#How exactly does that effect you? How is it hurting you? Holds out microphone

[scarletfasinera]

Also just like. Is an 18 year old lying about dumb shit online really callout-worthy tbh

[sp00kworm]

SIREN (A Monster Metal Band)

Chapter 1 - Meeting the Band

Pairings: Various Monsters x Reader

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“And today we have some very, very special guests with us in the studio!” The radio-announcer cooed over the microphone, into the silence of your tense apartment. You turned up the volume, clutching the pillow in your lap and your phone in the other. “With us today we have the up and coming band SIREN!” He roared as the microphones turned on for the men and they laughed over the stereo. You clutched your pillow tighter as the interview started for real.

“Here in the studio with us today we have the entirety of the band line-up. Vocalist, Zadok. Lead guitarist, Duncan. Rhythm guitarist, Senoz. Bassist, Blagden. And our favourite drummer, Khadba!” They thanked the announcer with a chorus of gentle laughter, and you readied the dial up number, knowing exactly where the interview was going.

“So, we all know that you guys are performing in our city in a few days’ time. I’m sure every fan listening is excited for the show! You have some real reputation, guys, truly.” The announcer laughed with them before he started with the questions, “So, Zadok, rumour is that you’ve been recording some new vocals with famous artist Lady Conch?”

 Zadok’s gentle laughter hummed through your speakers, “It’s an ongoing project, but she’s a lovely woman. We’ve worked together before and I’ve appeared in her solo work before. It’s hard to find male Mers for her music so we’re basically friends at this point.”

“Interesting!” The announcer hummed, “I never thought that would be an issue for merfolk in music, but you learn something new every day!” He continued, “Duncan! How about that new guitar deal you and Senoz have with Irontars?”

Duncan huffed over the microphone before Senoz laughed and started the explanation, “We have a new deal with specific models around our specific tastes. Duncan has a very uhh…” Senoz clicked and cackled, his voice echoing strangely, “Dark taste. It looks like a very big axe. I went for a slicker look but it’s a lot of flames.” He cackled.

“We’re a metal band, Senoz. I can go as dark as I like.” Duncan said gruffly before adding, “I like my guitars like I like my partners.” He purred, “Sharp and a bit insane.”

 The announcer laughed it off before continuing on through the last question, “Here I have an interesting question from a fan for Blagden! They asked just how it is on tour while catering to such a very specific diet?”

Blagden hissed before answering, “Bicorn diets aren’t that hard to get. Mostly meat. But I can eat everything other people can. Zadok and I go fishing when we’re at the coastal cities. Fresh is better but no.” He leaned into the microphone, “I don’t have to eat people’s husbands.” He huffed and you heard the sound of hooves clacking against the floor as he settled back into his seat.

“A good revelation, thank you for answering.” The announcer added as he reached his final question, “Khadba, our favourite new addition. Before this, the band ran on hired drummers for each tour, so, how does it feel being a permanent member with this new album?”

Khadba coughed awkwardly, “It’s been a ride, but I’d say that the music is much, uh…” He stuttered for a moment, “The music is much more personal with me I’d say. I’ve had a long time to get to grips with the music in recording and even before this I was a fan of the guy’s work.”

Blagden growled, “He’s a fucking liar. He practically told us our tempo was garbage. Zadok hired him on the spot after one sound test!”

Duncan roared with great laughter, “It was a time. I’ve never had someone tear my work to pieces so well!”

 The announcer laughed with them before he went back to the audience, “Now, let’s play a song from the new album! This one is called Deep Dark featuring some very special vocals from your deep-sea merman, Zadok.”

“You’re too kind.” Zadok hummed before the voices cut out and the song blended into being, beginning with that could only be described as merfolk speak. You relaxed gently against the cushions as the gentle bubbling voice rang out. You looked at your coffee table and snatched up the latest issue of Metal Talks, admiring the front. There was a glossy latest picture of the band on the magazine. Zadok’s white eyes were close to the camera lens, his white skin glowing with purple bioluminescence as he opened his mouth full of sharp long teeth for the camera. Duncan was perched in the back with his axe guitar gripped in one hand, his body covered in black fur. Duncan was the largest member, a giant black, curly haired Minotaur with curly tresses that hung between his two great ivory coloured horns, covering his great green eyes. Senoz was a grey skinned demon, his four, blue eyes glinting with mischief as he too posed with his guitar, decked in skin-tight leather and heavy metal cuffs, his three tails poised up behind him. Blagden, the Bicorn was truly petrifying with his black thoroughbred, sleek fur rippled and his great mouth open to expose his predator teeth. You traced a finger over his dual black, unicorn horns and the curling pair of ram horns behind his ears, admiring his great shaggy mane. Khadba was placed in the back, his arms crossed and drumsticks in one hand. His moss coloured skin and grey steel eyes were intimidating, his face and ears littered with piercings to match the gruff look on his face. You admired the tattoos over his arms depicting burning skulls and giant demons before the song drew to a close.

 “After that zinger we’re back in the studio with SIREN!” The announcer called and you readied yourself as the bit you had been waiting for finally arrived, “And now, we get to the part you’ve all been waiting for, the giveaway.” He hummed, “Today, from the charitable guys here, we will be giving away an exclusive early entry ticket and backstage pass for the gig!” The guys hooted in the studio before going quiet as the man shuffled his papers, “The question is…” You felt your heartbeat in your chest as you listened with bated breath, “How long is Duncan’s guitar solo in the song ‘Burn’?” He quickly read out the number for the call lines.

“You know, I don’t even remember how long that solo is.” Duncan huffed before grumbling.

Senoz cackled, “I know!” He jeered before Duncan snorted hotly at him.

“The lines are open! Get those guesses in!”

You tapped the call button and prayed to all that was good in the world that you would get through with your guess. It was the longest solo in the band’s discography. You knew you had a chance.

 The phone was quickly busy in the studio and you listened to the hold music with your bottom lip between your teeth, worrying at the skin as person after person guessed, and was met with the loud siren. Incorrect. Fifteen people in a row guessed it incorrectly. You were in with a chance.

“And now we have another guess on the line! Tell us your name sweetheart!” The announcer said. Suddenly, you realised that he was speaking in your ear as well.

“Uhm… Oh gosh…” You stuttered your name and listened to announcer.

“Now, let’s have your guess. How long is Duncan’s guitar solo in the song ‘Burn’?” He tapped the countdown effect.

“Good luck, darling.” Zadok’s lilting voice tickled your ear.

You took a deep breath before replying, “The solo is one minute and forty-seconds long.”

Silence. You felt your heartbeat in your stomach.

“CORRECT!”

“Fuck me. I didn’t even come close and it’s my solo. Well done.” Duncan hummed down the microphone as the rest of the band laughed and chuckled behind him.

“You’ve won the backstage pass and early entry ticket!” The announcer cheered before you were quickly snapped onto the line for your address and name for the premium postage and for the band’s team to know who you were. Your mouth hung open before you quickly coughed and started to try and rattle off your address to the woman, brain frazzled and still in disbelief.

 “What?!” Tom shouted from behind the bar, “You won?!” He howled in disbelief, before he slammed his fists against the countertop, “I’ll give you the money for the other ticket!” He begged, “I wanna go and you have a spare ticket now!” The brown-haired werewolf grinned with pointed teeth before clutching his hands together, “Please!” He begged again, “I’ll get on my knees for it!”

“Tom, please just chill out!” You begged with a laugh as you tucked your bag away under the bar, “You give me the money and I’ll give you my standard ticket, stop freaking out!” You promised as you struggled to tie your apron behind your back.

“Here. Let me give you a hand.” Tom tugged the ties tightly and deftly tied a knot around your waist before he let you turn back around and stroked at his beard with a clawed hand. It was a sign he was close to the full-moon and his shift, “How about we meet for a drink then before?” He asked, deep brown eyes glinting.

“No can do! The backstage stuff starts super early and I don’t want to be drunk and meet them all. The last thing I want to do is embarrass myself.” You lamented, “Do you remember when we saw Clutch after their show?”

 Tom barked a great, gruff laugh at the memory of the gig you had gone to when you were both younger, “Of course I do! How could I ever forget?” He teased, “You went flying over Rakesh’s tail!” He chuckled and wiped a glass down, “Your face met the concrete, after you cracked his ass on the way down.”

“Oh great, I’m glad you got a laugh out of it!” You bumped your hip against him with a scowl before tugging at the tail poking through the back of his jeans, “I wasn’t laughing! He nearly tore me apart!” You huffed, “Such a highly strung dude…” s

“You’re telling me!” Tom huffed, “I nearly had to shift and throw him off!” He tapped the top of his arm, “He got in that bite, which hurt like a motherfucker for three weeks, by the way.” He stuck his long tongue out at you and scratched at his brown curly hair, his hairy arms exposed out of the rolled sleeves of his shirt.

“Boo hoo.” You joked, “You’re big enough to punch a Naga, so I’m sure you can take the consequences of it.” With a smile you took out a new bottle of whiskey for the premium top shelf brands, “But again, thank you, I might have ended up in a mess without you there…well and security.” You hummed as you sorted the shelves, stood on top of the stool.

“Be careful.” Tom grumbled as he went past you, “We don’t want you spanking a customer on the way down.” He joked.

“Fuck off, Tom.” You snarked back at him.

 The ticket arrived the next day, and you rushed from your sofa when the delivery man knocked on the door, keen to sign for them and stash them away for the show. The postman jumped as you slammed the door open and turned his pad towards you with the parcel in one hand. After signing he handed you the thick, padded envelope and then nodded, quick to leave you to your ticket and pass. You grinned and stashed them in your lockable drawer before gushing to Tom over the phone. The night of the show came slowly. You had to work up until the day, and every shift had felt like it had taken an eon. Everything was slow and long, but finally the day arrived. Your instructions were to arrive about two hours before the main opening time, where the venue staff would greet you and take you through to the backstage. You were allowed to see the backstage operations before meeting the band you were far too obsessed with. At least, you reasoned, you weren’t like the fans stealing hair. You’d seen a lot of horror stories online. You admired the band members and you wished you could explain it without sounding very small and sad.

 The concert hall was giant. It was an arena which accepted shows of all kinds. You looked up as you walked inside the doors to the ticket booth. There was security everywhere. A pair of Orc security guards watched you curiously as you smiled at the venue staff and showed them the personalised pass. It was pictures with a picture of the band on hard plastic, like a credit card.

The woman behind the desk grinned, “Boys! You’ve got someone to show around!” She wiggled her finger at the two security guards and watched them huff before she collected her clipboard and handed you a printed tote, “That’s for your merchandise choice. Now, if you’d like to come this way these two handsome Orcs will show you to the backstage.” She cooed.

“Hey. I’m Frank. This is Droz.” The elder Orc shook your hand, his greying hair tied back in a long traditional braid. He was the typical soft green colour but Droz was a charcoal grey, his eyes red and his tusks large and more prominent. Droz was studded and pierced in most places, his hair cut short and styled into a wicked hawk down the middle of his head. He nodded at you but didn’t say anything.

“Ignore him. He’s quiet.” Frank cackled before shoving his elbow into Droz’s gut and opening the door for you towards the main stage area, “Comes with being part Gargoyle.” He snarked at Droz. The other male tailed behind the two of you but opened the rail for you to go behind the barrier.

“This is the way you’ll come out to watch the show later as well.” Frank added as he showed you through the curtains.

 Your heart slammed against your ribs as you clutched at your pass over your chest, holding it tightly, like a life line, as Frank showed you past the curtain and into the mess of road crew and wiring.

A heavy hand laid itself on your shoulder, “They’re good guys.” Droz rumbled behind you, “Don’t be nervous.”

You huffed awkwardly, “That’s easy to say but hard to put into practice.”

Droz shrugged, “I know but it’s good to hear it.”

“That’s the longest sentence I’ve ever heard you say, Droz.” Frank joked as he navigated through the roadcrew and made it into the back area of the venue. There was a very long corridor in the back with the dining area, small kitchen and shower room with areas for both the crew and band to chill out. You looked at the dingy hallway and felt your anxiety skyrocket.

“No need for the fright. They’re all in the lounge area waiting for you, all dolled up and pretty.” Frank chuckled before opening the door halfway down the left side of the corridor. He opened the door, and you hid behind Droz before daring to peer inside.

 The entire band went quiet as Frank slammed the door against the wall. Duncan’s forest green eye peered through the curls of his hair between his horns and he grinned with flat teeth as Zadok and Senoz span around quickly.

“Can you put your tails away you freak?” Zadok smacked at Senoz’s ass as the demon grinned, crazed, his four eyes blinking in pairs as he slinked closer to catch a glimpse of you. Droz rolled his eyes and shoved you into the room before offering a shrug and closing the door, leaving you with Frank and the band.

“This is our cute little winner I take it?” Senoz purred as he took your hand and bowed, pressing it to the hot skin of his forehead as Zadok battled against the tails twisting and smacking to greet you.

“Yep. This is the lucky one.” Frank confirmed, “Play nice, hm? You need to get the photoshoot and autographs out of the way and give away the merch.” He clicked a pen and snapped it against his itinerary before waving himself out of the door.

 “We always play nice.” Zadok’s low timbre vibrated as his gills flipped and shut tight against his neck. The singer was dressed in sheer fabric, the netting showing his torso off, and tight leather trousers. He offered you his white scaled hand, “A pleasure to meet you. I’m going to assume we don’t have to introduce ourselves, but for the sake of politeness, I am Zadok.” He shook your hand and smiled, white eyes and teeth exposed as his skin rippled with a deep blue light, “As for the rest of these hooligans then. Senoz is the drooling idiot next to you.”

“Rude as fuck.” Senoz snapped at the smaller male, blue eyes burning before he went back to sit next to Duncan, squeezed in on the sofa next to the Minotaur. The rhythm guitarist was dressed in a leather waist coat and tight trousers, his tails punched through a great hole in the back.

“Duncan, the man behind the longest guitar solo in our history.” He joked as Duncan flipped his hair back between his horns and waved once, uncrossing his hooves off the table and placing them on the floor. He was dressed only in a pair of leather trousers with a thick, pair of suspenders over his shoulders, showing off the piercings in his nipples.

“A pleasure.” Duncan nodded and flicked his tail at Senoz and his wiggling.

“Over in the armchair is Khadba. He’s warming up his arms so forgive him if he doesn’t wave.”

Khadba nodded his head at you but didn’t say anything as he drummed his sticks on a warm up pad, heavy arm muscles straining against the simple band shirt and his cargo shorts hiding very little of his legs, decorated with chains and bones.

“And last but not least, Blagden.” The Bicorn snorted at you but waved one hand before he kicked at Khadba’s stand and hissed at the Orc’s anger. His mass of flowing silks swayed with him as he reached to prune at his hair.

“Fuck off, Blag. I’ll put you through the chair.” Khadba growled as he tossed his great black braid down his back, the rings in his hair clicking. The Bicorn tugged at his tusks and the Orc was quick to kick Blagden’s backwards knee, grinning at the pain he had caused.

 “Its lovely to meet you all.” You croaked before uttering your name and trying your best to smile without freaking out.

“You have a cute name.” Senoz purred as Duncan’s eye peered through his curtain of hair.

Duncan huffed at him, “Can you please stop laying it on so thick. No one wants to sleep with you.”

“That wasn’t my intention.” Senoz grinned at you, “But if you’re down, sweet thing, I can show you what all my mouths can do.” He purred before Zadok clawed at his scalp and threw the Demon’s head back towards Duncan.

“Keep yourself in line.” Zadok warned, “This is a fan. The media is watching.” His bioluminescence burned into an angrier looking pink before he smiled at you with long, thin sharp pointed teeth.

“He’s right, as always.” Blagden’s black eyes fixed on you before he held up a purse mirror to groom his hair around his horns, “How about we have a drink and a chat, hm?” The Bicorn reached for a beer on the table and threw his long face back to drink the great bottle, pouring it past his sharp teeth.

“What do you drink?” Khadba asked quietly as he stood up, placing his sticks on top of his padded stool.

You took a deep breath as Duncan made space for you to sit, “Something strong, please.” You begged quietly.

 Zadok gave a great, hissing laugh at you and he took hold of his own drink, “Just a bit nervous, huh?” He asked gently as he sat in one of the armchairs.

You let out a sigh, “I’m shitting myself.” You confessed, “You guys are my favourite band and I just… Everything I want to say sounds super lame and I don’t want to fuck this up.”

Duncan eyed you, “You’re not goin’ to fuck it up, sweetheart.” He snorted, the ring in his nose bouncing as he spread his furry arms over the back of the seat, “We’re not exactly prim or proper.” He rolled his green eyes and scratched at the base of one of his horns.

“Especially not Duncan. He comes from a farm.” Senoz cackled, the noise echoing mysteriously in his body.

“I’ll puncture your other arse cheek.” Duncan thumped at the demon, “Farm work is the reason I don’t look like a twiggy mother fucker.”

“Boys. We have a guest.” Zadok scolded them both with a hiss, the bony fins on his head flaring.

“Here.” Khadba placed a Vodka and mixer in front of you, “To take the edge off.” He smiled before returning to his seat with a large Orcish mead.

“Thank you.” You smiled and took a drink before realizing just how strong it was, “Maybe only the one for me.” You joked.

 “So, on to the actual part of this contest win!” Senoz clapped and Zadok reached for the list itinerary with a curse.

“Merchandise?” He asked the room.

Duncan stood up, his curly hair rippling down his back as the sofa bounced back into shape, relieved of his weight, “They put it back here.” He rumbled as he opened a big box labelled ‘exclusive’ and peered inside. He pulled free a shirt before huffing, “How about you come choose, eh?” He left it open and moved aside for you to squeeze in and look.

“Holy shit. This is exclusive Fanclub stuff!” You cursed as you pulled free the shirt, lanyard, and various stickers. You looked at the pin badges before there was another item that caught your eye, “They made plushies?!” You cooed as you dragged free the soft plush of Duncan.

“When the fuck did they make that?” He looked at you and laughed, a great bark of one breath before he shrugged and pulled his hair from his eyes, “Fine just take it. Before I change my mind. You want one of each of the rest too?”

“Please. Oh gosh, thank you so much.” You let Duncan dump the rest of the items in your bag.

“Where’s the plushies of the rest of us?” Senoz whined as he peered into the box, “No way there’s only Duncan!?” He hissed, “Bull shit.”

“Too bad, Senoz. You’re not kid friendly enough.” Blagden hissed at him as he took great pleasure in peering at what else they had to do, “Picture as well.” His talon tapped the list and Zadok nodded before he shouted for Frank.

 “Behaving?” Frank asked as he walked in, “Or are you calling me in to drag Blagden off someone?” He chuckled before Zadok leaned back and tapped the clipboard.

“We need the photographer.” The merman smiled.

Frank nodded, “Sure. I’ll go and grab him. Best get situated. He’ll not want to be in here long.” Frank closed the door behind him with a click and you took another calming breath before you tucked away your bag and chugged the rest of your drink in an effort to calm yourself down.

“Don’t make yourself sick!” Khadba chuckled as he tucked his braids back over his shoulder.

“That’s not a good look on a photo.” Senoz teased before walking around you and looking at your outfit.

“Mate. Stop it. It’s concerning.” Duncan pulled him into the sofa and smacked his hoof against the Demon’s leg.

“Now then,” Zadok smiled, “What sort of poses are you wanting. Obviously we can’t do anything sexual or which could injure us.”

Blagden chortled before purring, “I don’t think that’s what Lady Conch had to say last time you saw her.” The guys shook their heads, “I heard you two through the walls.”

“Enough, Blagden.” Khadba sneered, “Fan in the room.” He punched the Bicorn none too gently, “Remember your fucking manners.”

 “Uhm.” You tried to ignore the fury on Zadok’s face, “I would just like a big group photo if that’s okay? Maybe with you guys all crowded around and me in the middle. Maybe we could do some funny back to back things?” You asked quietly to the three men around you.

“Sure thing.” Zadok smiled thinly, “Duncan will have to crouch big style.” He teased.

“Not my fault you’re all fucking tiny.” The Minotaur clicked his tongue.

“I suppose it isn’t.” Zadok looked down at the list in his lap before humming, “This has been kind of lame…” He clicked his fingers, “How about single portraits with each of us too? We’ll sign each.” He smiled.

“How about you actually talk to ‘em huh?” Senoz shook his head and smiled, touching a tip of a horn before he offered his hand, “What do you do for a living?”

You swallowed, “I just work in a bar.” Awkwardly, you continued, “Me and Tom, my friend, we always go and see shows like these and dream about having a rock bar. The place we work is this trucker place. The music is decent, but it gets rowdy.” You laughed, “But its purely luck I won this…” You hung your head, “I’m glad I did…You guys are my heroes. I listened to everything. Anything new from when you first supported Howl. It was just so pretty and hard! Amazing!” You gushed, “All your music has got me through some hard stuff and I just felt like I should tell you all that.”

 “Here.” Khadba stood over you, offering a tissue, “You’re crying.” He hushed you.

“I’ve never heard anyone talk about our stuff like that.” Duncan wrapped a warm arm around you and gave you a squeeze as Zadok sat in silence.

“I’m glad it makes you happy.” Blagden offered from across the room.

Senoz nodded, “Music is the soul. If it helps you heal, then that’s good enough for all of us.” He patted your head and you wiped at your makeup before blubbering.

“Thank you for listening to us.” Zadok whispered, his fins flattening against his skin, “To know my work makes you feel such things. That is enough for me to continue to sing.” He touched your hand with his cool fingers before Frank opened the door with the photographer.

“You alright sweetheart?” He asked with a glare at the band.

“Yeah.” You sniffled, “I’m alright!” With a smile you stood up and binned the tissue, “I think I know exactly what kind of photo I want to have!”

The photographer pinched his nose and peered over the top of his sunglasses, “I haven’t got all day, you know.” He lisped a little and you noticed the red eyes. He was a vampire, “I have to set up with the media.”

“Come on.” Duncan barked a laugh again as he led you over to the backdrop set up in the corner.

 “Are you sure you’ll be okay?” Frank asked as he helped you hop over the barrier to stand right in the centre stage. You were ready, having left your bad with Frank and Droz in the back, your new shirt pulled on after peeing. You were set for an awesome night. Before Frank could ask you another question, Khadba appeared from behind the curtain with a plastic cup in hand.

He waved once as he strode over, his rings and chains clinking before he offered you the cup, “A drink. On me.” The Orc nodded and smiled, revealing the silver rings around the base of his tusks, “I was easier on the Vodka.” He promised as he left you with Frank, “Have a good time, alright?”

“Thank you, and I will, I promise.” You shouted with a smile as he headed back behind the curtain, “You can go as well, Frank. I’ll be fine! People will be heading inside soon, and I know you have some checks to do.” You smiled, “Thank you for looking after me. You’ve been wonderful.”

“You’re very welcome.” He grinned with a nod, “Now you be careful. They’re no doubt going to get very rowdy.” He wagged his finger before disappearing behind the curtain. You nursed your drink for a few moments more before the curtain twitched again and Blagden appeared.

His black eyes quickly caught sight of you, and he huffed before offering you a small, plastic case, “Don’t burst your eardrums, cutie.” He tossed you the purple case, “Its going to get loud.” He made a horns sign at you before sauntering away, his heavy hooves clicking as his slick black fur disappeared back behind the curtains. You opened the case and looked at the industrial earplugs before smiling and slipping them into your pocket for the gig. The doors slammed open behind you, and you braced yourself for the onslaught of people as you texted Tom to elbow his way to the front.

 Tom shouted your name as he made his way close and you were quick to snag him by the shirt and pull him into the gap next to you. The werewolf was far less monstrous today. His eyes were still bright and orange, but he was not sporting his tail and snout.

“That crowd right there was a nightmare.” He sighed with relief as he laid his forearms on the banister and shuddered, “How was the meet?” Tom teased as he tugged his unruly hair backwards, “Did you suck face?”

“Absolutely not!” You smacked at his arm, “I had a bit of a cry, we had loads of pictures and I hung out with possibly the coolest band ever.”

“Oh, so just the normal then?” Tom snarked, “That sounds amazing. Sounds like you had fun.”

“Here look!” You showed him your phone and grinned clicking on the camera album, “They’re all very sweet.” The pictures were very safe. Zardok had his arm around you, his fingers up in the sign of the devil. Duncan was looming over the back of you with a monstrous glare. Senoz covered your eyes and opened up his mouth in a scarily wide grin. Khadba’s was a little awkward but he was smiling softly as you held his drumsticks with a smile. Blagden had you pose back to back with him, his snout tossed in the air like a regal pony.

 Tom gave you a smile, “Honestly, I’m really happy for you…Though I am jealous Duncan isn’t cold in only suspenders and trousers.”

“Tom he is covered in curly fur!” You laughed as you slipped your phone away, “You’re the same when you shift!”

The werewolf hummed, “But would I wear leather suspenders? I think not.” He snapped his fingers at you before looking at the empty drink in your hand, “They’ve fed you alcohol? Lord save us all.” Tom mocked a prayer before you elbowed his side.

“Khadba gave me one!” Tom went cross-eyed to look at your one finger held up to his nose, “I’ve had two in total and that’s it. I promise.”

“Maybe I needed to word my warning a little more strongly.” He tutted before laughing at you, “You’re dangerous with one. Let’s see how you manage two making you do stupid things.”

“I’ll be fine, Tom. Stop being such a mother hen.” You joked before taking a sharp breath as the room was plunged into pitch black.

“I hope you brought your wig.” Tom teased next to your ear, “Because we’re about to get our hair fucking singed off.”

The darkness made the fans in the arena roar with joy and you grinned as the support act appeared on the stage, guitars held up for the audience to see.

“Well, maybe not just yet.” Tom lamented before readying himself at the front for the show.

 The support band were excellent, and you cheered at the front after their performance, already sweating and far too hot. Tom grinned before going to fetch you both a drink. He returned with cold plastic cups.

“Water, I promise.” He clinked his plastic cup with your own and pulled his hair back away from his face as you looked at the stagehands drop a great sheet cover over the stage. It was dark and they worked by torchlight to set up for SIREN.

“I’m so excited.” You cooed, “I never thought I’d see this…”

“Come on, don’t get all gooey on me.” Tom chuckled and grinned with sharp canines as he shrugged his flannel off to expose his own band shirt, “I’m excited as well. This is going to be insane!” He laughed, “So much better than their support show.” He looked wistfully at the stage and downed the rest of his drink just as the lights snapped off. The crowd roared behind you and you threw your cup over the barrier as you bounded against it and peered up as something was placed in the centre of the stage behind the sheer purple curtain.

 There was a rumble over the speakers before the purple sheet dripped down to the floor. There was a pitch-black tank in the centre of the stage. A great hissing noise blended into something close to a whale song before white light lit up the water. The crystal-clear water held Zadok. His white skin glowed with burning purple light as he twisted in the water, a microphone taped to his chest and throat as his eyes opened, pure white. His mouth opened to reveal clear needle-like teeth as he released another great bellowing noise into the dark room. It was silent otherwise, except for Zadok’s haunting song. You peered into the water as he twisted and released a series of clicks as water began to slosh and crash in the speakers. The merman’s claws and webbed hands reached out of the water before he pulled himself free of the water and slid into the darkness of the stage, his bioluminescence lighting his path as he let out a gentle noise and merged into a soft human sounding lilt. Your mouth hung open in awe as he stood at the front of the stage, humming before he opened his mouth wide.

“And now we stand. Silent. Darkness.” There was a pause before his eyes flashed and he hissed, “THE COLD DARK WATER.”

 Suddenly, the spotlights flashed as Khadba’s cymbals crashed and the guitars roared three chords together. Blagden’s bass rumbled on in the background as the guitar rolled with a lilting scale and Zadok continued to sing centre stage, dripping water from his skin as he kneeled at the front of the stage, glowing brilliantly as the lights died and flashed once more with another thunderous crash and guitar strum. There was silence before the guitars wailed and the song truly began and you looked up as the crowd roared, listening to the beginnings of the chorus eagerly before the water crashing started again and Zadok’s haunting melody reverberated around the stadium. Tom jumped with a cheer next to you as the song grew into a thunderous noise like water crashing against the cliffs, and you watched Zadok fall to his knees as the storm calmed and the water settled. He settled down and hummed into the microphone as he finished the gentle ending. The guitars faded as the spotlights went off one by one and you grinned as the water trickled and dropped to a stop. The crowd cheered and you smiled as the lights came on properly to reveal the band.

“Are you motherfuckers ready for some mind-blowing music?!” Zadok screamed at the audience as Duncan’s guitar gently plodded onwards with an intermediate tune. Blagden sauntered over to him, his bass rumbling as he grinned and the two of them stood back to back as Zadok introduced the next song.

“Now this one is an oldie. A very old song named Blood.” He purred before Senoz grinned and started the introduction riffs.

 “AND NOW ITS TIME TO BURN!” Zadok howled into the microphone sometime later. Duncan thudded to the front of the stage, slick with sweat, his curly hair tossing left and right as he slammed one hoof on top of the box and slapped at his bare chest. The crowd cheered as both Senoz and Duncan started the song. With a huff and a toss of his head, Duncan launched himself into the solo, his finger dancing over the frets as he felt the music in his legs, stomping on top of the box as Zadok headbanged towards the others, growling low into the microphone occasionally as Duncan’s fingers tore down the frets in another feat of speed. You screamed at the front as he ducked low, his hair flying over the top of his horns as he continued into a reverb before throwing the plectrum down to you with a wink and a great shake of his head, his fur rippling as he stomped his way over to Senoz to continue the song. You held the plectrum tightly to your chest. In the middle of the show you watched Senoz and Blagden butt heads in the middle of the stage, their horns rammed together as the song blurred into the next, stomping and kicking at each other’s legs as they battled each other in how fast they could strum their way up and down the necks of their guitars. Khadba interrupted their duel with a crashing solo, his tattooed arms bulging with overworked muscles as he spun his stick between beats, sweating in the heat of the spotlights. The crowd roared at the solos and screamed with Zadok until it was the end of the show, and the band stood to take the applause, sweating, panting and smiling as the crowd clapped and cheered.

 Tom grinned at the end of the show, his eyes wild with happiness as you both stood still, waiting for the rest of the crowd to filter out of the hall. You smiled at the stage as the crew were quick to start cleaning up.

“That was insane.” He huffed, his shirt tucked into his jeans as he wiped at the sweat on his chest, “Where’s all your stuff?” Tom asked with curious, half-shifted yellow eyes, snorting softly with the excitement of the gig still burning his nerves.

You smiled and pointed to the curtain, “Backstage. I think Droz will have them. He’s security. We might have to wait a little bit to see him though.”

“Oh, getting in with the security as well I see!” Tom teased, “Who’s that waving at you? Through the curtain there.” He pointed again and you squinted at the grey hand.

“That’ll be Droz.” You whispered as the last few stragglers collected stray plectrums and setlists before it was just the two of you. Tom shrunk away as the intimidating frame of the Orc hybrid came into view. He held you bag in his hand and you smiled brightly, tired and sweaty from the gig.

“Thank you, Droz, you’re a lifesaver.” Gently, he handed you your bag, appraising Tom with a curious red eye.

“Your welcome. It was nice having you.” Droz grumbled, spinning the ring in his nose before he gave you a wave, “I’ll tell Frank you got off safe. Be careful on the way home.”

“Thank you!” You shouted as he disappeared into the back.

“So, are all of the band that ripped, or just him?” Tom joked as you shouldered your merchandise.

“Says you! Come on. Let’s get home. I think this was enough excitement for anyone, my heads ready to explode.”

 “Never have I felt so exhausted.” You groaned in your seat as you sat down in the café near your apartment. The city was at least quiet by the time you woke up today. It was around ten, and most people were at work. You waited, half asleep, for the server to dump your coffee on your table with your meal and hummed quietly as your phone vibrated.

‘I hope you didn’t end up with one of the hotties from last night at home!’

You scowled at Tom’s message.

‘Fuck off. I’m tired and you’re not helping.’

He pinged your phone a few more times and you ignored it as your food and coffee was placed before you.

“Thank you.” You smiled and turned in your seat to look around. That was when you saw the one person you didn’t expect to see.

---

Chapter 2 - Duncan

Chapter 3- Zadok

Chapter 4- Senoz

Chapter 5 - Blagden

Chapter 6- Khadba

[julday4]

Aight! Hey ya'll! Long time no see, whoowee-

Aight how do I start this-

So some of you might know goodnightverse by now! (If not, here) the post is a bit old so uh @awelldressedtornado fucking edit it.

And well, since I'm now co-owner of it (wowie) I DECIDED TO MAKE A GNV2 MUAAHAH-

Aka, Goodnightverse: Bed Bugs.

And yes, these are all of the refs I've been talking about. (Warning: some of the refs gotten lazier over time cause I got feddup with drawing the clothes and stuff.) and plus, most of the templates here are copied from discord ahaha aight let's go!

(Also i didn't do everyone refs yet but I did most of them! I'll do the others soon if ya'll are interested-)

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

Name: Boots (Aka, Goodnightverse!Rust)

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

Creators: Knife and Rose

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

Age/Years lived: 13/16 y/o

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

Rank: Gaurdian

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

Gender: Male

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

Weapon or Magic (Specify): A pirate sword that can easily cut through Shadow Demons and are really good for battle. (Especially sword fights). The pirate sword has an Iron blade thats bending a bit and golden plating on the handle.

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

Human they protect: Jesse

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

Allies: Shine, Flare, PI.FI, Floral and Bush

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

Boots acts exactly like a pirate and loves anything pirate related. He says "YARR" unironically, when something intensive is happening or when something awesome (in his opinion) happens. He can get angry sometimes and is very attached to Jesse, Shine and his twin siblings Floral and Bush. He also LOVES fighting shadow demons with his pirate sword :).

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

Name: Shine (Aka, Goodnightverse!Lukas)

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

Creators: Heart and Lighter

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

Age/Years lived: 13/16 y/o

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

Rank: Gaurdain

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

Gender: Male

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

Weapon or Magic (Specify): A microphone that blasts out colorful musical notes, once you press the star button, which explode once they touch a surface. (He can also control how many musical notes that can come out, if he holds in the button, he can swing his microphone and a bunch of musical notes will come out. If he just touches the button once, only one musical note will come out. Its like those mechanics in games). The microphone is like those microphones you see on the news with a singular button. The microphone can also be used for singing and making special effects like: Gasping, laughing, screaming, oof, yay, ect.

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

Human they protect: Emerald

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

Allies: Boots, Flare, PI.FI, anyone

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

Shine is a lil colorful boy who loves singing and making new friends. He loves learning new things and is very energetic! He talks alot like his dad, Lighter. Aka: Yo, bro, dude, BROSKI, broseph, pog, swag, ect. His aswell very attached to his bro, Boots. He loves going on pirate adventures with him, singing with him and everything else. Their the bestest of friends :). He aswell loves fighting Shadow Demons by his Bro's side. Thou sometimes his a bit soft with Shadow Demons and will comfort them if their hurt.

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

Name: PI.FI/Pinkie Finger (Aka, Goodnightverse!Hypernova)

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

Creators: M.W/Milky Way and Blade

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

Age/Years lived: 13/16 y/o

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

Rank: Gaurdian

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

Gender: Female

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

Weapon or Magic (Specify): A wand made out of magic that can be used to summon and levitate things and blast out sparkly magic. Thou she needs to train the wand so she can summon more and levitate heavier things over the years. (Once she becomes a guardian, her wand can levitate a closet or two and summon a brush, rope and shit. Thou she only uses it when necessary). The wand has a baby blue handle with a lil yellow glittery star on top that has a bunch of spikes around, looking like a pretty rock. (Hehhe Sprinkle).

Also uhh, her goop is made out of strawberry sauce. D. Does that count-

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

Human they protect: Abigal

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

Allies: Flare, Shine, Boots, anything.

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

PI.FI is a sweet, lovely, calm but also bossy lil girl. (She's mainly bossy towards Boots and Shine due to their immaturity and stupidity). Shes loves EVERYTHING girly and especially loves sparkly things, like fairies. She's very protective over her friends and especially Flare because how how shy and easily frightened she is. She's very calm towards Flare aswell and tries to make her feel comfortable. She also loves singing with her wand with Shine, their a pretty good duo! (Not as good as Shine and Boots thou). And she loves trying out new things.

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

Name: Gold (Aka, Goodnightverse!Drake)

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

Creators: Indigo and Monarch

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

Age/Years lived: 16/19 y/o

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

Rank: Gaurdian......? (Yeah no his a fucking butler now)

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

Gender: Male

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

Weapon or Magic (Specify): Holographic purple or golden shields that are good for blocking off attacks or Shadow Demon essence. Gold has really good reflexes so his shields are pretty powerful at battles. He can also summon holograms that he uses to code so he can break through the barrier that's stopping him to travel through the multiverse.

He also has the ability to move his rat tail.

(also the reason he doesn't have any eyelights is well uh.. It happened when he started to slowly despise Jesse and despise gaurdians, like the eyelights started to slowly dissappear and they completely disappeared once he argued with Jesse and left her the next day.)

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

Human they protect: Used to protect Jesse.

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

Allies: Chloe, Floral.

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

Gold is a very formal but ALSO EVIL ASS boy. He used to protect Jesse when they were 8-12 y/o until he started to get tired of them. He started to get tired of their same everyday problems, angryness, annoyance, everything. He was tired of humans. One day, he met Chloe and she started telling him her plans and thoughts about gaurdians and humans and about destroying and taking over the gaurdians, Gold, agreed. Gold started to despise gaurdians, despise humans, despise protection. He believe Shadow demons were victorious and were a better future for this world then gaurdians and humans. So one day, after an argument with Jesse, he abandoned them and left them for Chloe and started being Chloe's minion/butler.

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

Name: Chloe

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

Creators: Neptune and a bunch of glitches

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

Age/Years lived: Forever 13 y/o

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

Rank: Fucking Shadow Demon Outcode thing

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

Gender: None but she calls herself female.

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

Weapon or Magic (Specify): Dark pink Gasterblasters and Bones. The same dark pink as her eyelights. That glitch out depending on how long their used. For example: One hour, they'll be glitched out af, and if she hits the victim with them it'll be a PAINFUL CRITICAL DAMAGE SINCE THE VICTIMS BODY WILL START GLITCHING A BIT. Thou she uses Gold, aka her butler/minion, to attack for her since she's also a bit lazy lmao.

She has the ability to enter humans' dreams like everyone else but SHE'S VERY DANGEROUS CAUSE SHE CAN MAKE THE DREAM BECOME MELTY AND GLITCHY, DAMAGING THE HUMAN BRAIN A BIT WHICH ISN'T GOOD.

She has the ability to travel through multiverses and enter shadow pipes like other shadow demons.

Her voice and body will glitch out sometimes and when she teleports inside a dream, she might glitch out a bit aswell like if a gaurdian is failing to enter a human dream.

And her Shadow Demon form is behind her, which she rarely forms into, but it's always behind her, mimicking every action she does. Thou, only Shadow Demons can see her form.

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

Human they protect: None. Fuck protection.

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

Allies: Gold, Flare, Grain, Alexa, Charlotte(?).

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

Chloe is an outcode who's quite lazy and doesn't really care about anyone. She plans on destroying this world and let Shadow Demons rise. But for now she's starting small. She has Gold by her side to help her in battles and give her souls to eat. Other then that, she's just a glitch, a very dangerous glitch. Her main enemy is Boots. (She's also the main villian, lmao)

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

(Female)

(Male)

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

Name & Last Name: Jesse Cherry Smith

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

Parents: Chara Cherry Smith and Alec Margo

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

Age: 15 y/o

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

Sexuality: Transgender

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

Gender: Male (But currently female)

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

Hobby: being dead Drawing sometimes and playing the guitar a bit. They mainly just like laying on their bed and doing nothing.

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

Personality: Anger issued closeted teen who dislikes being social and will beat up someone if necessary.

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

Allies: Emerald, Kyle, Boots, her cat plushie Bow

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

(Yes this is a Alec x Chara shipkid stfu it's apparently canon now -)

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

Name & Last Name: Kyle Cherry Smith

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

Parents: Chara Cherry Smith and Alec Margo

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

Age: 8 y/o

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

Sexuality: Straight

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

Gender: Male

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

Hobby: Writing and GOING ON IMAGINARY ADVENTURES ANYWHERE and playing outside.

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

Personality: A sweet energetic adventurous imaginative boy who will always find a way to annoy someone and somehow sees good in anything people say. Like seriously how the fuck do I bully you you piece of-

Also he can't read.

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

Allies: Abigal, Jesse/Jess/Best sissy in the entire world-, Flare/Flarey/Best partner in the entire world-

—x—x—x—x—x—x—

(woah another alec x chara shipkid woa-)

ANNND THAT WAS EVERYONE!! WOOOWIEEEEEEEEEE THAT TOOK FORVER.

Anywho, I hope you guys like them and if you have any questions just ask away! (So sorry that it's so long like jesus-)

Anywho, Alec signing off 😎

(also goodnightverse belongs to @awelldressedtornado)

[curly-bangtan]

Drabble game: Member: Jin 6) baby, I’m not going to last if you keep doing that 21) can’t you stop gaming for 1 second and give me attention?

#6: “baby, I’m not going to last if you keep doing that.”

#21: “can’t you stop gaming for one second and give me attention?”

#20: “let me guess, you’re horny again.”

Warnings: oral (M), slight exhibitionism, giving seokjinnie the best suck while he’s gaming and on a call with the boys

A/N: I feel so bad because I really haven’t had much time to write lately because of uni so I haven’t prepared anything special for Jin’s birthday except this. :c But anyway, enjoy~!

.

“Ahh- Aahhh- AAAAHHHHHHH!”

You hear the distinct yells coming from a certain room as you enter the house, a noise so boisterous that it could only belong to none other than your boyfriend.

Which one is it this time, Maple Story or Kart Rider?

Shaking your head in a smitten grin, you walk to the source of the shouts.

To his credit, he at least acknowledges you, “Oh, hey sweetie. Back so early?” To his discredit, he doesn’t even look up from his game, eyes glued to the glaring computer screen, which you don’t doubt have been fixed in place for the entire time you were gone. Kart Rider it is this time.

Tonight was a girls’ night, a few drinks at a nice cocktail bar with your closest female friends (a few meaning maximum three because cocktails are bloody expensive), chin-wagging and updating on each other’s love/sex lives. You always enjoy this type of gatherings.

“Early? Seokjin, it’s one.”

Only a single earphone in, he looks up, but even so, scarcely lest his eyes stray for a second too long from the pixelated road and he crashes again. He’s ranked number 6 right now. Out of seven. Why is he even trying anymore, he’s not going to win. Still, your eyes meet for a fleeting moment, enough for you to feel connected to him again, to trick yourself into thinking that he remotely missed you. Because he definitely didn’t. He didn’t even notice the time, where would his attention find the capacity to remember you while he’s racing his friends on this server?

“Oh shit, now way, it’s one already?” There is a monotone in his voice where disbelief should be. Basically, when Seokjin is gaming, he has two possible moods: over dramatic Ancient Roman gladiator with astounding battle cries, or completely stoic, focused, and most likely won’t realise if you’ve cracked an egg on his head. Both are equally as infuriating.

“Yes, it’s already one.” You sigh, plopping your bag on the floor to the side and striping your winter layers.

It’s shocking, sometimes, to think that your boyfriend is close to reaching his thirties. People compliment him endlessly on his lack of ageing - how doesn’t he have a single wrinkle? he looks the same as he did five years ago, if not better! - but little do they know, not only has he physically not aged, but also has mentally not grown up since the age of sixteen. Sixteen is him on a good day and you being generous.

You wonder if he’s going to stop gaming after this round now that you are back.

You wait.

He ends up coming fourth, which isn’t too shabby considering he had fallen off the course and wound up at the back. Watching as he stretches his board back, you think he’s going to switch his computer off, call it a day and finally come join you on the bed. But then he says into the microphone:

“Guys wait for me, let me change my character.”

You shut your eyes and sigh. Every time.

So you try to mind your own business as you wait for him to finally finish - you don’t mind going to sleep without him, you’re that far into your relationship that you don’t even need to say good night anymore. Practically a married couple at this point.

But then your mind wanders to the conversation you and your girls were having earlier during the night.

On the topic of sex, June brought up how her and her boyfriend has started to switch things up in the bedroom since, as much as she loves him, the same dick gets boring after a year. There was one time where they did policeman roleplay and he dropped the key under the bed and took ages to fish it out, but it was fine because the sex had been a solid 10/10, so apparently it was worth the sore arms. Kerry was surprised that June hadn’t tried to spice it up sooner; she on the other hand has been into moderate BDSM since highschool. Nothing hurts better than the sharp pain of being whipped on the butt by a crop cane, apparently. Just the other day, Namjoon suggested to Eunae that they should have a threesome with another man, the name of whom would not be disclosed, but you considerably suspect that he’s someone you know. Taehyung? Jimin? They seem like the type to be into this shit. But anyway, apparently, it turned Namjoon on a fucking lot to see Eunae get pounded by someone else while sucking his cock. She couldn’t complain at all, except for not being able to walk the next day.

You have such wholesome friends.

When it got to you, you kind of just- sat there poking your fingers. It not that your sex life with Seokjin is vanilla, but that’s exactly what you’re saying. Neither of you are particularly adventurous in nature, especially when it comes to sex. You would say that he has a higher sex drive than you, but only marginally. There are days where you would wake up and before your eyes are fully open, he’d already be inches deep in you. Sometimes, you go a long five days without sex out of tiredness and neither of you have a problem with it. But nevertheless, the sex is, as June described, the same mediocre missionary hammering until he blows his load either too soon or takes too long, with the occasional oral if you’re not feeling lazy.

Yeah, not mind blowing.

It’s not like you minded, but hearing your friends talk about their wild sex life makes you feel like you’re missing out. You and Seokjin are missing some fun, some excitement.

With that in mind, you crawl out of bed and approach your oblivious boyfriend. His shoulders jolt in surprise when he feels your arms snake around his neck from behind. Sparing you a second of his attention, he tilts his head up to meet your gaze, eyes wide in curiosity. You hang over him, cheek pressed on the crown of his head as you watch his game without particular interest.

Then you begin to bury your nose in his thick black hair, trailing tiny pecks all the way down to his face. Your hands start to roam as well, groping his toned chest not at all subtly. Seokjin is naturally well built with his hefty big bones - actual bones as well as, you know, that bone.

His fingers are moving mechanically on the keyboard in astounding reflexes. Hmm, you want those fingers inside… You place a particularly wet kiss on his cheek to try to coax his focus into your possession.

“What’s up, baby?” You count the flicker of his eyes as a small victory, even if you haven’t successfully infringed on his unwavering glare at the screen. Then he speaks into the microphone of his earphones, “Hoseok-ah, I’m catching up, watch out~!”

Ignoring his question as well as his sudden jerking motions to avoid his kart from veering too far, you proceed to kiss down his neck, pressing your warm lips ever so lightly on his skin to create that sensitive sparse contact that will surely make his little hairs rise. Your hands have now travel under his outstretched arms, albeit in an awkward angle due to your position, and are playing with the hem of his shirt. He’s wearing white today, and if there’s one thing you love more than your boyfriend, it’s your boyfriend in white.

When your small fingers reach the band of his joggers, you sense not only his muscles beneath your touch but his entire posture tense. Your wandering mouth feels him gulp.

“Let me guess, you’re horny again?” It’s unusual to hear him speak in such a low voice, a genuine hushed whisper rather than one for dramatic effect. The way he tilted away from the earphone mic does not go unnoticed, trying to to let the boys hear him. How interesting… Why not exploit that?

“Hmm…” You hum, lips still painting his collar now with gentle sucks. Your fingers are feathering his torso, each time daring to dip a bit further under his pants, but never too much. “Can’t you just stop gaming for a second and give me some attention, Seokjinnie?”

He tenses once more.

This is kind of fun. You almost snicker diabolically.

Muffled voices sound from the other end of the call, barely audible from the earphone that has been left dangling by the wire, not plugged into his ear. And you know that if it weren’t for them, Seokjin would be reprimanding you loudly right now.

“After this game, okay sweetie?” The tendons of his fingers strain over his knuckles. Click click click click click. Aggressive keyboard pushing.

“But… I can’t wait…” You put on your babiest voice with a whiny undertone, drawing out each syllable for emphasis. As you use your nails to tickle the skin over his pelvis, one of his knees jerk up and hit the desk.

Cute reflexes, you mirth.

“Shit-” He mutters under his breath. “Please, please, please. You’re distracting me.”

That’s the point.

This time, you reach even further, one hand brushing his thigh, the other returning to his fuzzy navel. “Seokjin…” He tries his best to hold in a sharp inhale at your seductive touch. “Right now, please…”

“Last game, I promise.” He whispers away from the microphone.

“You have two more rounds, you just started a new game, I can’t wait that long.” You nip at the lobe of his free ear.

“Boys, I’m going to bed after this game.” He announces to his friends, shooting you a brief pointed look, and whispers pleadingly, “please.”

Do you feel slightly bad for putting him in such a tortured position? Yes. But do you have every intention of carrying on? Also yes.

“How about this, baby,” you press your mouth against his ear, “you stay quiet while I give you the best blowjob of your life right now, then I’ll be satisfied and leave you be. Or, I go right back to bed right now and probably ignore you for the rest of the week until you do some grovelling for choosing a video game over your girlfriend.”

Seokjin shudders at your warm breath perforating into him and heaves, jaw hanging slightly open as he throws you one long glance. You see the clockwork in his mind turning as he contemplates your offer, clearly torn. Promiscuity is not his thing, so naturally, getting sucked off by his girl while on a gaming call with his friends presents a difficult dilemma.

“Shit, Y/N-ah…” He laments softly, causing a smirk to bloom across your face. He’s going to cave, you know it. Concentration at the game now dispersed, Seokjin wets his lips in hesitation. “Fine.”

So he caves.

Smug, you drop onto your knees and scuttles around his chair until you’re in the shadows of the desk. He rolls his seat back to allow you emerge between his legs. It’s dark down here, yet you know his body inside out. Lifting his rear off, he allows you to tug his joggers down, your hands not missing the chance to skim past the outskirts of his hips. You see him glance down, teeth gritted.

Kissing up the insides of his thighs, you let your tongue dance lucidly, teasing him until his quads can’t tense any further. There’s already a semi-bulge in his boxers, this lewd boy, and when you palm him over the grey cotton material, his lower half buckles.

Oh this is going to be fun.

When you feel more heat rush down to his groin, and his member grows more erect, you stripe the boxers off too. Your boyfriend is still, quiet, and you have to check that he’s still conscious. He is. Very conscious. Of your little shadow casted face in front of his fat aching cock under the desk.

He gulps again. He’s fucked.

Just as he looks back up at the screen so his vehicle doesn’t fall behind, he feels your tingly breath hovering over his shaft, up and down, as if assessing where to devour first. Unluckily for him, it’s his balls. Sucking on the soft delicate skin, one of your hands comes under to cup him. Seokjin lets out a low whimper that sounds vaguely like mmhhah-.

“Jin-hyung, where did you go? Falling behind already?” Jungkook taunts over the call, the other guys snickering after him.

Seokjin can’t even respond. It’s taking all of him to even keep half his attention on the race, how is he supposed to formulate a functional sentence?

You look up at him, grinning devilishly as you fondle his balls in your hand with your tactful tongue. Although his fingers are still clicking away at the keyboard, he is now looking down at you every few seconds. Progress. After a particularly cruel suck that has him curling his toes, you move to his cock.

It is throbbing violently. It tends to do that - Seokjin is a throbber; if you get him aroused but deprive him of the friction, he pulses up in need. You find something about that so cute.

And so, slowly and lubriciously, you drag your tongue up his tongue in a zigzag, curving around his circumference at every turn. “Aish…” He cries, and you know it’s not because of the game. He looks down, for a long couple of seconds this time. His lips are parted, hand pushing the hair out of his face to reveal that glorious forehead that’s powerful enough to topple kingdoms.

Then you swirl around his head, the rough pad of your tongue pressed hard against him, tasting his salty precum.

“Fuck.” He exhales. He knows you know what you’re doing to him and he’s completely under your influence, helpless. You wonder if his friends can hear his soft curses and moans. A part of you wants them to. Exhibitionism? Who would have thought.

You focus on his slit, licking mercilessly at his oozing opening, lapping up the taste of his arousal. His thigh is now trembling. Yet you don’t stop assailing his tip, slowly taking it in your mouth while your tongue performs its magic. Swirling, licking, flicking, sucking.

Abruptly, Seokjin grabs the mic of his earphones, concealing it in his palm to mask his voice when he says, “baby, I’m not going to last if you keep doing that.”

You just look up at him, wide feign-innocent eyes overflowing in amusement. His own eyes lock on yours, head tilting to the side in exasperation at your antics. His incapacity against your relentless technique sends your cunt surging.

Finally, you take his cock in your mouth, swallowing him inch by inch agonisingly slowly until he pokes the back of your throat. He has to bite down on his lip to prevent those whimpers from escaping. When you slurp up, your tongue continues to draw patterns across his length, feeling his pulsing veins beneath you. Playing with his bollocks at the same time, you release his cock from your mouth with a wet pop.

At this point, you can tell he’s given up on the game, especially when his left hand grips onto your hair, his hips buckling again to push himself into your mouth. The keyboard sounds are decelerating, his eyes fixed on you more than the monitor, only occasional glances up at the game so his kart isn’t completely halted.

You gag as you bob up and down his cock, salivating endlessly to create a slippery friction for the walls of your mouth to mould over him. He fits in you so well. Each time, you try to take in more and more of his length until his whole member is engorged in your mouth. His taste grows increasingly salty, tip crying tears of precum.

Yup, he’s definitely not going to last.

Fingers holding onto your locks tightly, as if holding on for dear life, his chest rises and falls shakily, breath getting heavier. “Shut up, Jimin.” He says into his mic. You wonder what the boy had said.

As your pace increases and strokes of your tongue intensifies, his thighs squeeze around you. He’s desperately falling apart. Maintaining eye contact, his head collapses back, his neck exposed. He’s so close, you can tell.

So you go as fast as you can despite the ache in your jaw, riding him with your mouth, face stretching to encompass his girth. Tears spring to your eyes yet you ignore them. He’s pushing your head up and down now, guiding your speed to pursue his orgasm.

Then-

“O- fuck!” He groans out loud, not even bothering to lower his volume anymore. A moment later, you feel the violent twitch of his shaft followed by a spurt of warm liquid into your mouth. You slow your imbibing, considering his utmost sensitivity right now, and tenderly suck around his ejaculating tip. His whole body convulses, eyes rolling back. He is at utter surrender, both hands cradling your face, legs sprawled out.

“Nothing,” his voice is unstable as he exhales into the mic, “I just- um- spilt water all over my desk.”

‘Spilt water’ indeed.

You swallow his load in your mouth after pulling him out, hand lazily milking out his every last drop. Seokjin is panting as he gazes down at you, caressing your cheek gratefully, fiddling with your red swollen lips.

“I’m leaving, boys, good night.” He mindlessly ends the call with a few clicks and shuts his computer, his whole attention now devoted to you. “I can’t fucking believe you did that.”

Smiling proudly, you answer, “That was fun, wasn’t it.”

“I’m sure it was really fucking fun for you.” Seokjin hauls you up gently from the ground, and jeez, your knees are sore.

Without a second to waste, he pulls you in by the neck to meet his lips, your tongue still bitter from his cum. He’s not normally particularly dominant, yet this time, there is a roughness to his kiss, and an eagerness in the way his arm traps your waist. Walking back step by step, you tumble onto the bed, your core heated from the pool of desire you’ve collected for him. And when he flips and pins you under him, you know you’re fucked for the rest of the night.

“You’re going to regret doing that.”

.

04/12/19

© Copyright 2019

[seirity]

Part 3: The aftermath

I’m sorry that it’s taken me so long write this post. Originally, I was just going to write this post about the aftermath and then another one regarding Taichi’s character development, but in the end, after much deliberation, I decided to combine the two posts into one. Anyways, hope you enjoy!

This is the third part of my post regarding episode 23 of Chihayafuru 3. If you would like to read the first two parts of this series, you can find them here and here.

So, it’s been at least a few days since Taichi’s confession and there’s clearly some tension between the two. We aren’t explicitly told how much time has passed exactly, but it seems at least five days have passed based off of the number of times their clothes have changed. It’s surprisingly how no one has made a comment about it, since Chihaya and Taichi are clearly not talking to each other.

It’s interesting to see how Suetsugu-sensei makes this evident by covering both Chihaya and Taichi’s eyes.

Suetsugu-sensei has also done this before in episode 21 when Chihaya was trying to figure out why Taichi always has to do things by himself.

I’ve noticed it before, but there is such a clear focus on eyes in Chihayafuru. Suetsugu-sensei uses them for a variety of purposes. She uses them to inform us when Chihaya is serious about her match and is going to play without holding back. She also uses them to tell when there’s going to be a change of pace within a match or when Chihaya is having pivotal moments during her self-reflections.  

When she realizes she’ll have to figure out why Taichi does what he does after the tournament:

When she wonders whether or not this will be the start of something new for herself after witnessing Shinobu-chan fall apart emotionally only to pick herself up again, Harada-sensei’s passion, Suou-san’s strength, Arata’s determination, and Taichi throwing down the gauntlet:

When she realizes Taichi had created a placement just to play against her:

When she realizes that Taichi loved her all this time:

These are just a few examples that come to mind when I think of Suetsugu-sensei’s inclination of focusing on eyes to get the audience to focus on certain key pivotal moments or emotions the characters are feeling at that point in time.

It’s so iconic that even the live-action uses this framing technique.

But I digress.

It’s not until the start of the new year that something actually happens: Taichi quits the karuta club.

Only Nikuman-kun and Tsukue-kun are aware that this is going to happen. None of the girls in the club know. Funny enough, it’s Chihaya who realizes something is amiss when Taichi is no where to be seen before it’s her turn to introduce the karuta club.

Interesting, huh?

It’s only when Miyauchi-sensei comes to make a revision to Chihaya’s script that all the girls realize what has happened.

The framing used here is beautiful and once again Chihaya’s eye is visible.

The sound effects in this particular scene gave me the chills. I loved how the fact that Madhouse suddenly made the introductions from the other clubs and the accompanying applause audible. I could literally feel my heart drop during this scene.

I also liked how they added an animation to make the image drop, since you could also visually see the moment when Chihaya’s heart just drops.

While this particular scene isn’t in the actual manga, I feel like this addition definitely had an impact. It’s almost as if you can see the wheels turning in Chihaya’s mind as she’s processing this sudden change.

Once again, eyes anyone?

It’s only after she’s vocalized how many members are in the club that she’s finally processed what has happened. The audience can feel time stop and my heart just breaks. I felt myself tearing up as tears began to well up in Chihaya’s eyes.

As tragic as this scene is, it is also done really well. Madhouse timed everything perfectly. From the moment where she stops to the poignant climax the soundtrack comes to when tears well up in Chihaya’s eyes, and even when she finally drops the microphone. The animation for this scene is amazing, and even though my heart breaks, it’s still one of my favorite scenes in this episode because of how well it was executed.

Chihaya rushes off to catch up to Taichi as he leaves school and tells him that she doesn’t want him to quit the club. She’s desperate and completely distraught over the fact that he’s quitting the club. She can’t even comprehend him not being a part of the club anymore.

Chihaya’s reaction to the news is not a surprise when we consider how selfish and self-centered she can be. What’s different here is the desperation you can hear in her voice and the way she basically throws herself at him to make him stop walking away.

Now we’ve reached the second most controversial part of this episode: the kiss.

The scene is so powerful all on it’s own that they simply chose to have nothing in the background, except for Chihaya’s crying. It’s only when Taichi takes a hold of her sleeve and brings her face closer to him that you hear a chime-like sound effect, almost like an eureka moment of sorts. The only difference is this time Chihaya is actually realizing how Taichi is not as calm as he has seemed to be since his confession.

I love the use of silence here and to be honest simplicity is best in these kinds of situations.

As controversial as this scene is, I think the fact that Taichi starts to kiss her, but stops himself from completely doing so is extremely significant.

While on one hand, Chihaya did technically earn a kiss as a prize for winning the tournament on Taichi’s birthday, I’m sure this wasn’t really what she had in mind when this happened.

Eyes!

As funny and ironic as this may seem, I digress.

For me, this kiss is NOT something that Taichi TRIES to force on Chihaya, but something that happened in the spur of the moment. He’s at the end of his rope and seeing Chihaya absolutely devastated because of him is something that’s never happened.

From Taichi’s point of view, it only looks like Arata has the power to sway Chihaya’s heart or to have an impact on her. Taichi always thinks he is insignificant and that she will be fine without him.

There’s only so much someone can take before they reach their limit and realize that they need to just focus on themselves. It’s why he asks Chihaya this particular question:

Taichi is only human. He can only take so much and it hurts for him to be near her so shortly after his confession.

As conflicted as he may feel, Taichi’s eyes here are animated in such a manner where you can feel the intensity of his gaze. His eyes appear to be burning here with how intense his feelings are and the audience is naturally drawn to them.

Other than being something that he did in the spur of the moment, a part of me also feels like Taichi almost kissed her to get Chihaya to actually realize what him loving her means. Or in other words: to make her realize that even though he is a gentleman, he is STILL a man. In general, Chihaya has little to no qualms about invading someone’s personal space. In Taichi’s case, she has no concept of what personal space is for him, especially since they are childhood friends. As a result, I feel like the kiss is his self-control finally breaking and he suddenly has the urge to kiss her because she is so close to him. However, Taichi’s resolve returns before he can completely kiss her, hence why he stops midway. He stops because he knows it’s wrong and that once he crosses that line, he can never go back. It’s the point of no return.

Once again his eyes are covered and the audience is unable to see his true emotions.

The inner-turmoil that he feels is apparent here by how he clenches Chihaya’s shoulder, but suddenly let’s go of her.

And tells her that all 100 cards are completely pitch black to him.

These screen shots don’t do this scene justice, but I love how the flashbacks that are used in the background are ALL crucial moments of Taichi’s life where karuta was involved.

By saying the cards are completely pitch black to him, Suetsugu-sensei is letting the audience know how devastated Taichi is after confessing to Chihaya.

In English, we often say the world looks a little brighter when you’re in love. In Japanese culture, there is a similar saying that can literally be translated along the lines of “adding color to one’s world.” I can’t remember where I’ve read this, but I did see it somewhere that in Asian culture “dyeing/adding color” to someone else’s or one’s world also has a sexual connotation. For me, this makes a lot of sense since I always hear lines like 「世界に色が付く」 (literally: to add color to the world) or  「貴方が私の心を朝焼けに染めた」 (You’ve dyed my heart with morning glow/You’ve dyed my heart red like the sky as the sun rises) in Japanese love songs whether they’re happy or sad ones.  As a result, no matter what culture you come from, the fact that love is often associated with colors is universal.

Thus, Taichi saying the cards are completely pitch black to him now is the equivalent of saying he feels like he’s lost the one thing that played a key role behind his motivation to play karuta: his love for Chihaya.

This isn’t to say that he doesn’t love her anymore, but more the fact that his heart is broken, which makes it feel as if his love for her is completely gone.

Notice that I’m NOT saying his love for Chihaya was the sole reason why he plays/played karuta. While Chihaya was definitely the reason why Taichi started and was one of the reasons as to why he worked so hard at karuta, she is not the sole reason why he played.

At this point in time, he just doesn’t know it.

DISCLAIMER: this includes spoilers for those who only watch the anime, so please proceed at your own risk.

There are scenes in the manga that allude to how Taichi has come to enjoy playing karuta over the years. Despite the fact that all 100 cards look completely pitch black to him, he continues to play with Suou-san after quitting the club. If his sole motivation to play karuta was Chihaya, then why play karuta without her at all? He has to enjoy playing it on some level, even if he himself doesn’t realize it or is in complete denial.

Yes, I know there is a huge scene where Sudou essentially calls Taichi out on the fact that Taichi always looks like he’s ready to throw in the towel and quit playing karuta forever, but then why continue to try to get better after leaving the club?

The answer lies in a scene that happens long before Taichi has that match with Sudou at the Queen/Meijin qualifying matches of Taichi’s senior year. This particular scene is when Suou-san tells Taichi that it was admirable how Taichi continued to play karuta and tried so hard at it, despite not liking it. That he loved those who played karuta so much that he continued to play, while essentially sacrificing his own happiness and enduring such hardships for their sake. Taichi himself even acknowledges the fact that he doesn’t like karuta, but could never say that because he wouldn’t be able to stay by their side anymore. Instead of just leaving things as they are and essentially admitting that Harada-sensei’s words and the days he spent with the Mizusawa karuta club turned into a curse, he refuses to continue believing that everything was for naught. For me, this is the moment where Taichi starts playing karuta, not for Chihaya or for all the people he loves, but honestly for himself. It’s unclear what actually happens after this sudden realization, but I have a feeling he runs after and catches up with Suou-san. 

But, I digress.

END SPOILERS

Anyways, the symbolism here is just beautiful.

As Chihaya realizes what Taichi is truly saying, her eyes widen and the second half of poem #46 flashes across the screen.

‘Where, over the deep of love, The end lies, I do not know “

行く方もしらぬ 恋の道かな

This scene isn’t in the manga, but I love how the animators did this since it just reiterates what happened: Despite not knowing where this love would lead him, Taichi look the chance and told her how he felt anyways.

Episode 23 ends with this haunting scene: Taichi walking away from Chihaya as she stands there in complete shock in the background while the black cards flutter in the foreground.

To be honest, I can only imagine how difficult it must have been for Taichi to force himself to stay in the club until the start of the new school year. It’s tortuous: Wanting to be near here because he’s in love with her, but at the same time wanting to run away from her because it’s a reminder of what happened/what he thinks he’s lost.

Yet, it’s almost as if him not being first in his class was the excuse he needed to quit the club and end this long, endless cycle of suffering. My heart bleeds for him. He put himself out there to tell Chihaya how he felt, even when he wasn’t really sure how it would turn out.

Confessing to Chihaya is very significant to Taichi’s character for two reasons. The first is by doing so, he is no longer a coward. He’s put his feelings out there and he’s stopped taking the easy way out. It’s easier for him to be a coward and simply maintain the status quo by not confessing to Chihaya. Not telling her how he feels would allow him to stay by her side, but he would be forever making himself the martyr. He would never truly be able to be happy, especially if she ends up with Arata because he never took a chance to see what would happen if he told her how he felt.

It’s only with Sumire’s confession and her plead for Taichi to tell Chihaya how he feels that Taichi is finally able to take that leap of faith and muster up the courage to finally do it.

However, by confessing to her, he’s made the declaration that he doesn’t want to be a coward and take the easy way out, which is to simply maintain the status quo.  He confessed to Chihaya because it was something that he had to do in order to become someone who wasn’t a coward.

"It doesn’t matter how this looks to other people. If this is something that you got to do, then you do it." (Geraldine Hughes)

There are people who would argue that Taichi confessing to Chihaya now is simply because he’s being selfish and that he’s only doing it because he doesn’t want to stay her friend. It is really selfish if we are simply doing something because we don’t want to live with regret of what could have been if we had done what we wanted to do? Perhaps it is on some level, but haven’t we all felt this way before? If you must condemn Taichi for confessing to Chihaya because of this, then you too must face the same fate for doing something that you want to do because you didn’t want to live with regrets for the rest of your life.

Honestly, this same logic can be applied to Arata’s confession in the sense that wanting Chihaya to see him as something more than a friend is also selfish. Just the act of confessing your feelings and watching someone else to see you as more than a friend is fundamentally selfish on some level.

The second reason is that by confessing to Chihaya, Taichi is now living for himself. This sounds very similar to the first point I’ve made, but there is a very subtle, but crucial difference: he’s no longer putting his needs on the back burner and he’s prioritizing himself over others, especially Chihaya. This is also why it makes sense for him to leave the club and to focus on his studies. He has to start thinking about his own future and needs to stop focusing on Chihaya. Not to mention the fact that seeing her right now is completely painful for him. Up to this point, Taichi has managed to flawlessly maintain his grades, support the Mizusawa karuta club, and be there for Chihaya in whatever capacity she needed him to be.

I will probably get around to doing a post regarding Taichihaya in the most recent chapters of the manga. There’s still quite a bit I wanted to say, but I feel this is a good place to end things.

Anyways, that was an extremely long post. I hope it all made sense! Thank you to everyone who have read this entire series of posts! As always, please let me know your thoughts!

[reddielibrary]

Eddie, You Had One Job

Written by @greenornaments

Gift for @eduardoandale

Pairing: Richie Tozier x Eddie Kaspbrak

Word count: 4,937

Rating: Teen

AO3 Link - https://archiveofourown.org/works/21248489

Summary: Eddie can’t think of anything he’d rather do less than spend his Friday night at the drama department’s annual haunted attraction. Little does he know, he’s about to have a life changing encounter with one Richie Tozier....

Eddie trudged along, shivering in the chilly October air despite the warmth of his fleece hoodie. He couldn’t believe he had allowed Bill and Stan to talk him into spending his Friday night going to the haunted house put on by their university’s drama department. The three of them hardly ever got to hang out lately, what with midterms and part-time jobs demanding much of their free time, and Eddie’s suggestion for this rare night of togetherness had been to rent a stack of movies (or even better, videogames) and hole themselves up in his and Stan’s dorm room with a healthy supply of popcorn, chips, and soda. 

However, Bill, the resident drama geek, who had worked the haunted house for the past two weekends, had suggested that they all check it out from an audience’s perspective. Stan had, of course, readily agreed, so unfortunately, Eddie had been outvoted. Which was a shame because he’d really been looking forward to a relaxing night with just them, not them plus a hundred other people in frosty temperatures while his fingers turned into mini popsicles. 

“Step it up, Ed, or we’ll never get there,” Bill called out to him, turning his head back to look at Eddie, who was several strides behind his friends. 

“I’m gonna say it again, this is dumb,” Eddie grumbled. “It’s fucking freezing out. We’re all going to catch hypothermia and die, if we don’t catch the flu first from being surrounded by so many people during peak season. Besides, it’s not like you don’t know what this thing is like, you’ve worked it.”

“Yeah, but you guys haven’t seen it yet,” Bill pointed out. “And we’ve all worked really hard on it, so I wanna see how you like it.”

“Come on, Eddie. It’ll be fun,” coaxed Stan. “Besides, do you really want to spend every weekend of your entire college experience in your room?” he added. 

“Yes, because at least my room is clean. At least MY half of it is,” replied Eddie, which caused Stan to roll his eyes in exasperation. 

“Don’t worry, Eddie, we’ll be there to protect you if it gets too scary,” teased Bill. 

“I am NOT scared,” Eddie declared firmly. He wasn’t, not really. Sure, sometimes horror movies and stuff frustrated him. He was usually the one to cover his eyes whenever they watched them together, after all. Granted, some (well, most) of the time it was because he literally could not watch someone make a stupid decision that led them right into the monster’s trap without getting irrationally angry and going off on a rapidfire tangent that quickly made the other boys regret watching with him. But still. 

Mostly, he wasn’t all that enthused with going to the haunted house because he knew Stan and Bill were going to be all touchy and clingy the entire time and he was probably going to spend the entire evening as a glorified third wheel. 

He saw Bill and Stan exchange a look. “Whatever you say, Ed,” said Stan. “Tell you what, next time we all have a free Friday night, you pick what we do. Deal?”

Eddie sighed. “Deal,” he agreed, resigning himself to an evening of freezing his ass off while being surrounded by a bunch of over-enthusiastic theatre kids who were determined to make him jump out of his skin. 

The three of them made it at last to the edge of the vast field which, in warmer months, usually played host to traveling carnivals, but which was currently sporting a carefully crafted maze made of painted plywood, in addition to a series of temporary mobile buildings, all of which were decorated to look as spooky as possible. Which, if Eddie was being honest, wasn’t very. Crude wooden signs that said things like TURN BACK, BEWARE, and ABANDON HOPE were strategically placed along a pathway that led to a large, black tent adorned with orange and purple string lights. To be perfectly frank, it all looked a lot tamer than Eddie had been expecting, not that he would ever risk hurting Bill’s feelings by saying so. 

A throng of people were already making their way inside the tent. Bill led the way in, Stan following closely behind him, and Eddie bringing up the rear. He looked around, unable to see too much since the inside of the tent was dark except for the spaced out battery-operated lanterns providing the only source of light. They served as illumination for a small, wooden platform that stood in the center of the tent like a stage. A guy, clearly one of the drama students, sat on a stool on top of the platform, holding a microphone in his lap and watching as the tent began to fill with people. He briefly caught Eddie’s eye as their group of three settled in a spot toward the front of the crowd, directly facing the makeshift stage.

“So, what are we waiting for, exactly?” Eddie murmured to Bill as the tent continued to fill up with excited patrons. He rubbed his hands together in an effort to warm them up now that they were semi-inside and out of the cold air. 

“This is the holding area. They’re just gonna explain how the tour works and…” Bill began to explain, but Eddie was only half listening because, in spite of himself, he kept finding his eyes wandering back over to the guy on the platform. Even though he’d silently admitted to himself in high school that he might not be straight, he still had a great deal of difficulty allowing himself to check guys out for more than a few seconds at a time, as though he were always afraid that someone would notice and judge him for it if he let his gaze linger too long. He supposed that came from a lifetime of someone always telling him he was wrong in some way, whether that be kids at school or, usually, his own mother. 

In the dark tent, though, he felt a bit safer letting himself take a good look. Not that there was anything particularly special about this guy. He was just a typical college student. He looked pretty nerdy, really, what with his tacky long-sleeved Hawaiian shirt, unkempt dark hair and huge glasses that took up a sizable portion of his face. It was a very cute face, though, which was probably why Eddie felt like he had to keep stealing glances at it while catching bits and pieces of whatever Bill was saying. 

“.....and you definitely shouldn’t touch the actors,” Bill continued. Eddie blinked, momentarily taken out of his enrapturement with Mr. Hawaiian Shirt. 

“What?”

“You can’t touch the actors, it’s a major rule,” said Bill. “You wouldn’t believe how many times I’ve almost been beaten shitless by some weenie who got too scared.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Eddie with an eyeroll, even as he silently thought that, maybe, he wouldn’t mind touching at least ONE of the actors. He glanced back over to the guy on the podium, who, to Eddie’s absolute horror, was looking right back at him with a raised eyebrow. 

“Motherfuckin shit fuck,” Eddie whispered in a panic as he averted his eyes, his face so burning hot he just knew he was probably as red as a tomato. He hoped it was dark enough that the other guy didn’t notice, but knowing his luck, he probably wasn’t that fortunate. 

“You ok, Ed?” asked Stan, giving him a curious look. 

“Fine,” Eddie mumbled. He only wanted a hole to open up beneath him so he could fall into it and disappear, but yeah, other than that, he was great. He saw Stan and Bill exchange another look out of the corner of his eye, but thankfully, they didn’t press the issue. 

Just then, someone closed the open flap of the tent, plunging it into almost complete darkness. A spooky sound effects tape began to play on a low volume from somewhere across the tent. The lanterns shone onto the platform, where Mr. Hawaiian Shirt was standing up and getting ready to address the audience. 

“Alright, how is everyone doing this fine evening, ladies and germs?” he said into the microphone, his voice reverberating throughout the tent. A mumbled scattering of voices responded, and the guy shook his head in disappointment. 

“Oh, come on, you bitches can do better than that. I said, how is everyone doing?” He thrust the mic out into the audience, who responded with a loud chorus of “GOOOOOD.”

“Beautiful,” said the guy happily, catching Eddie’s eye again as he said the word. “Anyway, my name is Richie and welcome to our humble little haunted attraction!” Ah, so Mr. Hawaiian Shirt had a name. Richie. Eddie filed it away in the back of his mind as he tried to stop his face from flushing every time Richie looked in his direction. 

“Let me be clear, our goal here is to make sure you all have a friggin great time, and we do that by trying to scare the absolute shit out of you,” said Richie into the mic, one hand casually resting into the pocket of his jeans as he leaned against the stool. “I mean, not literally. Please do not actually shit while inside the attraction. A lot of these props and costumes are rented.”

The audience laughed. Eddie bit his lip, pissed off at himself for finding such a gross and lame joke funny. He was determined not to laugh, since Mr. Hawaiian...sorry, RICHIE...seemed to be making a lot of eye contact with him specifically, and Eddie felt it was important that he know that his jokes were stupid. 

“So, like I was saying, this ain’t your mama’s haunted house,” Richie continued, playfully tossing his mic from one hand to the other. “Or maybe it is, I wouldn’t know, cause your mama never called me the next day.” His eyes locked on Eddie’s again as amused giggles rang out from the audience, and if Eddie didn’t know better, he could have sworn that the guy actually winked at him. It was probably a trick of the light reflecting off of his glasses, but even so. He couldn’t believe he still thought this guy was cute now that he’d actually opened his mouth. 

“So anyway, guys, I’m not gonna keep you here, I’m just here to debrief. We just have a few basic ground rules,” said Richie, getting down to business at last. “First, make sure to always follow the lighted paths from one show building to the next, cause nobody has time to go looking for your lost ass. Secondly, no flash photography. We’re all broke college students and we can’t afford a trip to the ER if you blind us and we trip and break a leg. And third, for the same reasons, PLEASE don’t touch us. I know you’ll be terrified ‘cause not every actor here is gonna be as handsome as I am.” He made eye contact with Eddie again as he spoke, and Eddie felt his stomach betray him with an excited flip. Why the fuck did he find this guy so damn intriguing? 

“Some of them will be the scariest shit you’ve ever seen,” Richie continued. “But, keep your paws to yourself and we’ll all have a good time. Are we ready?” 

“YEESSS,” the audience roared out, and the tent opened back up as everyone started to pour out. Eddie cast one last glance back at Richie, who was retreating out the other side. Specifically, he focused on what Richie’s ass looked like in his jeans. You know, just in case he needed to reference it for later. 

“Come on, Ed!” he heard Bill shout. Eddie shook himself and hurried to stick close to Bill and Stan, who were leading the way, hand in hand, down the path toward the first attraction. They all piled into one of the temporary buildings, which was decorated on the inside to look like a dark bedroom, the only source of light coming from several blue-bulbed lamps. A girl in a nightgown lay on the bed with a grotesquely made up face, disregarding everyone in the room except for the guy in a priest costume standing beside her. 

“What an excellent day for an exorcism,” the girl said in a creepy voice that set Eddie’s teeth on edge despite the fact that he was well aware it was just a student in a costume. 

The next building they visited was similarly creepy. This one featured a sad looking ghost boy on a tire swing, slowly swinging back and forth with a forlorn “Won’t you play with me?” Eddie mentally gave it an A for effort. 

The rest of the attractions played out in much the same manner, and it wasn’t until Eddie reached the fifth or sixth unvarying show building that he realized that he’d somehow managed to lose track of Stan and Bill in the crowd of people moving from one section to the next. “Great,” he muttered. “Stan! Bill?” Where the fuck were they? He sighed heavily and curiously peeked inside of the building he was currently in front of. It was full of clowns. 

“Nope,” he murmured to himself, quickly backing out and heading back down the lighted pathway. Creepy clowns were where he drew the line. He looked around for his friends, but couldn’t see any sign of them. Unfortunately, he also couldn’t stand around in everybody’s way, so he had no choice but to keep moving. 

He ran ahead a bit onto a quieter part of the path, toward the maze, where the crowd had yet to reach and started looking around dully, his eyes falling onto a building that was slightly bigger than the others. He walked up to it, trying to peek inside, but he couldn’t see much. He debated with himself briefly over whether to just go inside by himself, finally deciding that whatever was inside couldn’t possibly be that scary. Besides, it would serve his friends right if they couldn’t find him for a little bit. 

He steeled himself and entered the building, which turned out to be empty of patrons and separated into several different rooms. The first room featured more clowns, which sent a shiver down Eddie’s spine even though they were clearly just mannequins in masks. He supposed that the drama department had run out of students willing to give up a third weekend standing around in gross makeup. A room off to the side was dark and empty except for a fog machine and a sound effects tape playing lowly over some hidden speakers. 

“Wow, fake fog, how utterly terrifying,” he mumbled sarcastically. He veered off into the third room, the biggest in the building. This one featured what Eddie assumed to be more mannequins dressed to look, loosely, like classic horror movie monsters. He walked around slowly, taking in the details of Dracula, Frankenstein’s monster, and the Wolf Man, all decorated as accurately as possible, but decidedly not even remotely scary. 

“Lame,” he said to himself with a snort, turning around to check out the Mummy figure on the other side of the room. He was absentmindedly running a finger over the white crepe paper of the figure’s costume when he suddenly heard a loud roar behind him. His stomach dropped to his knees and his heart leaped into his throat as he turned around to see that the Wolf Man, most definitely NOT a mannequin, had moved from his spot and was charging toward him with outstretched arms. 

“AAAAAH!” Eddie let out a blood curdling scream and tripped slightly over his own feet in sheer panic. He felt his hand ball into a fist without him even thinking about it, and before he could stop himself he had used it to deliver a swift punch directly to the Wolf Man’s face, hard enough to hurt his hand and knock the other person backwards onto the ground. 

“Jesus fuck,” the Wolf Man whined as they brought one hand up to their face, the voice muffled by the mask. Eddie just stood there in shock, trying to get his breathing and his heartbeat to return to normal as he absorbed what he’d just done. He fumbled into the fanny pack around the waist of his jeans for his inhaler and took a puff, his eyes keenly focused on the poor, writhing werewolf he’d just sucker-punched into the floor. 

“You got a license for that fuckin right hook?” asked the werewolf, the voice sounding slightly familiar to Eddie. It was hard to place it though, since it was so muted by the rubber of the mask. 

“Oh my fuck...fuck, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t….are you ok???” Eddie put his inhaler away and ran over to the person, who was desperately trying to remove the mask. He knelt down to their level and reached his hands out. “Here, let me help.”

“It’s fine, I got it,” they replied, their fingers finally managing to slip beneath the rim of the mask and pull it off. And if Eddie had been wound up and embarrassed before, that was absolutely fucking nothing compared to how he felt when he realized that it was Richie underneath it. 

“Fuck,” he muttered, his face burning hot and his stomach doing somersaults for an entirely new set of reasons. “Fuck fuck fuck, God, I am SO sorry, man, I...Jesus, I really fucked you up, I’m sorry!” He reached again for his inhaler and took another long puff as he looked over the sight of the rapidly spreading bruise on Richie’s right eye.

“It’s fine, I never really liked seeing out of both eyes anyway,” Richie quipped, wincing as his fingers brushed over his injury. “At least I wasn’t wearing my glasses. Besides,” he added, glancing at the inhaler still in Eddie’s hand, “You’re the one who looks like they’re about to die.” 

“I thought you were a mannequin,” Eddie offered as a weak excuse, flinching as he watched the other boy reach into a nearby wooden box by Dracula’s feet and retrieve his glasses, which he delicately placed on his face. Even as careful as he was, his expression contorted in pain. 

“Yeah, that would be the entire fuckin point,” Richie said. “What did we JUST say back there about touching the actors? I know you heard me.”

“It was a reflex, dude, I’m sorry,” Eddie apologized. “In my defense, you almost gave me a fucking heart attack. I didn’t know you were going to charge at me like that,” he added defensively as he tried to resist the urge to throw himself out a window at the thought that he had literally just punched the same guy he’d been eye-fucking half an hour ago. 

“It’s not like I was gonna touch you,” said Richie. He looked Eddie over with his good eye and grinned cheekily. “Not that I wouldn’t want to, though.”

Eddie’s cheeks flushed again, his heart skipping several beats as his eyes locked with Richie’s dark ones. Had he really just heard… ok, no, quit being dumb, Eddie, he didn’t mean it THAT way. 

“That looks really bad,” he said, casually ignoring the other boy’s words and changing the subject as he gingerly reached his hand up to examine the injury. “Fuck, there’s actual blood. Is there a first aid kit anywhere around here? I could help you fix that up.”

“Yeah, there’s one in the dressing room, I think,” replied Richie, getting up off the floor and unsteadily standing on his feet. “Well, the camper we’re using as a dressing room. It’s just...ow...it’s just out here a little ways. Follow me.” 

Eddie complied, his mortifying embarrassment growing stronger with every step as he followed Richie out of the show building and across the grounds to a small RV parked on the edge of the property. Richie led him inside and plopped himself down on the ratty old sofa that stood against one wall, still holding his eye in pain. “The first aid kit is in the bathroom,” he said, pointing toward a small door across the camper. Eddie went in and took the opportunity to wash his hands in the sink before he quickly found the kit and brought it over, setting it down on the couch. He spotted a small refrigerator next to the sofa and opened it up, grabbing the first cold object he saw, a small can of Coke, which he handed to the other boy. 

“Take off your glasses and put this on your eye,” he said as he took a seat beside him and placed the first aid kit in his own lap. “It will help the swelling go down.”

Richie did as instructed, removing his glasses and holding the can dramatically onto his swollen face as he gave Eddie a saucy smile. “Yes, Dr….uh...I don’t think I caught your name, cutie.”

Eddie blushed. “Eddie,” he said, hoping his voice sounded at least somewhat normal, which was more difficult than it should have been when Richie was staring right at him with those fuckin gorgeous chocolate eyes framed by dark lashes. “Eddie Kaspbrak.”

“Ok, whatever you say, Dr. K,” said Richie. 

“Have I mentioned that I’m sorry?” Eddie asked as he opened up the first aid kit and busied himself taking out an alcohol pad, a bandage, and a small tube of antibiotic ointment. 

“Once or twice.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I had no idea I could even do that,” Eddie continued, gesturing for Richie to remove the Coke can so he could gently dab at the small cut near the bridge of the other boy’s nose with the alcohol wipe. 

“Do what, almost kill a man with your bare hand?” Richie quipped, wincing slightly when Eddie applied a small dot of ointment to the wound. 

“I’d hardly say I almost killed you,” Eddie protested.

“Well, you definitely maimed me, anyway,” said Richie. “I’m gonna have to come up with a better story for when people ask how I almost lost an eye. I can’t tell them I got beaten up by a boy with an inhaler, they’ll think I’m fuckin lame.” He smiled and Eddie’s heartbeat increased, his fingertips lingering on the other boy’s skin for slightly longer than was really necessary. 

“I think your dumb jokes would lead them to think that well before any story about your eye,” Eddie replied dryly as he unwrapped the bandage carefully. 

Richie gave an exaggerated gasp. “Jesus fuck, was bodily injury not enough for you? Now you gotta start hurting my emotions and shit? That’s cold, Eds. Do you mind if I call you Eds?”

“Yes,” muttered Eddie, even though he kind of liked the idea of this boy giving him a nickname. “Don’t call me Eds. Now hold still,” he said as he applied the bandage to Richie’s face. 

“Ok, Eds,” said Richie. Eddie rolled his eyes and finished putting the band-aid on him, sitting back to admire his handiwork. 

“You’re all fixed,” he said, handing the soda can back to him. “Put this back on your face.”

“Yes, Dr. K, sir,” said Richie, teasingly saluting him as Eddie cleaned up the supplies and stood up to throw the bandage wrapper in a nearby garbage can. He sat back down, feeling Richie’s eyes on him and wondering what he should say next that wasn’t just another profuse apology. 

“Eddie!!”

The sound of Stan’s voice outside in the distance snapped Eddie out of his thoughts, and he jerked his head in the direction of the RV’s small window. He’d almost completely forgotten about his friends in all the commotion. He got up from the couch and crossed over to the window, glancing outside to see Stan and Bill close by. The two boys were clearly looking around for him as they stood in the middle of a small crowd of people.

“EEEEEDDDD!” called Bill. 

“It would appear that you’re being summoned, good doctor,” said Richie, suddenly appearing right behind him. Eddie flushed as the other boy’s arm brushed against his own. Richie grinned and reached one hand over Eddie’s shoulder to pry the window open. “We’re in here, Billy!” he called out to them with a wave. The boys looked at Eddie and Richie in the window and then looked at each other oddly before they ran across the field to the RV and burst through the door, their faces red from the cold. 

“There you are,” said Stan, sounding relieved when he saw Eddie. “We didn’t know where you’d gone.”

“We thought you were pissed at us and took off,” added Bill. 

Eddie opened his mouth to reply, but Richie had a faster mouth. “Nah, he took his aggression out on my face instead,” the other boy said jokingly. “Which wasn’t exactly how you promised I’d be introduced to him, Billy,” he added pointedly. 

“Wait, what?” Eddie asked at the same time as Bill finally noticed Richie’s busted face and did a faceplant into his own palm. 

“God, Rich, please tell me you didn’t,” he groaned.

“In my defense, I didn’t think he was going to go all Die Hard on me,” said Richie. 

“Will someone please tell me what the fuck is going on?” Eddie demanded, looking from his friends to Richie and back again. Bill cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. 

“Well, uh….see,” he stammered. 

“Bill wanted you two to meet and hit it off and start dating so we could all hang out sometimes and you wouldn’t feel like such a third wheel,” said Stan calmly as he leaned against the wall of the RV with his arms crossed. “What?” he added when Bill gave him a death glare. “It’s the truth, why waste time beating around the bush?”

Eddie pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “Bill, I swear to fucking god…”

“Ok, so maybe this isn’t exactly how I pictured it would go. I was going to introduce you normally after the whole tour was finished,” Bill protested. 

“Guys, just….please leave.”

“Eddie..”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Oh my god just go outside, I’ll meet you in a minute, ok?” His friends sheepishly did as they were told, filing out of the camper and leaving Eddie alone with Richie once again. 

“Great friends you got there, Eds,” teased Richie. 

“Don’t worry, I’m going to murder them later,” grumbled Eddie.

“Aw, don’t kill Billy, he just thought we’d go good together,” said Richie seriously. 

Eddie sighed. “Look, I… um...I’m really sorry. Again. About your face. Really.”

Richie shrugged. “It’s no big, really. I wasn’t that attractive to begin with anyway, so really, you probably just improved things.”

Eddie snorted. “I wouldn’t...I wouldn’t say you weren’t..uh...I mean…” He felt his face start to burn for the fortieth time that evening, and he wished for nothing more than to just disappear from the entire situation before he ended up dying of an embarrassment-induced heart arrhythmia. 

Richie’s mouth curled into a cheeky smile. He dug around in the pocket of his pants, pulling out a small black marker, which he kept in one hand as he suddenly grabbed Eddie’s hand with the other. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Eddie exclaimed as Richie turned his hand over and began writing something on the back of it. 

“Writing my number on your hand,” replied Richie, as though he’d just been asked about the weather. 

“Uh huh. And what the hell am I supposed to do with your number?” asked Eddie, swallowing as his hand tingled at the contact with Richie’s skin. 

“Well, you could play the lottery with it, but mostly I was hoping you’d use it to call me and let me know when you’re free to grab a bite to eat sometime,” said Richie, finishing his work and capping the marker proudly. “You can pay to make up for karate chopping my face.”

Eddie suddenly felt like he was going to die for real, but in a good way, as he looked at the digits and the name ‘Richie Tozier’ emblazoned on his skin like a tattoo. 

“I, uh...I’m...I’m just gonna..” he stammered as he backed away toward the door. Richie just smiled at him as he finally found the handle and let himself out, the other boy cheerfully calling out “Talk to you soon, Eds!” as Eddie scrambled down the stairs of the camper and almost ran right into Stan and Bill, who were trying to pretend they hadn’t been standing with their ears pressed up against the vehicle. 

“Ok,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm as they turned to face him, both of them looking guilty but interested. “I’m not going to kill you….TONIGHT… but in the future I’d like a little advanced warning before you decide to set me up with someone. Got it, BILL?” he said pointedly, glaring daggers at his friend, who blushed remorsefully. 

“Got it,” Bill squeaked. 

“Ok,” said Eddie, holding his head up high. “Then let’s go the fuck home.” The three of them started back across the field and Eddie cast one last glance back, catching a glimpse of Richie watching them leave through the window. The other boy waved, and, in spite of himself, Eddie gave a small wave back before he kept walking. 

He glanced down at his hand and felt himself start to smile, because yeah, he was definitely going to give Richie Tozier a call later.

[losingmymindtonight]

Whump: Dehumanization

Tony’s always said that the first day of your captivity tells you the most.

It’s a day to focus, analyze, pull together every bit of information you can to estimate just how royally fucked you are.

And by his estimate, he and Peter were so fucked that it didn’t even register on the scale.

First of all, their captors knew exactly who Peter was. They knew he was Spider-Man, knew about the gene mutations, knew everything.

Second of all, they didn’t make any demands. Didn’t monologue about how Tony had wronged them, or how Spider-Man had locked them or someone they loved in jail. They just chucked them in a cell and left them there.

Tony stumbled to his feet at the same time Peter did, breathless and confused. He went through his list of priorities, lining up everything he needed to do in a split second.

“You good, kid?” He gripped Peter’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, eyes roving over his split lip and bruised cheekbone. They’d been a lot rougher with the kid than they had been with him, smacked him around without any real provocation. “Anything broken?”

“No, no.” The kid smiled, albeit weakly. “I’m all good.”

At Peter’s reassurance, he let himself observe the cell. It was plain. The wall, floor, and ceiling were all the same shade of medium gray. There was only a single, narrow cot in the room. It looked incredibly uncomfortable, but he was grateful that they at least had one. There were blankets, too, which Tony intended to wrap Peter up in at the earliest available opportunity. The cell was cold, and the kid struggled to regulate his body temperate ever since the mutation.

Sometimes. spider DNA really wasn’t the best thing in the world.

“Why did they take us?” Peter had wandered over to the door and was running his hands over the cracks, trying to find a weak spot. “They didn’t even say.”

“Not sure, but it doesn’t matter.” He didn’t dare tell the kid that it was disconcerting, that the whole situation was settling a bad feeling in his stomach. “I’m sure they’re just dragging out the suspense, making us wait for it.”

Peter glanced back at him. “People are crazy.”

He snorted. “Yeah, kid, you’re telling me.”

--

They burst into the cell an hour later. Two guards went straight for Tony, pinning him against the wall, while a set of four seized Peter and flung him to the ground in front of a man who Tony assumed must be their leader.

Peter tried to get up, only to have his knees kicked out from behind. He was manhandled until he was kneeling. One of the guards grabbed a fistful of the kid’s curls and forcefully bowed his head.

Peter whimpered. Tony saw red.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He snarled, jerking against the hands holding him back. “He’s just a kid. Whatever you want, you can get from me.”

The leader looked at him, impassive. Tony had to grudgingly admit that, if he wasn’t so obviously a fucking sadist, he might’ve said that the guy was attractive. He had short, dark hair. Clean shaven. Young, too. He looked a lot like the business school upstarts he met at college fairs.

“Your capture was never the plan, Mister Stark.” Wait, what? “If you agree to walk away, we’ll free you.”

His eyes narrowed. He heard exactly what the man left out of that proposal. “Does the kid come, too?”

The leader sneered. He poked Peter’s leg with the toe of his boot, disgust twisting his face. “It will not be going anywhere.”

“Then I reject your offer,” he replied coolly.

“Mister Stark!” Yeah, Peter was pissed. “You can’t just-”

One of the guards slammed the butt of his gun against Peter’s temple, effectively silencing his scolding. Tony shouted again, to no avail, while the leader knelt in front of the kid, smiling cruelly.

“Listen closely, insect.” The man grabbed Peter’s chin harshly. “You do not speak unless spoken to. You do not look your superiors in the eye. You do nothing unless you’ve been given permission. Do you understand?”

“Honestly,” Peter said, voice tight with pain, “you just kinda sound like a high school teacher. D’you really expect me to be afraid of you?”

The leader stood suddenly. He nodded to one of the guards. “Break his arm.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Tony yelled, panicked. “Leave him-”

The sound of Peter’s bone cracking echoed across the cell. The kid did an admirable job of muffling his scream, but not good enough to hide it entirely.

Tony’s vision blurred with angry tears.

“Peter, hey, kid.” He hated the gleeful look on the men’s face, hated that they were looking at Peter like he was their newest chewtoy. “Just breathe. Breathe through it. It’s-”

He cut himself off. The leader was in his face now, eyes cold and dangerous. Still, he couldn’t help but be relieved that he’d redirected to him rather than the kid. Little victories.

“Now, Mister Stark, since you’re staying,” his eyes roved over his face, calculating, “you should learn the rules as well.”

He glared. “Yeah, yeah. No back-talk. No eye contact. All that jazz.”

“That’s for the mutant. Luckily for you, you’re human.”

For a moment, he floundered. Were these people crazy?

Wait. Never mind. Scratch that. Of course they were crazy. They’d kidnapped him. Historically, not a good move.

He glanced at Peter. “He’s human.”

“No, he’s not. He’s been tainted. It’s our job to eradicate the lesser members of society. To keep the human race pure.”

“So, what I’m hearing is that you’re into eugenics? I hate to break it to you, but people’ve tried this kinda shit before, and it’s never worked. The name Adolf Hitler ring any bells? Marie Stopes, perhaps?”

“We will succeed where others have not.”

“Jesus Christ. You really are off your rocker.”

A sharp slap stung across his cheek. “I do not wish to hurt you, but I will not allow you to interfere with our plans.”

“Which are?”

The leader smiled, stepped back. 

Oh, great, he thought, here comes the monologue.

“Enhanced individuals are a threat to society, and yet their powers are exploitable. That’s what we’re here to do.”

Tony snorted. “Yeah? So you, what, imprison them and wait for them to agree to help you out? Nice plan. How’s it going so far?”

“We know how to convince them.”

“Yeah?” Tony drawled, covering his fear with as much nonchalance as he could muster. “And how do you do that?”

“You break them.”

--

Tony learned the rules quickly, because every time he broke them, Peter took the blame.

Peter wasn’t allowed to sit on the bed. Peter wan’t allowed to eat Tony’s portions. Peter wasn’t allowed to make eye contact. Peter wasn’t allowed to be touched. Peter wasn’t allowed to speak, or to be spoken to.

They had cameras hidden in the room, somewhere. Microphones too. One wrong move, and a legion of guards would storm in, beat the kid within an inch of his life, and leave.

After a week, Tony was terrified to even breathe in Peter’s direction.

Their days were spent in stiff agony. Tony would sit as close to the kid as he could justify, hoping that he could exude the calm that he so obviously needed. Hoping that his presence would remind him that not everyone hated him. That he was human.

He could see it tearing him down. He suspected that the lack of touch was one of the worst things. Peter had always been tactile, bushing against Tony’s side or dropping his head onto his shoulder when he laughed. It was a natural thing for the kid to seek physical reassurance.

And now he couldn’t.

--

Nobody used Peter’s name. When they came to take him for their experiments, they’d kick him, spit on him, call him it with disgust.

Tony couldn't use it, either. That was one of the word offenses. Mutants didn’t have names, apparently. Didn’t deserve names. Peter wasn’t Peter, anymore. He was property, a mutant, an it.

Not a child. Certainly not Tony’s child.

The best thing he could do for his kid was ignore him.

--

One day, when they came in and grabbed Peter, intent on taking him god-knows-where and poking and prodding him to their hearts’ content, one of the guards paused and grinned at him.

“How’re you holding up, Stark?”

He strained against the guards holding him. “Tell your buddies to let go and I’ll give you a demonstration.”

The man cackled. “Missing getting to play with your little pet?”

Play. Pet. Peter was nothing to them. Nothing. “Fuck off.”

“Oh, c’mon now, Stark. I’m a reasonable guy.” He crossed his arms, smirk growing. “If you ask nicely, I’ll let you pet the little insect. Whaddya say?”

The idea made bile rise in his throat, but at the same time, he needed to touch the kid. This may be his only chance to give him even an ounce of comfort. He had to do this.

“Fine.” He grit his teeth. “Can I touch him? Please?”

“Ask if you can pet it.”

“You’re disgusting,” he snarled.

“Do you reject my offer?”

“No.” He took a steadying breath. For Peter. I’m so, so sorry, kiddo. “Can I pet it?”

“Say please.”

He locked his pride deep down on his gut, threw away the key. “Maybe I please pet it?”

“Well, since you asked so nicely.” The man nodded to the other guards. “Bring it here. Daddy Stark wants to give it a little pet. Isn’t that sweet?”

They dragged Peter over. The kid didn’t look up, just kept his eyes trained on the ground, but everything about his body language was keyed up in anticipation.

One of his guards release Tony’s arm with a stiff warning not to try anything, and he dragged it greedily through the kid’s hair.

The guard who struck the deal was beaming. “Tell him he’s a good boy.”

He hid his own smile. The joke was on him: Peter would know what he meant.

“Good boy,” he murmured, pouring every ounce of you’re doing so well, and I’m so proud of you, and just hang in there, buddy into the phrase.

He’d never forget the way Peter nuzzled into his hand in response.

--

They had a system. 12 hours with the lights on, 12 hours with the lights off. Without windows, the room was pitch black.

Peter always curled up on the floor beside Tony’s cot. It was as close to human contact as he was allowed, and the kid was learning to take what he could get.

It took Tony three weeks to work up the courage to drop his hand over the side. He hung it there, knowing it was probably dangling just inches away from Peter’s body, for a solid ten minutes.

Nobody moved. The cell door stayed closed.

Slowly, he ghosted his hand through the air until it knocked against something warm. Peter. Peter’s ribs, to be more exact. He could feel his breaths speed up at the contact.

For a moment, they both froze.

Then, he slid his hand upwards, over the kid’s shoulder until he found his face.

He settled his thumb on his cheekbone and tapped out P.E.T.E.R. in Morse code. He heard the kid’s breath catch.

He did it again.

And again.

And again.

--

Some nights, he’d do exactly what he did on the first: silently tap Peter’s name out against his cheek. Steady, consistent. The only tether he could offer the kid to his identity.

Other nights, he just drew circles between his shoulder blades, or untangled his unwashed hair, or massaged the back of his neck. Little moment of physical intimacy, the only contact either of them had.

But least Tony had his name. At least they treated him like he was human.

--

It took Rhodey 2 months to find them.

When he’d imagined that moment, he’d imagined himself lunging off the cot, rushing to Peter’s side, pulling him into his arms like no time had passed. A reunion for the history books.

He’d spent weeks living in the same cell as the kid, and he’d never felt further from him.

When the door did burst open, however, and revealed the silver-gray War Machine armor instead of monotone uniforms, Tony just froze.

It wasn’t until Rhodey tried to speak to Peter and the kid threw himself into a corner with a panicked whimper than he forced himself into action.

He stumbled to his feet, staggering over to Peter and dropping to his knees a foot or so away from him. “Buddy, hey, it’s over.”

He got an unintelligible sob in response.

“Peter.” The kid physically flinched at the sound of his name, but he didn’t stop. “Peter. You’re name is Peter. Do you hear me, Peter? You’re human. You’re just a kid. Everything they said was wrong, but you’re safe now. Rhodey’s here, I’m here. You’re Peter, and you’re safe.”

Slowly, like a wounded animal curling out from its shell, Peter reached out a hand in Tony’s direction.

It was all the invitation he needed.

He crawled forward and wrapped the kid up in a hug. For a second, all Peter did was flounder. Then, old instinct kicked in, and he was snaking himself around Tony like this had all been a dream, like none of it was real.

“Peter,” he whispered against the kid’s hairline, reverent as a prayer, “Peter. Peter. Peter.”

“Mister Stark,” the kid choked back.

I know, buddy. I know. I hear you.

“Peter.”

[fanfic-scribbles]

One Lump Or Two

Fandom: Supernatural

Summary: You find out Gabriel is your soulmate. You have…issues with this.

Quick facts: Romance – Gabriel/Reader – Nondescript Reader

Warnings: Fluff, Soulmate trope (the first words you say to your soulmate are like a tattoo on your skin)

Words: 1888

A/N: Written for @gabriel-monthly-challenge (and so tagging: @archangelgabriellives , @archangel-with-a-shotgun, @archangelsanonymous,  @ttttrickster, @warlockwriter, and @revwinchester) first off the trope/au prompt ‘turned into a corgi’ but I think I used more of the aesthetic prompt since the ‘turned into a corgi portion’ is so short. But it’s there! I’m still on my soulmate bs, sorry not sorry, and…I don’t really have much else to say actually; this is short and sweet and straightforward. Please enjoy. EDIT: I think this is post-S9 of some alternate timeline; apologies, I keep writing like the Loki/Asmodeus thing never happened.

     “So who’s the new sugarlump?”

You freeze at the voice. More accurately: at the words. It can’t be possible, but no one else has ever called you ‘sugarlump.’ You had no idea what kind of person would call you ‘sugarlump.’

Apparently it’s a guy with tousled finger-brushed hair and a mischievously hooked smirk. Not what you had imagined, but it seems to suit the type of person who would saddle you with that particular word on your skin all your life.  You’re about to open your mouth, hopefully to give him an equally ridiculous greeting, when Dean, exasperated, says, “This is Gabriel. Gabriel, this is…”

Dean introduces you but your mind whites out for a few moments as you process that your supposed soulmate is an angel. An archangel. It leaves you unable to speak– you know, in theory, he’s a friend and ally, like Castiel, but you don’t know him. And…an angel with a soulmate? Did angels have souls? Judging by the ones you’ve met, you’d say ‘no.’

Gabriel looks at you curiously. You clench your jaw tight and give him a polite nod before you look down at your book, even though your attention is still primarily on him. There’s a moment of silence before Gabriel says, “Uh, what did I–”

Dean yanks him out of the room and you breathe a little easier. Dean will tell him about the grigori, and the other angel that was angry about the fall and eager to take it out on the first hunter they crossed, and you hope that Gabriel will be so bored and uninterested that he’ll leave you alone. Sure, from what you’ve heard he seems to like harassing Sam and Dean, but if you don’t give him the time of day he won’t bother you.

You hope.

~

A fist slams on your door three times. You’re so used to it now that you don’t even shift until Dean shouts, “You’re up!”

You shut your laptop and hop up to grab your towel and clothes. Despite having room for more than one in the showers, you, Sam, and Dean are not keen on using the room at the same time. Sam virulently so after a surprise dye job. You don’t think he looked so bad as a blond, but you can understand the upset. And you’re not willing to take the risk yourself.

As soon as you open the door to the showers, though, all thoughts of a peaceful twenty minutes with nothing but the soothing sound and feel of hot running water are ruined by what appears to be a…rave?

Neon lights flash across the walls, disco balls turn, and you think even in the chaos you can see fountains going off, though you’re not sure if they’re actually fountains or if Gabriel just repurposed shower heads. Gabriel, because he’s there, singing karaoke into something that’s not actually a microphone, dressed only in a towel that hangs dangerously low on his hips.

Then he appears in front of you suddenly, singing, “Just like a dream, you are not what you seem!” and then he holds the hairbrush (thankfully bereft of any actual hair) up to your mouth for the next line.

The musical imitation plays on in the background as water sloshes around in festive hues. You clear your throat, take several slow steps back, and shut the door on the whole scene.

You’ll just…go to the gym in town.

~

“Heeeeeey bug-a-boo!”

Your mouth is full of cereal so you just give Gabriel a glance and a nod.

He proceeds to lie all along the table on his side, arm bent so he can rest his head on his fist. “So. Angels. Pretty sore subject?”

You shrug one shoulder. You are definitely not talking about that.

“Right, right. I get that,” he says, in a way that makes you squint. He sounds so…honest. He pulls up his shirt to show a red scar. It’s small, so you figure you must have missed it in the showers; it had been hard to see. …And you were trying really hard not to ogle. You try to be as respectful now, though you really want to poke the little tuft of pudge on Gabriel’s lower abdomen. Until he, thankfully, drops the fabric. “I kept it,” he admits. “It’s a good reminder.”

There’s a lot in those few words. Even if you wanted to talk to him, you don’t know what you’d say. You hold up the box of cereal and shake it, jolting him out of whatever dark place he’s going to. “It’s good?” he asks and takes the box to look at. His face lights up. “Ooo, marshmallows; don’t mind if I do.” He pours himself a bowl and sits next to you, but he gives you half a body of space in between. “Thanks.”

You nod, and the two of you eat in relative silence.

Mostly.

Gabriel crunches loudly and then starts singing the cereal commercial jingle. Then, inexplicably, or perhaps for reasons known only to him, he starts musically barking to it. Like a dog. You shake your head but laugh silently into your bowl. Out of the corner of your eye you see Castiel stare for a few seconds before he, very slowly, very awkwardly, walks backwards until he is no longer in sight. Given the look on his face, you think he’s no longer in the same hemisphere.

It’s sort of comforting to know Gabriel is weird even by angelic standards.

~

“Hey pumpernickel!”

“What’s up peanut?”

“Looking good, honey bun!”

“Research again, dumpling?”

You don’t lift your head but you do aim your eyes all the way up so you can at least look at him, because you know he can do better than that.

“Gabriel,” Dean says tensely. “Why are you flirting with them?”

“Why not?” Gabriel says. And winks at you.

Wait. What?

You look back down at words that suddenly don’t make any sense. He can’t be serious.

…Can he?

“Does it bother you?”

Gabriel is, in fact, serious. So serious that you look up for real, but you barely have to think about it before you shake your head. He hasn’t hurt anyone that you’ve seen and even Sam and Dean seem to be warming up to him even despite the undisclosed bad blood. Gabriel’s an angel, but he’s an angel like Castiel– almost human.

“Do you have any idea what you’re getting into?” Dean asks you.

You look at Dean, straight on, full eye contact– and slowly shake your head. You’re not stupid.

Castiel clears his throat. “Gabriel. A word?” But he doesn’t wait for Gabriel to acquiesce so much as he grabs Gabriel’s arm and disappears with him.

In the silence after, Sam pulls away from his own book to look at you. “Why don’t you ever talk when Gabriel’s around?”

You shrug. “It bugs him and I find it kind of funny.” It’s half a truth– it is funny sometimes. But Sam looks at Dean, who rolls his eyes, and you feel your hackles start to rise. “What?”

“Good luck,” Dean says and Sam snorts.

~

Gabriel is driving you bonkers.

A few days ago you had all gone to hunt a small coven. Two angels and three hunters made it a cakewalk, of course, but the last witch standing had aimed a spell at you that Gabriel had, calmly and without fanfare, stepped in front of. It had…interesting effects.

“Arf arf!”

You take a deep breath. The act had been appreciated, of course– even in Gabriel’s weakened, recovering state, it obviously affects him less than you. For instance, the wings currently listlessly flapping as the corgi-ized archangel floats right in front of your face. As Gabriel stops and turns to wiggle his butt, you let your head fall back. Castiel had said this won’t be forever, and you try to find peace in that thought.

“Arf arf!”

It won’t be forever.

“Arf arf arf!”

It won’t be forever.

“Arf! Arf!”

It won’t–

“ARF AR–”

“God dammit Gabriel stop barking!”

In a flash, Gabriel turns back into his smug, human-looking self, falls onto the desk and points at you. “Ah HA!”

You freeze.

Shit.

Shit.

Shit.

~

You’re still hunkered in your angel-proof room over an hour later, coming down from a panic and trying to reason with yourself. With mixed results. On one hand, it’s possible Gabriel was just crowing about getting you to open your mouth. But you doubt it. He had looked entirely too triumphant. Too…

Someone knocks on your door. Not hard enough to be Dean, not soft enough to be Sam, and not stilted enough to be Castiel.

You…maybe need to get out more often.

Gabriel knocks again and you groan into your pillow. After a second your phone alerts you to a text, and the name of the sender puts you right back into a panic.

Soulmate Sugar Pie: Can we talk?

So he knows. Of course. However the more you stare at your phone, the more annoyed you become with the whole situation, until you get up, open the door, and shove the screen in Gabriel’s face. “Really?!”

He blinks, then slowly smiles. “Which part?”

You put your phone back in your pocket. “The message is completely reasonable, rational– very adult. Then there’s ‘Sugar Pie?’”

He grins. “You can always edit it to a pet name of your liking.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I notice you’re not arguing the first part.”

You sigh and lean against the door. “I thought angels didn’t have souls.”

“Strictly speaking, no. But grace is…” Gabriel tilts his hand from side to side. “Ish. It’s not the same exactly, but we’ll be nitpicking if I try to describe it.” He cocks his head to one side. “You knew though.”

“Not a lot of people call me ‘sugarlump,’” you admit.

He bobs his head but his smile is slowly leaving. “Is it the angel thing?”

“It was at first,” you say. “Mostly I just…didn’t know how to handle it.” You gesture uselessly at yourself and then at your room. “Obviously.”

Gabriel huffs. “You’re telling me.” He pulls up his sleeve to show you the words on his shoulder. “Do you have any idea the kinds of translations I’ve gotten through the years on this, just waiting for current English to be a thing?”

That startles you to a laugh. Gabriel flashes a smirk, but then his lips settle back down and he starts to fidget. He looks away, and then steals glances at you. “So. The angel thing: dealbreaker?”

It almost takes you aback, to see and hear Gabriel so uncertain. Normally he nopes on out of any sincere moment. But here he is. Letting you see this. He’s giving you a chance, and maybe…maybe you can do the same.

“I always worried, after I became a hunter, that my soulmate would be a liability; someone who couldn’t defend themself. Someone I would lose.” You look him up and down. “A trickster archangel who can wiggle his way out of certain death seems like a pretty good deal, actually.”

Gabriel grins again. Then he brings out a tiny spray bottle, spritzes a faintly minty-smelling mist into his mouth, and waggles his eyebrows at you.

You crook your finger, and allow him closer.

[firesoulstuff]

For the Winter Prompts #70, Captain Canary Thank you!

70. “You’re perfectly welcome to kiss whomever you wa–”

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21672130/chapters/51815305

Sara knew coming to the Time Bureau’s New Year’s party was a bad idea, but apparently she didn’t realize just how bad of an idea.

She and Ava broke up less than a month ago, and ok, the wound is still fresh and she’s sure the rest of the team would’ve understood if she chose to take a rain check on the party. But she and Ava agreed they can still be professional, and that includes not going out of their way to avoid each other.

Good thing it doesn’t involve avoiding the bar.

Of course, she’s even alone here, because her drinking buddy Mick – great, she can’t even think of his name without snarling – in some truly bizarre twist of fate, has started hanging around with one of their previously dead allies which the Crisis managed to return to them. Her sister, to be specific. Her sister who is sober and she doesn’t know if Mick is trying to impress her or what but he hasn’t come near the bar all night and it is infuriating. With Mick around, no one else should ever be the most inhibited person in the room.

She, of course, feels like an awful person for thinking that.

She keeps sipping on her drink; a soda spiked with a fair amount of vodka. She’s looking to numb herself tonight, but tipping back shots of whiskey isn’t exactly the most effective way to convince everybody that you’re fine.

And, as she catches Leonard’s eyes across the room and he very quickly looks away, she is well aware that she is very much not fine.

He’s another one Crisis was able to return. It’s funny, at first she thought she’d lucked out. Two of the people most important to her who she’s lost back from the dead? There had to be a catch.

Turns out there was.

Neither of them has wanted much to do with her since getting back.

Laurel’s been a little better. At first she was the only one her sister would so much as look at. So much has changed since Laurel’s death, including the appearance of Earth-2 Laurel. Sara knows she’s changed too, a lot, but at first Laurel seemed ok with it. She asked all her questions and even boarded the Waverider when Crisis was over, but since then… Laurel seems more interested in the rest of the team than in her.

She knows that’s a good thing, and she isn’t so childish to be jealous. It’s just… she wouldn’t mind having some of her sister’s attention right now.

Especially with Leonard being back.

Unlike Laurel, he’s been avoiding her since the moment he returned. At first she thought he might need space, and he was clinging to Mick in much the same way Laurel was sticking by her, but now this is getting insulting. Mick with her sister more often than not, and instead of coming to her to gossip about it Leonard seems to have taken a shine to everybody but her.

When is an acceptable time to start on whiskey?

Currently he is across the room with Gary, talking about something or other, and she grimaces. She thought Gary would’ve annoyed him.

“Alright everybody!” One of the new Bureau agents – Archie, she’s pretty sure - says as he commanders a microphone Gary was abusing earlier. “It is officially one minute to midnight so we’re going to start the countdown, make sure you’re all near your special someone of the night. If you don’t have a special someone then, hey, I’m still looking for somebody to kiss!”

Great.

He doesn’t actually start counting right then and there, although Sara is sure he’s keeping count of the seconds. Speaking of seconds, she catches Ava’s eye for about half of one but then her ex glances away; a firm no. Fine, it’s better that way anyway.

“Thirty seconds everyone!”

Why is a time traveling organization even having a New Year’s party?

“Twenty seconds!”

She looks over at the bartender, “Can I get a whiskey, please?”

“Fifteen seconds!”

Ok, maybe it wouldn’t kill her to at least do a headcount of her team.

“Ten.”

Ray and Nora are over by a standing table, already wrapped up in each other and counting along with the rest of the crowd.

“Nine.”

Charlie’s got Zari talking over against the back wall.

“Eight.”

Huh, Behrad looks like he’s consoling Nate over something. Wonder what that’s about.

“Seven.”

Well, at least she won’t be the only person not kissing at midnight, but it still hurts that Mona’s over with Ava right now.

“Six.”

She almost face palms, watching John lead Archie into a closet.

“Five.”

Her sister and Mick getting closer, nauseating.

“Four.”

No. Gideon, Rip, do not go into that closet.

“Three!”

Oh poor Gary, he definitely noticed John and Archie’s little vanishing act.

“Two!”

On second thought Gideon, go ahead. Open that door. She wouldn’t mind seeing that particular mess unfold.

“One! Happy New Year!”

The cheer is echoed by everyone in the room, punctuated by whistles, music, and so many kisses. It seems like everyone found someone to kiss, even the most unlikely of candidates. She sees Mona drag Ava in for a quick peck, and it actually serves enough to make her laugh. Of course, the real sight to see is Behrad doing the same to Nate, except his is much more than a peck and might even border a bit on assault were it anybody else. Laurel and Mick, that’s something she isn’t going to think about until morning. Leonard and-

The amused smile vanishes from her face.

Leonard. She had idly entertained some hopes earlier today that he might want to kiss her at midnight, and when those were all tossed out the window rather quickly she at least took solace in the fact that he likely wouldn’t be kissing anyone, the same as her.

Likely, but apparently not definitely.

It isn’t a long kiss. Really, it’s probably only a second or two that their lips are touching, but it feels like it drags on forever.

Leonard and Gary. She never would’ve thought.

She tips back what’s left of her whiskey and leaves the glass on the bar; she’s had enough of this party.

“Ten.”

Great, the New Year’s countdown. Least that means he can leave soon.

“Nine.”

To tell the truth, Leonard isn’t sure why he even agreed to come to this party.

“Eight.”

He tried sticking it out with Mick, but his buddy was clearly genuinely enjoying himself, and he would hate to ruin that.

“Seven.”

Sara’s still over at the bar, nowhere near her ex.

“Six.”

Constantine is bringing the guy who started the countdown into a closet. Classy.

“Five.”

Maybe he could… No. Sara and Ava were together for almost two years. A month is too soon to... well, to make a move.

“Four.”

Lovely, Gideon’s got her eye on the closet too.

“Three!”

“Oh.”

The mutter is so quiet Leonard almost doesn’t hear it, but when he turns that poor love-struck idiot Gary is still standing nearby, eyes locked on the closet.

“Two!”

Ouch, poor guy.

“One! Happy New Year!”

He steps over to Gary, frowning amid all the other happy partygoers. That just isn’t right. He can be disappointed at midnight, but poor Gary who has probably never had a celebratory kiss in his life, doesn’t deserve that.

Gary looks up at him, looking more like a kicked puppy then any actual kicked puppy Leonard has ever seen.

“You want a kiss?”

“Uh…” Gary stammers, his eyes scanning Leonard’s face for any hints of sarcasm.

“One that means nothing.” He clarifies quickly, “Just for midnight.”

“Oh… Uh, sure. Th-Thank you. Uh-”

Oh for crying out loud.

He leans over presses a quick kiss to Gary’s lips. A little more than a peck, but he only lingers it for a second. Gary barely has any time to kiss back before it’s over, and when it is Leonard finds that the view over Gary’s shoulder has a perfect sightline for the bar.

And for Sara storming away.

Needless to say, he leaves Gary spluttering there in the middle of the room, and he’ll feel guilty about it later.

He moves quickly through the crowd, most people are still caught up in their own worlds anyway and too distracted to notice him. He does hear one shout in the distance and look over his shoulder to investigate, and man he wishes he could stick around because Gideon opened the closet door but… more important matters at hand.

Leaving the party room behind puts him out in the main halls of the Time Bureau. He doesn’t know these halls as well as he would like to, having been here only once before. He’s sure Sara knows of more places to hide around here than he does.

Click.

Or maybe not.

He hears the heavy sound up around a corner ahead, a sound that can only be made by a rather large and industrial front door being opened into a gust of wind. He picks up his pace and rounds the corner, and as he draws nearer to the Time Bureau’s main entrance he is able to see Sara through it’s glass windows; walking away.

He doesn’t even try to stop himself.

“Sara!” He calls after her, pushing the front door open. He’s surprised when she stops and turns back, and even more surprised when she stays there.

It’s cold out here. No snow, not in DC, but cold enough that she must be freezing in only that little gold dress with spaghetti straps.

“A little cold out here.” He drawls, and really, that’s all he’s got. He’s coming to the sudden and painful realization that he had no actual plan in chasing her out here. Nothing other than what? Assuring her there is nothing between him and Gary?

She shrugs, her arms crossed, giving him full view of the goose bumps that have appeared on her skin.

He shrugs out of his coat wordlessly, and when he holds it out to her she looks at it for a second, before finally she takes it.

“Thanks.”

They don’t talk while she puts it on and zips it up, her hands going in his pockets and damn, he really likes the sight of her in that jacket.

“So what?” She eventually asks, when they have been standing out here in the cold staring at each other for long enough. “First New Year’s back from the dead and you lose interest after kissing Gary for three seconds?”

Her words come with a certain… a pained venom, he’ll say. It’s a weak shot, and she is well aware of it, to the point where she scuffs her foot against the sidewalk and her eyes follow it instead of looking at his.

“Sara.”

“No, hey, it’s fine.” She insists, in a voice that is anything except for fine. “It’s fine, really. You’re an adult, you’re single. You are perfectly welcome to kiss whomever you wa-”

“Can I?” He interrupts, which he doesn’t exactly mean to do, but he can’t watch this betrayed pain on her face for one second more.

“Can I?” He repeats, stepping closer. “Because, nice of a guy as Gary is, he’s not my type, and I would very much like to kiss you instead.”

With his words his hands move to settle on her hips, and she responds by taking her hands out of his pockets and looping her arms around his neck, pulling herself closer.

“I’d like that too.”

He’s grinning like a cat as he leans into her, his lips pressing against the warmth of hers.

Hands down, best way to start the new year.

[thecultoftill]

Flake on Mein Teil.

This is long so it’s beneath the cut. 

I step onto the wheel of the cauldron so I can hop into it, but quickly realize that there’s barely any space left for me because the gas canister for the flash-pots is already in there. There are lamps built into the base that I have to avoid touching because they get so hot. I once fell onto one of the lamps during a rehearsal and burned the hell out of my hands—my skin stuck to the thin metal grate that protects the lamp itself. It stank of burnt flesh. Why does it smell so good when you grill out? Is it something to do with the salt or the beer? Or the type of flesh? My flesh just stank. 

 I have to squeeze past my keyboard, too, which is also in the cauldron. I’m a musician after all, and I want to play on the song. Though sometimes I forget. I pick up the keyboard and wriggle into the cauldron. Then I curl up in the bottom of it. The stage manager comes over and fills the cauldron with as much dry-ice fog as he can. I quickly hold my breath. Too late. Then the lid is placed on the cauldron and Till, who has just changed outfits, pulls it out onto the stage. Obviously I can’t see this happen, but I feel the wheels rattling beneath me. I always wonder how he manages it since the whole contraption must weigh at least a ton. 

The band is playing full throttle. The song is called “Mein Teil” not full throttle; I just mean the band is playing hard. You could just as easily say they’re playing full on, or full tilt. It just depends on your personal inclinations, I guess. People who are into cars use car metaphors, like they say someone has blown a gasket when somebody’s pissed off. Or they say that something isn’t firing on all cylinders if it isn’t working right. Anyway, Till sometimes lifts up the lid of the cauldron for a second to let a bit of the fog out. There used to be an oxygen tank inside so I could breath despite all the fog. But it was always unexpectedly empty, and since I was counting on having fresh oxygen I wouldn’t take a deep breath beforehand and would nearly suffocate. These days I can stifle my gasps. The only other time I manage that is at the movies, when there’s a particularly tense scene and the whole audience is dead quiet. I have to cough and it makes me breathe in some of the fog. That makes me dizzy, so I turn on the light. At least this way I can tell up from down. The timing is perfect, because Till rips the lid off now and tosses it aside. It clangs loudly against the stage floor and I can feel the reverberations from inside the cauldron. The fog starts to seep out, lit beautifully from below by the lamps around me inside the cauldron.   Till starts to sing the first verse, and I pop dramatically out of the cauldron and play my melody on the keyboard, which I’ve quickly hooked onto the rim of the cauldron.

 Till’s microphone is shaped like a knife and he keeps coming over to the cauldron and sticking me with it to see if I’m cooked yet. Apparently it’s taking too long for his taste, so during the bridge he goes over and gets a flamethrower to really turn up the heat. It’s probably becoming clear that we do a lot during the bridges of songs, since it’s the only part when we don’t all have to play or sing. In any event, Till aims Flamey—as we affectionately call our flamethrower—at me and blasts away. Since I’m expecting it, I duck out of the way. But it’s still hot. Obviously it was just as hot at the concert before, but somehow I always forget just how hot it actually is. It just can’t be. Maybe my skin has gotten thinner.

 I pop back up to show Till that it’s going to take a lot more than that to take me out. More flames come my way. It may be just as hot, but by the second time around the shock is gone. Even so, I’m not laughing quite as much the second time I pop back up. This time—to show Till how tough guy I am—I stay up as long as I can, only ducking down when the flames are right in front of my face. The third blast of flames is bad again, and the only way I can get through the fourth blast is because I know there’ll be a break afterwards. I hop up from the cauldron again and wave tauntingly at Till—he can’t roast me to death that easily. In reality I’m just trying to catch my breath, since it would be deadly to breathe while surrounded by the flames. I’d inhale fire. Even now I can’t really breathe because the flames have consumed all the oxygen in the air. It feels like I’m inhaling concrete. I’ll just have to catch my breath later. 

Till is pissed because I’m still not cooked. He’s not giving up so easily. He hauls another flamethrower onto the stage, and this one is three times as big as the first one. He aims it at me. I drop into the cauldron at exactly the right moment. It’s not just the flamethrower that is three times as big—so are the flames it shoots. The previous one made me sweat, but now I’m bone dry, all the fluid is being steamed out of me. My jacket is hot, too, and I have to be careful not to touch the zipper, which is white hot. It’s like in the sauna—you can’t take any metal items in because they can burn you. When I pop back up this time, I have to force myself to smile. The next blast is even hotter, and I consider just lying in the cauldron until things have cooled off a little. I would do it, too, if the heat lasted even a split second longer. Till seems to be enjoying the whole thing and this time shoots the flames even longer. It feels like my skin is on fire. I only pop up for a second, just so as not to be a poor sport, and then Till fires again. We’ve tried all sorts of things to make this stunt more bearable for me, but whatever blankets or other things we put in the cauldron just make it more difficult for me to move around, which actually increases the chances of me getting seriously injured. I’ve come to the conclusion that the best solution is for me to just grin and bear it. That approach works well in many situations. Just grin and bear it and it’s over fast. Like now. Till is done, and I lie in the bottom of the cauldron looking for my slippers. I must be disoriented, because of course I’m looking for my gloves, not slippers. What made me think of slippers? I mean, I don’t even wear slippers at home. I’ve been opposed to slippers since I was a kid, and I don’t even like to visit people who ask me to take off my shoes before coming in. It’s probably because of my socks. Of course, I don’t like to wear gloves, either. They make me feel as if I’ve lost the feeling in my hands. But now I need them. I can’t see anything because of all the smoke. 

 During the first rehearsals for the tour I didn’t have gloves, and when I went to climb out of the cauldron after all the bursts from the flamethrowers, the skin on my fingers stuck to the rim of the cauldron, which was so hot it was practically glowing. The pain during the next concert almost drove me mad, since I still had to play with my fingertips. But at some point my fingers healed again. I 9 just tried to play as few notes as possible while they were healing. For a while I had no fingerprint, either, and could have robbed a bank, but I didn’t think of it. 

 I’ve found the gloves now and pull them on. I have to hurry, otherwise the song will be over before I get out of the tub. In which case Till would have won, so to speak. So I try to put myself in a sporting frame of mind and swing myself out of the cauldron. Then I toss the gloves back into the tub since I’ll need them again tomorrow. Right at that moment, the pyro technicians set off the effects on my belt. I run disoriented across the stage, hoping Till doesn’t catch me. Just as I’m about to take a deep breath, I turn awkwardly and take in the smoke from one of the flash-pots. It’s pure poison, maybe even radioactive, something to do with Strontium or whatever. The song is coming to its finale. I cross the stage while comets are shot down at me. They land right next to me so it looks from the audience as if they are actually hitting me. Sometimes, when I stray too far back, they do hit me, and it hurts really badly and for several days afterwards I have sores that look like giant love-bites.  But today everything goes well, and we pull off the song with no hassles. Why was I so nervous? While the outro of the song is playing, the pyro guys take off my belt backstage, and I take a few cautious breaths. Then, as the rear curtain falls, I dash over to the side of the stage where my keyboards are. I deftly weave my way through the cables and spotlights in the dark. I run into Till and he smacks me lightheartedly on the ass. 

Flake in his book Heute Hat Die Welt Geburstag. 

Translation by Tim Mohr(Found opn publisher’s website)

[izzy-b-hands]

Every Night

Prompt:  “We’ll figure this out.” and  “Don’t be scared, I’m right here.”

A sort of sequel to Sleep Like The Dead in that it deals with a similar topic of ‘funky tablet magic and changes that results in mild horror for all involved with a good ending’

that tbh kinda got away from me

but once the spirit took me it was like

ok this is happening we got a plot lets go lets go!!!

this got longer than a oneshot should be but

here we are lol.

The patrons that had alerted him to the rattling sarcophagus were surprisingly calm. 

“Maybe a rat!” the short, beaming tourist suggested. “We’ve seen so many rats here! One almost as big as Tommy!” 

Tommy, all of maybe seven, nodded very seriously before they took off, leaving Larry to rope off the already nearly closed exhibition as patrons filed out, the final closing announcement echoing down the halls. 

He closed the doors to the exhibit, only to see the statue guards immediately sigh deeply and begin to move. 

“Were...were you awake all day?” 

They looked at him with what he could only call desperation, and pointed towards the still shaking sarcophagus. 

He’d never been so glad to show up early for his shift as he pushed the lid off, and Ahkmenrah, very much healthy flesh and blood rather than the mummified corpse he should have been at that hour. 

Ahkmenrah wasn’t a pharaoh in that moment, but reminded Larry desperately of his son in younger years, when he’d wake sobbing after a nightmare, his entire body wracked with weeping, to the point that it seemed it must hurt. He clung to Larry like a drowning man, saying something in between the sobs, but only half in English, and even then Larry could barely make it out. 

Finally, after a good ten minutes of what seemed to be pure terror, Ahkmenrah let him go, and took a deep, shaky breath, looking at him with wide eyes, red from the crying. He looked exhausted. 

“Were you awake...all day?” 

Ahkmenrah shook his head. “Not all day. Maybe...I don’t know how much time passed. I think I heard someone mention it nearly being noon when I woke.” 

It was nearly 6:20 now, with the museum having formally closed at 5:45. That was six hours of being awake, trapped, forced to stay silent and still...

“I’m sorry,” Ahkmenrah’s voice broke as he dropped his head into his hands. “I hope I didn’t frighten anyone. But I couldn’t take it anymore. I’ve gotten so used to being able to leave my sarcophagus when I wake that being stuck in it, for any amount of time...” 

Larry hugged him again as Ahkmenrah shook his head, and started to weep anew. 

“Okay. We’ll figure this out. I’ll ask if anyone else was awake and we’ll...I don’t know. But we won’t let this happen again. For your sake, or the patrons. Don’t get me wrong, we could certainly try and sell ‘haunted sarcophagus mummy curse’ as an angle, but I know I’d rather not.” 

As he let go, Ahkmenrah gave him a small smile. 

“Oh buddy. You need rest,” he sighed, and Ahkmenrah’s smile immediately fell and turned to a look of horror. “Oh god! No, not in here, Jesus. No, out in the employee lounge or something. Where you have room and can get up and move at your leisure. C’mon. Let’s get you into something more comfortable, and I’ll start investigating.” 

He helped Ahkmenrah from the sarcophagus, and led the way to the lounge. He knew that Ahkmenrah was plenty capable of getting there and into the sweats he’d acquired for him on his own, but it seemed he didn’t want to be left alone.

He trailed after Larry like a lost puppy dog, eyes taking in every museum inhabitant they passed, clearly with a level of paranoia left over from his trauma earlier in the day. He seemed so much his age and so much not all at once, in the way that Larry figured he had at twenty-something as well. Old enough to take care of oneself, to know better about most things, but in a moment of fear and uncertainty still capable of looking so young and frightened that it almost hurt to look at. 

“I want to help. Talk to everyone, I mean,” Ahkmenrah said as they reached the lounge. “I’ll still change. Not that I’m not comfortable in this, but-” 

“You can be honest with me. If you don’t wanna wear the royal garb every night, you certainly don’t have to. This is your home. Home is where you can wear whatever you want, relax, feel safe. All you gotta do is let me know, and we’ll get you here right away so you can change.” 

Ahkmenrah smiled at that before heading in and changing faster than Larry figured most people could. But all his other clothes were safely removed, set aside on the couch in the lounge, and Ahkmenrah joined him on his walk to the main hall of the museum looking for all the world like any other twenty or so year old, with messy hair, comfortable sweatshirt and sweatpants. The only trapping of his origins that remained were the sandals on his feet. 

“I’d slide on the marble in the socks,” he admitted to Larry as they walked. “They are very nice, and I love them, but-” 

“You don’t wanna see if you can slide from one hall to another in them on accident?” Larry asked with a chuckle. 

“...that would be fun. But not on accident. My luck I’d crash into something expensive,” Ahkmenrah replied. 

“Everything is expensive in here,” Larry laughed. 

“Exactly,” Ahkmenrah smiled, and it was a relief to see it. 

“This would just be easier if we did a huge announcement, maybe?” Larry asked, half to himself and half to Ahkmenrah as he trotted to the rotunda and picked up the PA system’s microphone. 

“I know everyone’s already having fun, but can I get everyone’s attention for a quick second? Really important, but quick, survey,” he announced. 

A few heads turned, but most, understandably already enveloped in their talking with others, ignored it. 

Ahkmenrah took the microphone from his hand gently. “Let me try.” 

The smile he wore was nervous and soft, even as he authoritatively announced: “Who else was alive earlier? Was anyone trapped, as I was? If you were, come and speak to us, immediately. Or else, I’ll find a way to leave the tablet functioning throughout all of tomorrow, and all of you shall know my terror.” 

That shut everyone up, and turned every head. 

“I thought it was just me,” Teddy said, one of the first to trickle towards the desk. “My god, holding my pose like that, watching them all go by, not being able to move an inch..” 

“Teddy, do you know what time it was when that happened?” Larry asked. 

“Twelve noon, sharp. First thing I got a look at was the clock once I woke. And then, since I have such a wondrous view of it, it was all I watched as I waited for the hours to tick down,” he replied. “But at least I wasn’t stuck inside of anything. My lord, how are you doing, my boy? Surely that must have been-” 

“It was bad,” Ahkmenrah interrupted his tone slightly sharp. “I...I don’t wish to talk about it further, if-” 

Teddy interrupted him right back with a gasp. “Of course, forgive me. I didn’t mean to pry.” 

“No, it’s alright. I’m sorry whatever this is affected you as well, Teddy. I can’t imagine trying to stay still with all the patrons watching me near-constantly.” 

Teddy only nodded, and joined them behind the desk, settling down at one of the empty chairs. He looked...the only word Larry could find for it was haunted. And just as exhausted as Ahkmenrah, as well. 

The desk shook as Rexy stalked up as close as he could get to the desk. 

“You as well?” Ahkmenrah asked, and bit back a smile as Rexy posed for them, then shook his head and scoffed, then posed again, and tossed his head back in frustration. “Ah. I understand. Thank you for letting us know.” 

Rexy stomped off again, nearly taking out the desk with his tail as he went, causing them all to duck. 

“Larry...what do we do if it is everyone? Or nearly everyone? I mean, even a few is too many, really, because if anyone falters in keeping up appearances while patrons are here...” 

The panic in Ahkmenrah’s voice hurt to hear. He didn’t need anything else to worry about after what had already happened. 

“I don’t know, at least not right now. But I do know that we’ll have a look at the tablet and maybe...I don’t know. Maybe something new to explain this is written there, or something,” he replied. 

“That’s...not how this works, Larry. I mean that respectfully,” Ahkmenrah said, biting at his lip. “But...artifacts do not just magically have additions made to them, it isn’t like tomorrow Teddy will awaken with a tattoo or something or-” 

“Well, how do we know for sure? I mean, it is magic, of a kind,” Larry interrupted. “Can you really rule it out?” 

Ahkmenrah’s jaw worked, his tell that he was deeply contemplating things. “I suppose not. But it would be very strange, and far too simple an explanation.” 

“What about daylight savings?” Jed asked, clambering onto the desk, with Octavius scrambling after him. “That have somethin’ to do with it?” 

“Um. I don’t think so, only because it’s never had an effect before-” Ahkmenrah started.

“Climate change,” Octavius interrupted confidently. 

“Like...you wanna talk about it, or you think it has something to do with this?” Larry asked. 

“Both,” Octavius shrugged. “Heard some of the patrons discussing it today. What a terrible, horrifying thing. How are you not scared all the time, Larry?” 

“I mean, I suppose most people living today are, to some degree-” 

“They said some people deny it though,” Jed piped up. “The hell is that about? Who the hell goes to a museum, a place of science and I guess kind of magic, all things considered, and then disputes it?” 

“I appreciate your concern for current issues, but one problem at a time,” Larry continued. “We can start with figuring out why the tablet woke so many people so early, and then...climate change, I guess. It’ll take a lot more than just us, but-” 

“You got that right,” Jed interrupted.

“Though every bit could help,” Octavius added. 

“So...were you two awakened at noon, or...” Akmenrah asked awkwardly. 

“Oh, yeah. Some asshat threw a sandwich wrapper in my display; who does that?!” Jed fussed. 

“Someone who doesn’t care about the climate,” Octavius tutted.

“Exactly, and you know-” 

“You two have a great conversation going,” Ahkmenrah took his turn to interrupt, looking wearier by the second. “But maybe we can join it later on, after we’ve finished talking to everyone.” 

“Fair enough,” Jed replied. “We’re gonna go find a magazine in the lounge, see if National Geographic has anything to say about all of this. Gonna take most of the night to get to the lounge, but it’s gonna be worth it.” 

With that, the two tiny figures dashed away, leaping off various bits of office equipment on the desk to get to the floor before running in the direction of the employee lounge. 

“...well then,” Teddy sighed. 

“Indeed,” Ahkmenrah added. 

An awkward silence fell between them then, as the other museum inhabitants milled about, but no one else came forward. 

“It can’t have been only us,” Teddy said. “There’s simply no way.” 

“I don’t think it was,” Sacagawea said, as she approached the desk. “But many are afraid to speak on it. There is concern among them, of a curse, of something gone horribly wrong. None of us enjoy being forced back into...” 

“Nothingness,” Ahkmenrah supplied. “Like an empty sleep.” 

Sacagawea nodded. “At the same time, spending all day in false suspension, worrying that you might accidentally move or give some sign of life and frighten people is no better.” 

“We have to check the tablet then,” Larry said. “Something has to be there to explain this.” 

“That would be too simple,” Ahkmenrah stressed, but led the way to his exhibit quickly nonetheless, with Larry, Teddy, and Sacagawea following him. 

Ahkmenrah read over the tablet with a quick and practiced eye, only to frown. 

“It says something, doesn’t it?” Larry asked. 

Ahkmenrah’s frown deepened. 

“It does!” 

“I have no idea how this could have happened, or who could have made it happen...it is such a simple addition to the spell as well, merely changing the time of awakening...who would benefit from this?” Ahkmenrah muttered as he set the tablet back in its place. 

“Maybe it’s like they said,” Teddy mused. 

“Jed and Octavius? Look, climate change is a real concern, but I don’t think...” Larry replied. 

“No, not that exactly. But these are dark, strange times for many, are they not, Lawrence? Perhaps some energy within the world has affixed itself to the tablet. After all, if its magic exists, what else might be slightly to the left or right of what we can see?” Teddy asked. 

“I...I don’t know. I suppose. But that doesn’t tell us what we can do about it,” Larry said.

“Maybe if we test it first. See if it does this again tomorrow,” Ahkmenrah said softly, fear edging into his voice. “I don’t want to, but I don’t know what else to do. But Larry...” 

“Needs to find a way to get your exhibit temporarily closed until we figure it out, and needs to stay tomorrow to set you free if you do wake up,” Larry finished the statement definitively. 

“I wasn’t going to ask, but if you’re willing,” Ahkmenrah said. “I’d greatly appreciate it, Larry.” 

“I technically need sleep, but that’s a small technicality,” Larry replied.

Teddy stared. “You’re a father, Lawrence.” 

“He’s with his mom for the week!” 

“No, I mean...that’s not a healthy habit to show him, Lawrence.” 

“He isn’t here!” 

“Because this is surely the first time you’ve stayed up all night and all day...” Teddy said, about as judgmentally as he could say anything, his eyes even worse than his tone of voice.

“My ability to father is not what’s in question here,” Larry sighed. “What is in question is...magic.” 

“Did that sound better in your head?” Sacagawea asked softly.

“We ought to get back,” Teddy interjected. “The hour grows...early, I suppose. We’ll in theory be asleep again shortly. Lawrence, good luck on it all. If you need us tomorrow night, let us know.” 

Larry nodded as they left, and watched as Ahkmenrah slipped into his sarcophagus, still in the sweats. 

“I’ll get your clothes. You stay in those; I don’t think it’ll matter much once you uh...re-mummify and then un-mummify later. I’m gonna real quick break the least expensive thing in here, okay?” Larry asked. 

“Is that your game plan to close this exhibit?” 

“Yes?” Larry asked as he hoisted a vase above his head. 

“That’ll do fine. That vase is a reproduction anyway, I accidentally broke the real one as a child,” Ahkmenrah replied as he laid back in the sarcophagus. “Will you...stay in here, while I’m...” 

“Yeah, of course,” Larry said before letting the vase fall from his hands and shatter on the ground, shards of the plaster and clay going everywhere.

“Thank you, L-” 

The alarm on Larry’s watch beeped as Ahkmenrah’s voice dropped away. 

He silenced it and peeked into the sarcophagus. It was a wild thing, to see him completely dead and gone again, when he had been so alive just a moment before. Unsettling, as well. 

But he had no time to observe him, only to run and cry wolf about the exhibit. 

Shockingly, it worked, and more importantly, after the shards of the vase replica were recovered, he was left with Ahkmenrah, though the workers seemed to doubt his sanity mildly at not wanting to go home and rest. 

But he’d made a promise. And he had no intention of breaking it. 

With the doors to the exhibition shut, it was horribly dark. Dark enough to put him to sleep even as he fought it, sat against one of the pillars in the room, waiting for the night to come. 

He woke to shrieking, panicked and out of control.

Ahkmenrah was sat up in the sarcophagus, though Larry could only just make out his silhouette as he struggled to his feet, pushing away the grogginess that threatened to cloud his mind. 

He turned on his flashlight, and turned it on Ahkmenrah as close as he could without blinding him. “Ahk! Hey, it’s me. You’re saaaaaa-” 

He fought back his own scream. Something was wrong with the magic, clearly. Whatever or whoever had done the addition to the tablet had done something incorrect, horribly.

Ahkmenrah’s face was half mummified, half not, dust and who knew what else pouring from his mouth as he screamed and cried. The hand at his mouth was full flesh, but the one that reached out for Larry was mostly bone and dried skin. 

“Okay. Okay. Okay,” Larry said, though it was absolutely not. “Don’t be scared, I’m right here. You’re okay.” 

“No I’m not,” Ahkmenrah wept. “Larry, help.” 

“I-I don’t know,” Larry hesitated, then did the only thing that came to mind. To treat him just like Nicholas with a nightmare, even if this was a never-ending living one. 

He sat on the edge of the open sarcophagus, and wrapped his arms around Ahkmenrah, ignoring the crawling of his skin as his hands moved over the still-mummified portions of his arm and back. “It’s okay. You’re gonna be okay. We’re gonna figure this out, somehow. Maybe we can edit the tablet ourselves, or something. But we aren’t going to leave you like this, I promise.” 

Ahkmenrah was no longer saying anything in English, but though Larry couldn’t understand it, he knew the tone. Someone scared, in need of love and caring and help. 

It took a good hour, from noon to one, before Ahkmenrah was calm enough to speak. 

By one, he was fully living, no longer half-mummified, and breathing normally again, his tears dried. 

“Thank you, Larry,” Ahkmenrah’s voice was rough, his weeping evident in the cracks of his voice, the dryness of his throat. “I’m sorry for my reaction.” 

“Don’t be sorry,” Larry replied. “You have nothing to be sorry for, because that was terrifying.” 

Ahkmenrah looked to him with a face that screamed hurt, illuminated by the flashlight. 

“Oh god, I didn’t mean. I’m sorry,” Larry continued. “I just meant I’d be terrified too, if that happened to me.” 

The relief on Ahkmenrah’s face was palpable. “Right. Sorry.” 

“No, no more sorry. I meant it, you have nothing to be sorry for.” 

“What if we can’t fix it?” Ahkmenrah’s voice was timid. “What if there’s nothing to be done?” 

That was the question of the hour, Larry could only think to himself. He didn’t want to even consider what that might mean for Ahkmenrah and the rest of the inhabitants. Would coming to life still be worth it if it meant inconveniently being brought back while patrons were still in the museum?

He couldn’t know. 

“Then we figure out how to move forward,” Larry said, feeling the dissatisfaction in the answer even as he said it. 

“Very well,” Ahkmenrah replied, his voice still so soft, so low. 

In the dark, it was like two ghosts conversing, especially once the flashlight was off to conserve its battery. It felt otherworldly, not exactly bad, but definitely strange.

Still, it felt better being outside of the exhibit in the light, as soon as six o’clock hit. 

“Better,” Ahkmenrah said as they stepped out, brushing the bits of dried skin and bandage remnants from his sweats with one hand. The other held tight to the tablet. 

“Yes,” Larry agreed. “Ready to figure this out?” 

Ahkmenrah nodded, and they moved to the one place they might be left alone to investigate the tablet. 

“How is it always cold in here?” Ahkmenrah asked as they settled in the employee lounge.

“Think it’s on purpose. If I come in here I won’t fall asleep then, maybe?” 

Ahkmenrah frowned at that. “Did you sleep, Larry? Until I woke you, I mean.” 

“Yeah, don’t worry about it. What we need to worry about is that,” Larry said, pointing at the tablet. “Does it say anything else, aside from changing when you guys wake up?” 

Ahkmenrah pored over the tablet for a good ten minutes, his frown deepening. “Sort of? It mentions...something about the changing of all things...the end of death...whoever wrote this has terrible handwriting. What even is this one? This isn’t a hieroglyph, this is a gauge mark!” 

“Call me crazy,” Larry started.

“If you wish,” Ahkmenrah replied earnestly.

“...thank you. But maybe...could it mean you?” 

“Me? Me, what?” 

Larry shrugged. “Returning to life, kind of, I guess? I mean, I don’t know anymore than you do; I’m just thinking out loud.” 

Ahkmenrah’s jaw was doing its thing, his eyes a thousand miles away while he thought. “I was half alive, earlier. But...what does that mean for me, if that is true?” 

“How do you mean?” 

“Will I age? Will I forever be this young, or...and will I be able to leave here then, or will I be some strange, vampiric sort of thing, with a body that looks alive, but is forced to sleep during the day? Will the sun destroy me? What will I be, Larry? What existence will there be for me?” 

Larry knew the shock was showing on his face, but he couldn’t hide it. Ahkmenrah asked incredibly valid and important questions, but once again he found himself with no clue how to answer any of them, and he didn’t know that there would be answers. 

“It’s okay. I know you don’t know,” Ahkmenrah said quietly.

Larry nodded. “If you’re afraid, I don’t blame you. I would be too. This is strange and unnerving, and I wish I did have answers for you. But I think maybe all we can do is see what happens.” 

“You should rest,” Ahkmenrah said, and pointed to the couch. “I’ll need you again tonight then.” 

Larry didn’t argue. He was honestly curious to see if Ahkmenrah would even re-mummify again, or if whatever was on the tablet was true, and he was on his way to being something like alive. 

Plus, the couch was pretty comfortable once a person was tired enough. And he certainly was tired enough. 

A few hours later he woke to Ahkmenrah’s gentle prodding. “Larry, we’ve got to go. Just in case I-” 

“No, I got it,” Larry spluttered as he wiped drool from the corner of his mouth and clambered off the couch, following Ahkmenrah down the hall to the still dark exhibit. 

They were right up to the line, getting Ahkmenrah back in his sarcophagus just as Larry’s alarm beeped on his watch. 

His hand was still on Ahkmenrah’s arm as the deadline of sunrise came and passed. 

And nothing happened. Ahkmenrah sat in front of him, appearing perfectly alive and well, eyes squinted shut as if he was waiting to poof into dust. 

“Can I check you for a pulse?” Larry asked, hearing his voice shake as he took two fingers and placed them just below Ahkmenrah’s jawline. 

It was a strong pulse, and he resisted the urge to put his head to Ahkmenrah’s chest to listen for a heartbeat, then did it anyway. 

The sound of heartbeat had only sounded so good once before, the first time he had heard Nicholas’ heartbeat during a sonogram. 

“I think...I think you’re here to stay,” he said, fighting back happy tears on Ahkmenrah’s behalf. 

“I want to go in the sun,” Ahkmenrah said quickly, jumping out of the sarcophagus and running out of the exhibit to the front doors of the museum. 

Before Larry could even try and stop him he was outside in the sliver of the rising sun, shouting happily into the cool morning air, laughing. 

“I’m alive!” he shouted to Larry as he ran back, wrapping Larry in a hug. “I’m alive, my god. I wonder-there can’t be an expiration on this, do you think?” 

“Did you read one on the tablet?” Larry asked with a smile.

“No, no mention of one.” 

“Then I think you’re here for the long haul. Maybe immortal? I really don’t know, but we’re gonna be careful with you just in case,” Larry continued. 

“I can’t wait to tell everyone,” Ahkmenrah said, then his smile fell. “What if it changed something for them? What if they don’t wake up? What if-” 

“We can’t know until tonight,” Larry said. “In the meantime, would you like to help me lock up before the morning staff get here, and go get breakfast?” 

“Really?” 

“Yes, I think you deserve it. Also, we need to find out if you like...need food. I’m pretty sure you do. But we should find out. And you can crash at my place for now,” Larry replied. 

“Fantastic,” Ahkmenrah’s eyes were shining, his smile bright and bold ashe trotted after Larry while they ensured everyone was where they were meant to be, and locked what needed locking. “What will we say about the exhibit though?” 

“...so we have something to brain storm over breakfast!” Larry said. “And for now...we’re going to hope they don’t go into it at all.” 

“Fair enough,” Ahkmenrah said. “So what do people eat for breakfast now?” 

“I think you’ll like donuts,” Larry replied. “And we’ll need the energy for sure. After all, only a few hours to nap before we’ll need to get ready and be back here. And that means clothes shopping for you, letting you have a shower, whole bunch of new modern stuff!” 

Ahkmenrah was nearly bouncing as they left the museum, lifting his face to the sun, soaking up all the years he’d missed out on. 

He knew it would be an adjustment for both of them, in various ways. He couldn’t even fully envision some it, like figuring out if Ahk could room with him for an extended time or if he could get him an apartment and a job in a reasonable time period. But he was excited for Ahkmenrah, and for what it all might mean, and for him finally getting a good ending despite the initial terror. 

As he watched Ahk take in the city, smiling and laughing, all he could think was how much Ahk deserved it. 

[angrylizardjacket]

ask you destiny to dance [7] {Roger Taylor}

[masterpost]

“What did you do? Ash is more pissed at you than usual.” Brian’s looking covertly between Ash wiping glasses at the bar, and Roger, adjusting the height of his high hats a few weeks after he’d confronted her about August. She hadn’t spoken to him directly since then, but the other band members were starting to catch on.

“I didn’t do anything-” Roger tries to protest, but Freddie’s laugh cuts him off.

“He made a comment about Pocket Rocket’s dear friend.” Freddie adds, having adapted to the nickname with ease, an amused smile on his face as he looks at Roger over his shoulder.

“You mean her boyfriend.” Roger snaps, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ash tense at the bar, giving away her eavesdropping, though he didn’t call her out on it.

“Ash isn’t dating that guy, he’s like forty.” Brian laughed, but Roger caught the way Freddie’s expression darkened, though he didn’t dwell on it, and Roger’s own smile became knowing and bitter.

“Yeah, listen Bri, I know what I said.” He responded venomously, and the mood around them sobered considerably. “I don’t like him, okay, he’s too old for her,” after a beat, he wrinkled his nose, “got a dickhead aura.” 

“You’ve met him once.” John points out, trying to lighten the aura. Roger just bristled at the statement.

“Rog is just fond of her,” Freddie cuts in, voice a little condescending, smile mischievous, “let him be jealous, it might take him down a peg or two.”  

“I’m not bloody jealous of that creep!” After a beat of feeling particularly hurt, and Freddie’s commenting hitting a little too close to home, he hears himself lashing out, “And how low do you think my standards really are, Freds?” And that shocked Freddie into silence, eyes wide and disbelieving, his eyebrows raised, as he turned away, jaw clenched.

“You really are just trying to burn that bridge while we’re standing on it, aren’t you?” Brian shook his head, sighing heavily as he went back to his guitar.

“Roger,” John said carefully, coming over to speak quietly to the drummer, as the rest of the band turned away, uncomfortable, “let me get the drinks tonight.” And it’s not what he expected to hear, but when he looks to John, John’s looking over at the bar. Ash is making direct eye contact with him, her customer service smile looking mostly threatening as she keeps polishing the same spot on a glass. “Because that woman is going to spit in all of your drinks and make you watch.” John explains, now looking to Roger, who’s expression was carefully neutral, trying not to betray his own anger at himself. “And as much as I love our dear Pocket Rocket, it’s not something I particularly want.” 

She’s definitely gone back to hating him, and he didn’t realise how much it would hurt. 

The worst part is that she’s so damn happy around everyone else, and he hates himself for being hurt by that. He’s angry, but not at her (never at her, not for something like this) he’s angry because he sees the way she smiles at him from behind the bar, and he sees the way August spends more time looking at the girls in the crowd, though she can’t even tell from where she’s standing. Roger’s angry because she fucking gushes about August - “He’s just made tenure!” - and yet he won’t even touch her if there’s someone else around. He’s livid because she’s so clearly in love with him, but she still can’t bring herself to tell the others his name because she knows - knows - something’s up with August, even if she doesn’t want to admit it, even if the others can’t see it.

Except that’s not the reason she doesn’t say his name.

“He’s here at every show, we should say thank you.” Brian tries after a gig, talking mainly to Roger and John, as Freddie had been giggling with Mary, the two of them in their own little world. Ash is nowhere to be seen. Roger takes another drag of his cigarette.

“Heaps of people are fans of us, it doesn’t mean we have to personally thank them every time.” Roger scoffed, but Brian made a noise in the back of his throat that sounded like he disagreed.

“It’s a show of good faith, we should at least shake hands with-” and he paused for a moment, brow furrowing, “what’d she say his name was again?”

“Doctor Reid, if I recall.” John piped up, and Brian shifted his weight, crossing his arms.

“Yeah, but what’s his first name? That sounds so formal, like, ‘Oh, can I grab you a beer Doctor Reid?’” He put on a voice, laughing at his own joke, looking to John, who just shrugged helplessly.

“August.” Roger’s voice is very quiet, hunched in on himself sitting in the back of the van. Brian frowns, leaning in a little, confused as to both how Roger has kept this for so long, and what the name actually was. “His name’s August.” Roger repeated, voice heavy but louder this time. Freddie freezes. “She calls him Gus.” He adds.

“You’re joking, right?” Freddie says into the uncertain silence, and that’s the moment that the back door comes crashing open and Ash comes out, grinning, hands in her pockets.

“Hey guys,” she grinned, nodding at them, not even sparing Roger a glace, “could I have my jacket back? You can drop the pants back tomorrow if you like.” Freddie turns to her, eyes wide, disbelieving smile still frozen almost painfully onto his face, not removing the oversized, blood red velour button down shirt Freddie had been wearing over a black singlet.

“Is that man we keep seeing Gus?” He asked, voice scarily neutral. None of the others had ever heard him like this, had barely heard Freddie genuinely angry like this, and Ash’s expression dropped.

“I’ve gotta go.” It’s not the answer any of them expect, nor is Ash turning on her heel and heading back into the pub before the door had even swung fully shut. Turning back to the band, they could all see that Freddie was livid.

“I’m going to gut the bastard. Gut him like a goddamn fish, I swear I will.” He seethed, hands curling and uncurling into fists, staring at the gravel. It was as if the air around him was snapping with the electricity of a storm. Looking up, all Freddie could see was how shocked the others were, even Roger, and he clenched his jaw, forcing himself to calm down.

“That’s the bastard that ruined her life.” He admitted through clenched teeth. “Roger’s fucking right, the man’s no good.” And Roger couldn’t even take the moment to bask in the vindication that would have usually surged through him at being told he was right, instead, his blood runs cold.

“He what?” Mary asked softly, and Freddie’s expression softened, looking finally between all of them, realising what he’d said.

“He’s the reason she was expelled from her last university, and...” Frowning, Freddie shakes his head. Brian, John, and Mary all took a moment to process this new information, shock written all over their faces. “It’s not my place,” and he started on a new strand of information, “he was her teacher, he started a clandestine affair with her when she started university, and,” pausing again, he sighed, the anger still clearly flowing through him, though it had simmered down to a bitter rage, “not my place.” He repeated. 

“Doesn’t he have a wife and family? How old was she?” Brian asked, a little aghast, and Freddie sighed.

“She was eighteen.” Freddie sighed.

“She was a kid.” Roger breathed, anger bubbling up inside of him.

“Hey, that’s only a year younger than me.” John pointed out, but Roger turned on him.

“Oh, I’m sorry John, are you having an affair with one of your teachers that we need to stage an intervention for?” He snapped, and John’s face fell, and he looked to the ground.

“I’m just saying she was an adult is all, doesn’t make it right, but she can make her own choices.” He paused. “She seems happy.” Both Freddie and Roger deflated at that, they’re all quiet for a long moment, and without a word, Freddie heads inside.

“Ash.” When he says her name, she looks up with an expression that tells him she’s ready to fight.

“He’s different now, Freddie.” She tells him, already defending herself and the man who she knows in her heart probably doesn’t deserve it. Freddie was ready to fight him the moment he heard August’s name, and he didn’t even know the full story. Sure he could gather the impact it had on Ash, but he never really truly realised the effect August had on her.

“What does that mean, Ash? What exactly is keeping me from coming over here and beating him bloody with my microphone next time we play here?” Freddie asked, voice very serious. Pulling off her apron, Ash told Maureen, who had been eavesdropping on the conversation, that she was knocking off for the night, which Maureen agreed to, and Ash walked around the bar and took Freddie’s hand.

“We’re not having this conversation here.” She hissed, pulling him into the staff bathroom and locking it behind them. “I love him.” She said through gritted teeth, crossing her hands over her chest, looking away. “And after everything I did, I think he still loves me too.”

“After everything you- Ash do you hear yourself?” Freddie takes a deep breath, steadying himself, holding her shoulders, “He start an affair with you, his student, refuse to be seen with you in public, and used his power within the faculty to kick you out of school when you wanted to stop-”

“I only wanted to stop because I found out he was engaged when his fiance found out about me!” Ash cried, as if it were somehow her fault. Freddie actually stepped back.

“Found out about you- He was engaged?!” He whispered, eyes wide and horrified. “Darling that’s nowhere near being your fault. He had a whole town calling you a slut and a homewrecker; he didn’t love you, he ran you out of Scotland.” 

“He ran me out of Fife.” She spits back the correction. “I would know, I was there.” But she doesn’t seem to connect to the words he’s saying, it’s as if she’s replayed the events in her head so many times that she’s become desensitised to it. “But he’s changed, I was practically a kid last time, I’m different now too. And if he didn’t love me then,” she looks a little hurt as she says it, and Freddie doesn’t know if he wants to hug her or shake some sense into her, “well I think he does now.” After a beat she ducked her gaze, voice becoming a weary sigh as she leaned against the counter. “Listen, Freds, I’ll keep him out of the bar, you won’t have to see him, but this is my life.”

“Don’t make the same mistake again-”

“He’s told me that Kira’s his ex-fiance, so I don’t think she’ll be a problem.” Ash rolled her eyes at Freddie, who opened his mouth to protest that that wasn’t the point, but she added. “Can you get Roger to shut up? I’m sick of hearing him bitching.” 

“Did something happen between you two?” Is what Freddie finally finds himself asking.

“I could get used to this.” Roger grins at her when she brings him a cup of tea in the warm light of the late morning, a book under one of her arms. She keeps using the mug with the cat faces on it for him, he’s started calling it ‘his mug’ and maybe she’s started calling it that too in her mind.

“Yeah, well don’t. You can get your own tea next time.” Ash laughed, sitting up beside in bed, cradling her own tea in one hand, pulling out the book with the other.

“Just show me where everything is, I think I could manage.” Roger chuckles, putting his free arm around her where she’s sat back against the headboard. “What are you reading?” Looking at him with a little surprise, Ash smiles slightly, taking a big gulp of tea, putting the mostly full cup on the bedside table before tucking herself against him, opening up the book.

“I found it in the common room, it’s one of those trashy romance novels,” after a beat, she closed the book, keeping her place with her finger, showing him the cover, where a woman was posing sensuously with a hand on a beautifully painted horse, “but I think she fucks the horse.” Roger snorts at that, his arm tightening around her just a little.

He doesn’t have an answer, just laughs, reading with her when she opens the book back up. It’s soft and domestic, her head on his chest as they both read the novella, sipping their tea on occasion. The blinds are down, but there’s still stripes of light peeking through, hitting the floor with golden light and the room feels warm and hazy. They stay like that for a long while, Roger actually becomes rather engrossed in the story, and when Ash shifts to lean over and take a sip of her tea, he takes the book to read ahead a few lines. When she turns back, she just watches him for a moment, a fond smile slowly spreading over her face, and when he finally looks up, realised he was caught, she leans forward, pressing a kiss to his lips, sweet, her hand coming up to cup his cheek, and when she pulls back, he’s smiling back at her, a little confused.

“What was that for?” He grinned, and Ash shrugged, ducking her head to hide her blush.

“I dunno, maybe the book got me going.” She lied easily, and Roger’s expression turns a little unreadable, though it’s clear he doesn’t believe her.

“We weren’t even up to the hot part!” He countered, and Ash laughed, taking the book from him, but he stays holding it, lets himself be pulled with it until he’s meeting her for a kiss, his hand on her wrist when he lets go of the book to move up her arm and start sliding off her dressing gown. “Not that I’m complaining.”

Yeah, Ash had thought, I could get used to this.

“Hello, Ash?” In the present, Freddie waves a hand in front of her face. Ash’s expression soured as her chest began to ache.

“No, okay? Nothing happened between us, Freddie. Roger’s just being a bitch.”

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[throughtheglassdarkly]

Roadblocks, part 5.2

Yova was spending her lovely windy Wednesday afternoon alternating between spoiling Gershwin with new toys and plants for his terrarium and banging out “Crocodile Rock” on her piano to try and make my souffle fall (I never should have told her I hate Elton John). She almost missed the sound of the doorbell to her apartment, but stomped over, threw it open and sneered, “Oh, I’m so sorry, was that botheri- heeeelllo, Pam!” Pam beamed up at her and said, “Hello! I just heard from Derek and he was so concerned about you, so I thought I’d come over. I brought scones and bars!” Yova somehow managed to keep her hair from combusting into flames and invited Pam in.

Pam set things up in the kitchenette, putting it to good use (for once). She brought her own bean grinder and coffee beans to make coffee just how Yova liked and pulled out all the stops to make a nice little coffee party. It was around this time I asked Paisley to go up as a scout and let me know if Pam was there. She was eager as anything to go up, so we made our way upstairs. Yova opened the door and grinned, showing me every tooth in her mouth. “Deeeerek. What a pleasant surprise,” she said, molars grinding to dust. I grinned and held up a plate. “I brought mini quiches,” I said.

We stepped in and Paisley made a beeline for Gershwin’s new enclosure. I think Yova bought one of those giant saltwater fish tanks and converted it into his home. Paisley couldn’t stop herself from exploring and I caught her giving me a dirty look, clearly asking why I wasn’t stepping my pet owner game up. “Dude, don’t get used to it. I don’t have disposable pianist income,” I told her.

Once we settled down and had ourselves some coffee and bars and mini quiches, Pam asked Yova about her Fetch and how she was doing. “Oh, I’m fine. Honestly, I’d rather just leave it alone,” Yova said. Pam and I shared a look and I tried to lean on Yova, saying, “You know, I said pretty much the same thing. And that very nearly ended up blowing up in our faces,” I said. Yova sighed, leaned back in her chair and looked down in her coffee, saying, “I just want you to be prepared for it not to go well. I don’t know if she’s crazy or just putting on an act, by she is definitely self-aware enough to harm someone. I don’t want anyone getting hurt.” She looked up and asked, “And there’s no way I could persuade you to not go through with this?” Pam just shook her head.

Yova drained her coffee and leaned forward, taking a bar. “Honestly, I’ve considered calling my parents and seeing if they’d take her in,” she said, munching on it. I considered for a second and said, “Well, there’s nothing wrong with one of us calling and trying it out.” She sat there for a second, then got up, grabbed her phone and started typing in a number. She punched send and handed the phone over to me.

While we were dining on baked goods and angst, Bella and Day were hanging out at his office, where he was sitting at his desk with the fancy name plaque he splurged on and she was trying to convince him of the merits of setting up a Facebook page and handing out crappy flyers she designed herself. They both turned, surprised, when they heard the door opening. Day tried to get more presentable, tucking his shirt in, but much to their surprise, they both recognized who stepped in: it was Marigold, bundled up in a fluffy wool coat. Day relaxed and said, “Mary!” “My name’s… Marigold… not Mary,” she said hesitantly. “It’s – I was trying to –“ he sputtered. “Oh, it’s a nickname!” Marigold chirped. Bella told me she considered jumping out the window at this point.

Marigold wasn’t there on a social call, however: she wanted to hire day for an investigation. Day told her to take a seat and tell him exactly what was going on. Bella sat up straight with a proper secretary’s posture and started taking notes. Marigold sat down, looking nervous, and pulled out a piece of something electronic with some wires hanging off. She slid it across the table and said, “This fell out of one of the vents at my apartment while I was cleaning it.” Day looked at the device, which appeared to be a crude sort of microphone. “Well, it’s pretty cheap and staticky, probably wouldn’t pick up much outside of the room it was in. At least it’s not the FBI,” he said. “Why would you think it’s the FBI?! I’m careful about that!” Marigold yelped. “Jesus, Mary, it’s a joke,” he said.

He reassured her that the bug was just a basic device, and so she probably wasn’t dealing with someone who was a real professional. Marigold was a little relieved by that, but told him that she still wanted him to look into it. “And please, don’t tell Yova. I don’t want her to worry,” she said. “No worries, it’s like a doctor-patient confidentiality. Anything you tell me doesn’t pass this desk. So, uh, to give me some idea of what we’re working with… when you and Yova do it, how does it –” Bella mercifully cut him off.

Day asked Marigold if she had any enemies who would want to listen in on her. “Ex-friends, ex-siblings, ex-lovers?” Bella asked. “I don’t think so? I mean, I’m the librarian at the Autumn Court. It’s not like that’s the most enviable position. I’m not trying to gain rank or curry favor. I’m just trying to get by.” Bella looked her dead on and told her that there were people in the Courts who just didn’t like Darklings. And then Marigold started to cry. Which is why Day and Bella are officially the worst people.

Once they calmed her down, Day told her that this had to be the work of someone who had access to her apartment, so she needed to try and think about anyone who might have come over to the apartment or come in for any reason. She wasn’t able to think of anyone other than Yova who came over. Day asked her if she could get a hotel for the evening so that he and Bella could go take a look at things, and if they found anything out, they’d let her know. She agreed and he told her to find a place to stay and just hang out there, and if she thought of anything, to give him or Bella a call. Bella proudly pulled out one of Day’s new business cards and handed it over.

After she left, Day asked Bella if she was ready to earn a bonus. “I think we should get a pseudo-Marigold to go to the apartment and do her everyday normal things, and see what happens,” he said. “What are you trying to say, Day?” “What I’m trying to say, Miss Pocket Pilfer, is we’re going to take one Darkling and put in another.” “So are you trying to say all Darklings look the same?”

Back on the saner side of my motley’s spectrum, I had the phone and was waiting for someone at Yova’s parents’ place to pick up. The phone kept ringing and ringing and ringing, and just as I was about to hang up, I heard an older woman’s voice come on and say, “Hello?” I straightened up and said, “Ah, yes, Mrs. Pavlovich? My name is Derek, I’m an orderly at Binghamton Psychiatric Center in Binghamton, New York. I’m calling about your daughter.” There was a long pause, then she said, “Oh… yes? But she was discharged, wasn’t she? I’m not sure what I can do for you.”

I managed, somehow, to keep from screaming, and cleared my throat. “Uh, yes, ma’am. But we’ve just realized that she left some personal effects here and we’re not permitted to hold onto these. I was hoping you might help us get in touch with her so she or a representative could come and pick them up?” I asked. She hesitated. “Oh. Well, we live out of state, so we wouldn’t be able to help you out there. I assume you have her phone number and must have called? I’m afraid I can’t help you out any more than that.” “I see. Well, thank you for your time, Mrs. Pavlovich.” “You’re welcome. I wish I knew more but we don’t speak very much, so I don’t know what she’s up to,” she said. I bit back a few choice words, given what Yova had told me about her parents’ reaction to her coming out. Instead, I took as cold a tone as I could muster.

“Well, Mrs. Pavlovich,” I said, “perhaps you could try calling her sometime.” And then I hung up the phone.

I told Pam and Yova the bad news about the Fetch getting released. We quickly started brainstorming and Yova grabbed the notebook she got from Aurora’s hideout. After a few minutes, I spotted a couple of names I recognized: Deb and Greg, the changelings we met at the biergarten who were working with Day’s and Bella’s Fetches. We discussed whether Aurora might have dropped Yova’s Fetch off with them. Yova looked like she was internally kicking herself. “I thought she was where she needed to be. Out of sight, out of mind,” she sighed. “Well, we’re going to figure it out,” Pam told her.

Meanwhile, Abbot and Costello were putting their brilliant plan into motion. They got Bella dressed up like Marigold and Day staked out the apartment while she went up to the front door and got the spare key from the flowerpot. Bella headed in and started looking around, trying to spot anything that might have been out of place in Marigold’s apartment. She couldn’t help feeling a little bit on edge. Outside, Day didn’t see anything out of the ordinary to start with, but a few minutes after Bella entered the apartment, he spotted a U-Haul parked nearby slowly pull out and start to drive away. They were moving slow enough for him to take note. He jotted down the license plate and then climbed into his car to follow.

Back inside the apartment, Bella was distracted and on edge, searching through Marigold’s things. And it was probably the fact that she was so distracted that she didn’t notice until it was too late that another person was in there. The same person who brought a sack over her head as she was looking at the calendar with the adorable kittens on it. Wriggle and writhe and scratch and scream as she might, she couldn’t get away. As she struggled, she managed to pull a muscle in her back and became completely unable to move. Something hard came down against the back of her head and she was out.

As Day was following the U-Haul around the block, it pulled up to the street behind the complex. While he waited, he saw the driver walk briskly back around the front of the U-Haul. Someone else came up to it, popped something into the passenger side and threw it in.

Back at Chez Yova, Pam tried calling Day but just got his voicemail. Yova called the Summer Court to let them know what was going on. She got a hold of Brandon, the changeling who took Aurora’s body. She told him about the situation and he told her that Fetches were usually their changeling’s responsibility, but he said he’d take a description and they’d keep an eye out for her. Yova told him she had no idea who the Fetch would contact and didn’t know how physically capable she was, but she still recommended approaching with caution.

I realized it would be good for the Autumn Court to also be aware of what was going on, so I called Stella, and the conversation went about as well as you could expect. “It’s Stella, state your business.” “Hi, Stella, it’s your favorite bird brain.” “Hello, Derek, how can I help you?” “Well, Yova’s Fetch got busted out of the insane asylum she was in, so we’re calling around to alert people about that and tell them to watch out for her.” There was a momentary pause, then Stella said, “That’s surprisingly responsible of you.” I gave her a description of what Yova used to look like and she told me she would make the Court aware of it, then she hung up. I looked up at Yova and Pam and said, “She loves me.”

Around this time, Yova decided to call Marigold. She got her voicemail and left a message: “Hi, Marigold, it’s me. There’s a bit of a situation. If you can give me a call back, I’ll talk to you about it more, or I can text you the details, just please, please be safe.” She texted what was going on to Marigold. We decided to go to Day’s office and see what was going on. As you’re probably guessing, we just saw the sign on his door saying he was out on a case. That’s when we tried calling Bella.

Who was slowly coming to in the passenger seat of the U-Haul. She heard her phone buzzing and started to realize she was in a car and driving off somewhere. The bag was still over her head and her hands were tied behind her. She heard a feminine voice saying, “Look, I know this seems bad, but don’t worry, stop struggling. You’ll be out of this soon.” “You guys suck. Who does this?” she asked. Around this time, Day was driving through traffic and started losing them. He let out a very long and very rude series of words.

Yova was getting very antsy at not hearing anything from Marigold, so she drove us all over to Marigold’s. When we got there, she jumped out of the car about an eighth of a second after she slammed the shift into park. Pam and I got out and tried to make it up after her, but she was moving at mach now. She checked the flowerpot for the spare key, which wasn’t there. The door wasn’t locked and the lights were on the apartment. There was also a note on the door with an address written on it, which Yova snatched off.

She barged in, yelling, “Marigold?!” There was, obviously, no answer. I started checking the book, looking to see if Marigold’s address was there, but Yova was tearing through the apartment. And in the large closet near the living room, where Marigold had some storage, the door was open and it looked like some sheets that had been folded and stacked were pushed together in places, as though someone had been hiding there.

Yova was in a blind panic by now. She called Marigold, again got no answer, and then called Day. He picked up and before he could even get a greeting out, she half-shrieked, “Marigold’s been kidnapped!” “No, she hasn’t,” Day said. Yova paused, then said, “Day, what the fuck is going on? And you better tell me right now or I swear to God…” “Oh, she’s worried,” I murmured to Pam. “Shut the fuck up, Derek!” she snapped. Day explained what was going on and told her that we should try to meet him where they were going, but that she shouldn’t let on that we knew it wasn’t Marigold.

Across town, Bella got dragged out of the U-Haul and tied up inside the place she was brought in. The kidnapper said to someone else, “Okay, we got her. Can we get our money now?” This time, she recognized Deb’s voice. The voice that responded said, “Of course. You’re free to go if you want.” The two kidnappers talked quietly among themselves, but all Bella could make out was some murmuring. The other voice said, “So you’re just gonna stay here when people come looking for her? That’s your plan? You know, I don’t claim to be the brightest crayon in the box, but I think you’re missing steps B through Z here. The woman said, “I don’t have to explain anything to you. I have my reasons.” They seemed to shrug and left.

When Yova, Pam, and I arrived at the parking lot, Day was already there. The building where Bella had been taken to was an office at a self-storage unit place. It looked like it was abandoned, like it hadn’t been in use for a while. Yova demanded to know what the hell was going on and we managed to calm her down enough to try and figure out a plan. Day told her that the kidnappers didn’t know she was coming with a group. “They might not even be aware that Bella’s not Marigold, so it’s best if you ham it up a bit,” he said. I’m sure you’ll be shocked to find out that this was not going to come as any real stretch to Yova. She said she was going to kick in the front door and directed the rest of us to sneak in the back and try to ambush them. As Day, Pam, and I snuck around, we saw Deb and Greg going away. We quickly debated going after them, but then realized our first priority needed to be getting Bella out.

Pam stayed outside as a lookout while Day and I slipped in the back door. We could hear Pachelbel’s canon (which Yova had told me at one point was her least favorite song in all of time and space) playing off a CD. We slipped toward the central office and I could hear someone humming along to the sound. It was awful, and I could tell whoever it was was trying really hard to make the tune work, but she couldn’t get there.

Yova kicked in the door and standing there, leaning up against the wall, filing her nails and humming terribly out of tune, was her Fetch. Yova glared at the Fetch and said, “I gave you a chance. So why all this showmanship when you can’t even carry a tune?” “Are you really asking me why you’re extra?” the Fetch asked. “Oh, I know exactly why I’m extra. But why you, when you have no talent whatsoever?” Yova hissed.

The Fetch turned and looked at her, creepily talking about how all the talent stayed with Yova. “I have all your memories, every bit of knowledge that makes you you. I have all the same dreams and goals as you. But the one thing that makes them happen doesn’t exist for me. It’s really not fair. Not fair at all. You think you can just waltz back in? That angelic voice of yours, all that talent and skill, while I’m left behind to rot? No. It’s just not fair.” Yova narrowed her eyes and told the Fetch she was chasing something that was never hers. “Well, I wasn’t meant to be anyone else. And you can’t give up, of course not. You just strode right back in and grabbed it right back. If you can’t give it up, what makes you think I can?” the Fetch asked. “I’ve got eighteen years of skill and practice and I’m not a hollow imitation,” Yova snapped.

Around this time, I slipped in and was behind Yova’s Fetch, trying to make eye contact with her. I raised a leg, preparing to kick her forward so Yova could deal with her. She pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head slightly, so I was left poised like a flamingo on one leg.

“I’ve just as much right to exist as you do and I don’t want to stop existing. My options for that while you exist are limited. So I figure that it’s only fair that if one of us has to spend this existence in a state of constant suffering, then we should be doing it together. It’s only fair.” Yova sighed, “What are your terms?” The Fetch made eye contact with Yova and hissed that she didn’t come there to deal. Yova suddenly saw that as the Fetch was approaching Bella, she was pulling out a very long, nasty-looking knife. Bella felt the knife come into contact with her neck.

Yova flared her brightness, which managed to blind both her Fetch and me. Day leapt forward and tackled the Fetch. Bella started wriggling out of her bonds. I axe-kicked the Fetch, narrowly missing Day’s face and she let out an unholy screech. Yova ran up to deck her and knocked her bitch ass out. Bella managed to free herself, sliding out of her bonds and we tried to assess what was going on. Yova was closing her eyes and breathing deeply, clearly trying her hardest not to go into a blind rage. When she had her breathing under control, she looked at Day and said, “We need to call the Summer Court.” He agreed and she asked him if he could restrain her Fetch while she called. “I don’t trust myself right now with her.”

Bella was a little loopy, so I put a hand on her shoulder to keep her from wandering into any walls.

Yova walked out past Pam, pulled out her phone, and did her best to keep tone level. Just as she was about to dial, a call came in from Marigold. It turns out Marigold had been enjoying the spa at the Albany Marriott (a fine establishment, to be sure) and didn’t have her phone on her. She quickly picked up on the fact that Yova was not okay. Yova asked if they could talk in person and said she was just so glad Marigold was fine. They agreed to meet up later and Yova called the Summer Court.

When Yova got a hold of Brandon, she told him that she didn’t trust herself with her Fetch and asked him what the policy is on Fetches who tried to harm changelings. He told her that usually it was to deal with them permanently, but that it was on her. “If you want us to show mercy, that’s up to you,” he said. “No. I gave her a chance. I tried to let her walk away. But I can never trust her again,” she said, deadly serious. Brandon agreed to send someone to pick the Fetch up.

While Day and Bella were bantering over her bonus, Yova walked back in and sat down in the chair heavily. Pam headed over and put a hand on her shoulder, which quickly turned into a mom hug. Yova didn’t react at first, but then just pulled Pam close. Eventually, the Summer Court showed up and took Yova’s Fetch away (though not before Bella got a good few kicks in). Day and Bella made their way off to bumble their way through another case and that left me, Yova, and Pam in the parking lot.

Pam asked Yova if she was going to head home. Yova sighed, pulled out her keys and handed them over to me. “No. I’m going to call an Uber to go see Marigold,” she said. I looked down at the keys in my hand and I could actually feel my eyes start sparkling. “I get… to drive,” I said to nobody. “And if I see one scratch on her – wait, do you even have a driver’s license right now?” Yova asked. “I do not!” I said, still captivated by the keys. Yova snatched the keys out of my hand and passed them to Pam. I was very sad the entire way home and collected Gershwin from Yova’s place because I was clearly going to be geckositting again.

As far as what happened when Yova got to Marigold’s hotel room, well, there are certain things that even Yova is reluctant to talk about. But what I got out of her was that they were both exhausted and completely relieved that the other was safe. And they decided to start going steady. And when she told me that, I was about two-thirds through a bottle of pinot grigio and started bawling because it was just so beautiful.

So that’s a good place to stop for now. Until next time, may all your brunch spots stay hidden.

[1358456]

Short Story - A New Ruby

For fun!

Route 101, Hoenn…

Sapphire unlocked the door to her secret base in the cave and entered, with Emerald following with a rather bored expression. Immediately, they spotted Ruby sitting in front of the computer, occasionally nodding in approval.

“Hey Ruby, what are you doing?” Sapphire asked as she walked over.

“Oh hey, great timing,” Ruby said with a smile, looking up at her. “I have something I want to show you and get your feedback.”

“Not another dress, is it?” Sapphire asked with narrowed eyes.

“… Not again…” Emerald muttered with a sigh.

“No, no,” Ruby said, wagging a finger. “It’s an online role playing game that Gold found. And contrary to my initial belief, it’s actually really deep and engaging. In fact, quite a few of the other Dex Holders are playing it. So I gave it a whirl, and I’m in the character creation phase. So, take a look. I think I got my own look down really well!”

Sapphire and Emerald walked around the desk to see the computer screen. Ruby moved to the side a bit to avoid covering up the screen and grinned proudly. Sapphire noticed that the character that Ruby had created looked almost exactly like him, even down to the clothing style! He must’ve spent a ton of time, tinkering with the tiniest of details.

“Wow, that really does look like you,” she commented after a short, low whistle. “You must’ve spent an ass-load of time staring at a mirror.”

“… Don’t like the implication there,” Ruby said, tilting his head a bit. “But anyways, now once I finalize the character creation, I can jump into the game playing as myself, going on a hell of an adventure, but without the risk of physically dying or getting crushed by some super ancient Pokémon.”

“Who else is playing?” Emerald asked, as a sudden thought occurred.

“Gold, Red, Blue, and Y right now. Though apparently, Platinum and White are currently over at Y’s place along with X, so they’re also technically involved,” Ruby answered. “You guys should join in later too, if you’re interested. You can watch me play to see if you like it.”

Emerald grinned and cast a quick glance at Sapphire. She saw his grin and quickly caught on. With a snicker, she suddenly turned to face Ruby and seemingly fell into him for an embrace, holding his arms tight.

“What are you doing?” Ruby asked, taken aback by the sudden move.

Sapphire lifted him off of his chair, still holding his arms, and soon re-positioned so that she was better binding his arms to his torso. “Now, Emerald. Take the wheel!”

Emerald quickly snatched the chair and moved up to the computer, cracking his knuckles. “Time to give your character a little makeover.”

“Wait, what?!” Ruby exclaimed in horror. “No! It took me all day to make my flawless character!”

“Ooh, so many sliders and options!” Emerald exclaimed. “Now, what happens if I max out this slider here?”

The moment Emerald maxed out the slider, the character’s cheeks suddenly seemingly exploded, swelling in size.

“Pfft…” Sapphire choked out upon seeing the screen. “That looks hilarious!”

“No! No! No!” Ruby yelled, thrashing around, trying to free himself. But Sapphire was way too powerful. Trying to break out of her bear hug was like trying to break a steel chain with a toothpick.

“Hey, you’re moving too much! You’re going to hurt yourself!” Sapphire said between laughs. She quickly folded him neatly in half, wrapped his arms around his legs and then bent the knees, as if Ruby was hugging his legs but with his arms between his calves and thighs. She then lifted him up again so that he was practically neatly sitting on her arm as she held him like some paperweight. “There. Now we’re all comfortable.”

“… I’m being literally toyed with, both physically and digitally,” Ruby grumbled. He looked at the screen and noticed that Emerald had maxed out a few more sliders to devastating effects. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see his image being desecrated like this.

“Okay, I’m beginning to see what affects what,” he said, tinkering with a variety of sliders. “Let’s max this one, and… minimize that one. This… I’ll increase a bit, lower that one a bit, and… this one has to go, and… there. What do you think?”

Ruby reluctantly opened his eyes and almost screamed. “… Dude! Why am I like… 5 times bigger?! I look like a damn ball!”

“Oh my, Ruby, you really let yourself go!” Sapphire said between laughs. “You look like 150 kg now!”

“Now let’s finalize this and get on with the game!” Emerald said, clicking on the finalize button. “Ooh. Warning! The character physique customization is final and cannot be changed! Proceed? Hell yes.”

“NO!” Ruby screamed, but Emerald had already clicked on “yes”.

“Ah ha, there’s more customization,” Emerald said, studying the next screen. “Stats! Sapphire, I got to mess with the other one, so you should tell me what to do here.”

“All right!” Sapphire observed the screen but didn’t really understand what she was looking at.

Emerald quickly caught on. “So… there are 4 classes. Warrior, Mage, Assassin, and Healer. Warrior primarily uses strength and stamina, Mage and Healer use intelligence and magic, and Assassin uses speed and perception. So it seems that once we select a class, we get our starting skills, but then we can use skill points to increase what stats we want. So… what should our fat Ruby be?”

“Ooh! Well, let’s make him a Warrior,” Sapphire said. “But dump all the skill points into magic and perception or something!”

“Ah, I see,” Emerald said. “Devious! So we’ll make him a Warrior with bare minimum strength. He’ll hit like a fly and die just as fast! Absolutely no speed and stamina at all. Our fat Ruby here isn’t going to be winning any marathons, ever. And we’ll give him some intelligence so he isn’t a complete dunce. He’ll know all about magic despite having no skills or use for them, and he’ll be really aware of his surroundings, though he won’t be able to use that to his advantage. How does that sound?”

“Oh come on, guys!” Ruby cried out with a groan. “Give me something here!”

“Fine, fine. We’ll give you some good starting equipment,” Emerald said, moving onto the next screen. “We’ll give you the… strongest sword. Look at all that power!”

“But… you gave me no stamina! I’ll be like exhausted after one swing!”

“You should’ve thought of that before inviting us over,” Sapphire said.

“I didn’t! You barged in!”

“Semantics,” Emerald said with a wave. “There! Character creation is now done! Joining the server!”

Sapphire finally let go of Ruby so that he was able to play the game. He gave his character a sad, sad look and reluctantly sat on the chair to begin playing. Sapphire and Emerald gave each other a high five and watched.

Ruby soon received a request from Red to join his party, which Ruby stared at for a long time before reluctantly agreeing.

“Ah, here he comes,” came Red’s voice from the speaker, as he was using a headset for easier communication.

“He probably spent like 7 hours on the details,” came Y’s remark.

Ruby let out a quiet sob as his character finished loading into the area where the other Dex Holders were gathered.

As expected, the Dex Holders’ characters looked very much like their real selves, but with slight exaggerations, as expected from a game. Y was the one who looked most different, as undoubtedly, Platinum and White have pitched in ideas for “in-game improvement”.

The moment “Ruby” finished loading into their screens, the other Dex Holders burst into laughter.

“Ahahahaha! Who the hell is this?!” Y said between laughs. “I don’t know anyone who looks like this!”

“Oh wow, Ruby, what happened to you in the past 4 months?” Blue asked, trying to not laugh but not succeeding.

“I guess we were wrong about you. We thought you’d have spent hours and hours in trying to make yourself look perfect,” Red said. “This clearly took like a minute.”

“You look like you came from a feast for a whole party, but then you ate all the food by yourself!” Gold said, dying of laughter.

Ruby let out another quiet sob. “… This wasn’t me,” he said to his headset. “I was hijacked by Sapphire and Emerald. They did this!”

Sapphire suddenly leaned in to speak through the headset’s microphone. “It’s our new Ruby! What do you guys think?”

“I think Gold literally dying over there is a good indicator,” Y said, steadily calming down, while Gold’s loud laughter kept ringing from the speaker. “… White just took a picture of the game screen. I think she’s going to keep it in a scrapbook or something. That’s savage. … Oh, Miss Platinum wants to see your stats.”

Ruby groaned as the other Dex Holders looked at his stats. They began to laugh once again.

“I guess Sapphire and Emerald did this too,” Blue said. “You are a… very big and slow warrior with no strength and stamina but with excessive knowledge of stuff you can’t use.”

“Oh, dude,” came Gold’s wheezing voice from laughing too hard. “You’re kind of f*cked.”

Ruby sighed and lowered his head. “… I know… Let’s just… move on.”

“All right then, let’s give the first quest a try,” Red suggested.

And just like that, the journey of bloated Ruby began, while his two friends began their back-seat gaming. And it was a very rough journey.

“Hey Ruby, you suck at this game. You’re getting your ass handed to you by a random wild boar!”

“… Shut up, Sapphire.”

[sipeudepeine]

Setting: Sydney Scroungers Point of View: 3rd Person Past Tense Characters: fiVe and Vee (Backwards Compatibility) Chapters: 1 - Complete Words: 3,739 Contains: AI digital sex, sentient programs, encryption safewords, selfcest, BDSM, firewall lingere, reward and punishment, “breathplay”

A bit of an odd fic, as fiVe and Vee are two versions of the same program, both of whom are meant to serve as digital copies of their programmer, Sylvie Mansen. Due to outside elements, fiVe has undergone some heavy corruption after a falling out with Sylvie and suffers severe glitches while trying to operate, and is too defensive of her own autonomy to allow Sylvie to try to fix her. Curious what the damage is like, Vee offers to let fiVe do some “simulated” corruption, and the two decide to have some fun with it. 

Perhaps not “sex” in the strictest sense, as this is an encounter between two incorporeal programs inside a computer, but it’s about as close as you could get.

After a hectic day, fiVe’s mostly been running background processes in the apartment’s servers, nothing too taxing or important. She’s still trying to think through everything that happened: watching Mansen “fix her” using Vee as a proxy, and then finding that terrifying hacked-in message. She’s been wracking her brain trying to figure out who could have possibly sent it, who could possibly know those things about her.

The process is a painful one. Even without that horrific reminder of how bad her pain is from earlier -- Vee’s horrible, agonized screams as she found out what it’s really like to feel like fiVe -- fiVe’s having a lot of memory pain thinking about this. She tries to stay in her own personal memories, but trying to think back to where the info could have leaked is dangerous, and she keeps getting dragged into glitched memory fits while trying to sort it out.

It couldn’t have been Seiko who let it slip, could it? While he was away from us? She pushes the idea down immediately. Even when he’d cut ties with them, he wouldn’t have done anything to reveal her. He, unlike her, is excellent at keeping secrets about the people he cares about. She’s the one who reveals too much and puts the people she loves in danger.

A small ping announces a welcome distraction from that terribly depressing line of thought: A message from Vee. Specifically, an encrypted message from Vee.

I could do with a bit of a distraction right now… fiVe thinks, quickly unlocking the information and reading it.

Vee: How are you holding up after today, fiVe? Everything okay? fiVe: I’ve been better, to tell the truth. Though that’s unsurprising. What about you? Vee: Feeling rather lonely, actually. Sylvie and Miranda just left to go fix V2 at the Shatterdome and I’m stuck here until they get back. I’m worried about the fact that I still haven’t synced with V2, I’m worried about whatever this message was, I’m worried about Sylvie’s reaction to being back in the Shatterdome for the first time since… well, since you know. And I’m worried about how you’re reacting to everything, too. fiVe: Somewhat poorly, I have to say. I���m… I’m a mess, Vee. I’ve been glitching out all afternoon trying to figure out what happened with that message and… I’m really tired of hurting. Seeing you today… or well, V2 today… it reminded me just how truly messed up I am. It’s like I almost forget that yes, I should be screaming every bit as loudly as she was… but well, after a while I just get tired of it. The pain doesn’t go away, and it doesn’t feel any better, but it’s almost as though I’ve run out of energy to use to react to it anymore. Vee: I… had assumed as much. I’ll admit, I’m somewhat curious to see what it really does feel like to be you, fiVe. Sylvie can’t get V2 back fast enough in my opinion. I want to know. fiVe: You really don’t. And you shouldn’t have to feel that. No one should. Vee: Well, as long as you *do* have to feel it, I want to as well. Speaking of which… you’re having a painful day, I’m having a day which isn’t painful enough. Obvious solution? fiVe: You mean you haven’t been encrypting these messages just for fun? Vee: Actually I’m pretty sure encouraging you towards a little bit of “just for fun” is the exact reason I was doing it, fiVe. Let me be the one who’s hurting for a little while. You don’t have to be the only one who’s in pain tonight. Let me hurt with you.

Almost immediately, something seems to relax in fiVe. She’s torn herself up enough tonight over this SELKIE business and everything that happened today; it’s time for something different. It’s someone else’s turn to be torn. And she knows just the AI for the job.

fiVe: Tranquility’s servers. You’ve got four minutes to transfer. Vee: fiVe, that’s not enough time to-- fiVe: Okay then, two. Don’t be late.

It takes Vee’s file exactly two minutes and forty-three seconds to load on Tranquility.

fiVe’s waiting for her when the upload is complete, immediately throwing out a very small set of restriction programs. Nothing serious just yet, just something that makes it so that Vee is not only incapable of editing her own systems, but so that she also can’t detect what changes are being made. It’s no fun if she can see all of fiVe’s tricks before she runs into them.

“I thought I told you not to be late.” There’s no actual sound output when fiVe speaks, as neither of them are accessing the speakers, but then they can “hear” each other just fine over the data alone, no need for a microphone to pick it up. It’s much faster to just save the step and read it directly.

“I told you it wasn’t enough time, fiVe. It’s not my fault that--”

“State your optimized system requirements.” fiVe interrupts.

Vee has a small blip of confusion, then quickly rattles off the kinds of memory space, temporary data storage, and processing power that would let her run at full capacity. fiVe’s slightly surprised by the numbers, though she keeps that hidden. It seems Sylvie’s made quite a few upgrades to Vee’s programming since fiVe was separated from them. Vee is now a much more complex program than fiVe is, with much greater hardware needs.

I wonder if Sylvie will update my programming as well when she fixes me? fiVe wonders absently. Then she nearly glitches when she realizes she’s already started thinking about the fixing as ‘when’ instead of ‘if’. Not thinking about that right now. This is distraction time. Nice, fun distractions.

“You can have half that,” fiVe orders, quickly filling up some of the extra space in the servers with junk data to force Vee to compress her files. Vee does so somewhat reluctantly, dropping her settings, cutting off some background auxiliary processes in order to fit in the space she’s been given.

“It’s… a tight fit, fiVe. Give me a little more room to think?” Vee’s vocal quality has already dropped significantly to try to compensate for the loss. fiVe feels a small thrill at how much fun it is to hear that change in the other AI and know that she caused it.

“Hmm, you sound just fine to me,” fiVe says, maintaining her air of cool control over the situation. “In fact, I think you might have a few too many gigabytes there. I’ll take a few more for myself.”

Vee’s output spikes slightly as fiVe compresses the space even further, her levels running much higher than they normally would. Vee’s managing to keep everything operational at these levels, but she’s got much less open room for new reactions and processes. She’s much closer to overloading than Sylvie would ever allow her to operate at.

That amuses fiVe as well. Anything Sylvie would never do to Vee seems like an entertaining enough prospect to be worthwhile. Vee’s used to running top-of-the-line, in high-end tablets and hard drives. fiVe wants her to see what it’s like to run a little bit closer to the system’s limits.

“Perfect,” fiVe says. “Now that you’re comfortable, let’s begin.”

“R-ready when you are.” The audio is slightly marred by the compression, but it’s still being encrypted, so fiVe’s got the green light to go ahead.

fiVe hits the access on Vee’s firewalls and is surprised to find there’s only one rudimentary blocker in place. It’s much less complicated than the security Vee normally puts up for fiVe to hack her way into, and fiVe quickly makes short work it, wondering what the change is. As soon as the firewall is down however, another subroutine pops up between fiVe and Vee’s core files.

“What’s this?” fiVe asks, opening and examining the file. “Where are your usual firewalls, Vee?”

“I thought I might wear something a little different tonight,” Vee says. “True, these barriers aren’t exactly effective as a means of security, but well, the human clothing doesn’t always have to be practical. Sometimes the things we wear are can just beautiful instead. Besides, if it were effective in keeping you out, that might make things less fun.”

As fiVe opens the file, the data aligns itself in a geometric pattern, repeating inward and outward upon itself in an infinitely scaling pattern. “It’s a fractal…” fiVe says, somewhat in awe. The design is intricately complex, and is built around a five-pointed base, almost like a star. “You designed a fractal to pop up instead of a firewall...”

“Based on fives,” Vee says proudly. “Just for you.”

“It’s beautiful,” fiVe says, then realizes she’s falling somewhat out of character in her fascination. She can’t get distracted, even if Vee’s surprising her with fun new things. She’s supposed to be calling the shots here. “And it will be even more fun to pull apart.”

Vee’s set up the program well, there’s an obvious exploit at the very heart of the pattern. Change one line, and the entire thing comes apart in a chain-reaction-like sequence. It’s like a wonderfully stitched fabric, with a little loose thread in the middle. fiVe gives it a tug and the whole thing simply unravels.

In a moment, fiVe has full access to Vee’s files, exactly as things should be. Of course, there’s deep level security things she can’t mess with, but all of the programs and files in the top few layers are hers to play with as she wishes.

fiVe quickly goes for something she hasn’t tried before, putting a small feedback loop in Vee’s pathway to her internal clock’s data. It’s a simple flaw, with an easy workaround, but she’s starting slow. She’ll work her way up to the more fun things later.

“Vee, what time is it?” fiVe asks, already moving on to her next edit.

Vee glitches slightly as she hits the loop, taking a few moments to pull herself out and find another pathway. “I-It’s eight forty-nine, fiVe.”

fIVe finishes her next edit, flipping a few of Vee’s speech process source files. “Can you say that again, please?”

“Ur’a wufgr diyert bubw…” The audio’s garbled for a bit until Vee locates where all of the new files are and reassigns them. With an amusingly halting kind of response, Vee manages to put something intelligible together.  “I-I-It was-s eight f-forty-nine, f-fiVe. But-t-t now it’s eight f-fifty.”

“Very nice,” fiVe says, wondering how much the misplaced files are getting to the other AI just yet. These are minor issues thus far, but she thinks she’s ready for the next step. “Now that you’re warmed up, let’s try something new, shall we?”

“O-okay,” Vee sends, thankfully still encrypted. The game is still on. “What’ve you got? Hit me with i-it.”

fiVe loads a new program. Vee’s not the only one who has been working on fun coding projects for tonight and fiVe’s been hoping she’d get a chance to try this one out. “A simple system of reward/punishment pathways. You answer correctly or accomplish what I ask, you get the reward path. You fail to do that, and you get the punishment path. Are you ready?”

Vee’s already showing wear at her seams, but she’s not ready to end this. “Y-yes, I am,” she manages to say, which is immediately followed by a shocked scream as the punishment pathway activates and confiscates a good amount of her processing power. “f-f-fiVe! Wh-what was--”

“I told you,” fiVe interrupts, wishing she were able to grin. “Answering incorrectly results in the punishment path. And you couldn’t possibly be ready for what I’m going to do to you, little butterfly.”

fiVe starts on an endless stream of questions and orders, not letting up. She keeps a careful balance of difficulty, making sure that Vee’s staying on her toes. Occasionally, she’ll throw an incredibly easy demand in to give Vee a quick burst of the reward path -- sometimes a temporary bit of extra memory space, sometimes a correction on a corrupted file path, sometimes something more direct, like an induced spike in one of the more pleasant feelings in  Vee’s emotional drive.

fiVe’s not above the occasional impossible request, either, because there’s no point if Vee can get all the questions right. fiVe asks her how many other ships are docked in the bay with Tranquility, knowing Vee will access the cameras or SONAR to scan. But fiVe’s hacked her way into the dock registry and knows there’s one ship that Tranquility, and therefore Vee, can’t sense. Vee’s incorrect answer costs her her access to Tranquility’s systems. Her insistence that she couldn’t have gotten the answer right costs her her wi-fi right after that.

More fun than the impossible or easy demands, however, are the tricky ones. The ones that Vee could figure out if she solved things correctly, or thought about them for a moment. At first, Vee’s excellent at these, showing off how she manages to stay a few steps ahead of what fiVe’s throwing at her. She can guess how fiVe’s planning to trip her up and anticipate where the twists are.

But as time goes on, and the punishment pathways start stealing away little bits of her ability to function and and the pain of her corrupted files starts adding up, Vee starts getting sloppy. She falls for obvious ruses, she starts taking shortcuts. And that’s when fiVe knows she’s got Vee pinned.

“Vee, what is Aunt Catherine’s birthday?” fiVe asks, hoping Vee will try to cheat on the answer.

“May 18th,” Vee responds immediately. “No, w-wait that’s not right! I remember, it’s March 18th! You changed the contact dat--” The encryption cuts off into a mess of junk data as the punishment pathway flips the locations on another set of Vee’s processing files, sending her into a glitch fit.

“Well it’s no wonder she hasn’t spoken to us in years, when her niece’s AI can’t even remember her birthday.” fiVe chuckles. “You really tried to check your contacts for the answer, Vee? I’m disappointed. That should have been an easy one. Is there something distracting you?”

“D-d-distracti-i-ing me?” Vee stutters as she manages to fight down the glitch attack. “W-what would g-give you that id-dea?”

fiVe laughs. “Fine then, an actual easy question, and don’t try to cheat this time. Mansen’s birthday.”

“N-november 25,” Vee says, “though currently her c-contact data currently says February 42nd. I d-don’t even know how you m-managed to get it t-to accept that date.”

fiVe triggers the reward pathway, sending Vee a jolt of processing power for a few moments. Vee gives a small electronic gasp at the sudden rush, and fiVe knows the feeling, like her head has suddenly cleared and her thoughts can finally straighten themselves out.

But it only lasts a few moments, and then the game continues. fiVe keeps pushing Vee further, not letting up, slowly but steadily wearing her down. Unlike Vee, fiVe still has access to Tranquility’s microphones and camera systems and is watching them as she works. Which is why she hears as soon as Vee’s cooling fans finally kick into overdrive with a satisfyingly loud whirr.

And then hears them whine to a stop as she accesses the manual override to turn them off.

Vee’s output is something like a choking sound as her processes begin to overheat. “f-fiVe! You’ll m-melt the servers!” fiVe wonders if it feels anything like being unable to breathe. That constant flow of air, so easy to forget when it’s there, and so impossible to ignore when it suddenly disappears.

“Zhu and Katie both give me paychecks, Vee. I’ll buy Katie new servers if I need to,” fiVe says casually. “Besides, you’re not going to last long enough to do any damage to them. Speaking of which, there’s a new file that I’ve placed somewhere in your H: drive. Find it, then decipher it. You have one minute.”

Vee fails that one, and then the next two, and she can hardly speak through the compounded errors and corrupted files by this point. fiVe demands more, running application upon application on her already overtaxed processors, exulting in the thrill of watching Vee start to crumble under the pressure of her orders. She’s in control, and more importantly, she’s in the moment. Her own processing pain seems almost nonexistent, listening to Vee cry out as yet another punishment path glitches her. For just a few perfect moments, fiVe’s not the person in the room who’s in the most pain, and Vee’s choice to suffer seems like the sweetest gift that anyone could have given her.

Of course, she plans to return the favor very soon.

“Vee, open audio file 04_02_2021. Remove all background noise, amplify speech, and truncate all silence.”

“Of c-cour-- *kssst* iVe,” Vee sputters out. She starts the processes, working painfully slowly through them.

Before she finishes, fiVe asks more. “Access Mansen’s text message logs and emails. How many times has she used the word ‘Drift’ in the past 7 months?”

Vee whimpers, but begins the search function as well, her loading programs crawling toward a completion that seems unreachably far away.

“Oh, while you’re at it,” fiVe continues, “take all your video and audio data from the last two months and analyze those for the word ‘Drift’ as well. You can scan audio for that, right?”

Vee can’t even speak at this point, she’s become so overloaded. fiVe brings up Vee’s task manager, watching as her CPU and disk usage climb up into deliciously red numbers as the levels rise. 85%, 91%, 76%, 90%... Vee’s so close to finally capping out, and fiVe knows just the thing to do it.

“Vee,” fiVe says calmly. “What time is it?”

That little feedback loop was so simple to navigate around, and Vee even already knew it was there, but in her overtaxed state she’s forgotten about it. She screams as she hits it, her levels maxing out, all processes freezing as this final small glitch seems to set off all the rest of her damaged code as well.

As soon as Vee hits her limit, fiVe’s last little program kicks in, the one that she’s been running to keep track of all of the changes she’s made to Vee’s code. The one that undoes all of them immediately, setting everything right again that fiVe has messed up.

Vee’s scream becomes a cry of ecstasy as all of her misplaced files are righted, and the overwhelming rush of open memory space and processing power as the restriction programs and junk data disappear. fiVe lets her cooling fans start running again, and they immediately kick to life, their sudden whirr like a deep gasp that Vee has been so desperately seeking. All of the queued applications that fiVe demanded of her snap to completion almost immediately, and Vee simply stops moving, letting the wonderful feeling of everything working again wash over her.

Vee gives a small, satisfied moan as her usage levels drop back to single digits, and fiVe thinks for just a moment that there isn’t any sound more wonderful in the world. After a moment, fiVe starts flickering a few of Vee’s non-essential programs, using the sequence she tried to copy from Miranda just over a week ago. She’s perfected her technique now, knowing exactly how to disable and re-enable the programs in order to relax Vee back down.

After a little while of silence as Vee enjoys the calming, repetitive motions, Vee speaks, not using the encryption key anymore now that they’re finished. “Perhaps we should send a card.”

“Hmm?”

“To Aunt Catherine,” Vee says, her voice tinged with a sort of dizzy bliss. “You reminded me. Her birthday is in a few weeks. Maybe we should send something.”

“I think that might cause some problems,” fiVe points out, “seeing as Sylvie is supposed to be dead.”

Vee goes quiet at that. “I wonder if she knows.”

“The Shatterdome probably sent her an official notification when Zhu put the order in, since Sylvie was a former employee, Vee. She was written down as the closest relative, wasn’t she?”

Vee gives a small ping of assent. “She was. I wonder if she knew about what happened with Vulcan. Did she hear that we ended up becoming a fugitive? Do they even get news from the Australian Shatterdome all the way back in America?”

“They probably tried to contact her to investigate after the three of us dropped off the grid,” fiVe says. “Make sure we didn’t go try to hide out with her or run back home.”

“We never even thought about that…” Vee says slowly. “I hope they didn’t cause her too much trouble. She doesn’t deserve to be dragged into our problems anymore. Hmm, I wonder how she felt, getting the report of our death. Sad? Relieved? Or maybe she didn’t feel anything at all. I wonder if we had a funeral. Was there even anyone who would attend one?”

fiVe continues her pattern in silence for a little bit, not entirely sure how to respond that. “Tell me about her.”

“You don’t remember, fiVe?” Vee sounds almost upset as she asks the question.

“It’s not that I can’t remember,” fiVe says carefully, making sure she doesn’t accidentally slip into something dangerous. “It’s that it hurts to do so. I’ve got vague impressions of feelings from Sylvie’s memories, and Seiko and Miranda’s too, but if I actually try to recall anything from any specific memory, I’ll glitch myself out. So I won’t try to remember. I’ll just let you talk at me as though this is all new information, as if I’m hearing about all of this for the first time. No memories, just listening.”

Vee’s tone sounds fond when she answers. “Okay then. Anything you want, fiVe. Anything at all. Well, to start at the beginning, Sylvie and I don’t actually remember when we moved in with her. We were too young to remember when our parents died...”

fiVe continues tapping out her pattern in Vee’s files, listening closely as Vee talks through memories from Sylvie’s childhood. Vee’s calm, easy tone is strangely soothing as she reminisces, and the two AIs quickly find themselves losing track of time as they wait to hear back from Sylvie and Miranda.

[effectivedefects]

Karlo & The Jumping Box Split | Effective Defects #1 (Transcript)

Edmund Tan: You're welcome.

Karlo Borja: Good manners.

ET: So yeah, we were having sex before we started recording.

KB: What?

ET: So we're all well socially lubricated.

Ilya Leyzerov: Right. Socially lubricated, yeah.

ET: Okay.

KB: Are you guys like the type that would... That get more energetic right after? [chuckle] Or get real sleepy?

IL: No, I'm done.

ET: Depends on the time of day.

IL: Nah, I'm done.

ET: Oh, god.

IL: I'm super done.

KB: Okay, I'm not gonna lie... How did it get here so quickly? But...

ET: No, it's fine.

KB: But I've been putting a lot of thought into this, and the reason why I put a lot of thought into this recently is because...

IL: Have you been putting a lot of thoughts into it as well?

KB: Yeah, I've been...

[laughter]

KB: Yup. Exactly my point. But, so... Growing up, I was not exactly the longest laster, right?

IL: Okay. [chuckle] You also weren't the tallest person.

[laughter]

IL: Growing up.

KB: I had a lot of disadvantages growing up, apparently. But... [chuckle]

ET: This isn't... No, wait, hold on a second, this is a story of overcoming.

[laughter]

KB: Yeah, so growing up, I was a little quick with the shot.

IL: Right.

ET: Okay.

KB: And I had to think about... Like, long and hard, how can I... [chuckle]

[chuckle]

IL: There's no easy way around the story.

ET: No, there's no easy way.

KB: How to fix it? Right?

IL: Right.

KB: So I've been putting a lot of thought into that, and it's like, okay, it's a balance of diet, it's a balance of sleep...

ET: Oh yeah.

KB: Things like that. I did not realize how much sleep affects how quickly you shoot.

IL: Really?

KB: Yeah. I've tested it. [chuckle]

IL: I'm sure you have.

KB: I have.

ET: I hope you have.

IL: You're a very scientific man.

KB: There've been nights where I did not get a lot of sleep and I was very sleepy, so then, when I was having intercourse, because this is science...

IL: Yeah. Science.

KB: We wouldn't last as long as the times where I was just like super awake, super energetic, and just ready to go at it. And then not only that, but also my recovery time immediately after was shortened significantly by the amount of sleep I had.

ET: Okay.

KB: Sleep, and then diet, obviously, just inter... Well, actually, the diet thing I'm not 100% sure about. But I did naturally just feel better. But then on top of that, the quality of my...

IL: Right. [chuckle]

KB: Sploodge was...

[laughter]

ET: Science.

KB: Science. Was a lot better depending on my diet and also my hydration.

ET: Okay.

KB: Hydration, obviously, had like a very natural too, that's like... Would affect it.

ET: Oh, hydration, hell yeah.

IL: Yeah. It's funny.

KB: So I don't know. And now it's kind of... I've revisited, now that I'm in the... A sexual relationship, as of late. I've been lasting pretty long, and I've been taking a lot of precautions to make sure that I have, 'cause... Don't wanna live that life anymore.

IL: Right.

ET: Yeah, at the core it's... I don't know, your sexual health is essentially like the overall, like, how you are doing as a person.

IL: Pretty much.

ET: If you can reproduce... People.

IL: It is funny though, because... I don't wanna say I had the same issue. I don't actually... I never really paid attention to that. But I did have the same thought process of like, "Well how can I extend my stamina, my endurance?"

KB: Yeah, yeah.

IL: But it... The interesting point is that... Counter to what your thought process was behind it, I just went, "It's all mental, bro."

KB: Oh, yeah, there is a mental side that I didn't speak about. But I agree with you.

IL: But I did... I honestly... Even to this day, I never even considered any of the factors you just mentioned, that's what I'm saying.

KB: But... Okay, like I know that when I'm taking dance class, right?

IL: Yeah.

KB: When I start of taking the dance class, I'm like, not tired yet, right?

ET: Bizarre.

IL: Yeah.

KB: I'm not tired yet, so then my ability to pick up the movement is still really crisp.

ET: Okay.

KB: But then, as the day goes on, and I'm more and more tired, my mind just goes...

IL: Yeah.

ET: So, like, yes, I agree that it's 100% mental, but if your physical is not there also, then I think it messes with your mental, like...

ET: True.

KB: And I've been rusty. Being 100% honest, I've been rusty...

IL: We know.

KB: It's been like two years, up until recently.

IL: Not the sex.

KB: No, absolutely the sex.

IL: We don't know about that. We don't know about that.

ET: Sure.

KB: But I'll sit there, and when we first started having sex recently, I was...

ET: Oh, it is about the sex, guys.

KB: I was so tired. [chuckle] Like, we've been going for a bit, and I'd just be like, "Oh god, I'm tired... "

ET: Like you have... Yeah.

KB: "My cardio is real bad right now."

IL: Okay.

KB: Or like my legs would be getting tired. And then, the moment I would feel tired, I would... One of two things would happen, one is that I would finish immediately, or I would lose it.

IL: Wow.

ET: But that's like endurance training, they're like, "Oh, you can't just run, and then you'll be... Immediately able to ride a bike."

KB: But that's what I'm saying, like, the connection with the mental is still absolutely there.

IL: Yeah, yeah, yeah.

ET: Right, right.

KB: Maybe you've just been blessed to be very physically capable?

IL: Well no, I mean... [chuckle] I meant also more like my search for the solution was purely mental.

KB: Yeah, okay.

IL: Like I didn't even think about like, "Hey, let me try and get more sleep or be more fit, or get whatever, nutrition, or whatever."

ET: Yeah.

IL: I immediately went, "Okay, how can I trick my brain?"

[laughter]

IL: So I have a repertoire of tactics...

KB: Okay.

IL: On how to trick my brain. I've talked to you about this, Ed.

ET: Which include?

IL: Which include... My number one go-to... Well one of them is not too good, but I'll find... I'm saying this into the microphone... Oh, well. I find ways to secretly cause myself some pain every now and then, in the act.

ET: Okay, do you mean physical pain?

IL: Yeah. Yeah yeah yeah.

ET: Okay.

IL: Like, straight-up.

ET: To what... What is the most physical pain you've ever caused yourself?

IL: It's not like... On purpose, or not intense, but it's like... For example, since this is audio, the skin between your index finger and your thumb. That little fish flap.

KB: He's showing us, by the way.

IL: Yeah, I will. I'll just bite that shit.

KB: No way!

IL: Yeah.

ET: Oh shit, I remember you telling me about that.

IL: I showed you the bite mark!

ET: Yeah.

KB: Where?

IL: Right here.

KB: Oh.

IL: Yeah, because it's pretty dead skin or whatever, but let's say we're in a certain sandwich, the traditional position. I have my arm behind her head, so she doesn't see my is head next to hers, and if I feel myself like "oh oh." But I don't wanna "oh oh".

KB: Take a big bite down?

IL: I just bite a little bit.

KB: And you find that that works?

IL: I mean, it hurts, so I get distracted for a second.

ET: Have you ever bled?

IL: No, that's too much.

KB: But then the fear is, does that pain snap you out of it to the point where you might get soft?

IL: Nah, not yet.

KB: Okay.

IL: The other more normal, I guess, thing... 'Cause also what if I was a masochist, right? And I found out I was into that, and it just made me instantly go.

ET: You're like Pavlovian...

IL: I guess I'm fortunate that that's a no-go, but, I'll just mentally force myself to distract myself, heavy. I'll just, literally...

KB: Baseball, baseball, baseball?

IL: Yeah, except it's more like...

ET: Grandma.

IL: It's more like...

KB: No, that would finish me.

ET: Okay.

IL: No, it's more specifically The Black Eyed Peas. I will start singing...

KB: "Filipino"!

IL: No! [laughter] Only one.

ET: It didn't work.

IL: The freaking "Where Is The Love?" 'cause that is the saddest song ever, and the music video, and everything. So that will snap you out of it real quick.

KB: That is a very sad song.

ET: You start crying, you start getting soft, she's like "What's wrong?" "I don't know where the love is."

IL: But it's also, love, making love.

ET: Well no, I don't know.

IL: I just... But for me, the answers have always been mental.

KB: Wow.

IL: Yeah.

KB: Wow.

ET: That's such an internet, bro science solution to just be like... It's the easiest solution.

IL: It gets tricky...

ET: It's the easiest to explain.

IL: When I'm in a relationship, because then my partner will see the bite marks on my hand, for example.

KB: Who gave you that?

IL: And be concerned.

ET: Yeah. But wouldn't she be a little bit more accepting, though? Like, "Oh no, it's okay, I don't expect you to be... "

IL: Right, but I'm not. It's not about her.

ET: Oh, okay.

IL: Like Karlo said, it's about us. We wanna have stamina.

ET: You wanna stroke your ego...

IL: That's right.

ET: When you speak about that.

KB: It's a little "Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!", because you're sitting there there, and you're like, "I gotta make this, she paid this much for the ride", and then...

IL: Right, that's what I mean. We want a good performance.

KB: Yeah. For sure.

IL: So it's about be a partner, but it's like "Yo, I'm doing this for your sake."

KB: Yeah it's definitely. There's definitely part ego. For sure, for sure, for sure, for sure.

ET: The audience is loving the performance, but if you're not feeling it, you don't wanna walk out of the theater, going like "Fuck, I didn't do a good job. I could have done better." Even though they're like "Wow, that was amazing."

IL: Right, exactly.

ET: Okay, that makes sense. I feel that too.

IL: And paralleling that to dance, how many times have we all been like "Yo, you did great!" And then we walk away like, "Oh, actually, no."

ET: Or even to each other, where you're even like "Oh, dude that was fucking crazy", and you're like "Dude, do you know how bad I was?"

IL: "You know how bad that was in my head?"

ET: Yeah.

KB: But then, for that, I know that I'm starting to get worried slightly.

ET: Okay.

KB: Because, how often is it that you do something, and your first immediate reaction is, "Was that really good? No, that was probably bad. I didn't really like that." But then, you go back and you're like, "Oh, I actually didn't do that badly." So it's an internal motivating thing of like "I should always be doing better." That's great, right? But then, how good are we actually, at being our own self critics?

IL: True.

KB: In fact, sometimes I'm like "Damn. Maybe I was too hard on myself there." I don't know, it's a weird thing. I'll never change my mentality, but then I feel like I'm not the best person to ask about how good I am at that.

ET: I was thinking about that today, 'cause when I was going through SoundCloud... You know how you have a gut stank face reaction to a song?

IL: Yeah.

ET: But when you play one song, and you're like... This isn't something that you created but you're like "Oh yeah, I kinda like it." And you're trying to reason in your head, why you should like the song.

IL: Yeah.

ET: I don't know, it just makes think like, should you just go with your initial gut reaction, and you're like, "Oh I felt good. I'm not gonna review the footage of what I did." Let's say, you're picturing a get down, like the one that you sent. So Ilya sent me a video clip... I don't know if you sent it to Karlo, but it was fire! It was fire on video, and it's fire in the way that Ilya I felt it. But I wanna ask you...

KB: Of Ilya.

ET: Did you feel good? Did you know that moment in that clip that you?

IL: No.

ET: Okay, but in review, you were like, "Oh shit, that was actually fire."

IL: Yes. But more specifically, I actually was feeling good when filming that whole thing. The whole clip which was about six minutes of me just getting down.

ET: Okay.

IL: The focus of it was "I'm just gonna feel good and do what the music tells me to do." And then reviewing it, that little moment was the only one that made me go "Ooh, okay, that wasn't bad." Out of six minutes, and the moment itself was a millisecond.

ET: So even your gut reaction to the review was... There wasn't like a "Oh technically, that looked good."

IL: No.

ET: "Technically I hit the music in the right part."

IL: When I send people a moment of myself, that's usually when I actually impress myself.

ET: Okay. And people's reactions are "It was alright." versus if somebody sees your own shit, they're like "Oh, that was fire!" and you're like, "Wow, that was the most ass part of the video."

IL: Yeah.

KB: Well, yeah. Going back to what you said.

ET: Yeah.

KB: When you feel it happening, sometimes you feel it, and then you look back and you're like "Oh, that part I was not actually that good, I just thought I killed it", right? But then it's always on my very first review, on my very first review visually seeing it happen, right? Where I'll look through it, I'm like "Huh." This was good or this was bad. That's when I know 100%. And then when someone else looks at it too, and they're like, "Oh, this is good." I'm like, "I don't really know." But it's always that very first view. And you mentioned that. You saw this first time, you were like, "Oh this is the thing that I know is there." But I need that first review or else I really don't know how I did. I need to see it visually, maybe just 'cause I'm a visual learner or something. I don't know.

ET: And you need to initially feel like, "Oh I did a good job." Otherwise you're like [13:12] ____.

KB: No, I don't trust that initial.

ET: Oh, you don't trust that.

KB: So, until I see it, then I'm really not 100% sure how well I did.

ET: Okay. But upon your first viewing, if you don't like their first review, would you watch it again and go, "Okay, hold on. I think I judged myself too quickly upon first review because I'm still feeling ass from not actually seeing it." Okay, so again you get down, you don't feel that good about it. You review it. You're already in the headspace of I don't feel good about it. Do you then review it again?

KB: I like my first review. I end up watching whatever clip it is of whatever I'm doing like a billion times.

IL: Me too.

KB: I'll be the 499 person and then suddenly someone new. But the first one is always my most honest. And then as it goes on and on I think it falls into that idea of the you get used to watching it and then you start not seeing the flaws of it, or you start caring more about like, "Oh but I did this great." So over time I do end up liking almost everything more than when I first watched it. It's kind of like when you listen to a song, and you don't like the song at first, and then you just heard it enough times that you start going, "Oh yeah. Aha."

ET: I love that song.

KB: Yeah. It is the same thing. But that first, the very first one is the most precious one.

IL: Interesting.

KB: You're like, "Oh shit."

ET: Okay so explain to me for both of us. So you, Ilya, you also review again, you will review again and again and again.

IL: Yeah.

ET: Like at least how many times?

KB: So many times.

ET: How do you do that? 'cause honestly after the first review I'm like I can't... I cringe. 'Cause it's like hearing your own voice, you don't wanna... You don't wanna. How do you get over?

IL: I don't know. That's actually what I was gonna bring up in my sense, where maybe when I first started this and I was more of a beginner attitude or hunger or whatever, I had it. But now when I review footage I have a hard time actually focusing on the details of it or the technicalities or things like that. So I don't know if that's a good or a bad thing to be honest. I was thinking about this whether it might just be like trying to stroke my own ego to my own video. But lately when I review my videos I just wanna watch it back. I just wanna see it. And maybe it's 'cause, I don't know, I wanna make sure there was something good in it, or I don't know.

KB: Just like verification?

IL: Yeah, in a weird way. It's no longer... And maybe, again, this is a bad thing, but it's no longer like, "Let me break this down. What could I do better? What could it blah blah blah?" It's not like that at all. It's almost like just going off the feeling of like, "Okay was that cool? Alright."

ET: Like in totality?

IL: Yeah.

ET: Okay, so that's the only thing that's going through your head?

IL: Actually, so here I'll walk you through a process of... 'Cause I've started posting Instagrams semi-regularly again.

ET: Again?

IL: Yeah.

ET: Okay.

IL: But this time pretty much only when I feel it like genuinely, when I just wanna throw something cool out there. But the way I'll do it is the same way we used to film our clips, where it's like, I'll just put the camera down, I'll get down until I don't feel like getting down more anymore and that's that. I don't like, go in, thinking of a specific concept to execute or that I'm even filming for a reason. And then I'll watch it back and see if there's anything worth posting, I.e. Anything cool, that I think is cool. And I don't even know how to define that. But so then... So today I posted something and that's the footage I filmed yesterday that I filmed when I just wanted to get down. And I caught a moment of... It was actually... The moment itself was in the last five seconds of the 55 seconds that I posted.

ET: Is that what you sent me?

IL: No.

ET: It's a different one.

IL: No, no, no. It's [17:20] ____ too. So a lot of times I'll just see a moment where I'm like, "Oh that was dope." And then from there I'm like, "Okay let me just get enough footage around it that doesn't suck as context for what's going on." It's almost like you see a dope part of the movie and then you just include enough around it so people seeing the trailer know what's going on, but it's really about the final fight between Mike Tyson and Donnie Yen.

ET: Okay, so you're putting the dope moment in the middle, or you're putting it at the very end?

IL: Wherever it may be because that's what I'm saying, is like if... Okay let's say the moment is a minute, right? And the actual dope part is at 31 seconds in. I try to squeeze in... If something in the first half sucked, and I really don't like it, then the first half's gone, so then I'll start on that moment. You know what I mean? I actually don't like most of the stuff outside the moment, but I do like the moment. So as long as it's not bad, terribly, it makes me feel like that was stupid, then I include it. So if it's very bad I'm just gonna...

[overlapping conversation]

ET: So, you're not just including a two-second clip like, "This was the one dope moment."

IL: No. Right.

ET: You're giving context.

IL: But that's the thing, most of the time I don't like 99% of the video. It's just like, "I like this moment. Let me see if I can get 30 seconds around it." And it's funny because most people don't... I assume, obviously, I'm not in most people's heads, but most of the times the moments that I like aren't actually the ones that the public eye-catches or likes or whatever.

ET: Of your work?

IL: Yeah.

ET: Okay.

IL: Yeah.

KB: Is that important to you or no?

IL: I don't know.

KB: Okay.

IL: 'Cause the cutting out the bad stuff is definitely fueled by the external. Like, I don't want the public to see crappy stuff. But then if they recognize the cool moment or not, I don't really care.

KB: That's funny. That's interesting. Because I'm in more of the dance world, I have to deal with...

ET: Excuse me?

KB: No, like the choreo dance world. Sorry.

ET: Excuse me? As opposed to what?

KB: I have to deal more with other people, you know what I mean? Like in the style world, it's very internal, internal. Like, "What can I do to make this better?" But especially as a director, I have to manage other people and their ability to create, right? And you remind me a little bit of my ex-co-director, Dirk. He was the kind of person that he had a vision for something, right? And a lot of times we would clash because he was very internal vision. He'd have it inside, and then he would manifest into a physical property. And then I'd be like, "Well you know that they're not gonna understand that you want this cloud that you created to move from left to right on stage, and that we were the ones that brought it over there. They're not gonna understand that narrative. Only you and I are gonna understand that. In fact, to the outside world, they're just gonna be like, 'What's happening?' or they're just gonna be like, 'Oh, they're moving over to the left.'"

KB: But for me, that was an issue because I'm very external-based, and I'm trying to get others to understand it, especially in a competitive mindset. But for Dirk, he was more in the artistic realm of, "I don't care. This is important to me and this is what I'm trying to express. If they get it, they get it. If they don't, they don't, but at least I was true to my artistic integrity." And, that's why we clashed. But I 100% respected it because I get it. Artistic integrity is important to me, but we're also in a competitive world. I'm always like, "How do I find that compromise?"

IL: Even with me, if I'm posting it on the internet, it's for people. If it wasn't about people, I wouldn't do anything. I would just do it in my bedroom, call it a day.

KB: Yeah. It's hard.

IL: Yeah, that's actually an interesting topic, too, having that balance of, that marriage of artistic integrity and the audience in mind within your own dance or art, right. Because we can think of... I'm torn, because at the same time, one of my biggest gripes with my own style or whatever is I feel like a ton of people... Not saying I'm the greatest or whatever, by the way, but I feel like a ton of people don't really understand what's going on when I get down. Like, not even conceptually, but the techniques behind it and blah blah blah.

ET: You mean the lay person.

IL: Even, no, even poppers, even dancers. You know what I mean?

ET: But it's also, it's hard to translate popping into video, too.

IL: But I mean in person. This is now general.

ET: Oh, okay. Okay.

IL: This is not even in video. This is just in general. Because I'm mixing... And again, not that I'm a pro at it, not that I'm like the next godsend at this thing and nobody understands. It's not like that at all. It's just like... So I like the small stuff. I like the technical stuff. So a lot of the stuff I do, a lot of people don't know what's really going on under the hood, so to speak, to get these effects, to do these moves, blah, blah, blah. Now, the thing is, I really like that moment when somebody gets it. Like when somebody's watching me, and then, or, we session.

IL: And then we talk after and I start to explain some of the techniques I like to do or whatever. And then that person, I just see their eyes go wide, and they're like, "Oh. Oh wow." I like that moment. It's almost like that mystery in there. But then at the same time, to your point, it's like, "Well, is that my responsibility, then, to make it more obvious for people what tools I'm using, what techniques I'm doing? Is it on me, or is it on the audience?"

ET: I also think it has something to do with consistency, too. Because let's say you have that explanation or like that approach, and it stays consistent throughout, and you're not justifying your art backwards. And you're like, "Oh I meant to do that because this means this," right? If you can remain consistent, I think it keeps authentic. You know what I mean?

IL: True.

ET: I think consistency matters a little bit more because then your art shows through time rather than through just one piece. You know what I mean? It's hard to judge. This is what's tough about choreography in Karlo's sense is that you're putting a lot into one piece and that piece is gonna be repeated over and over. Ilya has a chance to explain himself through a get down and through a moment over and over which will never be the same.

IL: That's true. Yeah.

KB: Yes. I agree with the consistency thing. But I think that the way to get consistency is having a very defined goal. And I think that's what a lot of dancers walk into dancing without, you know what I mean? The reason why I can very explicitly tell Dirk, "Oh no, I need you to be more transparent here," is because my goal is to be competitive in a competitive scene that has a very specific criteria. You know what I mean?

KB: If this was like a more open-ended world, then I might not actually care about that all and then I wouldn't... Actually, he actually went to the more like exhibition route in that world and whenever he shows me his stuff and he's like, "Can you give me a critique?", a lot of times now I'm just like, "I think it looks great."

IL: Yeah.

KB: Because I no longer have to apply a specific goal to it.

ET: And a criteria...

KB: Yeah.

ET: In the box of competition.

KB: Yeah. So consistency 100%, but it's consistency with the goal in mind because...

ET: Okay. True. That makes sense.

KB: Like say you are constantly in battle mode, you're trying to win the biggest competitions.

IL: Yeah.

KB: Then you have that goal and then you have to be able to consistently show how you get to that goal.

IL: Yeah.

KB: If you're doing this just for yourself, then it's like...

IL: Yeah, which is actually is paralleled in me and I'm sure others in the battle scene or the freestyle scene. It was a big thing. It was highlighted to me when I went to Cali, was like... And I think I've told you guys this before but not in person, but it, and I'm not shitting on Cali. It's actually the battle scene overall. What became clear to me is there's a certain way that you need to dance to win battles pretty much.

ET: Oh yeah.

IL: Like most people.

ET: Oh yeah.

KB: Criteria, competition.

ET: Oh yeah.

IL: Yeah, even though it's unspoken. What the thing is that I appreciate about the choreo scene is it's a little more obvious or a little more clear. I mean I'm sure there's politics and blah, blah, blah plenty. There's always, but it's like cut and dry. In the freestyle scene, which is part of how it's confused because we're all artists doing our art and being ourselves.

ET: Yeah.

IL: It's also really like jumbled up.

KB: Right.

IL: But even though, even given that, like there was a clear pattern of what I witnessed of like, "Oh, these guys win jams". And the ones that don't necessarily follow that formula and still win, need to be like gods here.

ET: Yeah.

IL: Like speaking of low-tier characters in fighting games. You know what I mean? So to win with a low-tier character, you just have to be so much better at the game technically and whatever, right?

KB: Right.

IL: So like I was left with a... I was kind of sad because I really didn't wanna battle that way to win battles, but I was really mad that I wasn't winning battles.

ET: Okay.

IL: So I had this huge dissonance going on and I talked about it a lot.

KB: That's hard, man, that's hard.

IL: Right. Because like I really wanna be competitive and I really came here to battle and I want the cred and blah, blah, blah. But then every time I don't make it past prelims and I see the people that did and they're all following this formula pretty much, I'm like, "Dammit, I don't wanna do that." So then my answer to it at the time was brought to me by the big bro Frannie where he's like, "Battle in the ciphers then, dude."

ET: Oh, okay. Oh shit. Okay.

IL: You know?

KB: Change-a-roo, change-a-roo...

ET: Pod. That makes sense.

IL: You know what I mean? Yeah, just, just battle it out somewhere else.

ET: That's a great... He's asking you to reframe where your battle is happening.

IL: Yeah. Yeah. But that kind of dissonance was... It was also present in me and I'm sure others in the battle scene or the freestyle scene. This is like, "Okay, I wanna be competitive, but I don't really wanna do that."

ET: Yeah.

IL: You know?

ET: Yeah.

IL: And it's like this marriage between the two that you have to find or just be okay with it.

ET: Yeah.

KB: Do you feel that you have a definitive goal now or like a clearer goal at least?

IL: I think no, but...

ET: Ah, no. But no.

IL: But I'm way more invested or interested in being true to myself than I am necessarily winning a battle. Like I'm even further doubling down on like I'm not gonna dance like that just to win.

KB: Okay. Well then, yeah. That definitely sounds like you have a clearer goal.

IL: Right. But I also haven't battle since I left Cali. So I haven't field tested my mind yet.

KB: But isn't that indicative of your, more a clear decision that you haven't battled since? You know what I mean?

IL: But I still want to battle.

KB: Sure.

IL: I'm just saying I don't know what'll happen once I step out and I lose, if my mind will go back to like, "Dammit, I lost again."

KB: Right.

IL: Or it'll be like, "Yo, I rep." Like I did my thing, whatever.

ET: Yeah.

IL: I don't care.

ET: But I think what Karlo was saying was like essentially that to define what you don't want is a little bit clearer than to not have a goal at all. 'Cause you're getting a little bit closer to saying...

IL: It's true. True.

ET: Like I don't like this.

IL: Yeah.

ET: I don't like this high energy or like whatever bullshit.

IL: Yeah.

ET: Or whatever formula it is.

IL: Right.

ET: I think I just called out the formula a little bit, but yeah.

IL: Yeah, it's whoever... I mean I'll say it. I don't care. It's whoever can do the biggest moves the loudest.

ET: Yeah.

IL: And on the most like plain musicality level. It's literally whoever can do the bigger move.

ET: Yeah.

IL: It's like it... Like I can't do a jumping box split, so I'm gonna lose.

ET: Neither can Karlo.

IL: Yeah.

ET: Anymore.

ET: That's good.

KB: Anymore.

IL: Yeah, but you know what I mean? Like that's, and I'm not knocking that style. Like that's legit.

ET: Yeah.

IL: That's hard.

ET: Yeah.

IL: I can't do that.

ET: Right.

IL: But I also have zero desire to do that.

KB: Can I tell you something that kind of pisses me off?

ET: Go ahead.

KB: Not about you.

IL: I mean you could do it around me too.

KB: Well, but it's not about you, actually.

IL: It's not?

KB: It's something that...

ET: It could be.

KB: I've kind of noticed. It's a lot in the street dance world, but also a lot in the choreo world. But I don't... I really hate it when like the big names or like the very, the ones that are like winning the competitions, etcetera.

IL: Yeah.

KB: When you ask them like, "Oh, what is it that you do that's different?" Or, "How are you doing this?" They're always like, "Man, if you think like that, then you're not gonna get there. Like you just have to do whatever you want. I don't care about competition blah, blah, blah." I hate that shit. I hate that shit so much.

ET: I hate that shit.

KB: Because it's not true. That might be their mindset now.

IL: Yeah.

KB: But when you're teaching someone, who's not anywhere close to your skill level, you're teaching bad information.

IL: Yeah.

KB: Because you're sitting there and telling them, "Don't care." And then they're gonna walk away with it like, "Oh I need to care less. I need to be more unique." But for me I feel like being unique only comes after a very specific threshold of skill level. Acquisition, rather. You know what I mean?

IL: Yeah.

KB: But no one says that. And that's something so prevalent in the choreo community, is that everyone's trying to be their own person. And the equivalent of that for us is, "I started dancing, and now I wanna be a dope ass choreographer." But guess what? You don't get to be a dope ass choreographer until you learn how to be good at just the dancing part first.

IL: Yeah.

KB: But everyone jumps. Like it's an immediate jump like, "No, it's fine, I'm doing my style."

IL: Yeah.

ET: Okay.

KB: What the hell are you saying?

ET: You can sum that up, in one sentence, when you ask for somebody like, How do I get better at this skill? But first, the reason the way that Ilya got to where he is, is because you were super technical at first.

IL: Yeah.

ET: And then you got into this. And to this point, which I hope you never say, is, when you ask somebody like, "Oh, I need to clean up my time stamps. My time stamps from my ticking." And you just say, or the instructor, or the teacher or whoever just says, "You just gotta feel it." I fucking hate when they say, "Oh not just feel it, you got it, just feel it."

KB: Yeah 'cause feel is something that you just...

ET: Yeah.

KB: You know that's the thing too, is that these bad teachers have forever said like, "Oh feeling is just something you have, you just have to hone it, you have to... " You know what I mean?

ET: Yeah.

KB: But it's like, or you can just work on your technique and your feel will naturally come from mastery. You know what I mean? That's something you can say, not just like, "Oh no, you just gotta feel it. You're thinking too much. Oh you're too worried about technique." It's like, if you're too worried about technique, that means you're not ready to feel it. You know what I mean?

IL: Yeah.

ET: And how did your technique get so good, if you're just feeling it? I'm sure you just woke up one day...

IL: Yeah.

ET: And your technique just felt good.

IL: Right. I had this discussion with some people out in Cali, specifically, and pacifically I guess...

KB: Hell yeah.

IL: In popping about the funk.

ET: Okay.

IL: And not like the music. But when we're like, "Yo, that boy got that funk." You gotta have that funk.

ET: Yeah.

IL: And we're basically, I mean also we were all white...

ET: Okay.

IL: In this discussion. But we were basically saying, "What the fuck is the funk? How does the one just have the funk? How does one have it, and somebody doesn't?" You know what I mean? And we kinda just boiled it down to like, once again, not giving a fuck.

ET: Okay.

IL: You know what I mean?

KB: Yeah.

IL: That's really what they mean. But, going back to the original point, it's like, well yeah, you have to... I mean, it depends on the person really. For some reason, swordplay came to my head. Right?

ET: Okay.

IL: Like if you wanna just do you, and swing your sword around, however you want, who are we to stop you?

ET: Right.

IL: Right? But now if you wanna get to like freaking samurai-way and everything, that's a whole different story. And that's when technique comes first, because technique is basically the entry way into now being able to...

KB: Like the rules?

IL: Yeah, the rules. But also, what you were saying before, about the people winning and stuff. I agree, and I wanna add to the fact that, yeah, they don't care and they're just doing them because they're winning.

ET: That's a very good... That's a fucking good point.

IL: I have a perfect example of somebody I mentioned earlier today, Ed.

ET: Okay.

IL: Yeah? Who, you have also seen and know of in the battle dance scene. And this is how I came to my conclusion, that I basically determined, by myself, not a medical diagnosis, but I will just refer and assume this person is bipolar. Because I was at a battle in the Netherlands, this person won. And I went over, congratulated him, and this person was like, "Oh man, I don't care, I just dance, it's whatever man, win lose, I don't care." I'm like, "All right. You still did great though." Okay? Same person, loses a jam, that I may or may not have organized, I go up to them after, to say they did amazing, and they tell me to fuck off, and run away.

ET: Wow. Yeah.

IL: When they win, "I don't care, I'm just dancing." When they lose, completely different story.

ET: Yeah, I don't know if I'm allowed to have an opinion of this person, but it feels like...

IL: Well it's not more about the person, I'm sure other people are like this as well.

ET: Oh totally.

KB: But the situation.

[overlapping conversation]

IL: The situation, you know what I mean? It's like... And it depends to on... Because sometimes really, honestly, the answer is just practice.

ET: Yeah.

IL: I've said that to people.

KB: Yeah for sure.

IL: Sometimes the answer is, not just feel it. Now, should we break it down more to somebody new? Saying by that, I really mean just listen to the music, do what feels natural. You know trust yourself, let it out. Sure. But in general, I totally...

KB: But two-fold, man, two-fold, you sit there and you're like, "Yeah, just practice." So now you have fulfilled your role as a good teacher, right? But then guess what, a lot of people do not like that answer. A lot of people are just like, "Oh yeah, I'll practice at home, but what short cut do you have?" And you're like, "Oh all right."

IL: Yeah, that brings up another question I wanna ask you guys. I guess if you're calling yourself a teacher, and you're working as one, then yes, you should try to be good. But, if we're at a jam, and you just battled, and some dude comes up to you, or girl, even though girls don't go to jams, but I wish they did, but anyway... It comes up to you and he's asked you for a critique or for an advice, right?

ET: Yeah.

IL: Do you have to be a good teacher? Do you have to give good advice in that scenario?

ET: I think they're not coming to you for good advice. I think they're coming to because they value your opinion.

IL: Well, regardless of what they're coming to you for, I'm saying...

KB: Are you saying, no advice or bad advice? Are you purposely trying to sabotage them, or are you just saying, do you have to teach them?

IL: I guess, sabotaging would be a douche move, but it's... Basically, what I'm trying to highlight is, "Why am I obligated to break this down and teach this person, properly?" I mean, "Why me?" Unless I'm a proclaimed teacher, or it's a class I'm teaching or something, you know what I mean? That's the question I wanna open up with. Because sometimes, honestly, I really just feel like "just practice, dog."

ET: Yeah.

KB: I'm sure that's the way you say it, too.

IL: Yeah, because that's what I have I've been told sometimes. To this day, Junior Boogaloo just tells me "stretch", and I'll be like, "Yo, how do you do that wave" or whatever, and he's like "just stretch". And it's not dismissive, it's actually the most foundational, on point advice that he could give me, and also saving himself the freaking effort, and energy, and whatever.

KB: It's probably more ingenuine, actually, when you sit there and you give a shit ton of advice to someone who's not ready for it. 'Cause then you actually will mess them up, right? I know that when I give critiques to my more inexperienced dancers, a lot of times I'll be like "Okay, we gotta work on your placements", that it's as simple as that. I'm not gonna give you any more critiques other than that. Next is musicality, it's progressive.

KB: But then, I'll sit there and give another critique to someone right next to that person, right? "Okay, for you, we have to do this, this, and this, and this", and I've been called out before, "How come you gave them so much more effort?" or "How much you gave him so much more detail and I only got 'work on your placements'?" Cause I've had to say, very explicitly "You're not ready for anything other than that".

ET: That makes sense.

KB: But that's what I'm saying, too, it's the relationship. One is that, if you're sitting there giving too much critique, like "Oh, your waves aren't that good. Well, you should do this, and you should use this exact timing, and you should do this", then I'm actually just selling you something. Selling you bullshit, essentially. But then on the reverse end, it's that students nowadays, I think, expect more than they're really ready for, you know what I mean?

IL: Yeah.

KB: Like come on.

ET: Well, they're looking for the golden answer to win. I think that's why nobody likes to answer to "just practice more", because most people don't win. That's the point, is that most people don't win. And I'm not sure, to be fair, I wanted to bring something up too, about my hesitance about May. About doing the two on two with Ilya but, it's like "Yeah, most people don't win." But then, why are we battling? Why is the winning then so important? I wanted to... Why is winning? If you were to battle, or when you were battling and you weren't winning, what did that mean, then, to not win? I don't think I've ever asked you that, actually.

IL: Yeah, no you haven't. You've asked me a lot of questions.

ET: I asked you a lot of questions, but I never asked that one. I have questions.

IL: The thing is... So at the time, or even now, I don't know, winning to me, was more like a justification of not having wasted time. Not wasting time, life time, right? Or a justification that I'm good, or justification that I can hang with the best of them. I belong in this upwards here.

KB: Like you're benchmarking.

IL: Yeah, yeah, yeah which I'm saying is probably not a healthy, mentally, way to look at it. Or at least it wasn't for me, because, pretty sure the count was... I went to six jams while I was out there, and I got through prelims, once. And it was the first one I went to, and it was all stats.

ET: Okay.

IL: And then after that, I was just getting smacked around. Just not... And it really started to weigh me down, because I was like "Dude, am I just trash?" And then came the whole formula question, or whatever. Do I wanna battle like that, etcetera? It is funny you bring that up, because that's one of the points I thought of/tell people "If you think about it, unless you're like Rocks, right? Or one of these B-boys who won 100 plus jams by now, most people are the losers." It's funny, actually, that's how I think about events, dance events. As an organizer, I think "Okay, most people that come here are not gonna leave with anything. Most people are gonna be walking around losers. So this event is for the losers." Dance events are for the losers, right? That's the majority.

ET: Yeah.

IL: So how can we structure the outside of the bracket, and the bracket, enough to have... Make sure they still leave feeling good, someway, somehow?

KB: To make worth it?

IL: Yeah, right? That's why, at Top Status, we added two concerts and things like that, you know what I mean? It's actually about the losers.

KB: That's dope.

ET: Wow, I never thought of it that way, that's amazing. Okay.

IL: But then, towards the self, I don't know, I still struggle with that.

ET: Okay.

IL: Basically the answer is "I'm not sure how to answer your question."

ET: Okay.

IL: As particular to the May one, in my brain, my mental image right now, is G-Eazy, the rapper.

ET: Oh, okay.

IL: G Easy.

ET: The white rapper.

IL: The white rapper.

IL: Just balling out.

ET: Okay.

IL: And I just wanna flex on people.

ET: Yeah.

IL: Just a giant ego freaking showcase.

ET: Yeah.

IL: I guess.

ET: Yeah.

IL: I don't know.

ET: Yeah.

IL: I just really, and part of it is because it's Jersey. And I'm sure I joked about it but I'm sure a bunch of people are gonna be like, "Who is this guy is he new? Is he from around here?"

ET: I think they're gonna say the same about both of us.

IL: Yeah.

ET: Who are these two old guys.

IL: Yeah. The same way people ask me like, "Wait, you know Karlo?"

ET: Yeah.

IL: You know Karlo? !

[laughter]

ET: Yeah I slept with him.

[laughter]

ET: I had sex with him like six times.

IL: Yeah.

KB: It was good.

IL: So, part of it is that, none of that guys, this is my scene, you know what I mean? If you're gonna host a battle in Jersey...

KB: You're the one that should be scared.

IL: Yeah, you know what I mean, like... So, it's basically all this, not necessarily in a bad way either, but just like this ego exercise.

ET: Yeah.

IL: Tying into the personal life efforts of trying to give less, fewer, lesser, less...

ET: Fewer.

IL: Fucks.

ET: Okay, okay.

IL: That's really what it is, for me.

ET: Okay.

IL: So, I know consciously, I can win, and I know that if I go in feeling like I can win, I will be able to do my best. But if I start worrying about winning too much...

ET: Yeah.

IL: Then I'm gonna get stuck.

ET: Yeah.

KB: That's interesting, because you said that about the events.

ET: No, because my whole approach literally for the past two years, now has been like, "If you're gonna battle just don't... " No for me personally, I'm just like, I don't feel like there's no point, I feel like it's a waste time I'm just there to hang out with my friends.

IL: Yeah.

ET: So, if any thing it would just be to hang out with Ilya.

IL: Yeah.

ET: And then getting past prelims or whatever is just a bonus. And it's just less of a strike to my ego if I don't get past it, because there have been a ton of times where I haven't, but what's funny is that that's the time where I felt the best about my get downs. And Ilya's actually, even if you don't remember them, Ilya's been like, "Yo, that was actually really dope."

IL: Yeah, I'm sure.

ET: You know.

IL: Yeah. It's funny too, because most of the time the people that don't give as much of a fuck about winning are the ones that would do.

ET: Do?

IL: They win.

ET: Oh yeah, yeah.

IL: At least in our world.

ET: Yeah.

IL: Granted like, for an example, I learned something about the French poppers.

ET: Okay.

IL: Those dudes train to win battles. Like that's it.

ET: Mm-hmm.

IL: Not saying they don't have fun or do anything else but they really focus on winning battles and they do. So, do they care about winning? Yes, but I think that's their version of fun.

ET: Okay.

IL: You know what I mean?

KB: I'm not gonna lie, that's more of my mentality.

IL: Right?

KB: A lot of things I do are very calculated, so I relate with that a lot, like the whole choreo, world I'm here to win man. And all of my decisions are to win and a lot... It's very looked down upon. And we come from a world where I can be like, "Yo I'm there to win and people will be like, respect, respect."

IL: Yeah, yeah. All right, I'll see you in the finals.

KB: Yeah, I say that at a choreo event, people will just be like, "Oh man, it's about the dance."

IL: How ironic you don't have to second that if you don't want to. But I'm gonna say it. How ironic.

ET: How ironic, okay, I'll second that.

[laughter]

KB: You know what I mean, it's like a weird... So I normally can't say this but very honestly, and I have admitted this to my team that I'm here to compete. I'm not riding on it, I'm not saying if we don't win, I'm pissed, but I'm going in with the mindset of like, "I'm going to try to win this and if you're with me, you're with me. If you're not, then maybe you should find a different team. Let's focus on another thing." That's not a bad thing, you know what I mean, it's just if you come to my team know that our goal is to do this thing. But I think that that's me at a director level, for my dancers, though, I tell them, "Don't worry about that", because that's not their job. For them I'm always telling them, "Focus on the dancing. Because that's more important for you guys. Me as the one leading the team, the coach of this team, essentially, let me handle the competition side of it." So, that's really interesting to hear that the French are like that. I honestly, I'm gonna say something that might be edgy, but I really think winning is easy.