could go, slap my younger self...”

“Y/N” he spoke softly making you trail off as he leaned forwards, capturing your lips in a kiss, filled with so many emotions. Kisses like this had been a rare occurrence after a few months of your marriage and having it back, felt like returning home after a long, long time of being away. “If I say something right now, will you slap me?” he asked the same question he had asked you back when you two were fourteen, leaving your young self confused as to what could be going through his mind. However, now you smiled, a tear rolling down your face at the memory as he smiled back.

“What?” you asked just like you had back then, back before you two strayed away from what you were truly meant to be.

He heaved a sigh, a sweet smile overtaking his features, his lips kissing the tip of your nose so softly, you could melt as you gazed into his eyes “I think I’m in love with you”

A/N: This was going splendidly and then my sister chose that very moment to start playing Go Go of all songs on the speakers and I lost all of that sexy vibe that I was using to write this. And this took so long because of that. Why is my life filled with such irrelevant people? This sucked. Sorry.

[tales-from-exo-planet]

ARIZONA || PATHCODES VOL. II

ACT I. Amicus curiae Length - 6502 Mood - Lament, Remorse Pairing - Chanyeol x Reader

Warning - Language 

“When I close my eyes Slow it’s your voice again Your breath, your smile touch me again On my lips Flow your name again I’m holding it so full, I run as fast as possible like I’m gonna explode”

“I Just” by Red Velvet - ——————————–

October

“Don’t just leave me here waiting and never come back,” you said the last time you saw him.

In the twilight he was with you and in the morn you saw his beam of ghost light, obliterating what had been shadows.

In the darkness, he returned to you, gentle and shy.

And at first light he was cold and rough once more.

Had you dreamed him?

Had you dreamed his smile?

Had you dreamed his laugh?

Had you dreamed his voice?

It was so beautiful to imagine him sleeping.

Curled into himself around his own heart, waiting for you to find him once again in dreamland.

Sleeping deeply within your womb where he first came to be.

It was so beautiful to imagine him sleeping within you, also.

Resting inside your heart, breathing his reviving breath of fire into you and restarting the electric mechanism of your heart beat when you felt yourself giving up.

“So did you speak with him?” Your lawyer asked you as soon as you sat down for lunch on the terrace just outside his office.

Well gee.

“Yes I spoke with him,” you answered, shuffling notes that you kept as the proceedings were soon to begin.

After each meeting you typed the notes up neatly until slim stacks of graying notes with frayed edges had grown inside your room resembling a small dismal forest.

You had half a mind to recycle them so they wouldn’t take over the floor space, blocking your path from the window.

But at night when you couldn’t sleep or when they returned to you but refused to stay, you woke and reached with your eyes closed for the top page of the stack right beside your bed, and read the notes once again.

Picking up one page and placing it atop your bare skin, until the stack pressed its weight against your stomach making your breath labored.

But it was the only way to feel.

To remember what it had been like.

You let them rest there until your fight or flight response kicked in and you had to push the papers off of you hearing their slight flutter before they crashed to the floor.

And then you’d get up like you did this morning and put them back in order, taking a small stack with you to your next meeting to begin the routine once again.

“And?” He asked pointedly, pausing to unfold his napkin and place it gingerly on his lap.

You sighed again.

Did he really think that you would be sitting here alone, if anything changed?

Why was this man recommended to me?

“He said he has to speak with-”

“His people. Figures. Damn it. You need another witness other than your best friend and the owner of the lounge. The more angles we can add to your character profile, the better we can defend your initial claim…” he cut in as he sliced through his rare steak.

You averted your eyes as the blood spurted from his lips, and dripped down his chin.

He carried on for a moment, gnashing his teeth, and slurping unabashedly his wine before he spoke again.

“What does he want? Could you smooth things over? I remember you telling me that you hadn’t talked in awhile…” his gaze was fixed on you even as he brought another forkful of steak, and asparagus to his mouth.

“He doesn’t want anything…” and he smirked at you as if you were purposefully withholding the truth.

How dare you…

“Oh he doesn’t? Well…maybe you could find something to interest him-”

You popped up from the table immediately to slap him across the face but he grabbed your wrist.

“Listen. We’re desperate right now. Your sister’s sudden blabbering blubbering insanity fucking defense is going to put your ass in jail or a fucking needle in your arm. This isn’t a game. You say that those texts from your ex were fabricated but so far we aren’t able to counteract it. We need him. You need to figure it out. And quickly,” he had gradually released his terse grip but the clasp of his hand on your wrist remained as absolutely firm as shackles, his eyes boring into your own to make his message clear.

And you hated that there were tears in your eyes.

But he was right.

Your best friend had said the same when she came to bring you dinner again a few days earlier in the past week.

“You could at least eat the corner pieces of the lasagna I brought. To not even eat the corners is a waste of all my time and energy,” she had frowned in an attempt to pull your laughter from your gut.

You obliged her with a curt smile since the small middle portion you took from her 13”/9” pan had been plenty satisfying until you threw up.

She waited another beat before speaking again.

“So nothing still huh?” She asked as she cleaned the counter tops down and washed the dishes.

“No Susie Q, nothing still,” you mimicked her purposeful bright nasal tone hearing a laugh fall out of her as she returned to her normal speaking voice.

“Wow…what is his deal? Where was the guy who….” she stopped when you shook your head, placing your hands up in front of your shattering face.

You couldn’t hear her drop everything and rush to you. It was if everything was muted.

She wrapped herself around you where you sat at the kitchen island, helping you up to the couch only a couple steps away where you descended, sinking as deep as you could.

“I don’t even know what to say…” she whispered as you cried but you snuffled and sucked in enough air to say, “I’m not asking anyone to say anything except the truth. How…how is the truth so hard to say?”

“I don’t know…” she sighed, cuddling you while she held your hand in hers.

“I’m sorry ________,” she whispered and you sucked in another painful breath of air.

“The worst part is that I dream about the night before everything changed. Remember? We had just hung up and I was putting the baby to bed and you kept teasing me saying that I should just hop on a flight…that I could be there in the morning and that…” you couldn’t speak his name but you could see him.

You could feel him.

Pressing down on your stomach again.

Here I am Mommy!

Peekaboo.

“And that….he would sleep through the whole flight and by the afternoon you could be with him…and it would be like Christmas morning a couple days earlier…remember you teased me about buying a ticket? Remember?” And she hushed you, holding your hand to her own heart.

Reach inside and have some of my strength.

“And now…?” You laughed at yourself derisively.

“I’m not trying to scare you…” your lawyer said as he let you go and went back to tearing apart his steak on the terrace floor of his office.

“And I’m not trying be crass…but I need you to take this seriously. If you hadn’t talked to him yet or if you have and he’s dicking you around…then grab hold of him and demand a fucking answer. Your life depends on it,” he exhaled and belched loudly, before picking his teeth and resuming his routine while looking over his notebook.

You were unceremoniously dismissed.

As soon as you hopped into your car, you called him once again only to get his voicemail.

Even when you called him at his extension.

Could he be that busy?

It was overwhelming enough that your lawyer was chewing you out for failing to get this last piece of testimony that you needed.

Your lawyer hadn’t been able to get through to his people either.

But for him to not respond now?

Of all the times.

Focus on your breathing, you reminded yourself again as you took some deep breaths before putting your car in drive and heading in his direction.

————————————–

“Hey _______,” MQ gave you that look again.

Pitiful.

“Hey…look I know I just called but I just wanted to be sure. I need to know,” you said, standing up straight and looking him in the eye.

Yea I may be but I won’t give up.

It was too hot but you would wait.

He sighed again, scratching the back of his bleached blonde hair underneath his ball cap.

“Well…he’s working on a project right now. I can see if he has a moment-”

“I can wait outside,” you said once again, stepping down from the entrance he was standing in.

He nodded, wincing a little as he closed the door.

You sat at the front step, going through your list of things to do in your head again before you heard the door click.

You turned, and readied yourself to greet him.

And when you laid eyes on him again it was like years had passed between you.

He smiled at you as he always had but it was as if you were looking at a photograph. As if you captured this moment so many decades ago and were turning to this fond memory once again for old times sake, fondling it’s curling crinkled edges before putting it between the sleeves of time that you would return to when you were feeling that aching nostalgic feeling again.

Once upon a time, in a galaxy far far away…

“Hey _______, you can come in. It’s cold out here,” he said waving you inside.

You hesitated for a moment but only a moment.

“Thank you. I didn’t want to disturb you,” you smiled appreciative that he stood back to let you inside. You could feel the heat of him roiling around you even at this distance.

And to deny that you missed him was a fool’s errand.

But you didn’t have to succumb to it.

This time.

Like last time.

Next time.

Or ever.

There were much heavier pains on your heart nowadays anyway.

He brought you further into the studio, and you let your eyes linger here and there as you trailed closed behind him remembering when you finally came to see what he had built the first time you came to ask for his help.

He hadn’t been galloping to get into the conference room then.

He had taken his time walking you through each part his living heart.

As soon as you were within the door, he closed it and you didn’t waste time either.

The design of this room always reminded you of a modern counselor’s office.

And the design of this room was unlike any other you had seen during your initial tour with its light pewter white furniture and bare open space.

Chanyeol stood before you with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his crisp black slacks; the sleeves of his white button down were rolled up to reveal his veiny forearms.

It looked like he had been wearing a tie earlier and had discarded it when he began working in the studio.

Though the general atmosphere of Metamorphosis was subdued, you could hear the rising and falling of voices sounding from the deeper recesses of the building.

Perhaps there was an important meeting taking place with an important client that you had called him away from?

The possibility of disturbing his productive space did trouble you but your resolve was firm nonetheless.

Please…please just give me a straight answer and I’ll go…

Please.

He stood watching you, waiting for you to speak.

His small smile which initially appeared warm when he first invited you in just minutes ago began to seem uncertain if not worried in the silence punctuated by every soundless breath you both took as you stood by the doorway.

He removed one hand from the pocket of his slacks, revealing the tattoo that graced his right forearm as he gestured towards the opposing sofa where you could sit.

“Please,” he barely spoke above a whisper and yet you moved as if you were summoned by a booming command, sitting down as gently and quietly as you could.

“Have you had a chance to speak with Minseok?” You asked, your tone matter of fact, and his smile fell immediately.

But you couldn’t be sure whether he had wanted to play a game of “hey let’s catch up” or if he just didn’t want to answer you yet.

Had he been avoiding your phone calls just to lure you back?

As if he needed to do that.

Ha, ha.

“I spoke to him,” was all he said sounding thoroughly unamused before sitting on the sofa himself, crossing one leg over the over and dipping his head back against the back of the chair.

That chair, like him, was one of the biggest things in this room.

But the cavern between you took the first prize.

What a difference time makes.

“I know that I’m asking a lot of you. I know what you’re risking. But I need your help. Chanyeol please-”

You saw a slight smirk crease his lips as he tipped his chin down and lowered his gaze to you.

“I’m sorry is something funny?” You asked, feeling the heat rising within your cheeks.

“It’s just all so familiar but I’m pretty sure I’ve only lived this one life. Am I dreaming..” he laughed at his own joke.

“Chanyeol…”

He nodded, shaking his head into his hands.

“I know…I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he said peering up at you, searching for your pain even though you knew it was plain to see.

If it colored the very green of the grass and bluish white of your sky, the pain had to be in your eyes, didn’t it?

How could he not see?

“So can you? I need to know…now…” you said, and were sickened by the smirk resurfacing once again.

“Chanyeol…”

“So now you can make demands. Now there is something about me that you want and need?” He asked, taking his time with the syllable of each word.

You weighed the pros and cons of crossing the room and slapping him across the face or just walking out.

“Listen…”

“Oh I’m listening, I’m listening _______,” he whispered, looking up at you from where he sat, his chin anchored atop his folded hands and crossed legs.

“Don’t fuck with me Chanyeol. Just tell me no, if that’s the answer,” you started but he started laughing aloud then.

“Ugh fuck this…” you groaned turning to speed out the door and back to your empty room with your empty crib beside your empty desk with your empty page of trustworthy witnesses.

You made it to the door just as he pressed it closed.

And whirled on him, raising your hand to smack him.

But he caught you as you were bringing your hand up and pinned you against the wall.

“I needed you too…” was all he said and all you didn’t want to hear.

“We’ve been over this already,” you grunted, pushing yourself forward so as to set him off balance.

You were both panting wildly.

Chanyeol pushed his hair back along his forehead, his nostrils flared as he blew out a steady stream of hot air.

“I can’t help you this time and it’s not because I don’t want to…” he whispered more to himself than to you.

Is that your final answer?

You lost your footing, crumpling to the floor like a rag doll.

But he caught you as you descended, crashing with you on the floor.

But you pushed him away, and waited for his explanation that was sure to follow.

“I can’t put everyone at risk like I used to,” he said but then looked at you like he forgot that he wasn’t alone.

You’ve had your time to rehearse.

It’s showtime!

Show me what you’re made of!

“That’s low,” you glared at him even as you saw the apology in his eyes.

But is it?

“But I did. I am being strongly advised to provide you a written statement at the most. It’s out of my hands,” he murmured and you couldn’t stop the tears then.

It had been months since you buried Darcy within a closed casket.

It had been months since the start of the trial to bring your sister to justice.

It had been weeks since she had suddenly mounted an insanity defense, brazenly claiming one day that you and your ex had set her up.

That he sent her texts after your son was gone that you two had planned your mother’s death, and were going to cash in on the life insurance policy that would erase your debts and take care of your son.

You had been without air since your baby breathed his last breath but her claim and the flash of those fabricated text messages across the projector screen within the court room sucked the remaining oxygen from your blood.

You had been running around since then begging for a pure source of air somewhere, anywhere.

To have lost everything the moment his soul left this place was to have lost every sense of direction.

But it wasn’t out of Chanyeol’s hands.

Of that you were sure.

In that moment, as you looked at him you believed that he refused to make a decision.

He couldn’t risk his studio.

He couldn’t risk his artists’ reputation nor his own.

He couldn’t risk the bustling empire he was part of and the colleagues he would be letting down.

Colleagues, listen to you tell it.

His family.

Family.

One plus one plus one could have made…

He couldn’t risk walking away from you either.

He couldn’t risk losing what little of the memory there was of what had been.

You wondered if he heard you like you heard him.

Echoing from the faded photographs spinning in and out of focus.

His moans.

His sighs.

His laughter.

His smiles.

His silence.

His anger.

You heard his voice when closed your eyes between the stillness of your apartment singing to your baby as he put him to sleep that Thanksgiving.

He had stayed behind for Chuseok and Thanksgiving that year just for you.

Just for what you thought you had been building.

The promise of it so sweet and palpable that he had risked it all for once upon a time.

Now you stood in your forest of barren memories watching his receding back, howling after him, and willing him to stay.

And though it hurt you to admit it, you were angry because you knew why he laughed and smirked as you pleaded with him now.

What a monstrous pair.

You smelled the fumes of paranoia in your own hair.

The whole damned thing was maddening.

“Why did I even come here?” You pressed the heels of your palms to your eyes, pressing your lids closed, forbidding yourself to whimper aloud.

You were both speaking to the lone souls within you that refused to acknowledge the soul within the same space.

He didn’t touch you but you felt the heat of his soul and his intent hovering around you, haunting you now in the present as he did in the aching absence.

“I’m sorry…” he whispered suddenly, leaning closer.

How?

Why closer?

And just as you looked up at him, just as he looked back into your blood red eyes through his own, just as you shifted closer, the door opened.

“I’m so sorry,” MQ stumbled in headfirst as if on a mission.

And the moment was gone.

Your souls spiraled from that meeting place.

The piercing wind of reality slicing through the forest of the barren tearing asunder what was.

You leaned away, shock slowly registering at the sight of Chanyeol wiping his eyes discreetly.

“We heard a crash. I wanted to make sure you guys were ok,” he apologized though he didn’t back out once he realized you had just collapsed on the floor and Chanyeol broke your fall.

“We?” Chanyeol chuckled to cover up his sniffling as another person entered the room.

She moved towards you both purposefully, bringing tissues and a water bottle for each of you.

Though she didn’t avoid your eyes, she didn’t let her gaze linger long.

She helped you up first, reaching for you, and giving you her hands to hold.

“Are you ok?” She asked you and when you nodded, taking the tissues and the water from her that she offered, she looked over at Chanyeol.

You were surprised at the sudden look of embarrassment on his face.

The way he brushed himself off and stood up as soon as her eyes touched him.

There was a world far far away where he existed now.

Of that you were entirely, and painfully aware.

And Chanyeol turned to look at you as if reaching back once again for the memories to explain them to one another.

To place them on the same table of consideration.

“We were just-”

“I was just-”

You both stopped.

“I’ve already sent the client home. We got the sample we need. They’re already scheduled to come back tomorrow. If you need to take a minute…then take it. By all means honestly. We can give you some privacy. We were just worried when we heard the crash,” she said.

Her tone was matter of fact but not without a hint of care.

You felt that in some way or another while he had never spoken about her to you, he had spoken about you to her.

Her eyes didn’t question who you were or why you were here.

She didn’t appear to be seeking an explanation from Chanyeol at all about why he had taken so long.

If anything she seemed intent on translating to Chanyeol that he needed to finish what was happening thoroughly and head back to work once he collected himself.

Chanyeol seemed unnerved by her presence, his previous unreserved cockiness had dwindled significantly.

It wasn’t that he cowered.

He stood erect as if to measure up to her expectations.

You recognized that searching, considerate gaze in his eyes.

That puppy dog need for approval.

So that’s it then?

But to you she didn’t look like…

But then again neither did you.

You stood with the bottle of water in your hands after stuffing a wad of tissues into your purse.

Leave now the way you should have left a long time ago.

But had you left then, would you have experienced the miracle of childbirth?

Would you have known such a sweet baby?

Would you have come to know him for however fleeting a moment it had been?

“I understand that I may have to accept a written statement. If that’s what you’re comfortable with then I’ll just have to ask my lawyer to be reasonable…” you said in front of all three of them.

You had no doubt that even if they hadn’t been listening on the other side of the door that they already knew what this meeting was about by the way she and MQ nodded.

And despite that you knew they had still been listening.

Or else why specifically bring water bottles and tissues?

For a crash wouldn’t you bring something else?

Chanyeol stood to acknowledge you.

“I’ll have it sent straight away,” he nodded and you could feel the energy passing over you to it’s intended source.

Even if she wasn’t his, he was molded by her the way you had molded him.

He shifted and shaped himself to accommodate you and what you envisioned him to be until all your modifications broke him.

And you were sorry for that.

And you hoped he knew as much.

That you didn’t blame him for stepping back and making a wide berth for the sour stench of guilt you paraded around now, waving it like the white flag of defeat that it was.

Mercy, Chanyeol.

Mercy.

Forgive me.

“I’ll walk you to-”

“Thank you for your time. Have a good evening,” pulling your pieces together, you mirrored Chanyeol’s icy smile.

MQ made to walk you down the hall but you shook your head at MQ, and set off on your own, straight for the door, holding the bottle of water like a spear.

You would just have to get ready for the storm to hit.

“Why are you looking at me like that? ________?” He asked you again.

You focused on the nachos you were chomping on before taking a sip of wine.

He was guilty of so many things and he wouldn’t acknowledge those.

Time and time and time again.

He would just give you that little knowing smile of his and that would be the end of it.

But this…this was a first.

It had only been a couple hours earlier in the afternoon that MQ interrupted your studio session to grab Chanyeol once again.

He whispered to him discreetly but Chanyeol still turned to him in horror that he would have the gall to whisper it in your presence.

And the whole parade of it, pissed you off.

“Why am I looking at you like what? Why am I looking through you?” You asked and he groaned, tossing back the last of his beer before standing to chuck it in the waste bin.

You had been helping him reorganize his session documentation for the last two hours after his visitor left and he hadn’t been able to sit still since she’d gone.

It was infuriating that even with so much knowledge and talent that he kept falling into the same cycle.

It was like he wanted to live this kind of trauma everyday. As if he thought he had to bear tragedy within his own life to be considered a legitimate artist.

Well here’s to living!

He’d been trying to tease you and refocus the conversation on the unspoken moment that happened between you all those years ago.

But you wouldn’t let him.

No matter what pain he was trying to escape, you were not going to allow him to hop from one stalled cycle to yours.

He had to grieve.

And he would learn to do it.

Just like you did.

“I can’t believe that you’re going to sit here and lie to her face about ‘Minseok says this and Minseok says that.’ I mean do you really think Minseok follows his own fucking rules that he sets for his employees?! How the fuck would he be so successful if he did? The rest of them fall in line so he can do what he needs to do…shit it’s probably written in their fucking contract,” you snapped and Chanyeol had the absolute nerve to look upset.

“Ok but everyone-”

“Oh please! Please tell me how it would affect everyone else Chanyeol. I’d love to hear how now out of all the times you’ve abandoned MQ to go sit with her that suddenly ‘everyone else.’” He was getting angrier by the second but you wanted him to explode. You were well barricaded and prepared for his implosion.

Better for him to make a mess of himself now than when shit really started hitting the fan.

He would be better for it if he just came to terms with himself and got over it.

“What the fuck is your problem?! You fucking waltzed in there talking about some… ‘well if you need anything, here I can help.’ As if you were fucking Mother Teresa incarnate. Like give me a fucking break,” he thundered and roared at you and you braced yourself as you raised up at him.

You heard MQ powering down the hallway outside your door for the front entrance.

Though it was faint you heard his clear “I’ll be back!” on his way out.

“I am tired of your games Chanyeol. You know good and well that it’s time for you to take ownership and not when someone has run you dry…”

“Oh you’re one to talk…” he started but you finished him with a glare.

“Don’t you ever fucking try it with me. You have never not once ever gone through something like that. You have always had support. Always. You have never had to look anywhere for it. It’s all around you. Everywhere you fucking look there’s a hand held out to you. But you keep looking for these closed, bolted doors. You like breaking down walls. You like shattering locks and boundaries. What you don’t like is finding that you aren’t welcome to take a sample for reference. What you don’t like is not being prepared for the crippling pain of the soul inside…”

“Pain? You’re finally going to talk about pain? Why don’t we put it out there then…” he glowered at you, his eyes red rimmed and piercing.

“I’m not playing ring around the Rosie with you so drop the bullshit and make a fucking decision by your fucking self for once!” You cried as loud as the thunder and lightening that distorted his features.

He cried silently, looking away from you and back at the scratch pad he’d been doodling on for the last hour.

“We had a moment Chanyeol…a moment,” you whispered.

“We had an eternity in that moment. You want to talk about me and how I love barging in unannounced and suddenly and you aren’t wrong but you love to disappear before-,” he began, sniffling disgruntedly.

“I don’t belong to you because you fucked me once,” you seethed, cutting in tersely.

“You don’t belong to anyone. I didn’t forget,” he snapped back.

How could you imagine the crackle pop of fire and brimstone erupting from his mouth?

“You don’t even understand love. You don’t even understand us Chanyeol. You don’t even understand what a soul mate is,” you spat and he gasped at the word.

“Be honest Yeol…do you really see me making school lunches the night before wearing your hoodies with baby’s slobber on my cheeks with my breasts leaking into the fabric of my best blouses with all my un-spilled milk? I’m not doing PTA meetings and I’m not doing soccer practice. I don’t see myself trading in plane tickets for a minivan…”

“I’m not asking you to marry me..”

“I’m not letting you plaster me to your studio wall and fuck me on your latest baby grand either…we have electric creative chemistry. Let’s actually use it and not use it for an excuse to fuck…besides what’s the deal with her..?”

“She needs someone to help her out…she’s had a tough time-”

“Then help her Chanyeol…don’t confuse that with a night in bed…”

“Why are you lecturing me..? Just because he-”

“Didn’t I tell you to not even go there. You know better….I told you everything you need to know but not so you can take it out on me…from what you said about her you also have pretty good creative chemistry…why are you wasting your time fucking someone instead of getting work done. If you’re lonely get another pet Chanyeol…”

“I don’t want a pet damn you…I want love _______. I see all of my friends meeting someone and finding happiness and I love that they’re happy…but I want to have it all like some of them do…like Baekhyun and Kyungsoo-”

“Did you also happen to notice with those big all seeing eyes and all knowing ears of yours that they don’t shit where they eat? Maybe that’s your problem..?”

“And how well did that work out for you? He didn’t support-“

"What did I say? Don’t be an asshole because I’m telling the truth. That’s low. Grow a fucking pair and stop scoping these seedy bars you’re playing in and find a hobby outdoors in the daylight not on a field with a bunch of street admirers and really connect with someone…”

“But I want someone…I want someone who gets me______. I want someone who gets what I’m about. Not some hipster who is here for the aesthetic or some fan girl. I want to share space with another artist. I want to be with someone who fuels my vision. I want to be with someone who will be….ugh” and then he was in tears again, tears of rage.

"It’s so frustrating to be this passionate and this lonely _______” he mumbled into his forearms in an absolutely exhausted tone.

"Is that why you were willing to play Dad to that little boy…?” The look on his face when you said that told you that he wasn’t ready to think of him but you couldn’t wait anymore.

“I wasn’t playing at-”

“Chanyeol you basically just told me that you were desperate-“

“Can you please stop trying to….level me. I know I shouldn’t have….I know. But she’s a nice girl. She really is…”

“She was falling in love with you. Now what are you going to do..?“

“It’s not like I wasn’t falling in love with her too?”

“So it was true interest?”

“I’m not that needy and shallow. I am able to have a real connection-“

“How can you possibly contemplate boning me in the same studio you were hoping to bring her son to and teach him piano….Yeol get real..”

“I don’t know…I…“ he gave an exasperated laugh. You were both at your wits end. You couldn’t help laughing too as you continued on.

"I know it’s hard. Don’t clown right now because I said that…but Yeol those two guys that you pointed out really give their relationship an effort…they don’t just…float around….do you want to try again with her or…?”

He shrugged as if he didn’t know what she wanted but you knew he just didn’t want to face it.

“She doesn’t want to be together. She says the memories are too painful…“

"Then cut her a fucking check for the work she has done and send her on her way. Don’t prolong it. Or let the financial secretary cut it if she’s just here for that and the letter she needed…but talk to her first to be sure. And in a…well honestly with you it doesn’t matter what time of day or whether there are doors are not but just don’t…don’t be a dog about it ok?”

He grinned at you suddenly, the tears in his eyes making them shine.

“You really love me huh?”

“Yes I love you! Why else would I put up with your shit?“ You motioned for him to toss you one of the beers he was having.

And he cracked it open for you and brought it to your side of the conference table instead.

“By the way my sister wants us to get together next month…family event and all and I told her you were here,” he said as he cracked a cold one open for himself and took a healthful swig.

You’d let what you said to him sink in, gripping hold of him in its own time.

“Sure, what’s new?” You turned your attention back to your notes as he began to speak. “My mom is opening a new restaurant and it’s a lot more upscale. I was going to ask Baekhyun’s fiancée but with the baby and her health…I don’t know if she’ll be able to dedicate a lot of time to planning the event. She’s already stretched so far…but I don’t want to make things tense for you either since I know you and your dad haven’t spoken for a while…“

"It’s cool. I miss Mama Park. I’ll go. I think I know a couple people who would at least imitate _________ (Baekhyun’s fiancée)’s style if it’s the style you want…” you said, already pulling out your cell phone and looking through your contacts.

“Yea it’s the style…suga suga how’d you get so fly that you’re a global connect?” He teased suddenly, adding a little more honey to his melancholy tone.

“Please Chanyeol….been running the game for a minute now…” you rolled your eyes and he chuckled at that.

“Yea you sure have…”

“What did I say about those sexual references? Don’t make me box your ears right now Park Chanyeol!” You warned him, stabbing the air with your pen.

“If you really want to punish me you can nibble on them!” He laughed aloud.

“Get over here so I can slap you!” You hollered as he jumped up from the table just as MQ came in the door.

“What? You’ve done it before!” Chanyeol was saying just as he dropped his bag. He looked at the stance you both had taken at either side of the table, his mouth set in a wary line.

“I’m going to murder you!“ You shouted at Chanyeol.

"Please don’t! We’re already set back as it is. I don’t have time to delay for the proper burial services and I will not have Mama Park…” he was already starting to drone on but you had to stop him.

“Sometimes MQ you just go a little over the edge with your jokes…like it already tipped the ledge of being unfunny and then you just kicked it over…”

MQ frowned at you as he took a seat and cracked open two beers.

“You are so mean…” Chanyeol said to you as he sat once again at his seat now that MQ returned.

“But I’m productive aren’t I..?” You sang, sticking your tongue out at him.

“So does that mean you could help me with this match making idea you have going..? Since you have the connect..?“ You knew that he wasn’t serious about seeing anyone else yet and was just making conversation but you humored him, as usual.

"How much will you pay me…?”

“Wait what happened to the fact that you love me…“ he scoffed.

"But I still have to deal with you…money is part of deals…” you shrugged.

“Forget it then…“

"Don’t pout…”

“Then help me…”

“Then pay up..” you mimicked him.

“No…“

"Can you two please stop flirting and get back to work! We don’t have all night!” MQ had already downed both beers in record time and was up on his feet and headed out into the recording room.

“That was better MQ! Short and succinct!” Chanyeol called behind him.

“Get your asses in here so we can mix this thing right now!“ He yelled back.

"Ok I like the tone too. Real authoritative …” You snickered.

“I’m about to kick your butts! Get in here!”

[sapphicscholar]

Chapter Text

“Would you stop pacing,” Maggie hissed, grabbing hold of Alex’s hand and trying to keep her calm as they waited for Sam and Victor to show up to the bar.

“What if they can tell?” Alex whispered back, her mind going into overdrive as she thought about all of the ways this could be a trap, some set up to have them take the fall for whatever horrible deeds Cadmus was surely in the process of committing or a way of getting them into a locked vehicle to kill them or kidnap them. Somehow everything had seemed so much more manageable when she thought she was in the lions’ den alone, back when she could be in Cat’s role 24/7 and keep tabs on each of her marks with equal suspicion. Now she had to deal with not only the knowledge that her identity had been compromised once already—even if it was only because Maggie had an entire team’s resources at her disposal and reason to be cautious around everyone, it still unsettled her normal confidence in the field—but also with the weird give-and-take that came with working with a partner. Now they were Cat and Maria in public and Alex and Maggie behind closed doors—and only one of those relationships operated under clear parameters. Whatever she and Maggie were was…complicated. And dammit it threw her off her game.

Maggie sighed, wishing, just for a moment, that she could bring back the cocky agent that had swept into her life in a tux with a playful bark of a laugh and a lingering gaze, easily worming her way under her usual defenses to get right to her mark with almost reckless efficiency. Of course she preferred the non-evil version of the woman, the Alex who masked her kindness with sarcasm and suspicion, who pretended to avert her gaze when they were changing and woke up holding her close, who gradually began to open up, pieces of her personality shining through even in the “safe” stories she stuck to as she learned to trust Maggie. But when it came to the mission, Alex was in uncharted territory, clearly unaccustomed to working with a partner (and just as unaccustomed to having her cover blown—something Maggie could sympathize with). She seemed cautious now, uncertain of where to draw the lines between fiction and reality. Maggie wondered whether it had something to do with the electricity that seemed to crackle between them as both Cat and Maria and Alex and Maggie, though she shrugged off the thought, knowing better than to assume anyone shared her feelings, confusing as they already were.

“We have spent almost every day together,” Maggie assured her. “We go on dates and hold hands, and I let it slip to Victor that I was going to invite you to come work with me, which means every single one of them already knows. We’re giving them an image of exactly the kind of couple they want us to be. People like seeing what they want; they trust us. All we have to do is keep from giving them reason not to.”

“Right,” Alex nodded, swallowing and trying to figure out why this all seemed so much harder with Maggie by her side. Perhaps it had something to do with the whole week they’d spent outside of Sam’s watchful eye—a week of dates and romance that felt both more and less real now that the truth had come out. They’d hovered somewhere in a fuzzy gray triangle of partners, friends, and girlfriends, even though none of the terms seemed adequate on their own. The nights she’d let Maggie guide her back to her car, the nights they’d lingered as fingers and tongues flitted across heated skin, left her cold. Because, god, how badly did she want more, want to drag Maggie back to her apartment and sink into the feeling of holding each other close and making each other come until the sun rose. But Maggie wasn’t Maria anymore, and she couldn’t drift back into the easy amorality of Cat’s character with her. Now they dragged each other upstairs and left a few inches between each other on the couch as they sipped at coffee, letting anyone trailing them believe nothing had changed when behind closed doors absolutely everything had. If only she could make her feelings match the new situation…

Spotting Sam’s car driving up the long hill—a hill she’d grown to really enjoy watching Alex bike up on her way to the bar—Maggie grabbed Alex’s hands, pulling her back toward the bike racks where it was a little more secluded. “You got this, Cat.”

“You ready to go hate on all the aliens?” Alex asked, arching an eyebrow at Maggie, who shrugged. It was easier now—now that Alex knew why she sympathized, why she’d fought to make sure she got this case, to make sure she made the bastards pay. Alex hadn’t opened up about why she cared so much, but Maggie figured in time she might. Or, she thought, perhaps the woman was fiercely passionate about all of her missions—but she doubted it; she seemed particularly willing to bring the world to its knees on this one.

“Could use a shot of courage.”

Alex’s gaze fitted down to Maggie’s mouth, to the lower lip she’d pulled between her teeth as if daring Alex to reclaim it. Before she could chastise herself for letting her thoughts drift to such inappropriate places, Maggie’s right hand was cupping her cheek, her free hand falling to the brick wall behind them. And then Maggie’s lips—no, Maria’s lips, Alex caught herself—were on hers, and she felt her worries fall away. Somehow they’d make it work—together.

“Ay! Romeo and Juliet, get in the car!” Victor yelled, letting out a loud bark of a laugh as he stuck his head out the window to wave them over.

Rolling her eyes at Victor’s antics and letting herself slip back into Cat’s persona, Alex slung an arm protectively—and okay, yes, just a little possessively—around Maggie, guiding her to the car and opening the door for her to slide in before making her way around to get in behind Sam.

“Haven’t seen much of you two lately,” Victor teased in a sing-song voice as he blew exaggerated kisses at them.

“Mm, busy,” Alex mused, dismissing the question with a flick of her hand as she moved closer to Maggie.

“I imagine so. Did Maria, uh, pop the question?”

“Shut up,” Sam snapped, nervous that Victor would ruin things just when they were finally getting Cat into a position to be valuable to Lillian, something that needed to happen before the woman decided they were getting a little too slow to be valuable to her, slow enough to become disposable, even.

“I did, though I’m regretting having told you. Should’ve known you can’t keep your mouth shut for more than a minute,” Maggie sassed. “Once the first round of construction is done, Cat will be able to come in and help work on the designs for her lab.”

“Look at you, Cat, from a bartender to a scientist in a matter of weeks.”

“Just took finding a woman who saw that mixing drinks isn’t all I have to offer.”

Maggie couldn’t help but notice how sincere Alex looked, the way her gaze seemed much softer than it ever had as Cat as she laced their fingers together. Something inside of her flickered angrily at the idea that anyone had ever made Alex feel less than valuable, less than perfect—enough that even a fake show of faith would move her.

“A bit of confidence and a whole lotta cash,” Victor teased, breaking the moment as Alex gritted her teeth and rolled her eyes, forcing a playful smile on her face.

“Nothing wrong with splurging when I’m about to become a name partner,” Maggie shrugged, remembering that they’d wanted to be sure Maria was someone who had money, power, and influence in droves. Between the two of them, they’d be all that Cadmus hoped for.

“Perhaps after the event you two should come back to my home—I’m sure I have more than enough champagne for an impromptu celebration,” Sam offered, glancing back at the happy couple in the rearview mirror.

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Nonsense, if I’ve invited you, I’m happy to have you.”

“That would be great, Sam. Thank you.”

With a nod that seemed more definitive than any of the promises that fell so readily from Victor’s lips, Sam returned her attention to the road, effectively ending that conversation.

After a few minutes of idle chatter, Sam pulled off into a small parking lot. Maggie knew where they were generally, but she still had no idea what to expect, and even Victor hadn’t been forthcoming with the information.

“Ladies.” With a smarmy grin, Victor pulled open the back door for them, letting them slide out as he motioned toward the sidewalk.

“What’s the big surprise?” Alex asked, her sense of impatience growing.

“You’ll see,” Victor murmured.

“So you don’t know either, huh?” Unless Sam had truly threatened him, Alex didn’t believe he would voluntarily keep his mouth shut.

All too soon, Alex and Maggie found themselves in one of the parks downtown, surrounded by throngs of people from all walks of life. A few reporters who looked as confused as Alex felt had gathered around the edges, their cameras and notebooks at the ready as they waited to see what this gathering would become.

Sam quickly maneuvered them toward the middle of the crowd, unwilling to let her resources be caught on film and exposed before they had properly settled into their roles. “And now we wait,” she said.

As if it was choreographed—and, Alex realized, it likely was—a screen seemed to materialize from nowhere as speakers crackled to life around them, turning the park into a kind of amphitheater. “People of Metropolis!” a loud voice boomed through the speakers as an image flickered to life on the screen. “The Earth has been stolen from us. The enemy has come in the guise of heroes.” She watched as video footage of her sister and Superman racing through their respective cities—some of it new and unfamiliar, suggesting that they’d been busy while she was away. With every shot, the cameras focused on the destruction wrought in their wake, the broken windows and flames that licked up the sides of buildings, the cars smashed to pieces and even innocent civilians caught in the crossfire that she knew haunted Kara in ways the public would never know.

“They say they come in peace, to protect us from ourselves, but how long will it be before these gods decide to rule instead of serve?” A string of images flashed at them: Kara under the thrall of redK. Clark throwing a humanoid (though no less lethal) alien through the air. Astra and Non hovering high above the city. Non’s army storming Max Lord’s lab.

“We are the antidote to their poison.” The crowd went wild as images of Cat Grant’s broadcast warning the city about the dangers Supergirl posed  when she was under redK’s drug-induced hold played, then cheered once more as what looked like patriotic stock footage of troops marching in perfect order played beside footage of Kara and Clark weaving around one another and leaving chaos in their wake—the fact that they were saving the world quickly forgotten.

“We are the scientists who will show them what humans are capable of. Those who have sided with the invaders will not be spared. You cannot stop us! We are everywhere! We are Cadmus!”

Before Alex could ask why they were announcing themselves already, she watched as the footage switched to what looked like a livestream, watched as her baby sister crumpled to the ground, powerless in the face of some would-be assassin whose veins glowed green, his mouth twisted in malice. She wondered how these people could cheer for someone like that to take up the mantle of humanity’s savior, but all around her that was all she saw.

As people—hired or real, she couldn’t say—took to the stage, clutching microphones and spouting anti-alien propaganda that worked the crowd up into a frenzy. She listened as the blonde white women everyone seemed so ready to protect sobbed, recounting memories of their families and homes being destroyed, caught in the crossfire, speaking of lives being lost to the aliens that Superman lured to their once-safe city—the costs they were forced to bear while smiling and being grateful to the man the media called a hero. She listened as politicians and generals marched on stage, praising the “real” American heroes who championed the “real” American way by following rules and operating in the established order, by working their way up the ranks without the help of extraterrestrial powers and making their mark on the world to which they were born—the world they deserved to control.

When she thought it could get no worse—no worse than the near mind control she saw seizing the hearts and minds of those around her—she watched as a contingent that had been worked up into a mob of sorts stormed down one of the side streets toward the alien safe haven that, according to Maggie’s frantic hissing, was apparently nearby. They clutched at weapons that looked far too advanced to have been purchased at a corner store, weapons Alex suspected had been doled out by the ones really in control—the ones who would disappear without a trace, leaving the mob to be dismissed as a few fanatics who took their message too far. After all, Cadmus was here to save the earth. How were they to predict that people would take their message to its (logical) extremes?

Alex’s stomach churned as Sam, looking every bit the part of the lawyer and former Army Major, swept over to the press, intent on spinning this event exactly the way she wanted it while she kept the reporters with their cameras from following the swarm of action, from seeing the murder and scenes of horror that must surely be playing out down the street under Cadmus’ unofficial encouragement. Alex’s fingers twitched, desperately wanting to call J’onn, Kara, Clark, to demand backup before any more lives could be lost to this senseless violence.

Victor led Alex and Maggie away from the mob, whispering that it was better to let those less valuable—Cadmus’ foot soldiers—do the dirty work while they handled the rest, grinning as though this were all some game, like they should be proud of their leading role in “reclaiming the earth.”

As they waited by the car, waited for news about the destruction wrought under their implicit guidance, Maggie’s hand found Alex’s, giving her more comfort than she would have believed a single touch could bring. The warmth and strength of her grip grounded Alex, reminded her that all of this was for a reason, that she had to trust that the police and Superman would hear and heed the calls for help, that by not compromising their identities just yet, they would be in a position to prevent tragedies of a much larger scale, to finally bring to justice all those responsible—not just the easily manipulated crowds, but the true believers, the ones who wielded microphones and hid behind screens and money and influence.

Looking down at his phone, Victor smiled. “It looks like today was even more of a success than we imagined. Sam needs to stay a little later than expected, but she’s asked me to make sure you lovely ladies get home safely and to invite you over for a belated celebration at her house tomorrow.”

“That works,” Maggie agreed. “We’re close enough to my place that we can just walk.” She suspected they could both use some time away from anyone’s watchful gaze, and getting into a car with any driver Victor trusted was distinctly unpalatable at the moment.

“Are you sure? I can call one of our drivers.”

“No, no, it’s fine. We’ll probably stop for food,” Alex lied, knowing there was no way she’d be able to keep anything down at the moment.

“At least let us send someone for you tomorrow?”

Figuring they wouldn’t be able to get out of this one, Maggie nodded.

“Excellent, I’ll send a driver to your place around 7.”

---

By the time they made it back to Maggie’s apartment, Alex couldn’t hold onto the façade any longer, sinking to the ground as she bit back bitter tears she refused to let fall. Because dammit, this wasn’t how she responded. She wanted to scream and yell and hit something. But instead she found herself constrained, forced to wait as everyone around her did the hard work and she sat there and pretended to support evil. And having to see her sister lying on the ground, looking utterly lifeless while she sat in another city doing nothing but encouraging this kind of hatred—it felt like more than she could handle.

Maggie sank to the ground next to Alex, handing over a bottle of some fancy electrolyte water that kept showing up in the groceries Kate and Bruce had delivered to her building—always coming with a surprise or two hidden among the organic vegetables and artisanal cheeses.

“Thanks,” Alex murmured, taking the bottle, grateful for the cold glass—the sensation grounding her, drawing her back into the moment. As she took a sip, though, she gagged, coughing and spluttering. “What the fuck is this, Sawyer?”

“I don’t know, fancy white people water, I think.” Scrunching her eyebrows together in confusion at Alex’s look of horror, Maggie grabbed the bottle from her and took a sip. “Ugh, that’s awful.”

“It tastes like ass.”

“That’s an insult to asses everywhere.”

And despite everything, Alex found herself laughing—laughing too loudly as the defensive walls she’d spent so many years building and solidifying seemed to crumble, Maggie knowing just what to say and do to make her feel safe enough to let the cracks split them wide open. As the barks of laughter joined with tears of frustration and anger that Alex hurriedly wiped away, she felt Maggie’s arm snake behind her back, pulling her in close as she held her until she stopped shaking.

“You’re good,” Maggie whispered, her fingers gently stroking up and down Alex’s back even now that she seemed okay once more. “I’ve got you.”

“Thanks.” Alex’s voice was gruff as she attempted a kind of stoicism that she knew her earlier show of emotions had probably ruined.

Figuring Alex could use a distraction more than empty words of comfort, Maggie held out a hand and helped her up. “How about you go find us some comfortable clothes from my drawers? I’ll get a snack and meet you in there.”

“Roger that.”

Half an hour later, they found themselves far more relaxed (if a little tipsy) curled up in Maggie’s bed in designer sweatpants, a plate of cheese and chocolate in between them and a bottle of ridiculously expensive red wine being handed back and forth and drunk straight from the bottle as though it were two-buck-chuck getting passed around a high school party, the expense of red solo cups one too large to bear after having bribed an older sibling to even get the wine in the first place.

“Worst undercover moment—and nothing sad!” Maggie added, pointing her finger right up in Alex’s face as if to emphasize her point. The wine had messed up her depth perception just enough that she ended up booping Alex’s nose slightly, snorting at the face Alex pulled.

“I had to go on a date with Max Lord, and he fed me snail eggs.” Alex looked pained at the mere memory of it, while Maggie howled with laughter.

“No!”

“Yes! It was awful.”

“I can only imagine…”

“What about you?”

“Oh, um, I once spent two whole months in Florida pretending to be a heterosexual.”

“I cannot imagine that going well for you,” Alex laughed, offering the wine back to Maggie to help her wash away the memory.

“No…I’ve never been hit on by so many adult men with frosted tips. And, to add insult to injury, I was forced to look mildly pleased about it!”

Crinkling her nose in disgust, Alex shook her head. “At least Max was just a couple of times. I think I’d have killed him if we had to spend more than a week together.”

“I’ve broken my fair share of fingers and wrists—handsy marks, what are you gonna do, right?”

“I guess I should count myself lucky to have all my bones intact, then,” Alex laughed, thinking back to the night they first met at the fight club.

“Nah, you were like my evil knight in shining armor, sweeping me away from the creepy men who wanted to hold my hand during the fight or some shit.”

“Ah, well, that’s me—regular old Lancelot over here.”

“So does that make me your Guinevere?” Maggie teased. “Didn’t quite have a husband, but I did have an ex-husband I cheated on—or Maria did,” Maggie trailed off, looking up as she tried to think back to her college English classes.

“You’re a nerd.”

“You caught the reference, Danvers.” Before Maggie could gloat any further, she found a pillow being shoved into her face and the almost empty bottle of wine snatched away before any could spill.

As Maggie recovered, she propped herself up on the pillows and stretched her legs out. With a quick grab, she stole the wine back and took a long sip, growing contemplative. “Would you choose this life again? If you had the choice.”

“What—this mission or undercover work in general?”

Maggie had meant the latter, but she was morbidly curious to know whether Alex would opt to meet her knowing all that would happen—all that could still happen—so she shrugged. “Both.”

“I don’t know. I think so. I don’t go on these long missions so much anymore, which helps.”

“Got someone waiting for you back home?” Maggie asked, trying not to focus on the sinking feeling in her stomach.

“A sister,” Alex answered—it was the first time she’d spoken about her family.

Trying not to grin when that was the only person listed, Maggie nodded. “Does she at least know what you do?”

“Yeah, now she does. It was worse when she didn’t, when I had to act like I just wanted to ignore her for weeks, sometimes even months at a time.”

“It really is quite the relationship ruiner.”

“You have someone waiting back home? Or someone you hope is still waiting back home?” Alex asked, secretly hoping the answer was no.

“No, no,” Maggie answered, shaking her head ruefully. “Tried it—never works out. They say I’m more committed to the job than I ever was to them, or I end up having to cheat on them for the good of the mission. It’s just…no. Just me.”

“Would you choose a different life for yourself if you could?”

“Sometimes I think I might have—now that I’m in my thirties, I can’t help but think that it might be nice to have someone to come home to at the end of the day. But, hey, I’d never have met you otherwise.” It was supposed to lighten the mode, but she suspected it sounded more sincere than she’d intended.

“You have me now,” Alex whispered, dropping her head down to the pillows as she looked up at Maggie, wanting nothing more than to roll over and kiss her hard—hard enough to chase away the haunted look in her eyes that came from too many people walking out the door, leaving because they’d decided it wasn’t worth the effort, never lingering long enough to understand just how amazing the woman they let go really was. Because Alex knew if they had, they’d never have walked away.

“Right, yeah, I’ve got Cat for the time being,” Maggie sighed, forcing a smile, desperately trying to remind herself that all of this would end soon enough, that getting attached—even to someone who wasn’t evil—was never a good idea.

Ignoring the way her thoughts railed against that, protesting against the idea that all they had was what Cat and Maria had, Alex nodded. “Right, right. Cat and Maria.”

“Yeah.”

[neverisalongtime-ja-blog]

Chapter 25: #ThePinkAndBlueDay

Hello everyone! I want to say that today’s chapter is on of my all time favorite! I love it, is different but is so cool! I want to read what you think about it so leave feedback!

BTW Next week is the turn of the Josh POV chapter so I hope you all are as excited as I am!

Thanks to everyone who reads the fic, much love to you all! ♥ 

Remember to visit Anastasia’s IG profile:

Anastasia_Truman  ❤️️

Read chapter 24

Those days in Los Angeles were weird for Anastasia. She didn’t feel comfortable with herself, she couldn’t stop comparing to Josh’s new girl, who was younger and obviously more vibrant than her. She locked herself in her house for a couple of days, alone. She did it as an exercise to find herself again, to learn and love herself again. She took long baths, cooked nice food, watched Netflix, wrote songs, recorded some of them and even swam in her heated pool.

She was starting to enjoy being alone. The past months she spent all of her nights with either Josh or Mandy. This time, she was all by herself and by the third day she was liking it. That didn’t mean she was over the situation, the image of Josh and Lauren didn’t leave her head for a second. Anastasia kept feeling empty, sad and hopeless, the natural stages of a breakup, a breakup that happened almost two months ago and that she was still suffering from. When she thought she was over it she found out that Josh had cheated on her and she believed things couldn’t get worse, but she didn’t want to say it because things could always get worse.

One Thursday morning, the blue-haired girl received a call from Eric, saying that in the afternoon they would have an appointment to get matching tattoos with the band logo. It was something they’d been planning for a while, it had been Mandy’s idea and finally Eric made the appointment. The band’s logo was Nick’s creation, Anastasia has always been obsessed with the moon as it involved an important part of her life and beliefs. One night at Nick and Mandy’s childhood house, looking at a sky dressed with plenty stars and a full moon in all its glory, the blonde guy came up with the idea of two circles forming a full and crescent moon, representing ups and downs of the career they chose to have. It was an instant yes for the rest of the band members and now they were on the way to have it forever on their skin.

It was the first tattoo for Eric and Anastasia; the siblings were much familiarized with ink. Mandy already had seven small tattoos and Nick had four large marks on his right arm and on his back. Anastasia was excited and nervous, which was normal, Eric had a little more confidence. Anastasia decided to make her double moon in dark blue with four vertical dots in the lower part representing the four members of Dead Curse; she chose to have it on her right forearm, in the middle of it. Mandy had it on her left ribs and the design was the logo in light blue with a watercolor style background simulating the night sky, remembering the day the sign was created. Nick chose the circles in black on his right shoulder with four stars also in black, and the spot chosen by Eric was under his left elbow, just the circles in dark blue because he like it how it looked on Anastasia’s skin.

That was a great afternoon, the four Dead Curse members were already very close but to share that experience created a new bond between them.

-          How have you been feeling? – Eric asked Anastasia while giving her a ride back home, just the two of them.

-          I don’t know, I fear this is a never ending thing – Anastasia said.

-          With Josh? – Eric asked again.

-          I don’t know what’s next and at the same time I’m afraid there’ll be nothing more – She said looking out the window – Like he’s going on with his life and I’m stuck in this hole waiting for… I don’t know what I’m waiting for to be honest.

-          You hope to be back with him – Eric said as if he were reading Anastasia’s mind. She looked at him.

-          That’s not gonna happen – Anastasia said – I don’t want it to happen. I don’t know if I can forgive him. How can I trust him again?

-          Time heals – Eric said – And I recognize real love when I see it, I have it with Hannah and I know you had it with Josh.

-          You said it: had it.

-          You don’t love him anymore? – Eric said and laughed – Bullshit – He parked his car in front of Anastasia’s house – Do you want to know the reason he broke up with you?

-          He found a better girl.

-          No. I had a conversation with him last night, I’m gonna email it to you – He said taking his phone. Anastasia’s phone beeped letting her know she had new mail – Read it.

-          Thanks for the ride, it was a great day – She said, shut the car door and didn’t look back.

Maybe Eric was right. No, Eric was definitely right. She still loved Josh and she didn’t want to because it was very obvious that he didn’t love her back. He loved a younger, fitter, blonder girl and that’s the scene she tried to tattoo on her mind, she wanted it to be etched in her head like the mark that had been made on her arm that afternoon: forever, so to have a reason to lose the love she had for Josh.

She looked at her phone and saw the message with the conversation Eric sent to her. She was tempted to open it but after thinking about it she let her phone down. She just wanted to forget Josh and maybe that email wouldn’t help. She walked up the stairs to do the tattoo cleaning proceeding the tattoo artist instructed her to do. She took a bath, laid down in her bed, and turned on the TV, on a channel that just showed old movies. Breakfast at Tiffany’s appeared on the screen, she stayed there watching her favorite movie about a high level prostitute, because that’s what Audrey Hepburn character was, read between the lines. After the movie she felt asleep.

Next day she woke up late, her phone alarm didn’t go off and then she remembered she left her phone downstairs the night before. She brushed her teeth thinking about that damn email Eric sent her yesterday.  She still wasn’t sure about reading it, it could change everything… or it could change absolutely nothing. She decided to have breakfast first, a nice avocado toast, well, she went for two avocado toasts, orange juice and a banana; she felt so healthy it was weird. She did the dishes and then she noticed the phone on her kitchen island, she took it impulsively, moved her fingertip to the mail app and opened it, and at that moment, at that precise moment, the screen turned black and a call went through. It was Mandy. Anastasia, frustrated, picked it up.

-          What are you doing? – Mandy asked with her sweet voice.

-          I just had breakfast and you? – Anastasia asked back.

-          Not much – Her friend replied – Do you want to spend the day at Venice with me?

-          Even if I want to say no, I can’t – Anastasia replied with a laugh.

-          You can but I wouldn’t accept it – Mandy said – I’ll pick you up in half hour, is that alright?

-          Sure!

 The phone went back to the original position and Anastasia ran upstairs to get a shower and dress up forgetting about the email.

 Venice was a place where the two friends always found peace. That crazy place filled with unique people, the shore and all the activities around made them feel like it was home. Venice was the place they went when they sneaked out of class back in the day; if they didn’t have plans on a Saturday they always visited Venice Beach.

 Mandy always had this dream of living in a colorful house in front of the Venice canals, with flowers in every window and a small boat on the canal in front of her porch. 

 The girls were thrift shopping on the main street in Venice near Pacific Ave, thrifting was a hobby they both had, finding amazing pieces with history always filled Anastasia with joy; she was a real fashion lover.

 -          Look at this jacket! – Anastasia said to Mandy showing her a biker jacket in electric metallic blue.

-          I love it – Mandy said going through her own rack of clothes – Oh my God! Look! – Mandy opened her eyes big; she found the same jacket in metallic pink.

-          It’s like heaven sent – Anastasia said and both laughed.

-          We should stop wearing clothes the same color of our hair, though – Mandy said.

-          Says who? – Anastasia asked looking at a pile of t-shirts.

-          Yeah… That’s not going to happen – Mandy said.

 After buying five pairs of pants, four skirts, the two jackets and almost ten t-shirts between the two, the friends walked to a sunglasses vendor spot on the boardwalk.

 -          Look, nineties babe – Anastasia said showing Mandy a pair of round sunglasses with a white frame.

-          Every damn shape of sunglasses looks good on your face. How is that possible? – Mandy said.

-          It is what it is – Anastasia said shrugging and trying on a wood frame this time.

-          Do you think that we’re childish? – Mandy suddenly dropped while trying on a heart-shaped frame in pastel pink.

-          No! – Anastasia answered – Why do you ask?

-          I had a fight with Peyton this morning – Anastasia understood why Mandy wanted to go to Venice – And he told me that I needed to grow up and stop wearing “stupid pink hair” – She said making quotation marks with her fingers.

-          I think Peyton is stupid – Anastasia was also wearing heart-shaped sunglasses in blue – Does Peyton think it’s stupid to match your clothes with your hair too? – Anastasia asked remembering the comment Mandy made at the thrift shop earlier.

-          Yes, he said that too – Mandy said still wearing the pink glasses.

-          Mandy! You don’t have to change because a man says so. Peyton felt in love with who you are, no matter if your hair is blonde, like when you met him, or pink – Anastasia said.

-          I know…

-          Why was the fight for?

-          I don’t really remember, something really stupid like leaving a glass were he doesn’t like – Mandy said – Every start of a season is the same. He becomes this anxious monster and everything bothers him.

-          It’s normal. He is nervous.

-          Yes, but he doesn’t need to take it on me.

-          I know, what an asshole – Anastasia saw her friend smile – I say you are going to buy those pink heart sunglasses and the ones with the blue crystal, and I’m going to get these ones in blue – She referred to the also heart-shaped glasses – and the ones with the white frame. But you have to wear the pink ones right now and I’ll be wearing the blue heart-shaped sunglasses.

-          We should wear our pink and blue jackets too! – Mandy said smiling.

 And so they did. The two girls looked like cartoon characters with jackets and sunglasses matching their hair but they were in Venice Beach so they blended right with the rest of the people there.

 -          Did you like your tattoo? – Mandy asked Anastasia walking on the boardwalk again.

-          I love it. It wasn’t half bad as I thought it would be – Anastasia answered.

-          See? I told ya – Mandy said – You know what I’m thinking? We have been friends for so long and have shared so many things, we shared high school, we share our career, we tried to share a house once, didn’t work out as we thought, but anyway. You’ve been a huge part of my life and have helped me during so many times of awe and suffering, you are my rock and I know I’m all of that to you too.

-          Oh God! Are you going to propose to me?

-          Anastasia Truman – Both girls stopped walking – Would you like to make me the happiest girl in the world and share a friendship tattoo with me so you can take me with you to eternity? – Anastasia covered her face with her hands and faked a huge smile.

-          YES! – She screamed – Aren’t you going to bend on one knee?

-          No, that would be too much.

-          That’s probably the only half proposition I will have in my life.

-          Let’s find a tattoo shop.

-          Oh! Are we gonna do it right now?

-          Yes! – Mandy laughed – There are many shops here, but I know one! Nick has a friend there.

 The two girls walked a little bit more until they found the tattoo shop Mandy was referring to. They went in and saw the guy Mandy was talking about

 -          Fred! – She called him. He was sitting on a table working on some drawings.

-          Amanda! – The guy said Mandy’s full name back. He was short, with short black hair and green emerald eyes in glasses with thick black frame, he was wearing a shirt with a black and white grip print and black pants. His body was full of tattoos, obviously.

-          Nobody calls me that way so don’t start – Mandy said – Fred did some of my ink work and some of Nick’s too. This is my friend Anastasia – Mandy introduced her to the guy, she smiled and they shook hands – We want tattoos, like right now.

-          Well, I don’t work on anybody without an appointment but for your luck I’m very free today, what do you want? – The girls looked at each other.

-          Good question – Anastasia said.

-          I don’t know. Not our names, that would be too cliché – Mandy said and Anastasia noticed she was still wearing her sunglasses.

-          I know! Hearts! A heart! In the left ring finger! It has the love vein which is connected to the heart – Anastasia said excited.

-          That’s why she is my friend; she’s the smart one – Mandy said to Fred.

-          Let me guess, you – he pointed to Anastasia – want it in blue and you – He pointed to Mandy – want it in pink – Fred said making reference to their outfits.

-          No – Mandy said – I will have the blue one and she will have the pink one – Anastasia smiled.

-          Let me warn you that fingers are a little bit painful but it will be alright because it’s just a small heart.

-          God! I’m so excited! – Mandy said hugging Anastasia – I’ll go first!

 Mandy took her turn and then it was time for Anastasia to sit. Fred was right, it hurt as hell but in a couple of minutes the pain was over and the tiny pink heart looked really cute in contrast with her pale skin, it almost looked like a birth mark, she was pleased and happy to see Mandy so joyful. They girls thanked Fred and hit the boardwalk one more time. Mandy took more snaps than Anastasia could count and posted a handful on Instagram, declaring that Friday with the hashtag #ThePinkAndBlueDay.

 Anastasia heard her stomach roar and decided it was time for food, they walked to a very nice place on Rose Avenue, it was a colourful café with a wall full of neon color graphic art and mini cars full of books. Everything was overwhelming at first, those bright tones, but once inside it fell cozy. Service was fast even though the place was crowded, within minutes Anastasia was enjoying a plate of Bucatini Carbonara and Mandy went for spaghetti with a miso sauce that was, surprisingly, pretty good. After a couple of drinks Anastasia remembered the email Eric sent her the day before.

 -          You know – Anastasia started to say – Yesterday while Eric was giving me a ride home he said that he knew the reason why Josh broke up with me and sent me an email of a convo they had.

-          And what does it say? – Mandy wanted to know.

-          I don’t know. I haven’t read it – Anastasia said.

-          Do you want to know the reason after all?

-          I’m a little bit curious, to be honest.

-          Well I’m curious too. Why lie?

-          What if it makes me feel worse?

-          What if it makes you feel better?

-          Do you really think knowing the real reason Josh broke up with me will make me feel better?

-          I don’t know. Maybe the reason is that he got into some kind of trouble with the mafia and he was forced to date the young daughter of the mob boss to pay for his debt.

-          Mandy! – Anastasia said laughing hard.

-          You’ll never know! You should read it and then think about it. I will be here to support you – Anastasia grabbed her phone – No! Not here. I don’t want people see us cry.

-          Do you think it will make me cry?

-          You never know – Mandy said repeating herself – Let’s go to your place and read it there. With a bottle of wine just in case.

-          You are quite a character – Anastasia kept laughing.

-          But before that, you have been through so much pain today – Mandy said pointing at her new tattoo– And you deserve ice cream.

 Before heading home the friends did a pit stop at an ice cream shop on Abbot Kinney Boulevard to grab some “Wildflower Honey Ricotta Walnut Cookies” ice cream for Anastasia and “Strawberry Honey Balsamic” for Mandy.

 -          Man! I didn’t even understand the name of the flavor but is so good – Mandy said while both tried each other’s choices of ice cream.

 The ride back home was filled with happiness. Anastasia loved to spend days like that with Mandy and she was more than happy with her new tattoo. It’s true what people said, the first time after having some ink it creates a kind of addiction and so far her ink marks were very pretty. Now they were at her place, sitting on her couch with her Macbook on her lap opening Eric’s email. Before clicking on it, she took a large sip of wine and opened the message. There was no turning back.

 It was a series of screenshots. Josh and Eric were having a conversation by text. Eric asked him about Anastasia and then the text exchange took a wild turn.

 Eric: How are things going?

Josh: Well... You know.

Eric: Did you get to talk to Anastasia in New York?

Josh: I didn’t have the balls to do it. Are you going to question that too?

Eric: No man, you are my friend after all.

Josh: She is too.

Eric: I’m not here to judge anybody. You must have a reason to do what you did.

Josh: I can control Lauren. Anastasia is a girl with her shit too together. – Anastasia and Mandy shared a glance.

Eric: Don’t you want a girl with her shit together?

Josh: An doesn’t need me. I have nothing to offer her. I’m making Lauren’s dreams come true. Which dreams can I make come true for Anastasia, a girl who has it all?

Eric: The dream of having a relationship?

Josh: I don’t know. I can’t assure you anything right now ‘cuz I know as soon as she comes back to regular touring I’m gonna fall for her again. I don’t know how to explain this. I love her but I can’t be with her, not right now. All the fame and the magazines thing don’t help. It freaks me out that she is too strong; she doesn’t need me, Eric. She doesn’t need me.

Eric: A relationship isn’t about needing, it’s about loving and you two love the shit out of each other. You literally have NOTHING in common with this girl yet you share so many passions with An.

Josh: I don’t know. I’m happy, though.

Eric: You are?

Josh: I’m having fun!

Eric: I have no doubt about that.

 -          So Josh is a pussy – Mandy said sipping some wine.

-          I don’t even understand. He left me because he can’t control me? – Anastasia said indignant – What kind of misogynist shit this is?

-          I don’t think it’s that way. I believe it has more to do with his low self-esteem. He found a girl, you, who was at his level, a little higher I would say, and he freaked about because he didn’t know how to handle himself in the relationship. I do believe he loves you, though. He is just lost.

-          I don’t give a fuck. He can get lost out of my life right now.

-          You know that’s going to be hard; especially now that we are gonna start touring again.

-          You’re right but this was an eye opener, definitely. I mean… Josh is a pussy – Both friends laughed. And after all Mandy was right, Anastasia felt immensely better now.

Read chapter 26

[killiancygnus]

Serendipitous Melody 7/?

Summary: Everyone has dreams. You might dream of becoming an astronaut or teacher, or you might want to become a doctor and save as many lives you can. Emma Swan’s childhood dream was being a singer. But with life getting in the way and never finding the courage to overcome her fears, she never had a chance to follow it. That is until a little push from her friends lead her to cash on an opportunity; and, who knows, she might even get more than what she’d wished for.

Rated: T

Word count: ~3.2k

A/N:   I know this is late I’m sorry but life happened. Anyway I hope you like this chapter! It’s currently one of my favourites. Huge thanks to @londonsbridge, @the-reason-to-sail-home, @katie-dub, @captainwiley, @irishswanff and @thejollypirate for helping me with the editing and to all the CS Writers’ Hub ladies <3 <br>Happy Once weekend and see you in a fortnight with another chapter!

Tagging some friends: @villains-happy-ending, @stardusted-nymph, @allisonchameron, @kmomof4, @hencethebravery, @mahstatins, @dassala, @imhookedonaswan, @ofshipsandswans, @legendofthephoenixcs and @csreviews

If you want to be tagged too let me know :)

Links: Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 / AO3

Killian had been itching to go home for the whole morning. Luckily for him, he didn’t have much work to do that day. In fact, it was only after the last couple of lessons, some recordings, a short meeting and lunch with the production and the other coaches, that he could hop in his car and finally drive home.

It was early enough for the streets to be fairly clear, but as he accelerated down the roads butterflies started fluttering in his stomach. Why he was so nervous was a mystery to him. It was just Emma coming over; nothing scary. But she wasn’t just Emma anymore. He cared for her, deeply. Maybe too deeply, considering their situation. He couldn’t help it, though. She intrigued him.

Over the past few weeks he had gotten to know different many different sides of her. She had been fiery and determined to prove how talented she was; she stood up to him, not a bit scared to give him a piece of her mind. She had been forgiving and understanding, but also carefree and a great person to talk to. And yet, that woman was different from the guarded one who had been standing on the threshold of her apartment on Saturday night, but in some aspects she was still the same. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes for the entire evening and she had been more cautious than usual, but something in the way she’d looked at him told him she was grateful he was there with her. Although he didn’t exactly know what happened with Felix, he sure as hell was not going to feel satisfied until he would pay for all the pain he’d inflicted on her.

If at first he hadn’t completely understood why she became so guarded all of a sudden, the way Felix spoke to her and how she dealt with him made him look at everything from a new perspective. She might have closed herself off because of the frustration resulting from not catching him right away - he could understand that - but that poor excuse of a man had hurt her, both physically and emotionally. It was sickening how he seemed to have fun hurting her. In those moments, the urge to punch him had been strong, but as Emma had the pleasure of knocking him out, he couldn’t help but feel proud of her and wonder what her story was. And how could he not wonder after hearing her muffled reply? That hadn’t been the ideal time to ask though, so he just held back his curiosity and accompanied her home.

He hadn’t put much thought into suggesting that she come to his house for an extra lesson to let her sleep in; he’d sort of blurted it out once they reached her apartment’s door and he was glad she had accepted. And then he’d kissed her hand, only to run away right after muttering a goodnight, too scared of her reaction.

Kissing her had been an instinctive thing to do. She was just so cute, fighting to keep open her heavy eyelids, but still somewhat hyper after Felix’s arrest. He couldn’t help it. He’d actually thought about kissing her on the cheek, not even daring to consider giving her a small peck on those pink lips like he’d dreamed of, but then he’d chickened out and went for her hand instead. 

Now that he thought about it, he noticed that he’d never told her where he lived nor when she could come over. As he waited for his house gate to open, he shot her a brief message before going inside.

Emma had been curled up on the couch watching reruns of How I Met Your Mother for a couple of hours when her phone chirped with a message. Fishing it from under the cushion of the couch where it had fallen, she swiped her thumb across the screen to read Killian’s message.

K: Hello, love! Are you all rested up? I just got home so you can come over whenever you want.

Emma read it over and over, tried to think of a possible reply, which was crazy considering, it was just a simple and innocent message. She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t want to go too early since he’d just got home from work, but at the same time, she didn’t want him to wait for her too long.

I’m freaking out over nothing, am I?

Letting out a sigh, she quickly tapped back a reply.

E: I did, thank you. I’ll be there in a couple of hours if that’s okay with you.

K: Of course! Call me when you get here and I’ll let you in.

After reading the following message with his address, Emma dropped the phone on the sofa and started to get ready to leave. And thank God she didn’t wait to get dressed because she’d been so distracted it took her twice as long as usual.

Hearing from Killian again made her dream about that kiss from the day before. It had been just a quick peck on her hand, true, but she could still feel her skin burning where his lips had touched it whenever she thought about it. There was a fraction of a moment, the night before, right before he kissed her hand and bolted away, when she thought he was going to properly kiss her. She wouldn’t have minded if he did. Not at all. But it probably was for the best. What if someone found out? He was her coach and she was his student, for fuck’s sake, she shouldn’t even think about them kissing. And yet she did.

Not thinking about it was definitely easier said than done.

She realized she had been hanging out with a famous musician when she reached the gate to Killian’s villa. Well, she knew that before and by his address she knew he lived in one of the most exclusive parts of the city, but as she stood there, waiting for him to pick up the phone and open the gate, it felt real for the first time.

It didn’t take long for Killian to let her in. She followed the lane, looking for a spot to park.

At first, the narrow gravel road was surrounded by trees and bushes full of small, white flowers, but when she took a turn, her mouth dropped open. His house was absolutely gorgeous: it was huge, its dimensions accentuated by the contrast between the dark grey roof and the white walls filled with large windows. Plus the vastness of the garden in front of it. It seemed too big to be the house of a single man, no matter how famous.

Once she parked her car right next to his, she took her purse from the passenger seat and walked up to the front door. As the gravel crackled under her boots, she couldn’t help but wonder why he’d own such a large house since, from what the papers said, his so called relationships always consisted in one night stands-

A light blue spot shimmering in the sunlight on her left behind some plants, and the feeble sound of swishing water, interrupted her train of thoughts.

Of course he has a swimming pool, she thought, walking to stand on her toes to get a better look. Unfortunately, a large tree was blocking the view.

“That would be a swimming pool, love,” Killian stated, leaning on the jamb of the door, arms crossed, an amused smile fixed on his face.

Emma turned around immediately at the sound of his voice.

“I… I was just-” she started, desperately trying to think of something to say as her cheeks turned pink.

“It’s okay, Emma,” he chuckled, and then gestured towards the room behind him. “Do you want to come in?”

Emma covered the last few meters that separated her from Killian and then stopped.

“Hi,” she muttered, smiling timidly.

“Hi yourself,” he replied, focusing his gaze on her jade eyes. “After you, Swan.”

Her eyes widened at the sight of the living room before her. The room was bright, lightened up by a large French window. The beige painted walls blended well with the light wooden panes and the bookshelf that covered the wall against which the sofa rested, along with the cream white hard wood floor. On the other side of the room, a big television and an electric fireplace were laying on a white painted brick wall, which divided the living room from what looked like the kitchen. It was elegant, with a few designer items here and there. Definitely not what she expected.

“Feel free to put your purse and jacket wherever you want,” he offered, scratching the back of his neck in embarrassment. “I can fetch you a drink in the meantime, if you’re thirsty.”

“No, thanks. I’m fine,” she said, putting both purse and red leather jacket on the sofa.

“How about we get started, then?” Killian asked, glancing at the stairs not far behind him.

Emma nodded. She followed him to the second floor and then to a room at the far end of the corridor.

“Here we are,” he said, holding the door open for her.

When she stepped into the room, Emma had to suppress a gasp, again. The room was huge, with large windows which granted a nice view of the garden and the same wood flooring that was used in the rest of the house. That was not what caught her eye, though. It was more the black parlor grand piano at the center of the room, the small collection of both electric and acoustic guitars, and the professional recording microphones and related equipment that did it.

Noticing the awed and yearning looks she was giving his instruments, he promised he’d let her try some of them after practice. That earned him a bright smile as she trotted to the piano, eager to get on with the lesson. Chuckling at her excitement, he followed her and they soon started with some exercises to warm up their voices.

Even though she had missed a couple of lessons, and surely had zero practice in the last few days, she still sounded as amazing as ever. She was so brilliant that they mostly had fun - both during the lesson and after - when they started playing and singing together to whatever popped into their minds. Sometimes he would join her at the piano, playing one of his songs with her, and he would sing along softly, their bodies so close she could feel the heat radiating from him and the scent of his cologne; some other times she’d get a guitar and sing with him.

When they stopped, it wasn’t because the sky outside was getting darker by the minute, but because their throats were starting to hurt from singing and laughing so much.

“It’s late,” Killian observed, glancing at the microwave clock as they sipped some water to alleviate the soreness in their throats. “You should stay for dinner. We can cook something and then watch a film, if you want?”

“I don’t know. I should go home.”

“Come on, Swan! It’s Animated Movie Monday, you wouldn’t want to miss it now, would you?” He pouted.

Laughing a little at his adorable pout, she gave in and helped him get dinner ready. Well, helped might have been an exaggeration since he was the one cooking. She mostly watched. And thank God for that since, unlike her, he actually was a great chef.

They ate calmly, he shared some funny anecdotes about fans and concerts, and they discussed which guitar was the best. It was absurd how the domesticity of it didn’t make her skin crawl, but she didn’t put much thought into it. Instead, she just enjoyed the warm feeling she’d recently started getting in her belly just by being in his company.

After having eaten and tidied up the kitchen a little, they plopped down on the sofa, putting a few bottles of beer and a bowl of popcorn on the tea table in front of it. Since it had been Emma who chose the movie last time, Killian browsed on Netflix for a bit before settling on Finding Nemo.

They weren’t even a tiny bit drunk when they started laughing uncontrollably at each other’s impersonations of Dory and getting lost in a never ending series of “Mine”, as they fought for the popcorn. It was silly, but neither of them cared. Eventually, they calmed down and went back to watching the movie as they sipped their beers (not without making comments, though).

“Can I ask you a question?” Killian inquired, only after their second beer.

“Well, you just did,” Emma giggled.

It was only after he gave her one of his ‘Really, Swan?’ looks that she added, “You can ask me another though.”

“What did you mean when you said you didn’t know anything about family last night?”

Emma’s eyes met his as she studied him. Surprisingly, she found herself wanting to tell him the truth. After all he did for her, that was the least she could do. The question was, did she trust him enough?

Yes.

“It’s not like I don’t know anything at all about family. I know something, but that something is so little it might as well be nothing,” she started and then took a deep breath, bringing her knees close to her chest. “I was found on the side of the road when I was just a few days old. The Swans took care of me for three years. I don’t remember much of the time I spent with them, but I was happy. However, that only lasted until Mrs. Swan got pregnant. Since their miracle baby was on the way, they didn’t need me anymore, so they sent me back to the orphanage. I wasn’t old enough to understand what was happening, but I definitely was old enough to remember how lost and hurt I felt when they got rid of me like garbage.”

Now that she’d started, she couldn’t stop the words from coming out of her mouth, but she was glad Killian didn’t even attempt to interrupt her and just stayed close to her as he attentively listened.

Gulping a large swig of beer, she continued, “After that I spent years in the foster system, jumping from house to house, until I ended up, twelve years later, in Storybrooke, a small town in Maine. The woman who took me in, Ingrid, had been the first person to treat me as a human being in years. She wasn’t doing it for the money like all the others did, she was actually interested in me. She bought me stuff, cared for my education and, she even took me to the carnival when I got a good mark in math. That day she told me she had filled up the papers for adoption. It was the best day of my life, I was so happy that there was finally someone who cared about me… I cried. Things were great with Ingrid: I had friends, a place to call home and someone who loved me. It didn’t last long, though. A few weeks after I turned eighteen, she died in a car accident. Since then, Mary Margaret, David and Ruby have been the closest thing I have to a family.”

When Emma finished talking, she shut her eyes tightly and focused her attention on the voice coming from the TV. She tried not to think about what happened after Ingrid’s death, but she couldn’t shake the images of Graham and Neal out of her head. As all the sorrow and betrayal she had buried deep in her heart long ago were starting to resurface, she felt Killian’s thumb softly caressing her cheeks, brushing away the tears she hadn’t noticed were escaping her closed eyelids. Her eyes snapped open and, as a few more drops fell on her cheeks, she looked up at Killian, his face hazy in the dim light of the room through her unshed tears.

“Emma,” he whispered, moving even closer so that their faces were only a few inches apart, “I’m really sorry that happened to you, and I know you’re not telling me something. That’s okay. I know what it feels like to lose people you love, to not have a family. But love, all these experiences made you who you are now. And you are a wonderful woman. I feel so blessed to have you in my life.”  

Blinking back the tears that were about to fall, Emma slowly covered the hand still resting on her cheek with hers and gently guided it to her lap.

“I’m glad I met you too, Killian,” she said softly as the corners of her lips lifted up in a small smile.

As an answer, Killian smiled brightly at her. And after that, she couldn’t exactly tell what happened.

Maybe it was because of that heartfelt speech and all the emotions that were running high through her body, or that look he was giving her, as if she had hung the moon, but one moment they were holding hands, and the next they weren’t anymore.

Her hands moved on their own, disentangling from his hold and grabbing the lapels of his shirt, pulling him forward to meet her lips. It only took him a second to get over the initial shock and respond to the kiss, but when he did, it was everything.

All the worries, all the “I shouldn’t”s and “what if”s were thrown out the window. It was just them, Emma and Killian kissing on the couch. Her heart beating wildly in her chest was the only sound she could hear, the spicy fragrance of his cologne all she could smell. She barely noticed him running his fingers through her golden locks as his mouth slid against hers, sucking gently on her bottom lip and muffling her moan. Their lips moved together in a dance as old as time, each touch of his soft lips sending a shiver down her back. The groan he let out as she breathlessly nibbled his lip made her even more desperate to close the space between them. But, as the need for air was becoming too strong to ignore, Killian kissed the corner of her mouth and rested his forehead against hers, eyes still closed.

“That was…” he gasped, finally opening his eyes, his voice hoarse.

“A one time thing,” she continued with a whisper, their mouths still so close that she could feel his breath on her now tingly lips.

“Don’t follow me,” she added, finally letting go of his shirt and running off from the house, picking up her purse and jacket in the process.

Not even the loud thud of the front door closing shook Killian out of his frozen state. However, as he heard the sound of tires creaking on the gravel fading in the distance, he followed the outline of his lips with his thumb, living in the memory of how kissing Emma Swan felt.  

[petescycleco]

2020 Polaris Slingshot R First Drive

Everything about the Polaris Slingshot invites a reaction. What it is, what it looks like, who buys one, and how they accessorize it all produce hot takes made for a Twitter world. It's fitting, then, that I finally found the words to describe my feelings about the Slingshot on Twitter.

Author, journalist, and photographer Linda Tirado shared a piece of advice. She was talking about something much more important than a car review, but the great thing about wisdom is you can apply it to all sorts of situations. "Know who you want to be and then you never have to decide how to live," she wrote. That's the Slingshot. It defies categorization except unto itself. It knows exactly what it wants to be. Where some look at it and find confusion, driving it clarifies. It exists solely for people who want a Slingshot, specifically. There are a lot of them. We didn't review one when it first came out in 2015 because we didn't know what to make of it, either. It's not a car, but it's not a motorcycle, either. It's sort of a street-legal side-by-side or UTV, but with three wheels. Legally in most states it's considered an "autocycle," an old-timey categorization for bicycles with engines and mopeds that weren't really bicycles or motorcycles. My colleagues in the press who did drive it told me it was neat, a good first effort, but needed work. It was quick, they said, but not too quick. The brakes were soft and spongey. The steering was slow. The materials felt cheap, and the controls were clunky. Polaris listened. The 2020 Slingshot is what we'd call a major refresh if it were a car. The old GM-sourced 2.4-liter inline-four was never an inspiring or memorable engine when it was in a Chevy, and it wasn't doing the Slingshot any special favors, so it's been replaced by a Polaris-designed and built 2.0-liter I-4. It revs higher and makes peak power at redline rather than falling on its face at high rpm like the old engine. Plus, it makes more power: 178 hp in the standard SL trim and 203 hp in this top-end R trim, up from 173 before. It does make less torque, 120 and 144 lb-ft, respectively, but it doesn't matter that much in a vehicle with a claimed curb weight under 1,700 pounds. Polaris says it'll do zero to 60 in as little as 4.9 seconds now, sixth-tenths of a second quicker than before. That would also make it a tenth quicker than a Honda Civic Type R. That's downright quick, and it feels even faster on board. Losing the roof, the windscreen, and the doors will do that. Jeeps feel faster when you take the doors off, too. It's science. The even bigger story is the new Autodrive five-speed automated manual gearbox, aka an automatic transmission. Polaris figured out real quick it was leaving a ton of sales on the table with only a five-speed manual, and that's been corrected. You can still get the manual on this R model, but I guarantee you the vast majority of Slingshots sold from now on will be automatics. Most people can't drive stick and aren't going to learn. Don't let the automated manual thing put you off, either. I know, usually those suck. They shift slow and give you whiplash every time they change gears. This is the best automated manual I've driven, and that list includes Lamborghinis and Aston Martins. You still feel those gear changes, but it just gives you a little head bob. It still shifts slowly by modern automatic standards, but not slowly enough to really complain about. It's geared for performance with a single overdrive ratio, so you'll be turning 3,000 rpm at 65 mph, where cars these days are turning 1,800, but it means it pulls harder in higher gears as a result. Bombing around town couldn't be easier. Just push the D button and go. There's a small hesitation when you set off as the clutch engages, and pushing the gas harder just means it'll drop the clutch and chirp the rear tire. It'll also roll backward at a stop if you're on a hill because it won't engage the clutch until you hit the gas, so watch out for that. It even has a Sport mode. They call it Slingshot mode, and it works pretty well. Press the big red button on the steering wheel, and the transmission will hold gears out to redline regularly and downshift more aggressively. It's no Porsche PDK, but it's a hell of a first effort. It could use a little work, particularly in long, sweeping corners, where it gets confused. The computer sees the steady throttle and speed and assumes you backed off, so it upshifts. When you get to the end of the curve and deeper in the throttle, it panics and drops a gear hard. That could be a recipe for disaster with only one rear tire to handle the lateral g's and the shock from the powertrain, but it isn't. Revisions to the suspension have planted the Slingshot on the pavement. The staggered 18-inch front and 20-inch rear wheels with their 225-width front and massive 305-width rear Kenda tires on the R model hang on tight even when you're really thrashing this thing on a mountain road. Yeah, I had to Google Kenda, too. It's a Taiwanese company that custom-makes this tire for Polaris. You can only get it at Polaris dealers. Past reviews found the Slingshot would understeer slightly in hairpins and kick the tail out if you goosed the throttle. Not anymore. I whipped this thing as hard as I could on a mountain road, and it wouldn't let go. At most, the rear end shifted slightly if I absolutely threw it into a corner. With the automatic transmission it wouldn't overpower the rear wheel (I tried), though I'm sure a clutch kick or just a bad shift with the manual would do it. I might've gotten it to misbehave had I been more confident in the brakes. They seem to fall in with the 30 percent of parts carried over from before, and they need more bite if you're going to drive it hard. People love customizing these things, and I'd start with a more aggressive pad compound. They're fine tooling around town, if a bit spongey. When you stand on them, though, they just don't have the bite. Brake early. The good news is they don't really fade noticeably, either, so they don't get any worse.

Polaris fixed the steering. Lots of people complained it was just too slow for sporty driving; 3.5 turns lock to lock is like putting Camry steering on a Miata. Now, it's just 2.5 turns lock to lock and feels much sportier for it. The electric assist is nicely weighted and even gives you a little feedback through the thin-rimmed steering wheel. That steering wheel is now festooned with buttons controlling the in-house Ride Command infotainment system and cruise control. Right out of the box, it's got a 7.0-inch touchscreen and a 100-watt Rockford Fosgate stereo that's more than loud enough to be heard through a helmet. Please be courteous and turn it down when you're driving in traffic or neighborhoods. Don't be that guy. There's a pair of USB ports and Bluetooth connectivity, and you can even get navigation. Polaris has remounted the screen vertically so it doesn't get washed out by glare as easily and updated the processor so it works as quickly as any system in a car. While they were at it, the Polaris team reworked the rest of the interior, too. There are cupholders now and a spot to put your phone, plus storage under the armrest. The commodious glove box remains, as do the lockable storage compartments behind the seats, which are just big enough for a backpack, picnic basket, or a helmet each. The seats themselves have big, fat bolsters to keep you in place, though the seat was rather wide on me, so I slid from bolster to bolster. The seat bottom cushions are also a little short. I'm told the materials are better this time around, but they look to me like what you'd get on a side-by-side or UTV, so they must've really been something before. The seat belts are still mounted in the middle of the vehicle, so you'll be reaching in the wrong spot out of habit for a while until you force that into your brain. It's a good thing those seats are squishy, because this R model rides like a sports car. It's not harsh or teeth chattering, but it is stiff, and you're going to feel every bump. The adjustable Bilstein shocks previously available are gone for 2020, so you just have to deal. It may ride like a sports car, but it doesn't really sound like one. Granted, that old GM engine didn't sound good, either, but it sounded like a car. This Polaris engine sounds like, well, a Polaris engine. If you've ever driven one of their powersports toys, you know it, even if it's bigger and has more cylinders than any other Polaris has built. The exhaust being tucked up behind the front right wheel still eats into the passenger's legroom. With basically no body work to block it, the engine is a bit loud by car standards. A helmet blocks some of it out. We should talk about helmets because it's a sticky situation. Polaris has single-handedly revived "autocycle" as a classification of three-wheeled, street-legal vehicles that are neither bicycles nor motorcycles. Why go to the trouble? Because thanks to Polaris' lobbying, 48 states now recognize autocycles as street-legal vehicles that can be driven with a standard driver's license (rather than a motorcycle license) but don't have to meet the crash and emissions regulations of a car. (The federal government considers them motorcycles for regulatory purposes, but legislation has been introduced in Congress to change that.) This means if you live anywhere but New York or Massachusetts, you can do what I did: step over the side, buckle the center-mounted seat belt (after searching for it in the usual place), and hit the road. Whether you have to wear a helmet like I did depends entirely on your state's law, and they're all over the place. Many require helmets the same as riding a motorcycle, but several specifically exempt autocycles either entirely or with conditions. Even if it isn't the law where you live, I'd recommend you wear one. The standard windscreen does a remarkably good job of directing air up and over the seats even at highway speeds, but it won't stop rocks and larger bugs. I've taken both to the helmet while riding motorcycles and have been glad for the protection. You may want to invest in a Bluetooth helmet communication system, though, so you can talk to your passenger while moving. I get why you wouldn't if you didn't have to, though. You only really feel the wind on the top of your head, so it's not unlike driving a convertible in terms of hair restyling. It's a much more visceral and exposed feeling than driving a drop-top, though. Getting rid of the doors will do that. Windscreen or not (and I'm going to keep calling it that, not because I'm British but because it ain't a shield), it feels like driving a side-by-side or UTV capable of 125 mph. On the street. In traffic. On the interstate. Next to big rigs. Yes, you can drive the Slingshot on the freeway. I doubt many people do. It's loud, it's windy, and you can't help but feel vulnerable with a skeletal frame and a pair of roll hoops your only impact protection. People who buy Slingshots don't want a motorcycle, because they don't know how to ride one, because theydon't feel comfortable (read: safe) on one, or because of a physical limitation. They want the open-air experience, though. They want the outsider image. And man, do other people pay attention to this thing. It got far more looks and questions than the Ferrari I tested two days later. Here's the thing, though. You've seen me mention the Mazda Miata in this review already. It's just about the most fun per dollar you can buy when it comes to cars. It's also $27,525 to start and tops out in the mid-30s. It comes with things like air bags, heating and A/C, a trunk, doors, and a roof in case it rains. (Polaris will sell you a bolt-on roof) The 2020 Slingshot starts at $26,499, and this R model starts at $30,999. That's a lot of scratch for a third vehicle, a toy you only drive on the weekend and maybe the odd summer night. Then again, the folks who buy these love throwing thousands of dollars of accessories and modifications at them. Put it all together, and it's a narrow demographic. You wouldn't think there would be a lot of people with the money to spend 30 grand on a weekend toy who want the open-air experience and rebel image of a motorcycle but can't ride and don't want to learn and like the sense of security from seats and seat belts. Joke's on you. Polaris has sold somewhere north of 40,000 of these things already, and that's with a manual transmission. You think you see them everywhere now? Wait until people find out you can get 'em with an automatic. And this ain't the only three-wheeler on the market. There's the Harley trike, the Morgan 3-Wheeler, the Campagna T-Rex, Vanderhall Venice, Can-Am Spyder, and more. The 2020 Polaris Slingshot may not be for you, but don't make the mistake of thinking it's not for anyone. And for the people it's for, it's better than ever.

Shop Now: 2020 Slingshot SLINGSHOT R MANUAL

from Blogger https://ift.tt/3ejlmm1 via Motorcycle Dealer Maryland