#absolutely zero energy today so none of these are going anywhere

[strikeslip]

ongoing projects:

audio drama script (about evil wizards)

ttrpg hack (about evil wizards)

orv fic

sabbat game (backburner)

mutual aid scifi game (backburner)

don't say vampires game (backburner)

and now, possibly a collaborative scholomance larp project? (also about evil wizards)

I might have too many projects, but you can never have too many evil wizards. Clearly I should add evil wizards to my backburner projects to get them moving again.

[sevlgi]

opposites

requested: yes

group: blackpink

pairing: rosé x fem!reader

genre: fluff, angst

contents: college!au, good girl!rosé, bad girl!reader

warnings: none

synopsis: They say opposites attract, and when the campus’s resident sweetheart falls for a bad girl, Rosé discovers just how true that statement is.

a/n: I’M SO SORRY FOR HOW LONG THIS TOOK ME OMGGGG  hope you enjoy, and I’m glad you like my blog ❤

word count: 3.6k

Chaeyoung has never quite believed that opposites attract.

To be fair, she doesn’t have much experience to go off of. Despite being attracted to basically every person she meets, she hasn’t actually dated much. (As her friend Jennie jokes, she’s not bisexual, she’s by herself.)

And obviously, she’s not only attracted to people soft and sweet like herself. Especially in college, it’s more likely to find people in sweats and ratty T-shirts than people in pink sweaters and cute dresses.

It’s no secret that Chaeyoung is a hopeless romantic, convinced that she’ll find someone who she just works with. It’s also no secret that she’s determined to find someone similar enough to her that a relationship would actually work out.

Imagine her surprise when her next crush is the complete opposite of her.

You’re utterly fascinating to Chaeyoung; every little detail about you absolutely contradicts her, and she thinks her parents would faint if they saw you. Unlike Chaeyoung’s usually well-styled hair, you look like you’ve just rolled out of bed to go to class. Your leather jackets and heavy denim look stiff to the touch, and your dark circles, tattoos, and piercings are enough to ward all your classmates away.

But somehow, all of it just draws Chaeyoung in more. She’d never dream of dying her hair as much as you do, or getting as many tattoos as you have, but for some reason, you intrigue her.

She still doesn’t believe opposites attract. You might be gorgeous, but Chaeyoung is sure that your personalities would clash, and a relationship, however imaginary it may be, would never work out.

Of course, she’s also not willing to admit that she’s wrong to her friends, all of whom insist that opposites do attract. She just knows Lisa would gloat, and Chaeyoung is never giving her friends that satisfaction. 

“Who’re you staring at today?”

Chaeyoung pouts at Yeri, who slides into the seat beside her with a knowing smile. Joy, on the other side, is already following where Chaeyoung’s eyes were earlier. “Hey. I’m not always staring at people.”

“Yes, you are,” the two other girls chorus. “Come on, you’re always searching for ‘your other half’ or whatever,” Yeri rolls her eyes. “You barely focus in class because of it.”

Studiously ignoring where you sit in the lecture hall (3 rows ahead and 2 seats to the left), Chaeyoung scowls and twirls her pen. “Rude.”

“You know I am,” Yeri smiles, beginning to scan the room as well. “So, come on. Who’s your pick of the day?”

Joy narrows her eyes; Chaeyoung’s a bit panicked to see that her friend is already zeroing in on you. “Wait… it can’t be her, right?”

“Who?” Joy whispers in Yeri’s ear, and the youngest girl’s eyes widen. “Chaeng, it’s not her, right?”

The blonde attempts to play it cool, asking nonchalantly, “Who are you even talking about?”

Both girls point at your back, the dark leather of your jacket and the two empty seats on either side of you making it unmistakable that you’re the one they’re pointing at. “Y/N Y/L/N. It’s not her, right?”

Y/N Y/L/N. Chaeyoung tests it out on her tongue silently before realizing her friends are still waiting for an answer. “It… maybe, what’s it to you?”

Yeri groans, and Joy shakes her head in what seems to be disappointment. “You have the worst taste, Chaeyoung. I mean, she’s cute, but…”

To be honest, the most surprising part of the entire conversation is that her friends aren’t even teasing about the whole ‘opposites’ thing. “What’s wrong with Y/N?” Chaeyoung can’t help but feel a bit defensive; after all, it’s her taste in girls that was being attacked.

Joy leans in conspiratorially now, despite the professor clearing his throat at the front of the classroom. “Okay, so, she’s kind of the designated bad girl? I don’t really know, but I heard she’s killed someone.”

“What? No, she set a building on fire,” Yeri argues, rolling her eyes when Joy opens her mouth to disagree. “Whatever, whatever. Anyway, she’s bad news. She’s a serial dater, too, and she doesn’t like cats. Who doesn’t like cats?”

Chaeyoung’s eyebrows scrunch together as her friends argue. It’s probably not likely that you’ve killed anyone or set a building on fire, but still… a serial dater? None of it sounds good.

“Anyway, she’s the polar opposite of you,” Joy sighs, patting Chaeyoung sympathetically on the arm. “You know, you’re sweet and soft, and she’s… her.”

Suddenly, the professor clears his throat again and raises his eyebrow at where the three girls sit. “Ms. Park, Ms. Kim, the other Ms. Park? Anything important?”

“No, sorry, sir,” Chaeyoung blurts out, cheeks red. She’s not even blushing because she’s been put on the spot, though; it’s because you’ve finally turned around to look at her.

Maybe it’s the eyeliner, but something about your gaze feels like it sees right through her. With the tiniest quirk of the corner of your lips, you turn back around and leave Chaeyoung fully flustered.

Yeah, definitely a player.

Every day, Chaeyoung attempts to work up the courage to sit a little closer to you. She’s not making much progress; to be fair, you can’t blame her, when you’re usually given a 3 foot radius of empty space by everyone.

However, she discovers something new about you every day. She discovers that you drink black iced coffee (she drinks tea), and that you use mint flavored chapstick (she uses strawberry). You prefer cinnamon gum (which Chaeyoung thinks is a bit gross), and you only ever wear black socks (she wears white).

Joy really wasn’t kidding when she said you were Chaeyoung’s opposite.

Of course, it’s just the blonde’s luck when the professor announces a group project, and your name is the only one out of 40 that Chaeyoung knows.

It takes a lot of energy for Chaeyoung to approach you after class. “Hey,” she smiles; you don’t return it. “So, I was wondering if you have a partner for the project? If you don’t, I was thinking we could be partners…”

You look startled at first, though it settles behind a mask of calm indifference immediately. “You don’t have friends?” At the blonde’s wince, you roll your eyes, lips quirking into a smile. “Kidding. Sure. Let’s work together.”

“Great!” Chaeyoung beams, looping her arm through yours. You look even more surprised now, but it’s cute. Everything you do would probably look cute. “I’m Roseanne, but you should call me Chaeyoung or Chaeng.”

“I’m Y/N,” you offer. Your voice is quieter than Chaeyoung had imagined, but that’s probably her fault for thinking your voice was demon-like or something. “You’re a sophomore, right?”

“Right.” Chaeyoung has no idea how you know how old she is, but she can roll with it. “You?”

You nod, looking anywhere other than Chaeyoung face. “Yeah. Same. So, do you have any ideas for the project yet?”

“No, sorry.” She can’t help the smile on your face, still shocked that you’re holding a conversation with her and not murdering her already. “Let’s get coffee? We can talk about the project. If you’re free, of course.”

“I am.”

And that’s all it takes for Chaeyoung to grin again, grab your arm, and lead you to the nearest coffee shop.

Chaeyoung likes the way you’re honest about what you want. When she offers to order, despite knowing what you want, you quietly ask for the iced black coffee and hand her 10 dollars even when she tries to protest.

You don’t ask about what she ordered, and you make sure she tipped the extra before opening your laptop and asking for ideas.

As the afternoon goes on, you seem to grow more comfortable, and Chaeyoung can let go of some of her slightly forced enthusiasm. She actually finds herself enjoying your dry sense of humor and sarcastic comments, though she can’t really make any of her own.

By the time she has to go to her next class, Chaeyoung’s actually making jokes of her own, and she has your number stored in her phone.

All in all, a successful day.

“Hi.”

You look surprised (or as surprised as you deign to look) to see Chaeyoung sitting next to you in the lecture hall the day after the project was turned in. “Uh, hey.”

“How do you think we did on the project?” the blonde asks, taking out her laptop. She ignores the way you stare at her, hoping that you didn’t want to just forget her existence after the project or something. 

“Pretty good. You’re smart, I just helped a little bit.”

Chaeyoung laughs softly, swatting at your arm. “No way, come on. You’re smarter than your leather jackets let on, too.”

“And you’re smarter than your overly sweetened tea lets on,” you tease, a smile twinkling in your eyes.

She scowls and swats at you again, but you dodge this time. “I thought we agreed never to mention that again!”

“You’re right, you’re right.” Chaeyoung misses the way you smile at her after she turns to the board.

It becomes sort of a routine to sit next to you during lectures and copy off your surprisingly comprehensive notes. Chaeyoung can’t help but fall deeper and deeper at your ever-tentative smile, at each offhand, yet sweet comment.

All the little details about you, the tiniest things you notice, only make Chaeyoung fall harder. You buy non-cinnamon gum especially for her and keep 2 packs in your bag in case she wants some. Sometimes, you show up with a cup of so-called ‘overly sweetened tea’ next to your own coffee.

You see everything about her, and you both make the most subtle changes so that the two of you complement each other absolutely perfectly. Chaeyoung starts carrying blue pens because you prefer them, while you carry black ones in case either of you forget. You even carry a strawberry chapstick just for her.

Even Chaeyoung starts unconsciously enjoying the smell of your sweet mint chapstick; she wears it sometimes, not because she likes it more, but because she’s curious how it’d taste on your lips.

It doesn’t need to be said that Chaeyoung doesn’t just want to be friends anymore.

At first, she just wanted to understand you a bit better, to relieve her own fascination with you, but the more she learns, the more Chaeyoung is pulled in. It’s more than just a crush now, more than simple butterflies in her stomach.

Now, it’s an unconscious smile always tugging at her lips when you’re not with her, laughing at a joke that wasn’t necessarily actually that funny. It’s adapting to fit with you, and it’s accepting that maybe opposites do attract after all.

The only thing left is to introduce you to her friends.

“Are you ready?”

You frown, tugging at the sleeves of your leather jacket. Chaeyoung’s heart warmed when you offered to tone down your look for her, but she didn’t want you to change anything about yourself, so you just went with your jacket. “Sure, I guess.”

“Great!” the blonde beams, waving at Yeri and Joy, who she sees a few yards away from the huge table the two of you occupy. Behind them, Jisoo, Jennie, and Lisa lag, though they’re too far away to clearly see you.

Yeri’s expression isn’t exactly favorable; she stops right in her tracks to talk furiously to the others, and Chaeyoung frowns at the unreadable expression on your face. “Um… don’t worry, Y/N-ah. They’re probably just… talking about what to eat?”

“Sure,” you mutter, looking down. As the other girl has discovered, despite all your bravado and sass, you’re quite self-conscious. “It’s not like pizza is the only food this place offers.”

There’s no time for the blonde to reply; Jisoo, ever the tactful one, sits first and offers a tight smile. “Chaeng, good to see you. And you are?” 

“Y/N Y/L/N.” If Chaeyoung didn’t know you well enough, she wouldn’t be able to see past the mask of bored confidence you put on. “Jisoo, right? I’ve heard of you.”

The oldest girl flushes and nods. “Um, these are Jennie, Lisa, Yeri, and Joy.” They raise their hands or nod when their names are called, though their expressions are hostile.

Just as Chaeyoung opens her mouth to try and break the awkward silence, Lisa leans forward with her eyes narrowed. “So. What do you want with Chaeyoung?”

“Lisa!” The younger girl is usually sweet and puppy-like, but she’s also notoriously protective of her friends. Chaeyoung doesn’t miss the way your eye twitches just the slightest bit, and she resists the urge to put her hand on your arm. “Stop it.”

“What? You can’t deny this feels an awful like you’re introducing your girlfriend to us, and she’s the worst girlfriend you could have,” Lisa scowls, crossing her arms.

You sigh, shaking your head and standing up. Joy actually lurches back in her chair, as if expecting you to beat her up, but you just toss a quick smile to Chaeyoung, picking up the leather jacket slung over the back of your chair. “I think we’re done here. For your information, I’m not dating Chaeyoung, even though it wouldn’t be any of your business if I was.”

All the other girls stare at you, including Chaeyoung, as you continue, “You don’t know anything about me, so don’t assume. I appreciate that you care for Chaeng, but this is not the way to show it.”

With that, you’re gone, a light brush of your fingers on Chaeyoung’s shoulder the only way for her to tell that you aren’t angry at her.

As soon as you’re out of earshot, though, she scowls at her friends, hissing, “What the hell, Lisa? It was not your place to say any of that.”

The younger girl looks sheepish now, rubbing at the back of her neck. “I… I’m sorry.”

Jennie, though, rolls her eyes. “Come on, Chaeyoung. It’s what’s best, you don’t want to be dating her. She’s only going to break your heart.”

“I’m not that fragile, are you serious?” It’s honestly pretty uncharacteristic for Chaeyoung to actually be mad, but she can’t seem to control her words when her relationship with you might’ve been ruined. “It’s not your business anyway.”

Jisoo bites her lip, reaching for Chaeyoung’s hand across the table. “Chaeng, please. We just want what’s best for you, and Y/N isn’t that. You understand, right?”

No, I don’t. I don’t understand any of it. “Sure. I understand,” Chaeyoung exhales, sitting back. Despite everything she wants to say to her friends, she knows that they have good intentions, however misguided.

She’ll talk to you tomorrow. 

You don’t show up to class the next day, and Chaeyoung sits alone in her usual seat, feeling empty when you’re not quietly making snarky remarks beside her.

It’s odd, and it really shows how much you’ve ingrained yourself into her life.

After a day of thinking, Chaeyoung has come to realize that, despite all her friends’ warnings, she does have feelings for you. She wants to be with you, to enjoy the little things and the small moments together, and she thinks you might feel the same way.

Obviously, she’s still too cowardly to actually go to you and tell you.

After you don’t show up for the next 2 classes, Chaeyoung dials your phone. You don’t pick up there, either, and she’s left to frown at her phone in the middle of the road.

She’s not a passive person, so she fully intends to do anything she can to make you talk to her.

On Monday, she decides she’ll text your roommate Miyeon, but she gets caught up in classes. On Tuesday, Chaeyoung thinks she’ll bring you some notes, but she forgets to write an extra copy. On Wednesday, she catches a cold and Lisa refuses to let her go anywhere.

A week passes exactly like that.

Finally, 9 days after the disastrous lunch, she manages to get your dorm room number from the office lady she bribes with homemade cupcakes. You’re always home for lunch, probably because you don’t eat with anyone but Chaeyoung.

Her heart thuds in her chest as she rounds the corner to head into your hallway, the buzz of other students around her drowned out by the ringing in her ears. She knocks three times- one, two, three- on your door and she waits.

You look terrible when you open the door.

The permanent dark circles under your eyes are ten times darker than usual, and your lips are dry and chapped. You wear a rumpled Disney shirt that Chaeyoung would tease you about if she wasn’t so concerned. “Um… cupcakes?”

“Thanks for coming by.”

“No problem.” The blonde watches you pour out some cheap, college-student coffee at the tiny desk in the corner of the dorm. “I was just concerned. You haven’t been to class in a while, you know?”

You sigh and hand her a cup of piping hot tea, already sweetened just like Chaeyoung likes it. “Yeah. I know.”

“Hey.” Leaning over, Chaeyoung places her hand on yours, ignoring the way her heart skips a beat at the skin-to-skin contact. Judging by the blush on your face, you feel the same. “You can tell me anything, okay? We’re friends.”

You almost seem to wince, though Chaeyoung doesn’t know what for. “Yeah. I’m fine though.”

“Was it my friends?” the blonde persists, her eyes searching yours for an explanation. “I know that they were really rude, but I promise I don’t care about anything they say, okay?”

Scoffing, you stand up, seemingly to get more coffee, even though your mug is full. “I’m not that shallow, okay?”

“Then what is it?” Despite knowing she sounds desperate, Chaeyoung’s mind is racing for an explanation, anything that could tell her why you’re avoiding her. “Please talk to me.”

The beat of silence that passes only makes Chaeyoung feel more anxious, like her brain is spinning in circles inside her head, and she almost jumps when you speak again. “Do you… do you like me?”

“I… of course I do! You’re my friend, I like you very much.” The blonde is well aware that that isn’t what you meant, but she can’t help but avoid what she really wants to say as she babbles on, “Why? Do you want me to show my platonic love for you more often?”

“Chaeyoung.” You place your hand on hers and lean forward with a serious expression on your face that honestly scares Chaeyoung. “I know that you won’t tell me honestly any time soon, so I’m just going to say it first. I like you. A lot, and not as a friend.”

As the other girl’s jaw drops, you continue on, the overly quick speed of your speech letting Chaeyoung know just how nervous you are to say all of this. “I know that I have a reputation, and I know that I’m too closed down or boring, but you’re nothing like that. You’re so sweet and gorgeous, and I just… really like you. And I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? Why are you sorry?” Chaeyoung reaches for you again, eyes searching yours for any sign of insincerity. She doesn’t find any. “You’re not boring, Y/N, not in the slightest. And I like you too, every little thing about you.”

“I don’t think you know enough about me to say that,” you try to deflect, but the blonde shakes her head.

“You’re so sweet to me, Y/N, and it’s not your fault that no one else can see it, but I do. I see all the little things you do for me, and I fall for you more every day. Maybe I don’t know enough about you, but I want to learn. If you’ll let me.”

A short pause occurs before you exhale quickly, swiping away tears Chaeyoung didn’t notice were about to fall. “Okay. I’d love that.”

“Great.” Chaeyoung sits back again, but just as you’re about to get up, presumably to busy yourself with a drink or something, she blurts out, “Can I kiss you?”

The surprised look on your face is so endearing that she’s already grinning when you smile softly. “Of course you can.”

The moment that you bend down and press your lips to hers, so soft and gentle, is the best of Chaeyoung’s life. She can finally taste the sweet mint of your chapstick, mixed with the unique taste of you, and feel the way your lips are slightly chapped against her own. When you pull away, Chaeyoung loves the flush to your cheeks that mirrors hers, and she can only grin when you move away to get your coffee.

Maybe opposites do attract after all.

“Hey, can I ask you something again?”

“You already did,” you joke, then laugh when the other girl pouts. “Sure, Chaeng. What?”

“Do you hate cats?”

An offended gasp escapes from you, matching your expression. “No, who hates cats? I think that’s the worst rumor about me yet.”

The blonde protests, “What about the one about you murdering someone?”

Sniffing and sitting with your coffee, you say, “I stand by my case.”

Cupping your face with her hands, the cuffs of her sweaters brushing up against your cheeks, Chaeyoung presses another kiss to your lips. The taste of mint and coffee, strawberry and tea, is the most perfect combination she could ever imagine.

[zmediaoutlet]

tagged by my good buddy @doilycoffin and uhh some number of other people to do the little tumblr survey game thing, and eve you are an absolute hero for including the clean copy at the end, thank you --

1. why did you choose your url?

I am Z and this is my Media Outlet. Although originally twitter was.

2. any sideblogs? if you have them, name them and why you have them.

Absolutely not, I can barely keep this one running. Also, I can’t imagine curating that much. People can handle seeing a Hannibal post instead of a Spn post, and if they can’t -- man, good luck to them.

3. how long have you been on tumblr?

I actually saw a thing from tumblrmemories today that reminded me that this post even existed, and so I can answer: apparently, I joined this tumblr place at 04/05/2012  3:26:41 PM. I have zero memory of the moment, lol.

4. do you have a queue tag?

I do not, but that’s because everything I post is queued. Y’all don’t know when I’m on here, I am mysterious. ...I am not, it’s just that I don’t like clogging people’s dashboards. So I queue for like an hour and then bounce.

5. why did you start your blog in the first place?

...I don’t remember! I guess because lj was collapsing like a flan in a cupboard, and there wasn’t anywhere particularly relevant to go when you were looking for fandom content. But I don’t remember what fandom it was, back then! That was a few months before I started watching spn.

6. why did you choose your icon/pfp?

(i keep seeing pfp and all I can read there is pirst ferson pooter.) My icon is just... my little happy man! He’s so happy, look at him. <3  And I think he’s been the icon since April 5, 2012. Y’all who can like change your icons and whatnot are impressive to me. And confusing. Both of those.

7. why did you choose your header?

...I don’t think I have a header. Do I? Now I’m feeling very losttravolta.gif.

8. what’s your post with the most notes?

uhh I think it might be that dumb ficlet I wrote where Dean gets turned into the teeniest of dragons and is trying to hoard Sam’s junk.

9. how many mutuals do you have?

literally no idea how to find this out

10. how many followers do you have?

just under 1400, a bunch of whom are probably dead accounts or noninteractive, which I guess isn’t much to show for almost ten years, is it. Should’ve learned to make gifs.

11. how many people do you follow?

just under 300, a much of whom are probably dead accounts or noninteractive, lol.

12. have you ever made a shitpost?

I don’t think so. I don’t have the shitpost energy!

13. how often do you use tumblr each day?

um, <1 hour on average. Some days I don’t come on at all, some days the scroll goes on a little longer.

14. did you have a fight/argument with another blog once? who won?

I have never intentionally started a fight with any blog, but a few people have gotten GROSSLY OFFENDED by posts I’ve made and tried to fight with me. My reaction, like a somnolent bear, is to be confused and wonder why someone’s making such a big fuss. I guess they won, since I blocked them and/or they blocked me, and they got to feel superior because they’d shown me what’s what. And they also won because I still think about it with bewildered annoyance years later, lol. Why did you turn into such a bitch over a headcanon post? Oh well, I’ll mildly hate them forever.

15. how do you feel about “you need to reblog this” posts?

They’re grossly stupid.

16. do you like tag games?

I do! Look at me doing one. It’s very high school, very sitting around past midnight on a sleepover.

17. do you like ask games?

I do! Same answer.

18. which of your mutuals do you think is tumblr famous?

uh, none? How does one even measure such a thing.

19. do you have a crush on a mutual?

absolutely not, oh my. EDIT: WAIT yes why not I have a big somnolent bear crush on doilycoffin. Let me woo your Texas heart or whatever, you goth grandma you! <3, >3.

20. tags?

idk who of y’all is doing what. These questions kinda got less interesting as they went down, haha, but I’ll toss out some tags anyway, uh -- @themegalosaurus, @alaynestone, @stripperlecki, @wetsammywinchester, @watermelonlipstick, @peach-coke, aaaand we’ll call that good.

[deathonyourtongue]

Care Taking Ideas : “Person A giving person B an injection” with Henry or one of his characters sounds adventurous😂💓

Title: Evasion  Word count: 1446 Warnings: Needles, tears, anxiety? It’s fluff, don’t worry.

I had to do this with Sy, ‘cause I legit could not figure out how else to work out a non-medical person giving a shot. :P  Also as someone who has ZERO fear of needles of any sort (I legit ask them which arm they wanna poke if I have to get bloodwork done), I hope I did the fear of needles justice.

_______________________________________________

Message me if you’d like to be added/removed from the tag list!

@fumbling-fanfics @skiesfallithurts @pinkpenguin7@madmedusa178 @crushed-pink-petals @fangoria @bluestarego@caffeinated-writer @my–own–personal–paradise @tastingmellow​ @honeychicana​ @lua-latina​ @angelicapriscilla​ @swiftyhowlz​ @schreiberpablo​ @pinkwatchblueshoes​ @kirasmomsstuff​ @prettypascal​ @blacklotus-of-the-black-kingdom​ @nardahsb​ @playbucky​ @veryfastspeedz @queen-of-the-kastle​ @freyahelps​ @cajunpeach​ @godlikeentity​ @captainsamwlsn​ @nakusaych9@katerka88 @katerka88 @kirasmomsstuff @melaninmimii@alienor-romanova @downtowndk​ @redhairedmoiraandtheliferuiners​ @safiras​ @agniavateira​ @henryfanfics101​ @fatefuldestinies @iloveyouyen

You know you’re due, but you hide out in your office anyway. With all the commotion and paperwork that comes with a tour change, you hope to ride out the last day and have him forget that you’re in need of a shot. 

Though you’ve got a full sleeve of tattoos and a chest piece to boot, the mere thought of getting an actual injection makes you queasy. Rolling your neck to rid yourself of the urge to throw up, you guzzle down half your beer and silently focus all your energy into willing the ‘lights out’ call to come sooner. 

The door opening breaks your focus, but before you can even move to bar him, Syverson is in and has the door locked behind him. His smile makes it clear he’s up to no good, and though you can’t see a syringe in his hand, you know damn well there’s no other reason for him to be here, so close to the end of his shift. 

“Evenin’, sweetheart,” he grins nervously, his eyes scanning the top of your desk for any weapons, finding none. 

“I will shoot you in the face, Sy, so help me God.” He laughs, holding both hands up as though surrendering, allowing you to see the bottle of whiskey in his hand for the first time since he entered. 

“Easy, doll. Just wanna enjoy a drink with the prettiest woman on base, that’s all.” 

“You’re a shit liar and it’s not happening.” You answer, stonefaced as you turn up the metal you’ve been listening to try and calm your nerves. 

“What, the drinking, or the fun that comes after?” He asks, taking a seat across from you and reaching to the top of your mini-fridge for two glasses. Pouring expertly, he gives you the fuller glass, making it clear he’s got ulterior motives.

You and Sy have been dating for nearly five years, maintaining the lowest of profiles solely so that you two aren’t shipped off to different corners of the world. Although drinking after lights out is routine for both of you, it’s rare that you’re doing it while still wearing your uniform; usually, you’re both naked in Sy’s room, enjoying the privacy his higher rank brings. 

Taking the offered drink, you down it in one go, steeling yourself for what you know is about to happen and vowing that Sy’s not gonna get laid for a week out of spite. Sy watches you shoot the alcohol, his face a mix of sympathy and awe that you can still drink like coed despite having long passed your 20’s. Eyes locking with yours, he gives you that puppy-dog-eyed, crooked grin of his, his chin tilted down for maximum effect. Damn him and his blue eyes.

“C’mere, gorgeous.” He pats his lap and despite your better judgment, you find yourself standing and moving around the desk, pouting as you move. 

Sy wraps you up in a bear hug the moment you sit down, his strong arms holding you close as he nuzzles his nose against your cheek, his way of asking for a kiss. Tipping your head down, your lips meet his with petulant reluctance, making him smile as he kisses you back fondly. When he pulls away, he’s smiling ear to ear and you can’t help but melt a little as he gazes up at you with the utmost affection. Your eyes close as his hand cups your cheek and you lean into the touch, feeling the stress of the day dissipate, forgetting the real reason he’s here for a moment. 

“Watching you out there today, putting those boys in line and scaring the shit out of the ‘em, was so sexy,” he growls, and you can’t help the soft sound that escapes your lips as he kisses your neck slowly, ‘lovin’ up’ on you as he so often calls it. His lips press against yours once more before he pulls away, his eyes kind despite what you know is an impending betrayal. 

“You know I love you very much, right, darlin’?” You let your head fall back while groaning, unwilling to accept that he isn’t just here for you.

“And you know I wouldn’t do this to ya if I didn’t have to, right?” Your head snaps back up and you look at him with narrowed eyes and a lifted eyebrow.

“You don’t have to do anything. You could just let Doc do it.” You counter, poking at one of his pecs accusingly.

“Yeah, well, Doc bruised you last time he gave you a shot, and you passed out and fell off the table ‘cause he didn’t believe you, so...I’m gonna be more gentle, and this time you won’t end up with a concussion. Besides, there’s a treat in it for ya if you hold still and let me do it quick.” 

“That’s what she said,” you respond flatly, still not convinced. Sy chuckles, both hands moving up to roll up the sleeve opposite of him. 

“Please, Sy, no. Can’t we just wait until...I don’t know, until I cut myself?”

“Out here? Absolutely not. If we were back home, maybe. But I’m not taking any chances with this stuff out here, sweetheart.” He tells you softly, pressing a tender kiss to your cheek even as he fishes the pre-filled syringe and the alcohol swab from one of the many pockets in his pants. 

“Hey, look at me, mama. Deep breath.” Sy tells you seriously, his free hand framing your chin as he inhales deeply and lets it out again in a slow rhythmic pattern. Keeping your attention, his eyes never leave yours as he swabs your upper arm, forcing you to keep breathing deeply. 

Tears fill your eyes as the smell of the alcohol hits your nose, and the nauseous feeling rises up again just as Sy tucks you in close. Holding your head against his chest, he covers your eyes gently with his fingers, uncapping the syringe with his mouth and quickly moving the needle out of sight. Certain you can’t see it, he wraps his free arm around you tighter, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. 

“Hold onto me, darlin’. Squeeze tight,” he encourages, and you do as he says, crying softly into his favorite shirt, panicking. 

“Deep breath. Hold it.” Sy’s voice is soft and patient, a stark contrast from how he normally speaks around others, especially new recruits. 

You squeak and cry a little harder as Sy pushes the syringe into your upper arm, hitting the mark with precision and gentility. A flurry of kisses are pressed to your face as he pushes down the plunger, injecting the Tetanus compound deep into your arm. Pulling the needle out as quickly as it went in, Sy presses a fresh patch of gauze to the sight, his hand pulsing gently to ease the sting and burn of the shot. 

“‘Atta girl. All done.” He murmurs, recapping the needle before shooting it and the rest of the waste into the garbage can by your desk. His face falls as he lifts your chin and sees that you’re still crying. 

“Well, that just won’t do,” he whispers, more to himself than anyone else as he shifts you so that you’re facing him, Sy wrapping your legs around his waist as he stands up. You don’t hesitate to loop your arms around his neck, unable to actually be mad at him, knowing he has your best interests at heart. With one hand under you, the other runs laps up and down your back, comforting you in the best way he knows how. 

Taking you back to your room, he sits down on the bed and just holds you, knowing the tears aren’t just from the shot, but from all the anxiety you’ve built up throughout the day to deal with it. Rocking gently back and forth, he lets you cry it out, knowing you need the release. His lips press kisses anywhere they can reach, and after a few moments, you settle, resting your head on his muscular shoulder, hiccuping. 

You feel his smile even before you hear it in his voice, Sy’s tone warm and full of love.

“You’re adorable, y’know that? My beautiful, adorable, tough-as-nails sunflower. Relax now, mama, it’s all over.”  Sighing softly, you squeeze him gently, a silent thank you for doing everything with such care and regard for your very-real fear. 

“What’s my treat?” You ask after a moment, pulling back to look into those gorgeous baby blues of his. His smile turns impish and he kisses your sternum before resting his chin there. 

“Gotta be naked to get it, darlin’.”

[monchikyun]

28. in the light of day

It’s been snowing a great deal lately, the weather has prepared a very cruel gift in the form of endless northern winds and icy pavements that have the potential of ruining someone’s day. And the someone has to be none other than Gavin, because the universe recognises that he deserves it the most. The days in December are shorter than his attention span, and the darkness that surrounds him when he’s returning from work is subconsciously making him quicken his pace. There is plenty on his mind, things that he wishes he never did and the little miracles he wishes went of forever, and perhaps that’s why his feet don’t get the most attention and when he steps on a particularly slippy block of ice that once was a muddy puddle, nothing stops him from falling straight on his backside. It hurts like bitch, so much so his eyes water and he’s overwhelmed by dizziness. But it also might be that cold that he’s already waiting to shake by doing absolutely nothing in order for that to happen. He lugs his heavy body up and is immediately greeted by a coughing fit suggesting that he should really not be outside in this condition, especially so when the low temperature is unforgiving enough to freeze rivers.

“Phck.” He tries to curse his affliction away, but like every time he does so, it only manages to piss him off even more.

Gavin is already angry as is, even more so than he’s by default. It’s all his fault, he begrudgingly admits, because doing otherwise would imply that him shouting at Connor is someone else’s responsibility. He was doing okay for such a long time, tried his absolute best to make the android like him, and not only because he wanted to get rid of the guilt that has been gnawing on his mind since the end of the revolution, but because he let himself catch feelings for the ridiculously beautiful robot. It worked, at first, they were getting along pretty well, despite Gavin being his ever-so-charming self. It was probably thanks to his heartfelt apology, at which he still physically cringes each time its memory crosses his mind. But then something snapped inside of him - maybe it was the jealousy that acted up when he saw Connor becoming friends with other, more attractive people, or he just tried to self-sabotage himself, since he had been dangerously close to kissing that stupid android. Because he’s well aware that he has zero rights to go anywhere near there, even thinking about it triggers an alarm that signals his unworthiness.

But it’s oh so cold here and all he wants is a warm hug from the person he likes the most. His nose is leaking and his throat his being cut with a thousand knives, and he doesn’t know how he’s going to get home when his every move is soaked in pain. He should probably lie down right here and wait for the end to come. He’ll either get better or the blessed oblivion takes him, both options are equally desirable to him. But he has to do one important thing first.

He fumbles for his phone and forces his freezing hand to type in the security code so he can open the texting app. His fingers are numb and his vision blurry, but he succeeds in writing the three overused words that have been floating around his mind since this afternoon when he returned Connor’s worry with a harsh dismissal. If he could take it back, he’d never allow himself to yell at the only person who cares.

“I’m sorry.”

Like that will repair their relationship which he so selfishly damaged.

He’s pretty sure he sends it, but then again it’s hard to see anything when there are tears flooding his vision. He slides down against the wall of some empty building that stands half a mile from his apartment building, ready to accept his fate. His eyelids must be made out of lead for he can’t keep them up, and with every passing minute, his breathing gets slower, since his lungs are on fire and he’d be happier not having to inhale oxygen at all. This could be it, his final night. He’s thought that he wouldn’t struggle against his departure when it finally came, but as he’s now, dying alone in some abandoned back alley, he wishes nothing more than to see the light of day once more.

If only his car didn’t break down, if only Connor liked him enough to brush off his unfair behaviour. He thinks he hears his phone vibrate, but he’s too weak to even open his eyes. This is it then, his final stop.

He must have fallen asleep at some point, because there is a familiar voice calling his name, and he can feel those soft hands on his face. It’s fitting that his last dream would be about Connor, his biggest regret would mock him till the bitter end after all.

“Gavin, please open your eyes.” He can sense the urgency in the android’s voice, the worry that has been there earlier today, and he automatically looks up at the sight he’s longed to see since leaving the office, still believing that it’s just an illusion.

“Con…” He wonders how he’s able to speak when he barely has the strength to focus his vision.

“You stupid motherfucker.”

Yeah, he deserves that.

When he gets lifted up, his head hanging down from the android’s shoulder, he contemplates on this being real and not his farewell fantasy. It gets confirmed through the sharp pain that assaults him when he gets thrown to a backseat of some car.

“I’m so fucking mad at you,” Connor mumbles as the car drives them god knows where. He’s sitting next to him, possibly his thighs being the cushion on which Gavin’s sore head rests. A soothing cold hand is threading through his damp hair and he’s sure they’re on their way to heaven because there is no way this moment belongs into his fucked up reality. The other hand lands on his forehead, acting as the ice-pack he craves so much since despite how cold his body is, he’s three seconds short of self-combustion.

“103.1 degrees. Maybe I should call an ambulance.”

“No!” Gavin manages to croak out because he really can’t afford a hospital stay with his lack of savings and shitty health-insurance.

“Okay.” Connor’s voice is the thing that keeps him from passing out. Because as long as hears it, his ache is limited to his physical body. And that’s much easier to bear.

“You have to stop pushing me away whenever I show a hint of worry, if you want to live that is.” He can discern the threat that comes with the demand, and he’s tempted to smirk in Connor’s face, though he doesn’t, and not only because he doesn’t have the strength to do it.

He wants to thank Connor, needs him to keep talking to him, but he has already depleted his words for the day, and so he’s left to the mercy of chance. If he’s lucky, his gratitude is being transmitted through the relief he’s drowning in, and with each second Connor speaks at him, he’s being more and more convinced that maybe the android likes him back.

“I’m taking you to my place, but we have to stop for some medical supplies first.” 

The silent hum of the car is lulling him to sleep, and Connor’s proximity is not helping much. He feels safe, cared for even. And he doesn’t want to wake up and find out that it was just a part of his wishful thinking, that he hallucinated this whole thing.

Fortunately, the car comes to a sudden stop and that enhances his alertness by a smidge.

“I’ll be right back.”

He’s about to beg him not to go when he’s reminded that he lost the gift of speech, and so he exhales sharply and lets Connor leave his space.

As soon as he’s alone again, he can’t fight his exhaustion anymore and lets the darkness envelop him whole. 

He feels himself tug at his lifeline, watching the world as it distorts before his eyes in the most painful way possible, never sure whether the waking world would be the lesser evil.

When he finally does open his eyes again, he finds himself tucked under a heavy comforter, head rested on an actual fluffy pillow this time.

But the only person he’d like to see right now is nowhere to be found, and as he realises that, his lungs decide to act out and he’s yet again nothing but a coughing machine. 

It must be the middle of the night since it’s still pitch black outside the window, and he doesn’t notice the approaching silhouette until it’s standing right beside him. 

“Drink this.” He notices the yellow light coming from Connor’s temple, which is almost the same colour as the liquid he’s being offered. It doesn’t look appetising whatsoever, not even if he could trust his stomach. But he obeys and does is best to swallow as much of it as his insides can handle.

When he’s done with it, he hands the half-full mug back to the android and panics when he sets to leave from his bed-side.

“Don’t go.”  The nap must have restored some of his energy, for he’s able to grip Connor’s arm. Gavin is burning on the inside while being trapped in a snowstorm, and he’s afraid to be swept away by the pain if there’s no one to around to save him.

“I won’t.”

He doesn’t know if Connor keeps his promise since he drifts off before he has a chance to struggle against the pull of sleep.

The next thing that brings him back from his slideshow of nightmares is fingers tickling one of his cheeks. The breath that he takes as he regains his consciousness already tells him that he’s on his way to recovery.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.” Gavin finds out that there is something more he wishes to see than the light of day, although it’s great to know that he successfully survived the night.

It’s the soft smile on Connor’s face, the two bottomless eyes, and the LED ring shining bright blue.

And maybe now, when it’s so bright and his demons are taking a break, Gavin can allow himself to be utterly, completely honest about his feelings.

Because when they managed to get through the unforgiving darkness of night, there’s no reason why the blissful daylight should break what they were able to build together.

@convinseptember I have only a vague idea of where I was going with this xD

[wildroseofarran]

Pain, Relief, Closure || Kelly, Pete, Fletcher, Q, June, Emmanuel, Peabody, & Bridget

Fletcher: {Text to Peter Graham from Fletcher Goodman} FedEx guy swapped our shit

Pete/June: Pete was caught off guard so much by the name on his screen that he just stared at his phone for a few moments until June poked him.

"Respond!"

"What?"

"This is your chance! Respond, respond!"

"Okay! Jesus."

{Text to Fletcher} All right, I'll be over to get it in a second

{Text to Fletcher} Do I have one of yours?

Fletcher: {Text} Should have a small box of some cleaner I ordered

Fletcher held his breath and dropped his phone face-down. Enough of that. He tried to focus on - what was he doing?

Pete/June: He looked to June, who was reading over his shoulder. "Do we?"

"Maybe? I'll go look in the closet."

Sure enough, Fletcher's box of cleaner was sitting where their shipment of napkins was supposed to be.

{Text} Yeah I got it

{Text} Be across in a sec

Fletcher: Fletcher smoothed his hair, which he had allowed to grow for the last several months, longing for the length of his college years. His beard, finally trimmed, was given a feel as well. His navy blue shirt felt, collar fixed.

This didn't matter. Just shut the fuck up and make the trade.

The box was dropped on the counter. Here, he would wait, stomach contorting into knots.

Pete: Pete shrugged on his jacket and took a deep breath. This shouldn't feel as weird as it did. It wasn't like he was doing anything groundbreaking or foreign. He was just going across the street to get a package. Simple, right?

If only it felt that way.

He crossed the street, balanced the box of cleaner on his arm, and opened the door like he did this every day.

"Hey."

Fletcher: A visibly painful breath escaped as through from the pit of his stomach. No forced smile, but forced composure.

"Hey yourself."

Pete: At least he wasn't the only one who was nervous.

"I believe this belongs to you." He held up the box. "You'd think after all these years he'd learn to look at the shipping labels."

Fletcher: "Yeah, well..." The Samsa swallowed. He didn't know what he had expected from this, but laying eyes on the man he'd avoided for months, to truly see him without the dull sepia of a Samantha, he might as well have been that greasy teenager injured by Marion's lies.

"Here it is." The box was given a pat.

Pete: For Pete's part, this interaction was already surpassing his wildest expectations. He didn't want there to be any hostility between them, however much reason there might be for it to exist.

"And here's yours." He set the box of cleaner down. "Sorry if it took a while, my bartender signed for the delivery this week."

Fletcher: "Kay. So..." Yeah. He would open the box to see for himself. Something, anything for him to tear his eyes away.

Pete: Silence was worse than strained conversation. He had to say something.

"So how've you been? I see you grew your hair out."

Fletcher: "I just... wanted it." Another useless clearing of his throat. "Ya look... good."

Pete: "Suits you." Pete offered a smile. Not a weird one or a forced one or a polite one, just a small, genuine smile. "Thanks. I feel pretty good. Year off to a decent start?"

Fletcher: Might as well rip the bandaid. "Gettin' married. Spring, I think."

Pete: Aaaand there went the genuine part of the smile.

“I heard.”

Fletcher: "Figured ya would."

Pete: “Small town.”

Fletcher: Enough of that. "Thanks for the box." He forced a smile and began to break down the package. He'd keep his eyes to himself.

Pete: "Sure, no problem. Thanks for mine. Oh, um, June told me to tell you that she's inviting you to dinner at her house."

Fletcher: "When?"

Pete: "She said you have a choice between Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday."

Fletcher: "Right. Guess I'll give her a text." Didn't seem right to make Peter the messenger. But now he was left with nothing else to say. He knew the answers. How was he? He was well. His sister was having a baby, and Peter was a family man. Where was MJ? Anywhere but here. But then again...

"How's um..."

Pete: "I'll let her know." June could've texted Fletcher herself, of course, but she hadn't been able to pass up the opportunity to extend this visit for these two men she loved.

Pete gave Fletcher a gently expectant look. "Yeah?"

Fletcher: "...Nah. S'nothin'. Ain't my business. Anyway, thanks." This was what he did. How obvious that he would shrink in on himself. He was out of his element. As though their intimate nights, their lapses in judgment in the back room merely a figment of fantasy, forged on some particularly lonesome evening alone with his thoughts.

Pete: So close, yet so far. A perfect portrait of their entire relationship really.

"All right, well, you know where to find me if you wanna ask." Pete balanced the box of napkins against his arm. "I'll tell June that you'll text her."

Fletcher: "Ya ain't gotta tell her anything."

Pete: His real smile made a soft return. "I know. I still will."

Fletcher: "Ya know why-" The Samsa made a bitten off sound. A protest he couldn't heed. "-why you're here n'not her."

Pete: "I'm surprised I am, but I don't really know why I am beyond you maybe wanting to say hello?"

Fletcher: "Me wantin' t'say hello?"

Pete: "That's the only reason I can think of for why I'm here instead of June."

Fletcher: "It wasn't...me."

Pete: Pete’s brow furrowed. “What wasn’t you?”

Fletcher: "Ya know it was June. You're fuckin' with me."

Pete: Pete looked genuinely confused. “June told the delivery guy to mix up the packages?”

Fletcher: "No, that you're - that you're here t'pick this up n'not her - just forget it."

Pete: “June—did June ask you to text me to come get the package?”

Fletcher: "No, I was stupid."

Pete: “You’re not.”

Fletcher: "Right." Peter would get a wave goodbye.

Pete: “...Okay then. Thanks.” He nodded to Fletcher and headed for the door.

Fletcher: Stupid, stupid, stupid. He had meant to text June. He would swear by it. Yet it had been Peter Graham -- for some fucking reason his name was still in his phone. For some reason it had been that name - and he just couldn't steady his thoughts. His tongue wagged and he was helpless. Reckless.

The box was shoved from the counter the moment the bell jingled its goodbye.

- Two Days Ago -

Kelly: Kelly white-knuckled the bathroom sink and took slow, shaky breaths in and out.

Fuck he shouldn't have come in. He should've stayed home.

The pain that had begun in his hip had radiated outward until every last bone in his body felt like it hurt and for his rotten fucking luck he was tapped out of Vicodin. It would be six weeks before he could get a refill.

Fucking opioid panic.

He had to do something. He needed something or he wasn't going to make it through the next twenty-four hours, much less the next six weeks before he could get his prescription.

Another shaky breath. "Fuck."

He limped his way out of the bathroom and looked around the bar. O'Charlie's was quiet and sketchy and filled with melancholy as usual, but what he needed wasn't there.

"Dwight! I'm taking my dinner break!"

Q: Q passed two rum fireballs to Stacey, waving her off and rolling his shoulders. This wasn't a Pete's Pub kind of night, it seemed. The younger, vibrant crowd wanted to dance, make out in the darker corners, and throw their weight around with burning stomachs as fuel. His kind of night, but he wasn't nineteen with a fake ID anymore. This was a night to get paid.

Kelly: The Brig was close enough that on a good day, Kelly could've walked and been there pretty quickly.

Or on a bad day like today, close enough that he could drive there at break-neck speed without running the risk of the cops catching him speeding.

He didn't quite bust through the door--the limp prevented that--but he zeroed in on the bar and its tender with the single-minded intensity of a man on the brink.

The crowd and the music might as well not have existed; he was only there for the man known as Q.

Kelly approached the quietest end of the bar and waited to catch Q's attention.

Q: Not much of a feat for a man on guard. A smile, creasing the ends of his mouth, slowly diminishing with every step closer to his newest patron. That sexual energy he could read with absolute literacy was nonexistent.

"You look like shit," he greeted. "The hell are you doing here?"

Kelly: He knew he looked like shit. He hadn't been sleeping well for the past month, every single micromovement he made hurt like fuck. It was exhausting being in this much pain.

"I need help," he said slowly. Emphatically. Desperately.

Q: Elbows on the counter. Q leaned forward, studying the man from head to shoulders.

"What kind of pain is it?"

Kelly: "It feels like someone stuffed my body into a trash compactor. Everything hurts."

Q: "Why haven't you been to the emergency room?"

Kelly: "I've done this dance for years and I can't get more Vicodin for weeks now can you help me or not?"

Q: "Vicodin?" He thought for a moment. "I'll get it. Before I leave. How long can you stay?"

Kelly: "Vicodin, oxy, heroin, I don't care, man. I just need something." He looked at his watch. It was a slow-ish night.

"I can stay forty-five minutes."

Q: His phone was already out. "I might have to come to you, but I'm on it." Kelly was still a new face, but he could read honesty when it was staring him in the eyes.

"Hey, what do you wanna drink? On the house."

Kelly: Thank fucking god. He just might make it through the next twenty-four hours after all.

"Triple bourbon, neat. Thanks."

Q: "You got it. Hungry at all? Fried fish tacos tonight. I'll hook you up."

Kelly: "Might as well." It was his dinner break, after all.

He eased himself onto a stool with great effort and silently begged for death.

Q: Firstly, the bourbon. Slid his way after a quick smile and word to Stacey. Kelly was none of her business, and he intended to keep it that way.

Kelly: The bourbon was downed with gratitude. He wasn't in the mood for savoring, he just needed something to take the edge off. This dull pain was so much worse than anything sharp he'd ever experienced.

Sharp pain just killed you. Dull pain made you lose your mind.

Q: Q glanced to his phone for the third time. Still nothing. Tony had to be at work. Shitty, but he'd hear back soon enough. The man was addicted to the screen.

"Want another? I'll drive ya wherever."

Kelly: "One more. Gotta get back to work after this." And he couldn't give the appearance of resuming his shift drunk off his ass, much as he wanted to be.

Q: One more, and a round of beers for a table across the bar, close to the dance floor. Nearly ten minutes and a plate of fish tacos later did his phone finally vibrate.

"Hey, he'll be here in thirty. Either you're late back or I'll come to you."

Kelly: There truly was a god. He might just have to pop into the church to light a candle in homage. "I can be late. We're not busy right now anyway."

Q: "How long have you been like this, man?"

Kelly: “Ran out of pills a few days ago. Been downhill from there.”

Q: "Want something to smoke, too? I got you covered."

Kelly: “I’d have gone down that road already if I could. Lungs are fucked.” Along with every other part of this damn body.

Q: "You have asthma or something?"

Kelly: “Inhaled smoke and hot air during a fire.”

Q: "You look like a million bucks, sweetheart." A soft pat to his shoulder. "Or you will soon."

Kelly: “I’ll settle for looking like a buck fifty if I can get some relief.”

Q: Soon. "How're the tacos?"

Kelly: "Pretty good. Better than I expected actually."

Q: "Better than I expected too," said under his breath. "It's a hit or miss here.”

Kelly: "Didn't think ya'll did food beyond fried things."

Q: "Trust me, we don't. Tried doing caprese salad once. Didn't go over well. We're not in Europe."

Kelly: "This is the wrong crowd for that. This crowd just wants Jaeger shots and bass."

Q: "Not a bad crowd, just different."

Kelly: "Sometimes it's needed." Like today. His night would be extra miserable if he was working at Pete's. He'd have to endure so much more than pain.

Q: A question spurred from somewhere within. One he kept to himself. The first, it seemed, as far as intuition with Kelly. Pocketed for later. This was not Kelly's night.

True to Q's word, a man walked in at the appointed hour. Still in his hardware polo and as tired as Kelly looked.

The man took a seat beside Kelly, smiling politely at his bartender.

"Gimmie somethin' I shouldn't drive home after drinkin'."

"You got it."

"Where is-"

Q gestured vaguely to the man by his side.

Kelly: It seemed like a hundred years passed before his salvation arrived and even in a hardware polo, he looked like a goddamn angel.

"Yeah, me. Help me."

Q: Q left them alone to discuss the details. None of which were his business. He knew his friend to be fair when sober, and his first drink was now.

Kelly: Kelly's request was simple. Probably concerning, but simple.

"I need all of the Vicodin that you have. That's not an exaggeration. You did not hear 'I want a lot of Vicodin'. I meant exactly what I said. If you don't have it, I'll take oxy. I'll take heroin. I'll take crystal fucking meth. Just please, god, give me some relief, my body hurts."

Q: A question asked of anyone with such blatant demand was if this was some kind of suicide attempt. The man was obviously in pain, but his desperation was enough to make a man shift in his seat.

"I'll give you two now, n'I wanna see ya take em." Words muttered under breath before large gulps of dark bitter beer.

Kelly: "Trust me, if I was gonna off myself, I would've done it long before tonight. Unassisted. I'll take the two and thank you for all eternity."

Q: "Hey, man, I get it." He dropped his hand with dead weight onto the counter, explaining how every other finger was held together with steel. A construction job traded for a hardware store with less pay. Such was life. He understood, but he wanted his money.

Kelly: Kelly would all but throw it at him. Probably too much, he hadn't counted it. He'd just grabbed a wad from his stash before he'd left for work, having anticipated ending up doing exactly what he was doing.

Q: Under the counter. A hot fist with two white pills tapped against his knee. Q saw to his duties, smiled when appropriate and once quite inappropriately to a woman in a blue dress and her disapproving male counterpart.

Kelly: He'd never experienced such instant mental relief. And if he had, it had been years.

Kelly swallowed the pills dry and thanked his savior.

- Present -

Fletcher: Fletcher had paced the ugly brown carpet flat. This was stupid. He was stupid. Having expected in any measure for Peter to have sent June had been reckless. His stomach had known what his head and heart couldn't bear. He'd fumbled his words. He'd made things worse. He felt sick.

And all for a man that didn't love him.

A shot glass was the last thing on his mind. Straight from the bottle of honey whiskey.

This was fine. This was the natural order of things. He was getting married. Whenever it was Marion decided to set a date. He didn't fucking know.

He stared into his half-finished bottle. He should have been himself. Take it all back and just go back to a few years ago. There were more important things on his agenda. Had to be something.

June/Kelly: "I think you're coming down with something," June said to Kelly as she put chairs on top of their respective tables. He usually did this, but he didn't look like he could lift a feather right now.

Kelly put away the last of the glasses and tried not to wince. "What makes you say that?"

"Well for one, it's usually you doing this instead of me. For two, you're all pale and sweaty and if I had to guess, you're clammy, too. I think you have a fever."

If only. "M'fine. Gonna take out the trash."

"That's okay, I can--"

Kelly shook his head. "It's fine, I got it."

It wasn't and he didn't, but he'd rather balance the trash bag and his cane than stand there looking like shit and feeling like shit.

Fletcher: Fletcher checked his watch. Still time. The shop sign was flipped closed. Door locked. The back room was thick with the stench of cigarettes. A habit he needed to rid himself. A stench others could all too easily catch.

Away with his shoe. Away with a Samantha out a hidden passageway.

Kelly: “Fucking...opioid...fucking....crisis,” Kelly muttered in between steps, adjusting his grip on the trash bag. “Fucking—do-gooder fucking—drug dealer.”

He braced himself against the dumpster and hissed out a breath. “Since when does a fucking dealer have morals, fuck’s sake.” Man was as bad as the doctor, rationing out his meds. One didn’t want him turning into a junkie and the other thought he was going to OD. Couldn’t catch a fucking break.

Should’ve bought heroin, he thought as he struggled to lift the bag into the dumpster.

He barely got it to shoulder-height before the cloud cover above him moved away and cool, ethereal light filled the alleyway.

“.....oh, fuck....”

Fletcher: Hardly any toes left. Something to keep his mind occupied. The Harrak house; the hospital; the police station; a handful of vampires, to say the least; a dangerous game of hide and seek at his mother's tiny house. One across the street.

His eyes drifted, checking each Samantha.

June/Kelly: "No no no no no, please, please! Not here, no n--AGH!"

 A sharp crack had June's head whipping around. "Kelly? Was that you?"

 "Please, PLEASE--gah!" Another crack, two, three. Kelly's legs buckled beneath him as his bones began the excruciating process of reforming. It hadn't always been this bad. It hadn't always been this hard, this unwelcome.

Now there was only pain.

 "Kelly?!" June headed for the back. "Kelly, is that you? Are you okay?"

Fletcher: Fletcher turned to face the frame covered wall. Behind it was brick, and the street, and the pub. Through the crack in the wall yet to be fixed. A single glance.

{Text to Peter} Pub NOW

June shouldn't have been there. Do-gooder sweetheart, helping a man that probably didn't deserve it. Nature could have run its course if not for this one variable.

The door slammed behind, rattling at its edges.

Pete/June: Pete's stomach twisted into knots the moment he got the notification on his phone.

{Text} What happened? What's wrong?

Fuck. He couldn't just up and leave, Graham was asleep in his lap. But what if something was really wrong?

"Goddammit."

 God, what was that horrible sound? It sounded like branches breaking or something.

Oh shit, what if Kelly's cane had broken somehow and he'd fallen? He could be trying to get back up.

June jogged the rest of the way to the back entrance. The door was still open.

"I'm coming, Kelly," she called, stepping out into the alley. "Are you okay? Are you h--holygod!"

Fletcher: A body slammed hard against the dusty brown brick of the alleyway. Fletcher bounced his shoulder from the wall into a defensive stance. A gruff man to say the least, but nothing as intimidating as the scene before him. Not yet.

"Get back inside, June."

June: June didn't seem to hear him. She was frozen to the spot, eyes wide and horrified as the animal-like mass on the concrete a few yards ahead of her shifted and writhed and made that awful cracking sound.

"I-is--that's...oh, god..."

The mass of cracking bones and torn flesh was Kelly.

Fletcher: The only defense between June and jaws. He couldn't afford to tear his attention away. If he had to intimidate her to safety so be it.

"Get inside, June! NOW!"

June/Kelly: It was hard to tell whether it was the volume of Fletcher's voice or the tone, but either way it had her scrambling back to hide just inside the door.

Her heart was going a mile a minute, breathing quick and growing more panicked with every new crack, every tortured yelp, every godawful wet sound coming from the alley.

 It was like being flayed alive. Any fluidity and ease had long ago been erased, severed when they'd severed him from the moon.

She seemed to mock him now as she forced him to change, as she punished him for their sins.

Scarred skin and fabric gave way to matted, patchy fur. Bones struggled to shift correctly, one leg seemed to atrophy and turn lame as with one last strangled cry, a dire wolf emerged where Kelly had been.

Fletcher: This was never a scenario Fletcher had prepared himself for. A bar fight; a troublesome vampire; for Peter to accidentally change. Kelly had a stench to him. Unmistakable. A viable excuse to maintain surveillance. He wondered now if he had cursed them.

Fletcher hunched his back, shoulders tight but hands loose, ready to snatch a wolf from pounce. He doubted this would end well. Never fucking did with wolves.

"Kelly!" he shouted. "Look at me. Can ya fuckin' hear me?"

June/Kelly: The wolf snarled and snapped its jaws in warning. Its eyes were feral, devoid of any understanding or acknowledgement.

 "Oh my god. Oh my god." June slipped back behind the door and squeezed her eyes shut. This wasn't happening this couldn't be happening things like this didn't happen.

You're dreaming, she told herself, hugging her arms around her middle. You're dreaming this is a dream it's not real, it's not real, it can't be real!

Fletcher: A wolf like this, would he retain this memory? Carried knowledge in the same manner as a Samsa?

The sharp screech from his throat an equal warning. Hunched forward, meeting the creature at eye level. Back bowed and threatening.

June/Kelly: June's eyes flew open. That sound....that wasn't--what was that?

Steeling herself, she dared to peek around the doorframe and immediately had to cover her mouth to keep from screaming. Kelly was gone. The horrible pile of flesh was gone. In its place was--holy god. That was a wolf. That was the biggest fucking wolf she'd ever seen. No no no no, th-that was--was that Kelly? He was--and Fletcher--had that sound come from Fletcher?

The wolf growled again, desperation and its fight or flight response making it take a careful step forward. The wolf wanted out. The wolf wanted the woods, wanted freedom, and Fletcher was standing between it and the way out of the alley.

It crouched and measured the space.

Fletcher: He couldn't let Kelly go. Not this deep into town. Much against his mother's wishes and against his better interest, this had become his purpose.

"Calm the fuck down."

Where the fuck was Peter?

Pete/Kelly/Emmanuel: "What's going on?" Emmanuel whisper yelled to Pete as he took the sleeping bundle that was Graham from his arms. "What happened at the pub? Where's Stella and Ryan?"

"They're at a wedding in Savannah with my parents," Pete whispered back. "I don't know what happened at the pub, I just know it's an emergency and you were on the way." He kissed his nephew's head. God love him for being such a heavy sleeper. "You sure this is okay?"

"Yeah, it's fine, go. I'll look after him."

"Thanks, man, I owe you one."

"Just be careful. And call Brett if it's bad."

"I will."

Pete practically flew back down Emmanuel's walkway to his car and floored it to the pub.

{Text to Fletcher} On my way

{Text to Fletcher} Do I need to call Brett?

 There was no sign of understanding, only more snapping and snarling and slow, deliberate steps forward. Perhaps it was a warning. Perhaps it was careless. Perhaps it was both.

But all Kelly could see through the haze of pain and anger was the freedom just beyond Fletcher.

He leapt forward.

Fletcher: There were too many possibilities Fletcher couldn't allow in his escape. His back bowed, gaining height and the beginnings of chitin on his forearms. As the creature leapt, the Samsa made a grab for whatever he could. He would use his center of gravity to his advantage in an effort to bring the creature onto its side. Enough reasoning at this point.

Kelly: The leap had accounted and calculated for the height of a man; not the height of what that man was becoming before his eyes. It all happened too quickly for the wolf to make out what it was, but it didn't matter.

Balance already off, Kelly was caught by his useless back leg and hit the unforgiving concrete. Hard.

His fight was pure pain response. He scrambled to try to get away from the creature, growling and biting anywhere he could in his attempt to free himself of the threat.

Fletcher: "Fuckin' stay!" This was exactly why he fucking hated dogs. The wolf was yanked by his useless limb and pulled underneath his weight. Forearm to his face, elbow against its snapping muzzle. He'd participated in enough fights with Garou over the years to know how to deal with less than friendly jaws. Less dangerous forcing the mouth wide than trying to keep it closed.

His voice was becoming hoarse, broken by sharp clicks and screeches. "Swear t'fuckin' god, Kelly, I will put ya down if ya don't chill!"

Pete/Kelly/June: Pete couldn't have begun to guess what sort of scene was going to greet him when he arrived at the pub. Fletcher hadn't answered; he was flying blind.

Perhaps that was why he felt so unsettled as he pulled up to a still scene.

He could hear some sort of sound coming from somewhere but couldn't see the source. The lights were still on. Blinds still open. No movement inside. He couldn't tell if that was reassuring.

He got out of his car and unlocked the door as quickly as he could, immediately looking around for June and Kelly. Nothing. The cleaning supplies were still out. Only about three quarters of the chairs rested on top of their respective tables. But no June and Kelly. There was only that sound he'd heard earlier, which was louder now.

It wasn't coming from the main room. It wasn't muffled enough to be coming from upstairs. Could it be coming from backstage or one of the storage rooms? Were June and Kelly there too?

He ducked behind the bar, intending to check on each of the closets and the kitchen when he turned and saw the door to the alley wide open. And hiding just behind the frame, peeking outside, a petite figure he immediately recognized as June.

"June?" he called, startling her into turning around.

The look in her eyes slammed into Pete like a ton of bricks. Even in the low light, he could see how pale she was, how she trembled in fear.

Pete crossed to her in a second, pressing his keys into her hand and ushering her away from whatever untold horror was in the alley. "Take my car and go home, right now!"

"I--"

"NOW!"

 What came out of Kelly's mouth wasn't a growl; it couldn't even be called a howl. There wasn't enough fight in it for that, if there was any fight in him at all.

It was a scream. It was raw, exhausted anguish. The woods were so far away. He couldn't see them anymore, couldn't see anything except a haze of red that he didn't realize was blood. He could only feel pain, could only hear voices. One angry, and one that called, "Fletcher!"

Fletcher: He knew that voice. Recognized the tone and every emotion behind it. That blame which lay in his name better than anything else. He was a disgusting thing doing a disgusting job. His arms were covered in chitin. Fingers filed to sharpened points, where nail and bone and skin became a single entity. Eyes of rich amber glowing through the limited light at the Gurahl. What would be his superior, had he been anything but a Mockery.

"Help me!" he screeched.

Pete: Pete couldn't begin to name the emotions he was feeling. All he saw was Fletcher--in many ways as if the first time--and the giant, thrashing wolf he had pinned beneath him.

He rushed over, careful to avoid claws and jaws. Kelly was making a sound that was making every hair on Pete's body stand on end. "Fletch, come on, let him up. Let him up, you won, he's not fighting you!"

Fletcher: "No shit he's not fightin' me! M'not lettin' a wolf loose on this fuckin' town. I don't care how injured it is!"

Pete: "Then I'll take him with me to the woods! He won't be loose!"

Fletcher: "Move your goddamn hands n'do somethin'!"

Pete/Kelly: "Dammit, Fletcher, let him--fuck."

Pete pulled a pendant from under his shirt as he crouched beside Kelly's head.

His bartender was still making that godawful sound and trying to move from underneath Fletcher's weight, to no avail. Kelly's pain was plainly obvious when he was up and human; now it was nearly unbearable to see.

Sooner or later someone was going to hear and either come looking and call the sheriff, and then they would really have a problem on their hands.

"Kelly. Kelly! I need you to calm down." Pete pulled his necklace up over his head and clasped it in one hand while gingerly attempting to place the other on the wolf's head.

Not an easy task with Kelly just waiting to clamp his jaws down on something.

"I'm gonna make you feel better, okay?" he said as gently as he could. "I'm gonna try. It won't hurt you more, it's just green light. You ever heard of Druids? It's just some of their magic. It'll help, I promise."

He squeezed the pendant tighter, willing its magic forward.

Fletcher: "He can't fuckin' understand ya. I've tried! Don't ya think I've tried?!" But then again, maybe true breeds understood one another. He didn't fucking know. But this was somehow his fucking fault. Where would June be right now had he not bolted across the street? Peter would say she would have been fine. He was sinking into self-doubt and further paranoia.

One more snap at Peter, though, and that muzzle was going to be wrapped.

Pete/Kelly: Fletcher was right; Kelly showed no more signs of understanding Pete than he had of understanding him. At the moment it was hard to say whether that would've been the case in different circumstances, but as things stood, Kelly understood nothing and perceived everything as a threat.

That didn't mean Pete was going to stop trying, however.

"Come on, Kelly, try to think through it. You've gotta try." Pete squeezed the pendant harder. What the hell was taking it so long?! "I've almost got it, Kelly, you're gonna be okay. You're gonna be okay, Kelly. That's your name, remember? Kelly George Rose. You've gotta understand that, you--fucking finally!"

At long last, a soft green light had begun to flow from the pendant. Pete immediately pressed it against the wolf's head, hoping the bit of magic would help calm and relieve him.

"Fletch, you have to let go of his leg. We have no chance of getting him to calm down if you don't."

Fletcher: Fletcher lifted onto one of his now amber elbows. A soft crunch of not-skin against concrete. He'd release the leg, focus almost entirely on snapping jaws and frantic claws.

"Lemme guess. France?"

Pete/Kelly: Pete shook his head, gaze trained on Kelly. "Callum's cousin."

There was a rush of something that could technically be called relief but fell far short of the mark. It wasn't really relief in the sense Pete had been hoping; it was just a bit less pain.

Kelly continued to struggle, more weakly but with the same amount of desperation.

At the very least, the screaming had stopped.

Fletcher: "Where d'ya wanna take him?" Because this alleyway shit had to end. He turned, checking for June. A sound, a scent. On guard while Peter did whatever it was he was doing.

Pete: "The woods. I have more of this magic along the riverbank. The pendant only has so much."

Fletcher: Fletcher closed his eyes. The fight against his nature in order to set himself to rights was painful as always, but an otherwise thoughtless transition.

"Help me get him up."

Pete: Thoughtless on Fletcher's part but definitely not Pete's. When this was over and done with he was going to have to take a second to process everything he was witnessing.

"Not yet. Give it another second." He didn't trust that Kelly wouldn't snap right now. Best to let the magic work a little bit. "Anyone pawn an ATV recently?"

Fletcher: "What? No. He can fit in the back of my Dart." He'd have to, torn upholstery be damned. One more idea. It had been some time since he'd looked, but, "How crowded is the attic?"

Pete: "We won't be able to get to the part of the riverbank we need to in a car. I usually hike out there on foot or walk there in bear form."

Pete's brow furrowed. "The attic? There's no magic in the attic."

Fletcher: "I don't give a fuck about magic right now, Peter. We just need him where humans can't fuckin' see. Make him walk with ya when he's got two semi-functional legs in the mornin'."

Pete: "He won't be seen by anyone if we take him to the woods. He'll be out of sight and he'll get some relief for his pain. He's not just some wolf, Fletch, I see this man every day. He works for me."

Fletcher: "Why does no one in this goddamn town have any fuckin' sense of self-preservation." A hand was thrown about. "Whatever then. Ya deal with it."

Pete: "My self doesn't need to be preserved, his does. What would putting him in the attic do that taking him to the woods wouldn't?"

Fletcher: "Uh, expose him t'fuckin' people."

Pete: "And who exactly is going to see him deep in the woods? There's more risk keeping him here. I'd be truly surprised if someone hasn't already called Brett because a wild animal was screaming in town."

Fletcher: "We're not in the fuckin' woods, Peter."

Pete: "So let's get there! And if you don't want to help me that's fine!" He could call Callum to help him. He'd be able to provide magic and possible transport.

Fletcher: "You're out of your goddamn mind." The wolf - because that's all it was in this form - was lifted in impatient arms. So goddamn ignorant and no sense of safety for himself or those in this town. Absolutely ridiculous. Pentex could have Peter's head tomorrow and it would be his own fucking fault.

But no matter the torture, he was in love with this idiot bear. If he breached the veil for anyone, it seemed, it would be in the name of half-love.

"Let's fuckin' go then."

Pete/Kelly: The wolf wasn't exactly going to go easily. Just like in his human form, any amount of movement at all sent waves of pain and discomfort all throughout his body. This amount of magic had been intended to help Pete sleep or meditate, not offer relief to a horribly injured direwolf. The most it could do was offer a calming effect.

"Since when is helping a friend being out of my mind? The goddamn woods are the safest place for him and for everyone else. He's out of sight to them, and they are to him."

Pete tried to keep the pendant pressed to Kelly's head as best he could as they started for the woods. Tried being the operative word. There was still a lot of snarling and struggling and there would no doubt be more as the magic ran out.

They just needed to get inside the tree line. They needed to get at least that far.

Fletcher: "We gotta go through fuckin' buildings, train track, homes, Peter. Homes. I don't know how this ain't gettin' through t'ya. Ya hang out with that druid way too fuckin' much."

Pete: "The hell are we, ghosts? We're not going through anything. Vampires didn't take over this place for the flurry of activity. It's nearly three a.m., there's no one out in the back streets to see what's happening."

Fletcher: "They didn't make this place an Elysium by marchin' a fuckin' werewolf through the goddamn streets just 'cause 78% of people are asleep."

Pete: "No, they did it by covering shit up which is exactly what we're doing."

Not a single major street would be taken if Pete had anything to do with it. Back streets and alleys only. Not a single streetlamp would be walked under. He wanted to take the most lowkey route possible while also doing it as quickly as possible.

Not an easy feat, but then Edenton wasn't terribly large.

Fletcher: "I'm so grateful you're such an expert now. Really, it brings me peace of mind that all my upbringing and knowledge is a goddamn lie."

Pete: Pete tried his best not to give Fletcher a snippy reply back. It would be far too easy to fall into an argument just for its own sake and they had a very pressing issue to deal with.

"Really, with the sarcasm? You telling me vampires aren't like the goddamn mob? I'm not trying to make your life hard, Fletcher, I'm trying to help Kelly."

Fletcher: "The sake of one over many." He was angry in the moment. Flabbergasted at the situation he'd allowed Peter to place them in. Pissed beyond measure that Kelly thought he could work under such condition. The man was gonna get a fair right hook in the proper moment.

"You're..." A glance at the moon. "Is it a tattoo? That necklace? Why ain't ya changed, too?"

Pete: "The many are tucked away at home right now and they're not my concern. My concern is my friend and if that really steams your clams that goddamn badly, I'll look after Kelly on my own!"

The green glow seemed dimmer. The magic was running out. Or maybe it was his own paranoia making it seem that way.

"Callum's cousin helped me. I couldn't change tonight, I'm looking after Graham."

Fletcher: "Ya do that enough you're gonna break yourself. But whatever." That was becoming the theme for everything tonight. He knew truths, but whatever. Feelings outweighed facts apparently.

Until it didn't, and a door just yards away opened with a slam. Less than a second and Fletcher was on his knees, armful or wolf and eyes caught in moonlight.

Pete: "Is there anything you're not gonna fucking jump down my throat about tonight? This is the first time I've ever done it and it'll most likely be the last. My nine year-old nephew was my only fucking reason."

He could've kept going, but the sound of that door made every drop of blood in his body run cold.

Fuckfuckfuck they needed a shadow any shadow please god don't let them look in our direction--

Fletcher: "Just don't move," he whispered. "You're fine, Peter."

Pete: Forget moving, Pete barely breathed. He motioned for Fletcher to be quiet; even that whisper sounded way too loud.

It had been a back door opening. He heard shuffling footsteps, a clinking sound followed a dull thud.

He finally let himself relax when the door slammed shut a few moments later. "Who the fuck takes out the trash at three in the morning?" he hissed, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

"We're not gonna make it before the amulet runs out, we need Cal."

Fletcher: Fletcher's face could best be described as deadpan, seeing as he was the point attempting to reassure Peter. Seeing as he was the one carrying two arms' worth of unnerved wolf.

"Gee. Sure sounds like we shoulda stayed fuckin' put. Sounds like it's gonna be a crowd of us in the middle of bumfuck and exposed. Sounds like ya shoulda listened t'me."

Pete: "Absolutely not, we're not staying exposed, we're still going to the woods. I need magic to calm Kelly. And by all means, Fletcher, set him down and wash your hands of this if you want to." He pulled up Callum's name and dialed.

"You need to hear you were right? Fine, you were right and I was wrong. You know best and I should've listened to you."

Fletcher: "If only I believed anything ya ever said t'me, it might actually make me feel better."

Pete: "God, Fletcher, what do you want from me?!" Pete whisper yelled. "I am trying to do right by Kelly. Maybe it's not the best way and maybe I'm being a reckless, naive idiot but dammit I have to try! The woods are safe, he needs to be safe!"

Fletcher: "Ya ask me now?!" Plenty willing to have a whisper fight right there and then.

Carefully, he returned to his feet. "Move t'that bit a'trees. I'll scout."

Pete: "Might as well since in your infinite wisdom I can't do anything right! Jesus god, why won't he pick up?" He'd been sent to voicemail. Callum was either dead asleep or away from his phone. He dialed again.

"You can't scout with an armful of wolf, give him here." Pete propped his phone between his ear and shoulder and held out his arms for Kelly.

Fletcher: "S'three in the mornin'. His husband probably turned his phone off." Something he'd been known to do when Callum needed sleep. Something Fletcher wasn't about to reveal in its entirety.

The wolf was handed over. Almost instantly did he disappear among the shadow and branches. Off with his shoe. The one with a reasonable toe to spare.

"Don't say a fuckin' word," he hissed. The distinct and nauseating crack of bones. The tear of flesh far too easy than it should seem. Two abnormally large roaches flew away with impressive speed.

Pete: Pete took the wolf as gently as he could, careful not to jostle him too much. And although there was some protest and half-hearted struggling, Kelly remained relatively calm.

However little magic there was, it was having the intended effect.

"Your toes are really the least of my concern right now, Fletcher." Still no answer from Callum.

Pete sighed.

Fletcher: "Just sit a moment. No use wastin' energy." His eyes, still reflective in certain angles, had taken a faraway glaze.

"Where ya keep the blue roses?"

Pete: Pete didn't bother wondering how Fletcher knew about the roses he'd planted. At this point, he simply assumed Fletcher knew about everything that happened in Edenton.

"Along a secluded part of the riverbank. Off any paths."

Fletcher: A simple nod, eyes forward. Peter would have to wait through the flinches and stuttered breaths, watching a mind in multiple places simultaneously.

Pete: “It’s about a two-mile hike from Callum’s house. There’s a big rock nearby.”

Fletcher: "I know," he muttered.

Pete: “Right. Of course you do.”

Fletcher: "What's that mean?" Not a lot of fight left in his voice.

Pete: “That you know everything.”

Fletcher: "I don't."

Pete: “Probably more than anyone else in town.” His voice was quiet, void of any accusation.

Fletcher: "S'all I do. People think I'm crazy but m'just not... m'just not."

Pete: “People think everyone’s crazy.”

Fletcher: "Yeah, s'easy t'dismiss when you're not me."

Pete: “I don’t mean to dismiss it.”

Fletcher: "I bet ya don't mean a lot of things."

Pete: Pete heaved a long sigh. “They find the roses?”

Fletcher: "Almost there. Not lil Ferraris."

Pete: “Just asking.”

Pete looked down at his armful of Kelly. His eyes were closed but he wasn’t asleep. His breathing was too labored to be restful.

And the light was definitely dimmer now.

Fletcher: The path was clear. Fletcher felt at the tree and forced himself upright.

"Follow behind me, alright? Walk where I walk."

Pete: He nodded and carefully adjusted his grip on Kelly.

"Lead the way."

Fletcher: He needed something to fill the silence. "Did ya ever trust me, Peter?"

Pete: "I trust you now, Fletcher."

Fletcher: "How can ya say that n'we're walkin' this way?"

Pete: "I wouldn't be here if I didn't trust you. I'd be home still, with Graham."

Fletcher: "What was trust?"

Pete: "Dropping everything and leaving my nephew with Emmanuel in the middle of the night because you texted me that something was wrong."

Fletcher: Fletcher fell into silence, chewing a wound into his lip as they continued along the path to Peter's sanctuary. The declaration of love to a leech. What a sad, pathetic life he lived.

"Do your thing. I'll... keep watch."

Pete: Pete had never been more relieved to see a blue rose in his life.

The moment he stepped into the serenity garden, more of that soft green light began to emanate from each of the roses, covering the immediate area in a soothing haze.

He lowered Kelly to the ground as delicately as possible, giving extra consideration given to the injured leg.

As for Kelly, he was too exhausted to put up much of any kind of struggle. The Druid magic couldn't quite take away all the pain, but it was lulling him into a half-asleep state.

And now that Kelly was calm and still, the extent of the damage to his body was plain to see. He looked like he'd been put through a meat grinder and left to heal poorly.

Fletcher: Fletcher looked back over his shoulder. "What kinda Garou can't heal proper? The fuck ya think happened t'him?"

Pete: "I couldn't even begin to guess," Pete sighed, settling beside Kelly's head. "He's a vet."

Fletcher: "That don't - I dunno, man. Seen wolves heal from some crazy shit. Ya felt his leg? Some unnatural shit in there."

Pete: "Could a vampire have done damage like this? Made it so he wouldn't be able to heal?"

Fletcher: "Maybe a witch. Maybe somethin' like ya. Y'all supposed t'be the manipulators of health or some shit."

Pete: "Whatever it was, they were either really pissed or really powerful. Or both."

He put his pendant back on and tucked it away again. "Stronger ones of me probably. I'm just a bear."

Fletcher: "Ya ain't ever been 'just' anything."

Pete: "Guess not. My first transformation made that clear."

Fletcher: "I shoulda smelled it on ya."

Pete: “I was a late bloomer, weak bloodline.” He shrugged.

Fletcher: "You've only dipped your toes in."

Pete: “Not much of a puddle to dip them into. What I know about being a bear I learned from my mentor.”

Fletcher: "I mean all of it. Bein' 'round Callum ain't the whole of it."

Pete: "What else am I gonna do? I come from a river guardian tribe. I guard the river and hang out with Callum on full moons."

Fletcher: "More than that, Peter. There's... so much ya don't know." You have no idea how much I worry.

Pete: “I don’t doubt that. But since I have no mentor who is like me, I make up for it by just living my life and transforming quietly and looking after the river. It’s all I can do. It’s what I’ve got to work with.”

Fletcher: "Is that what ya want? T'just... be like that?"

Pete: “I never asked to be this, Fletcher. I was human my entire life until I got sick one random day and transformed a few days later. I just want the life that I built.”

Fletcher: "Wow, ya never asked for it. Amazin'. None of us ask t'be born, Peter. Ya either adapt or ya don't."

Pete: “Well it may not seem so to you, but I think I’ve adapted pretty damn well for not having transformed until I’d been alive for over three decades.”

Fletcher: "Ya ain't been caught yet, 'cept by vampires, n'me, n'maybe a hunter."

Pete: "I was never going hide it from you, or from the vampires. Comes with the territory."

Fletcher: "What territory is that? They'll kill ya as sooner look at ya."

Pete: "The territory of living in Edenton. Even if I prevented my transformation every single full moon for the rest of my life, I can't hide it. My aura's changed. My scent has changed."

Fletcher: "Ya can stay away from em. You're not me. You're not strong enough. If Guildias' boss told him t'kill ya, he would. Ya just..."

Pete: "My life is here, Fletcher. And I've kept that life as quiet and private as I can to stay off the Prince's radar. I'm doing the best I can."

Fletcher: Fletcher could only sigh, at a loss for words that would not result in an argument or further heartbreak. Best to just turn his back and watch their path.

Pete: Fletcher didn't have to say anything more; that sigh spoke volumes. It said his best wasn't good enough, that he wasn't good enough. It said he was doing everything wrong. It said he was naive and idealistic and overemotional and irrational.

So...everything he'd gotten used to hearing about himself.

He laid his hand on Kelly's head and asked god to help them all.

Fletcher: Shouldn't that have been said for himself? Fletcher would have corrected several mistakes in that line of thought had he said them. Just a further widening gap between those unforgettable few weeks they would never share again. The further from those days, the more Fletcher convinced himself they were just a dream.

"How's he doin'?"

Pete: “I think he’s mostly okay.” Pete gave Kelly a good once over. “His breathing seems a little labored. Leg’s twitching.” He leaned in close to listen. “And he’s whining with every exhale. Probably still in a lot of pain.”

Fletcher: "Could steal somethin' from the vet's office." A partial joke with no accompanied laugh.

Pete: Pete snorted. “Vet’s offices keep morphine?”

Fletcher: "Gotta be a dog equivalent."

Pete: "He's on medication. Maybe that'll be enough once he turns back. Unless you want to risk breaking into the vet's office."

Fletcher: "I mean, we're already breakin' rules." But he took a breath. "I might have somethin'."

Pete: "Is whatever it is safe for giant wolves?"

Fletcher: "Are ya bear in all things when you're a bear?"

Pete: "Right down to scratching my back against a tree."

Fletcher: "So ya think it would hurt ya t'take some oxy?"

Pete: “I don’t know, probably. Animal systems aren’t equipped to handle heavy meds.”

Fletcher: It was all relatively new. He knew of other breeds because he had been forced for one reason or another to kill them.

For the good of his species and the security of this town.

"Stayin' here til dawn?"

Pete: Pete nodded. “Yeah. I’ll help him home when he transforms back.”

Fletcher: Fletcher solidified his stance. Arms folded like a hug.

"Alright."

Pete: “It’s okay if you don’t stay, you don’t have to. Kelly’s my responsibility.”

Fletcher: "You're mine."

Pete: “I’m here every full moon, Fletcher,” he said softly. “I’ll be okay, promise. You have a life and I don’t want to keep you from it.”

Pete: “I’m here every full moon, Fletcher,” he said softly. “I’ll be okay, promise. You have a life and I don’t want to keep you from it.”

Fletcher: "...So am I." All Peter had to go on with that faraway tone was Fletcher's back and impossibly tight shoulders.

Pete: Years of knowing about Fletcher's vigilance and somehow reminders of it still surprised him, even if it was brief. Of course Fletcher watched him on full moons. Fletcher watched everything.

Better to quit arguing and focus on Kelly. Maybe he'd text Gaetan and ask about the injuries.

Fletcher: Every day with Peter was a foot-in-mouth situation. Best to let the silence stretch between them. The whispers against his ears were making him miserable anyway.

"Fuck off," he tried to hiss. Whomever was vying for his attention tonight was particularly insistent.

Pete: Pete frowned and turned toward Fletcher's back. Who was he talking to? Was someone coming toward them?

"Is everything all right?"

Fletcher: "S'fi - S'fine." Composure. Not another argument. He was tired.

After a moment, Fletcher turned his shoulder in Peter's direction. He doubted he would remember their night together, the rain, the power outage, the embarrassment caused by the blackout. But, "Ya ever... hear anything in the dark?"

Pete: Fletcher needn't have doubted; Pete remembered every moment of the time they'd had together.

"I didn't used to, but I do now, sometimes."

Fletcher: "Anyone ever tell ya what it is?"

Pete: He nodded. "Yep, my mentor. Said it was the Veil."

Fletcher: "Dead fuckin' people?"

Pete: "Not dead. The in between."

Fletcher: "Whatever that is." He flicked at his ear, as though swiping at a fly.

Pete: "The way it was explained to me, it's the space between life and death. The spirit world where ghosts and ideas and dreams happen. That's where the voices come from."

Fletcher: "It can fuck right off," he muttered.

Pete: Pete pulled his phone from his pocket and checked the battery. There was a decent amount left.

He turned on the flashlight and set it down on a nearby rock.

Fletcher: Fletcher turned at the click of the light. Confusion tangled with caution in those gray eyes as he approached the illuminated sanctuary. He would crouch quietly, akin to the very creature they protected.

Pete: "Light helps right?" Pete asked softly. "I remember, from before."

Fletcher: "Yeah... Helps." For some indescribable reason, a verbal thank you felt like too much to give.

Pete: He nodded and offered Fletcher a smile.

"Did you know Druids can borrow light and play with it?"

Fletcher: "Heard somethin', but just sounded like a fairy tale." He'd seen things from Callum, more his cousin, but nothing he cared to disclose.

Pete: "Callum told me that he and his cousins used to make soccer balls out of light. His cousin Bronwyn still does it with her son."

Fletcher: "I..." know her. He chewed his lip. Stomach churned. "...be glad when this is over." Not what he meant to say, but the bottom line was he felt sick to his goddamn stomach near Peter.

"I just don't get this luna shit."

Pete: Pete looked up at the sky. He could just make out the moon through the canopy. "I really don't either. It's strange being controlled by something you can't touch. Something so far away."

Fletcher: "I mean, gravity," he scoffed. "Sunburn. Insanity. Love n'hate."

Pete: He hummed. "You can feel all those things all the time. You're always aware of them. The moon is just a space rock every single day of its cycle except for one, and on that one day..."

He shook his head. "It's just its position relative to us and the sun. It's math."

Fletcher: Fletcher shook his head, but then shrugged. "I mean, if that blows your mind, I'm a fuckin' cockroach. You're a goddamn bear. Callum is married t'a vampire that can explode into ash. It all means somethin' we can't see. The moon ain't just the moon. Magic n'shit."

Pete: "The second you think nothing can surprise you anymore, something does. And it's not even just magic shit, it's normal shit too. How can you be a were-roach and I be a were-bear when we've only explored five percent of the ocean? None of it makes any sense."

Fletcher: "I mean, that's "we" as ya know it. Someone probably has. Only surprise I've had the past few years have been you."

Pete: “That makes two of us. Well, three. Callum was really damn surprised too.”

Fletcher: "Oh. Yeah. The bear shit. Yeah, that's surprisin'."

Pete: Pete wanted to ask Fletcher what he'd thought Pete had meant but refrained.

He was quiet for a moment. "Do you think someone not-human has explored the ocean?"

Fletcher: "Oh, yeah," he repeated. "Heard some things. Really interestin' things."

Pete: "Any you can share to pass the time?"

Fletcher: Deep breath. "'Bout a guy, his father is... a bloodsucker. N'he lives in the ocean."

Pete: Pete blinked. "He lives in the ocean? How--well I guess he doesn't need to breathe."

Fletcher: "N'he don't gotta look like us."

Pete: "Yeah. Man, that's crazy to think about. Does he ever come out or does he just feed on fish or?"

Fletcher: "Couldn't hear too well. Think he only comes up like once in a - like a century or somethin'."

Pete: "That's....actually kind of terrifying. I'm just imagining some deep-sea creature-looking vampire emerging from the depths."

Fletcher: "Somethin' like that... was here, once. When we were little."

Pete: "He's not still here, is he? Creeping around just out of reach of the sunlight?"

Fletcher: "I don't think it was a bloodsucker. Mama wouldn't tell me."

Pete: “Something bad or just not human?”

Fletcher: "Definitely not human. The way she described it in her book was like... somethin' ya'd see in the deep."

Pete: “So terrifying, probably with transparent skin and creepy eyes and razor sharp teeth.”

Fletcher: "Loose things." He indicated to his throat, arms.

Pete: Pete shuddered. “Scarier things than any of us are at the bottom of the ocean.”

Fletcher: "N'sometimes they get out. Remember... I guess not."

Pete: “Remember what?”

Fletcher: "That week I wasn't in school. I'd spent the night with Tristan Seger, and then bounced."

Pete: “Oh yeah, I do remember that.” He remembered being jealous and upset that Fletcher would go over to Tristan’s house but not his.

“Did something come to town that week that freaked your mom out?”

Fletcher: Another one of those things he wouldn't know. "Somethin' like that. She took me huntin'."

Pete: “Normal hunting or humans killing non-humans hunting?”

Fletcher: "Non-human killin' non-human."

Pete: “Well then. Must’ve been life or death if she took you away for a whole week.”

Fletcher: "Think she just wanted t'teach me." Much more important to her than being a student in some school for humans. With valid reason.

Pete: "Well, you missed Nicholas Maurey wetting himself during reading time."

Fletcher: "Wow. I missed so much." He managed a smile.

Pete: "At that age, that was the hugest thing to ever happen. Still remember the principal stepping over the puddle."

Fletcher: "Did he ever live that down," he mused.

Pete: "Mitch Borden teases him to this day. But Mitch never matured so."

Fletcher: "Did ya... really notice? When I wasn't there."

Pete: Pete nodded. "Yeah. I did."

Fletcher: I hate how much I love you.

"Ya n - mm." He shook his head.

"I'll keep an eye on him, if ya wanna rest your eyes."

Pete: "I'll be fine," he said with a shake of his head. "Used to pulling full moon all nighters, remember?"

Fletcher: "I know what ya can do, n'I'm offerin' anyways."

Pete: "I appreciate it. Truly. I don't think my brain would let me rest."

Fletcher: Another span of silence, then, slowly turning away from the light, though remaining in its protection.

Pete: Pete alternated between staring off into space and staring at Kelly's scars. The cane his bartender had been sporting lately made perfect sense.

This wasn't just a limp, that leg looked atrophied.

"The hell happened to you, Kelly?" he asked the air.

Fletcher: Fletcher stared into space, wondering why it was he constantly threw himself into these situations. Why was it he protected this town, besides self-preservation, had to be more significant than Peter Graham.

"What happens t'all Fera? Battle."

Pete: "Seems like he never fully recovered from that one." He couldn't help but wonder what had caused this kind of damage. What had prevented Kelly from healing the way a Fera should.

He fell silent for another few long moments. Then, "One of us should talk to June."

Fletcher: "I will," said without hesitation. "But I don't think she'll wanna."

Pete: "I think she will. June makes sense of things by talking them out, alone or with someone. And she can't talk this one out alone."

Fletcher: "Nah, she's got a sense of survival."

Pete: “She was still by the door when I arrived. She didn’t run, I had to make her.”

Fletcher: "Some freeze, some frenzy, some just haul ass."

Pete: “Well, looks like she’s a freezer. Now that is. The old her probably would’ve lost her mind.”

Fletcher: "Maybe. Maybe she'll call someone n'this place'll be crawlin' with Pentex."

Pete: "This is the same woman who's kept promises she made in kindergarten. If she talks about it at all, it'll only be to one of us."

Fletcher: "Maybe should be both of us."

Pete: "Maybe. Might help her understand better."

Fletcher: "When are ya gonna tell your family?"

Pete: "I'm not."

Fletcher: "I don't get that."

Pete: "Stella's about to have a baby, my dad's nearly recovered from his accident, he and my mom are still going to therapy. They don't need to know the world the thought they lived in is a lie."

Fletcher: "Luke already knows shit."

Pete: "He hasn't told anyone either."

Fletcher: "Y'all need a damn heart-t'-heart. That shit'll separate y'all eventually."

Pete: "Or it'll tear us apart if I rip the fabric of their reality in two. Enough damage has been done to my family already."

Fletcher: "Not Luke. Ya trust me, remember? It won't break him."

Pete: "He's already broken. Every time I see him he looks more and more wasted away."

Fletcher: "He'll be alright. People are workin' t'fix him."

Pete: "He doesn't need supernatural shit on top of everything he's dealing with."

Fletcher: Deep breath. "Man, that whole separation shit's already good n'happened."

Pete: "You mean his boyfriend being murdered?"

Fletcher: "I mean the two of ya. Believe me. I know what keepin' secrets does t'relationships."

Pete: "If I know he knows, then he already knows that I know."

Fletcher: "For sayin' ya trust me, ya sure don't act like it."

Pete: "What am I gonna say that'll be any help to him, Fletch? Hey Luke, I know you're horribly, horribly depressed but to make your day, let's talk about how our pregnant sister and our parents are surrounded by vampires."

Fletcher: "More like, fuckin, 'Hey, brother, this shit ya know? ya ain't alone. I would really appreciate your company n'I want ya t'know ya can come t'me 'bout your wraith boyfriend.'"

Pete: "His what? His boyfriend is haunting him?"

Fletcher: Fletcher simply stared.

Pete: "So you watch him too every weekend. And his best friend."

Fletcher: "For twenty years. Every fuckin' vampire, hunter, breed. Every fuckin' fairy n'every goddamn witch I can find."

Pete: "How do you walk, Fletcher? Your toes are everywhere."

Fletcher: "Had t'learn. Could be worse."

Pete: "Worse than having to dedicate brain power and appendages to watching Gertrude's Elysium for two decades?"

Fletcher: "N'as reward people call me fuckin' crazy n'an asshole. A know-it-all n'paranoid." Not all was incorrect, but whatever.

Pete: "You're not. You just know too much about too many things." You must be exhausted all the time.

Fletcher: "Pentex is just next door. An ugly beige outer space buildin' in every state. Got one outside Raleigh. Works with the military. Ain't no such thing as knowin' too much."

Pete: "Knowing too much has a nasty habit of getting people killed."

Fletcher: "Why ya think I watch everyone?"

Pete: "To stay alive."

Fletcher: "N'everyone else I give a shit about."

Pete: "Talk to June. She won't tell a single soul anything."

Fletcher: "Talk t'Luke. Ya can lean on him. He needs t'lean on ya."

Pete: "I'll talk to him about it when he gets here on Thursday. This isn't a phone conversation."

Fletcher: "No, it ain't."

Pete: "Tomorrow's June's day off and she plans to stay home all day. Bring a pizza and talk to her."

Fletcher: Fletcher looked over his shoulder, stared at the wolf, stared off into space. Stared at the sky with that familiar lost gaze, and shrugged to himself.

"I shouldn't have left ya."

Pete: Pete was still gently petting Kelly's head, offering whatever comfort he could even if Kelly wasn't aware or couldn't feel it.

"It is what it is, Fletch," he said softly. "I don't hold it against you."

Fletcher: "Of all the times t'fuckin' slack."

Pete: "Don't beat yourself up. You couldn't have known."

Fletcher: "But I knew he was fucked."

Pete: "She didn't get her way. I'm okay. It's not your fault, Fletcher."

Fletcher: It was obvious, even in such dim lighting of the full moon, that words waited on the tip of Fletcher's tongue. Words that he knew would be meaningless.

So he shrugged again.

"Marion wants t'move t'the city."

Pete: Of course she did. Why the hell wouldn't she.

"Gonna do it?" he asked, quieter than he intended.

Fletcher: "Not really my speed, but... I'd blend in with the other crazies."

Pete: He nodded, because what else could he do.

"What about your building?"

Fletcher: "I dunno. Dunno if we will. S'just somethin' she's in my ear about."

Pete: Another nod. "Have you ever thought about it? Living in a city?"

Fletcher: "Ya know I did. Before. N'ya didn't want me to."

Pete: "No, I didn't. Wanted you to be able to be where your life and mom and home are." Where I was.

Fletcher: "Yeah..." What more could he say? "Ya know why I wanted t'leave."

Pete: "Yeah. And I was the one who ended up leaving."

Fletcher: Fletcher shrugged. Stared at the exhausted wolf.

"Ya were never with me t'begin with. What I miss?"

Pete: "Stole a few weeks before it all went to hell. The only thing I regret is hurting you."

Fletcher: "Stole," he scoffed. Nails dug into the back of his hand. His humorless laugh was broken by a "Fuck you."

Pete: "I stole them," he said to the ground. "You didn't. You did nothing to deserve what I put you through. I hurt you, and I'll be sorry for it all my life."

Fletcher: "How'd ya use me?" If this was going to be the subject, let's have it.

Pete: "You've been beating yourself up for leaving me with Victoria but I'm the one who went out that window. You deserve so much better than me. I wasn't brave enough when we were younger and I wasn't brave enough then. You deserve someone who's brave enough. You've been watching this town for two full decades, you've gotten yourself into hot water more than once to protect it and protect the people you care about. You're in hot water now with me and Kelly and you're still here when you can tell me to go fuck myself and deal with this on my own."

Fletcher: "Peter..." He had wanted an apology, but hearing any semblance of regret now felt empty. A goodbye. Just that black void in his gut he couldn't fill and never had.

"Ya could take a knife t'me right now n'I'd let ya. Told ya when ya jumped in the water ya... only did it 'cause he wasn't here. I knew." Hands rose and fell. "Ya can't be blamed."

Pete: "Yeah, I can. I can because I made choices and those choices hurt you. I deserved every bit of what happened in the woods that night. And if you had come along and decided to get a few hits in, I would've deserved that, too. I wouldn't have stopped you then and I wouldn't now. You've had to put up with so much of my bullshit and I am so goddamn sorry, Fletcher. You're not the asshole, you never were. It's always been me. And after all you've had to deal with, the only thing I want is for you to be happy. Genuinely and truly happy. Because jesus god, you've earned it."

Fletcher: A visceral heat burned its way from that void to his fingertips. A blissfully empty mind fueled on instinct. Slowly Fletcher reached for him, intent on curling rough fingers around Peter's throat.

Pete: Pete was too focused on Kelly and too caught up in his thoughts to react in time to stop Fletcher.

He braced for a hit; he expected one. He'd all but given Fletcher permission.

Fletcher: Not a strike of brute force. Only a squeeze of powerful fingers against important arteries. The command of his nearness with a simple flex of his arm. He was warm. He was Peter, as always. Being a bear didn't change much.

"Don't ever say that again. Don't ever let anyone lay a hand on ya... like that. Not ever."

Pete: There was a small, quiet part deep in Pete's mind that completely believed he deserved what Victoria had intended to do to him, and this was the first time it had ever been voiced aloud. At the very least, he deserved MJ's anger. He deserved Fletcher's, too.

And everything in his face reflected that sentiment.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

Fletcher: "What d'ya have t'be sorry for?" he whispered. "I got t'taste what it was like. Your mouth. Your skin. Your you. I got that. S'mine. It hurts, but everything does."

Pete: "I'm sorry that it hurts. I'm sorry that that's all I ever do to you. I want to make it better but I don't know how."

Fletcher: "Ya can't. Ya can't... be with me." Though it destroyed his spirit to finally say it. "I'll say anything hateful so it don't kill me, 'cause I know ya can't. M'not him."

Pete: Everything Pete wanted to say would only hurt them more. He wished Fletcher had come over to his house for a sleepover instead of Tristan's. He wished Fletcher had been the one to give him his first kiss under the bleachers. He wished he'd gone right up to Fletcher and asked him to prom.

So many things. None of which could be changed, all of which were painful enough to bring tears to his eyes.

"I've said so many awful shitty things to you and I didn't mean a single one. That's what I did so it wouldn't kill me. I need you to know that, even if it's too little too late."

Fletcher: "Well, s'what we do. Ain't it? What I said t'ya months ago. What I said for twenty years. What m'sayin' right now." And despite everything he'd just said, he pulled Peter that much closer. Dangerously close. Less than a mistake would crush their mouths.

Pete: Pete had made that mistake once and hurt the man he'd loved for two thirds of his life. To do so again would put him beyond all redemption.

"I know it can't be with me, but I want you to be so happy. That I did mean. You deserve it so much."

Fletcher: "It coulda been, though. N'it always will be you, Peter."

Pete: He closed his eyes. "I'm sorry for that, too. If there's another me and another you in another universe, I hope he's more worthy of you than I am."

Fletcher: "What's that bloodsucker got that I ain't got?"

Pete: “I wish I knew. I wish I understood why.”

Fletcher: "When ya figure it out," he released his throat, "lemme know, so I can be a better man."

Pete: Pete gave Fletcher a sad smile. “You’re a good man, Fletcher. A far better man than I could ever hope to be. Don’t ever let anyone tell you different.”

Fletcher: "Shut up with that shit."

Pete: “I mean it. Ask June.”

Fletcher: "Ya are good."

Pete: “I’ll take your word for it.”

Fletcher: "Trust me, right?"

Pete: Another small, sad smile. “Yeah, I do.”

Fletcher: "You're the best thing I've ever met."

Pete: It took every ounce of strength he possessed to take even breaths and not break down sobbing.

He would absolutely never deserve Fletcher Goodman.

“I hope I can spend the rest of my life proving you even half right.”

Fletcher: "Ya can start by listenin' t'me next time some shit goes down. Deal?"

Pete: Pete nodded. “Deal.”

Fletcher: Fingers softly brushed against Peter's chin, and fell into his lap.

"Should keep hatin' ya in public. Ya know, reputation."

Pete: “No one would blame you. People around here care a lot about reputation.”

Fletcher: "A man is his reputation. S'why I got nothin' t'lose."

Pete: “Well, you kinda do. Emmanuel Gaia’s daughter thinks you’re secretly a pirate. So as long as you don’t disprove that you should be good.”

Fletcher: "How the hell sh - the pawn shop."

Pete: A true smile and a nod. “Gold coins are all the proof she needed.”

Fletcher: "Mm. Gold coins..."

Pete: “Everyone knows only pirates have those. Her words.”

Fletcher: "They mean more t'me now, ya know."

Pete: He nodded. “Yep. Never gonna look at one the same way.”

Fletcher: "If I gave ya anything," he smiled, wrinkles plaguing his face.

Pete: “You sure did. Gold coins, donuts. All in a new light.”

Fletcher: A growl escaped the Samsa before he could catch it. He turned back to Kelly to save face. He couldn't talk about those memories without warming his body.

Kelly: The growl stirred Kelly from his half-asleep state. Not enough to put him on high alert, just enough for him to lift his head for a moment before unceremoniously plopping it on Pete’s lap.

Fletcher: Fletcher leaned closer with his stirring. A primal reminder of his current rank amongst the three of them. A mockery of breeds, but the alpha of this mishmash nonetheless.

Thin amber antennae sprouted from his scalp. Began to feel with gentle taps at Kelly's body.

Kelly: Just beneath the calm, it would be very obvious that Kelly’s body was in distress.

His heartbeat and breathing had slowed but remained erratic. His muscles were tense. Touching the area near his leg, however softly, would elicit a whine and a whimper.

Fletcher: "Hush." His antennae were the equivalent of tiny feathers. He felt and studied and judged the mangled body.

"We're gonna carry him t'the hospital at sunrise. Say ya found him on the floor at work, passed out."

Pete: “Okay,” he said with a nod. “It’s probably for the best, he’s in no shape to just go home, even before tonight. He’s been getting worse and worse all month.”

Fletcher: "Ya didn't say anything?"

Pete: “I tried. He either ignored me or bit my head off just enough to make me back off but not enough to get himself fired. I wouldn’t have fired him but he doesn’t know that.”

Fletcher: "Well," he turned back to him, "welcome t'the family. I'm in charge."

The antennae began to recede.

Pete: “I’m his emergency contact, you know. When I hired him I asked him if he was sure he didn’t wanna make it a relative or a friend and he just stared at me.”

Fletcher: Kelly's memory was still in question. Whether he would remember the abomination preventing his escape. Either way, he was a liability.

"Maybe they did it. Not our problem. He ain't goin' anywhere."

Pete: “Nowhere but the hospital.” He began petting Kelly’s head again. “Makes me sad that if something happens to him, his boss is the only person that’ll know. One of his bosses.”

Fletcher: "Not much Charlie could do."

Pete: “Probably why he made it me, not to toot my own horn. Could’ve chosen Dwight I guess.”

Fletcher: "Ya smell like animal."

Pete: Pete nodded. “Giving me the edge over Dwight.”

Fletcher: Fletcher turned to rest his head on the opposite of Peter's lap.

Pete: That was just fine by Pete. A small moment of peace for them all was exactly what was needed.

Fletcher: "M'watchin' everything. Ya really can rest your eyes, Peter."

Pete: It felt like his eyes got itchy and grainy the moment Fletcher told him to rest them.

"Feel like we should build a fire."

Fletcher: "Build a fire?"

Pete: "For light and heat."

Fletcher: "He'll be fine. Ya can have my jacket."

Pete: "I'm okay. He just seems so frail." It was strange calling a giant friggin' wolf frail, but oh well.

Fletcher: A noncommittal noise was all he would receive. He couldn't say how he felt, except that this man had been reckless.

Pete: Pete wouldn't have disagreed. How had Kelly ended up transforming in the alley? Surely he must've know what day it was. Had he forgotten somehow? Had he used something to prevent his turning that had failed on him?

There was no way of knowing. Not right now at least.

Fletcher: Fletcher remained vigilant, despite his position. This was Peter's life, which meant more to him than the wolf sharing his lap. No sense in checking his watch when Kelly was their alarm. He would only stir when the first rays of morning poured over dark fur.

Pete/Kelly: Much as he wanted to keep watch over Kelly, Pete was just too tired. It hadn't been a particularly taxing day but the night was something else altogether. He was emotionally and spiritually exhausted.

At some point he began to doze where he sat, head occasionally lolling to the side in the brief moments where sleep won, only for him to jolt awake again.

Kelly didn't fare much better. He never fully fell asleep; just continued to drift in his the magically-induced relaxed state.

The moment the moon lost her hold on him, however, he too would startle awake as the first loud, excruciating cracks signaled his return to his human form.

Fletcher: The first crack forced Fletcher into a crouched position, wide awake and diligently on guard, waiting for whatever reaction, no matter the severity, to put this man in his place should he decide to lash out on his only protector.

Pete/Kelly: Pete wasn't quite so awake or quite so on guard, but he did try to comfort Kelly as much as he could as the cries of pain started up again.

The magic of the flowers simply wasn't enough. It was meant to soothe and comfort; only an actual Druid could've offered Kelly any significant relief but Pete wasn't entirely certain a Druid could even help right now.

Kelly rolled off of Pete's lap in an attempt to curl in on himself as his bones reformed. Fur receded, his form elongated, and slowly the howls of pain became more and more human. They became ragged, tortured sobs. Every movement hurt and with good reason.

Kelly had transformed back fully clothed, but what skin was visible was covered in horrible, nasty bruises.

Fletcher: He recognized that pain as though he could remember his deaths. Stolen memory, but unadulterated resonation.

Slowly, he approached his side. Movement quite feral. Now, they were in the recovery phase. It was time to assess.

"Kelly. Look at me."

Pete/Kelly: Bleary eyes attempted to meet Fletcher's, only vaguely aware of his surroundings. He could smell that he was in the woods and he could hear the rush of water from the river but beyond that Kelly was completely disoriented.

And then there was the matter of the bruises, which had concern plastered all over Pete's exhausted face.

They were everywhere. Shouldn't they only be in places where Fletcher had hit him or where Kelly had made contact with something? His fingers were bruised for god's sake.

"Fletcher, something's not right. Have you ever seen someone change back like this?"

Fletcher: "I see em," he sighed. "Go get his keys n'bring his truck this way. I'll ride with him in the back." Gently, Fletcher shimmied his arms underneath Kelly's weight. He expected more whining, given his current state. Maybe even a snap of that human jaw his direction.

"Go on now, Peter."

Pete/Kelly: Gentle wasn’t gently enough. Kelly had yet to form any kind of coherent word but the moment he was jostled Fletcher would be treated to more ragged cries. Even trying to struggle sent waves of sharp pain absolutely everywhere.

Meanwhile, Pete did as Fletcher asked and pulled some adrenaline out of somewhere so he could run back to the pub as quickly as his legs could take him.

Fletcher: "I hear ya," was his version of soothing. Kelly was brought to his chest and adjusted. "Gonna lift in three, two..." and up. Now was not the time to chide. He'd be talking to himself, he assumed. The man was too far gone in his agony. He couldn't be blamed for deaf ears.

Kelly: Kelly didn't have the presence of mind to even swear. He just screamed.

At least, in his mind he was screaming. In reality it was just more of the same; cries and grunts and whimpers.

He didn't really hear what the man was saying but he was aware of him. There was even a glimmer of recognition somewhere in his mind. Or was there? ....Yes. Maybe....yes? He knew who this was....right...? Right? Ri.....

Kelly's head fell back. He'd lost consciousness.

Fletcher: Fletcher walked to the nearest bit of road, where he assumed Peter would show. Just shy of the clearing, waiting by a tree for the first sign of his partner in rescue.

And with his arrival, he would motion with his elbow to the door. Kelly was traded off long enough to settle in. Still the crack of dawn, they had time to make this without being noticed.

Pete: Those gladiator workouts were finally coming in handy for more than just staying in shape.

Pete had gone back to the pub at a full run, letting that second wind do its job and propel him forward. It also helped that he didn't have a giant ass wolf to carry or any prying eyes to hide from. It was too early for anyone to be awake anyway.

He got back in record time, making quick work of retrieving Kelly's keys and cane and anything else he'd brought with him. The place was still only half shut down since Kelly and June hadn't finished closing up but that was a problem for his future self.

Back he went towards the woods, taking advantage of the early hour and driving at breakneck speed. It felt like he was racing the goddamn the sun but really he was racing every person in Edenton.

Thankfully he spotted Fletcher quickly.

"God, he feels so much heavier now," he said as he took Kelly. "I don't think we're going to be able to get away with just saying we found him."

Fletcher: "June can corroborate seein' him last n'lookin' like dog shit. S'either we take him, 'cause we are not the hands t'fix him, or you're knockin' on a druid's door at five in the mornin'. S'your call, Peter."

Pete/Kelly: Pete shook his head. "I'd ask Cal but I think this is way outside his wheelhouse. I guess if they ask we can--"

Kelly came to with a start, cutting Pete off and violently coughing up what was unmistakably blood.

Fuck.

"Fuck, okay, we gotta go. Got him?"

Fletcher: Kelly was held loosely, enough for him to move about and cough as he needed to.

"I got him. Drive." He took a breath. "Callum might be low grade, but his cousin ain't."

Pete: "It's four in New Orleans," he called as he got back in the driver's seat, not even thinking to question Fletcher's suggestion. "She can take a crack at him later, he needs medical attention but quick."

Once more taking advantage of the empty road, Pete floored it to the emergency room.

Fletcher: "That suddenly matters?" Seemed Peter was still... young. That was to be expected. Callum wasn't about to tell him everything, best friend or not.

"Easy does it, man. Don't breathe deep."

Pete/Kelly: It probably didn't in a situation like this, but Bronwyn had a kid and Pete was loath to force her to scramble like he had with Graham earlier.

Besides, there was no guarantee she'd be able to help Kelly. At least not to the extent the hospital could.

Kelly couldn't have breathed deeply if he'd wanted to, and being jostled around by his own crappy truck and crappy suspension system didn't help. If it wasn't the coughing, it was the shocks of pain after every single movement as they drove. It wasn't long before he was unconscious again.

Fletcher: Fletcher knew nothing of meditation that an ex and a best friend hadn't attempted. Considerable willpower was spent in remaining in that back bed as the truck pulled left down the long driveway to the hospital.

He could do it, he thought. Disintegrate into an intrusion of American cockroaches, scatter little by little until one remained, inconspicuous.

One steady breath. Another. Another. The simple act of remaining ached from the inside out.

Pete: Pete hoped to god that the fact that it was five in the morning meant that the emergency room would be empty as the roads. Empty and loaded with nurses.

He parked at the curb, cutting the engine and leaping out in one fluid motion.

"Okay okay, we're here." He hopped into the back. "We need--are you okay? Are you having a panic attack?"

Fletcher: Fletcher managed his best glare. The torch of mangled Garou was passed to Peter's arms.

"What are ya gonna say?"

Pete: Even though Kelly was unconscious, Pete still handled him as carefully as possible. "I'm gonna say I found him in the alley outside the pub. He looks like someone beat the hell out of him and I'm not gonna offer any theories to the contrary. Come on, let's take him inside."

He studied Fletcher for a moment. "Or would you rather wait with him while I get a nurse?"

Fletcher: His skin was burning. Palms slick with sweat. Not a smell Peter needed up his nose.

"Brett's gonna show up 'cause of this. Ya only called me t'help ya. That's it. Got it? Go get a nurse."

Pete: Pete nodded. He wouldn't push or insist or pry. If Fletcher was uncomfortable or simply didn't want to be anywhere near this, Pete wouldn't make him.

"Okay. Wait here. Once they take him inside you can slip away." He gently set Kelly down and hopped off the truck bed, running inside and shouting for help.

Fletcher: He couldn't leave. For Peter's sake. He remained by Kelly's side and wished he was religious enough to pray to anything capable of sparing him from exposure.

Pete/Peabody/Bridget: The first person Pete saw when he burst into the ER was Bridget, Peabody's girlfriend, and standing beside her was the man himself. It was Peabody who spoke first.

"What is it, what's wrong?" he asked, immediately going from relaxed to cop mode.

"It's Kelly Rose. I've got him out in the truck. He's hurt bad, he's all bruised and coughing up blood, I think he was attacked."

Pete didn't get a chance to finish speaking before Bridget was calling for whichever one of her colleagues was closest to get the doctor and a gurney.

Fletcher: Fletcher waited with Kelly's head in his lap, keeping his airways absolutely clear. He didn't know much about anything medical. Never a need for it. His assistance was pretty much what he'd seen from film.

The sight of Deputy Peabody straightened his spine.

"He passed out on the way here," he muttered.

Peabody/Bridget: Fletcher wouldn’t have to wait long. Bridget and the other staff came through the automatic doors like bats out of hell just moments after Pete had gone in. Peabody came as well, giving Fletcher a nod of acknowledgement and greeting as he opened the tailgate so the nurses could get to Kelly.

They immediately began checking vitals and attaching equipment, alternately telling each other readings and giving instructions to each other for getting Kelly out of the truck and onto the gurney.

While they worked Peabody turned to Fletcher. “The hell happened? Pete said he was attacked?”

Fletcher: Fletcher watched with his chin down, eyes to himself. This wasn't his rodeo. If he could be nothing more than an inanimate object...

To all but Peabody. He was his whole world for the next five minutes.

"Dunno. Peter banged on my door. He's a big motherfucker. Couldn't get him up on his own."

Pete/Peabody: Peabody looked back to Kelly's prone form and couldn't help grimacing at the sight of all the bruises. "Yeah, he is. Too big for one person to do that to him. Probably a group."

There was blood on Kelly's face and facial hair and down his front and far as Peabody could tell, that was all the blood there was. Surprising considering the state the poor bastard was in.

He didn't have time to ask more questions before he was asked for help in getting Kelly onto the gurney, along with Pete who had finally come out of the ER.

Fletcher: Fletcher exchanged a look with Peter when he could. As though the sight was too much to bear, he turned his back to the scene and wiped at his mouth with both hands. Not alarming or alien or stomach churning. The less his face was seen, the less he would be remembered.

Pete/Peabody: Pete offered what he hoped was a reassuring smile. Fletcher's discomfort was practically rolling off of him; it didn't take a lot to see how much he wanted to get out of there.

They managed to get Kelly off the truck without tossing him around too much, but that little bit of movement was enough to make him come around in a flurry of coughs and cries.

The nurses were trying to offer both care and comfort as they finally wheeled him inside, leaving Pete, Peabody, and Fletcher outside.

Peabody was the first to talk. "My shift's about to end but we need to get a report going on this. Can you stick around, Pete? Since you found him?"

Pete nodded. "Yeah, no problem. Fletch, you wanna drive Kelly's truck to his house?" And get out of Dodge?

Fletcher: Eyes darted between the two men. I see what you're doing.

"D'ya need his truck, Peabody? Otherwise I'll... do that."

Pete/Peabody: "Was he in the truck when you found him?"

Pete shook his head. "No, he was by the dumpster. Truck was parked in the lot, just easier to bring him here in it."

The deputy nodded. "All right, should be fine then. Go ahead and take it."

Fletcher: "Not gonna CSI: Vegas his truck or somethin'?"

Peabody: "Even if we had the resources for that, we'll have better luck with Kelly himself. Parker will probably look around the alley though."

Fletcher: "Right." He held his hand out to Peter. "Keys, then." Whatever it was Peabody was about to do, whatever this investigation would lead to, he wanted no part of it. Putting aside the fact that Kelly's wallet was still intact. An attack without greed as the motivation made everything stickier. He was still trying to wrap his head around a Fera that could keep his clothes on during the transformation. That was more his artificial species. So those wheels were busy turning.

Pete: Pete handed Fletcher Kelly's keys and with them, the opportunity to escape Peabody's probing questions. And Brett's too, when he finally arrived.

"I guess you can put the keys in his mailbox when you get there. Or under the mat or something. I can go get them later and keep them for him until he goes back home."

Fletcher: "Could just leave it in the parking lot, right? I can walk home."

Pete: He nodded. "Yeah, yeah, that should be fine. Gives Parker a chance to take a look at it if he wants to."

Fletcher: So, reluctantly, the keys were handed back. "Ya know...where t'find me."

Pete: "Yep. Sure you wanna walk?" It's been a long night.

Fletcher: "Yep. Yep, I'll see y'all."

The best goodbye he was going to give, waving a behind as he headed back to the road.

[aquaticspiralstaircase]

NEGATIVE SPACE

warnings: amputation, death, descriptions of body horror, unreality

i wrote this for a writing contest but it didn’t win so here...the fruits of my labor

*-*-*-*

EIGHT.

I saw an angel today.

It was perched on top of the abandoned temple, where the Moroni statue normally stands. Most likely, I wouldn’t have noticed it at all if it weren’t for the shifting, glowing shapes behind it; whether they were meant to be wings or halos, I’m not sure, but they would stretch out every couple of seconds as though it were about to take flight before the edges would round out into a perfect circle again. The glow caught on a steady trickle of some dark substance dripping from underneath its generously decorated golden crown, where its circle of eyes around its face all bore deep into my chest, as though passing final judgement on my soul. It had ten arms, some gripping the platform tightly to steady itself and others stretched out wide, palms pointed towards the sky as if it bore the weight of the heavens.

Of course, I know it wasn’t really an angel. It’s supposed to almost look like one, but they say it’s really a demon masquerading poorly as one to garner attention from humans. Apparently, if you see it on a night exactly like this without giving it an offering, it drags you down the stairs to the basement eight days later, and you’re never seen again. Some say it kills you, others say it’s a fate worse than death.

I think it’s a load of crap.

SEVEN.

My town isn’t very well kept. There’s plenty of abandoned lots and buildings that make perfect settings for urban legends. What else are kids supposed to do around here? All we have for miles is a dying mall and a movie theater. Might as well make up stupid ghost stories to get your friends riled up. When I was in junior high, I was dared to sleep in a supposedly haunted house for the night, and I just got attacked by a stray dog. Of course, I fed into the fear even more and told my friends my injuries were from the ghost. That’s just what you do around here.

You can imagine that’s why I want to leave; twenty-eight years in this tiny town with absolutely nothing to do can get to you. With my minimum wage jobs and no college degree, though, it’s hard to get the money to move anywhere exciting. I’ll probably be stuck here forever.

SIX.

I’ve seen the angel twice more since the first night. Every time I walk home from work I pass the abandoned temple, and it’s always been there. Yesterday I could see the glow through the grimy stained glass, and today the locked doors had been torn off their hinges entirely; it just stood there in the entryway, staring at me the same way it had the first night.

The story of the temple, however tasteless it is, holds a lot more water than most of the stories I grew up with. So much of it is based on real events that I remember with perfect clarity. I didn’t grow up religious, but my friend’s mother used to volunteer at that temple, so one day when my father still hadn’t come home, I tagged along. It was a hot morning; I thought the smell as I stepped in was just some leftover buffet that hadn’t been cleaned up and took a seat as close to the open doors as I could.

My friend and I had been sitting there for about ten minutes before we heard the scream. Her mother discovered it--the eight bodies barricaded in the basement, each missing one arm. All but one of the people that had disappeared over the span of a couple months rotted there for about three days before they were discovered.

Eight funerals, no culprit.

They say the killer was performing some kind of ritual to summon a demon that grants your wish if you offer it a part of you in return. Apparently, it took great offense to the killer offering it the arms of others to grant his own wishes, and stole his body as punishment. Now it’s taken residence in the church, trying to find humans to worship it. Fitting that it’s in a temple, I guess.

FIVE.

I haven’t told anyone about the angel. I don’t have the time to be worried about it; I’m working two jobs already, all I have the energy to do in my downtime is sleep, not get freaked out about some stupid urban legend.

Surely, there’s a logical reason I’m seeing the angel. I’d love to say it’s an elaborate prank, but it seems far too perfectly executed to be the work of some bored kids in this small town. How would they manage to get the costume to look so convincing? Besides, it would be a really sick prank to pull on me of all people. Everyone knows that.

FOUR.

I’m starting to think I need to see a therapist. I can at least acknowledge that I’ve never been good at processing my emotions--it’s just easier to bottle something up and set it aside. Maybe that’s why I’m seeing the angel. I’m sure since it’s so close to the 15th anniversary of my father’s disappearance, my brain is coming up with grotesque ways to force me to acknowledge my grief. That’s how that works, right? That’s why I’m seeing things.

I pestered one of my coworkers to walk home with me tonight. I’m sure I wasn’t as subtle as I wanted to be, but at least she humored me.

The angel was close to the fence this time. It was gangly and bony, and the extra arms were all clumsily stitched on and half rotten. Its face was completely unrecognizable, the ash-gray flesh pulled taught over its skull and soaked in that black substance flowing from underneath its crown. Its eyes stared directly at me with a kind of monstrous intensity I couldn’t bear to stomach.

Then, for the first time, it opened its disgusting mouth and spoke. It said my name. Not my real name, the one I’ve been legally known as for the past ten years, but the one my father gave me.

As I shrieked and stumbled back, my coworker stared right through it. She held onto my arm and asked me what was wrong, and I barely managed to scrape together enough composure to say I thought I saw some stray animal and pull her along. I don’t think she believed me.

THREE.

I avoided the temple tonight. I know it’s not real, but I thought if I avoided seeing it, I would feel more at ease. I can’t shake this terrible feeling, though--if I didn’t see it at the temple, how do I know it’s there?

Of course, that sounds stupid. It’s always been there. I’m not even sure it can leave, according to the legend--but of course, what does the legend matter if it’s just in my head? I keep picturing it around each corner I turn, waiting for me at the end of each dark hallway, ready to pounce whenever I open a door.

Some part of me wants to run back to the temple and confirm it’s still there behind the fence, not lurking in the shadows of my apartment. I’m not going to let myself give into the fear, though. I can’t let it get the best of me.

TWO.

I gave up. Today was my day off, so I was never obligated to leave the safety of my apartment. Still, the fear gripped me, dragging me down to the temple to confirm the worst.

There was nothing there when I arrived, as far as I could tell. At first, this terrified me--if it wasn’t there, it could be absolutely anywhere, right? The only comfort I could take was the realization that I had only ever seen it at night. The reasonable thing to do would be to go home and force myself to forget about it, but instead, I sat outside the fence for several achingly long hours, just waiting for a glimpse of its glowing halo somewhere inside.

Nothing. No sight of it, even well after the last glow of daylight had dipped below the horizon. I rushed home and hid under my blankets until morning.

ONE.

My father had been gone for three days prior to the discovery of the murders. However, his body was never found among the eight corpses in the temple’s basement. He always used to say how badly he wanted to see the rest of the world; he would homeschool me while we traveled, and we would always be home as long as we were together. If only we had the money to do it, he’d say. Money was the only thing stopping us.

It sounded perfect at the time. Just me and my dad, no loud classmates and overwhelming homework. I’d learn from the real world, just as he said. As I grew older without his influence, though, I started to leave that dream behind, just as my dad left me.

Still, even if I’m not traveling the world on a whim, I could never shake the need to get as far away from this town as possible. Get away from his memory.

The angel was outside my apartment tonight. Perched on a nearby tree to see into my window, it stared deeply at me, right into the tear in my soul. I could see in its hard gaze that it knew me, unlike any other person had. All in an instant, just at the blink of an eye, it could see my all my pain, my misery, my joy, my hopes--everything that made me who I am. I stared right back at it as I swung the window open, holding up a metal bat threateningly.

“I can give you what you want.” It groaned at me. Its voice was harsh but airy, its throat dried out and no longer meant for speech, and yet there was a tone of familiarity to it that only made my stomach churn. Still, it insisted on speaking, leaning in closer to speak my old name again.

I told it that’s not who I am anymore, and it only laughed before spreading out its glowing wings. “Who you are now and who you were before are of no concern to me. Make your choice soon, or none of it will matter at all.” It said before taking off. I watched it launch itself into the sky, but I lost sight of it almost instantly.

Instead, I set my sights on something else.

ZERO.

It wasn’t a hard choice to make, now that I saw everything in front of me clearly. I did put together a bag of clothes and food, but as I was walking through my front door, I threw the bag off my shoulders and let it land hard in the middle of the floor. There was only one thing I would need, I realized. Nothing else mattered--none of it ever mattered.

I stopped at work to buy it. A flash of worry spread across my manager’s face as I held the wooden handle firmly in my hands, telling him I wouldn’t be coming to work tomorrow--or ever again, in fact. I ignored his prying questions as I left the store for the final time.

It wasn’t easy getting past the fence to the temple, but when I finally stepped foot into the abandoned building, I felt a surge of dizzying energy around me. Everything was distant, even my own hands gripping the handle were miles away. The specks of dust that gently floated through the air were white noise on a television, the telltale sign of an absolute nothing, the manifestation of a lack of existence. The filler in our space between one place in time to the next. My life was just that; filler, nothing but biding my time from the last time I ever saw him until now.

That didn’t mean none of it mattered, of course. The deliberate call to attention to nothing in stark contrast to the presence of something can be absolutely vital. The negative space around a portrait provides context and depth to the thing your eye is ultimately drawn to. For the angel to laugh in my face as I declared who I am, dismiss the total nothing of my life, was an insult that cut deeper than it knew.

The cut went right through me. One minute it was there, and the next, blood flowed freely to the floor, pooling around my feet and sending me into a spinning haze. My axe clattered to the floor and I pressed my hand to the wound, where my arm used to be. The angel’s face split into a pleased grin while it accepted my offering. As it spoke my old name for the final time, I weakly retrieved my axe, heaving each painful breath and swaying as I stood upright.

“My name is Ramiel.” I spat through gritted teeth. “And I want your crown.”

The angel’s smile was gone in a second. “My crown?” It asked, lacing its fingers together thoughtfully. “Is it wealth you’re after?”

I stared into its numerous eyes wordlessly.

After a long few minutes of contemplation, the angel lifted the crown off its head. The black substance dripped unresisted down its face, mixing into my blood until we were surrounded by a sea of darkness. The crown was heavy as it carefully placed it upon my head, and as it took a step back to admire me proudly, it gave me a content smile. “You remind me of him,” it sighed fondly. With every ounce of strength I had left, I raised my axe high in the air.

“One more thing.” I said, relishing the way its eyes widened at me. “I want you to regret what I became.”

As I buried my axe into its skull, darkness sprayed everywhere until I was thrust into true nothing. A long, furious shriek pierced through my heart, blood spilling from my chest as I fell to my knees. My back burned white hot like the light that filled the endless void around me. The wings had taken their rightful place behind me, flapping wildly in defiance until slowly forming into a halo. I dragged myself up the stairs from the basement, existence slowly returning to me with each heavy step.

I took my perch on top of the temple, newfound power coursing through my veins. The static of my meaningless existence had ended. I occupied a new space, directly at the center of the world.

[codetrainwreck]

Britannian History Lessons

I have no idea who translated these. They were extras with the season one DVDs.

The Origin of Britannia Part 1

Lelouch: So here's the first session. Suzaku: You haven't changed, Lelouch. I don't think people will understand what this session is for. Lelouch: I don't need those who don't understand. You can only learn if you're prepared to learn! Suzaku: I'm not sure about those Zero-influenced lines... Oh, but you were always easily influenced as a child. You used to imitate superheroes. Lelouch: Stop talking about something so long ago! Suzaku: But aren't we talking about history today? We have to talk about long ago. Lelouch: Urgh... being a smart aleck? I'm leaving. Suzaku: Sorry, so sorry. I'm ready to learn, Professor Lelouch. Lelouch: Good. Then tell me. Do you know when Britannia was formed? Suzaku: Of course. This year is 2017 of the Imperial Calendar, so it was 2017 years ago. Lelouch: Wrong. Suzaku: What? But the Imperial Calendar — "a.t.b." means "Ascension Throne Britannia," meaning "the year Britannia assumed the throne," right? Lelouch: It seems you did your homework. I'm impressed. Suzaku: It's common knowledge. Besides, I was tested during the Honorary Britannian appointment. Lelouch: Then, the grounds of the ascension? Suzaku: Um... I think it was triggered when Julius Caesar tried to invade... Lelouch: That's right. And one of the Celtic tribal kings who resisted is said to be the ancestor of the Britannian Royal Family. He gained freedom from Rome and was coronated — although it was more like becoming a chieftan — that year is the first year of the Imperial Calendar. Now, what's the name of this king? Suzaku: Um......... I give up. Lelouch: Hey, Suzaku! You don't have this simple information!? It's on the next test! Suzaku: Well, I was busy, so... Lelouch: Then look it up by the next time we meet. Got it?

The Origin of Britannia Part 2

Lelouch: So Suzaku, I'm assuming you did your homework. Suzaku: Of course, Lelouch. Here. Lelouch: Alwin I, eh? Yes, you're correct. You pass! Suzaku: But people won't understand what we're talking about just from this! Lelouch: I, Lelouch, order you. If you want to know, buy the first volume of the DVD! Suzaku: You're so easily influenced. Anyway... Alwin I is known to be the ancestor of the Britannian Royal Family. He gained freedom from Rome and became the first chieftan, and that year is the year Britannia was formed. I'm right, aren't I? Lelouch: For now, yes. Then can you tell me who was the Emperor of Rome at the time? Suzaku: ... I give up. Lelouch: It was Augustus. Remember that. Now, this Alwin I is only a figure from a legend and there is no proof that he existed. The history of the Empire, the "Britannia Chronology," indicates that he really existed, but this chronology was created when the Holy Empire of Britannia was founded. So when they founded the empire is when they stuck on the legacy of the Royal Family's blood as an afterthought to assure their ascension. It's common in kingship and imperialism. Suzaku: So when am I supposed to recognize when Britannia was founded? Lelouch: I guess you can regard Britannia's beginnings to be when the descendents of the Tudor family line who went to the New World ended and the Duke of Britannia started the imperial regime. The Imperial Calendar was established then too. It extended back in history and set the first year as a thousand and a couple hundred years ago. Suzaku: I see. Lelouch: Now, do you know when that year was? And who was the emperor who was coronated? Suzaku: Imperial Calendar 1813. The Emperor was Ricardo van Britannia I. Lelouch: Correct. It looks like you studied hard. Suzaku: Yeah. Cecile helped me too. Lelouch: Cecile? Who's that? Suzaku: My superior of the department I'm in. Lelouch: A woman, eh? You're good at debauching as always. Suzaku: Debauch... that's not true! Lelouch: You were always good at getting older women to like you. Suzaku: I'm not doing it on purpose! Besides, why are you bringing up the past like that? Lelouch: Huh? You said it first. That we're discussing "history." Suzaku: Urgh...

The Virgin Queen Elizabeth

Milly: What are you two doing? Suzaku: Oh, hello. I'm learing Britannian history from Lelouch. Milly: I see. But if it's history, you should ask me. You know that my character's description is "has a great knowledge in history and will cooly observe the changing world with Zero's presence." Lelouch: That description is way old. There's no hint of it anywhere. Milly: Oh, Lelouch. You are so cheeky. Don't you agree? Suzaku: Uh, um... I can't say much there (sweat). Milly: Oh well. Even without that in my description, I'm good at history. The Ashford family has nobility in its line, after all. Lelouch: Formerly, you mean. Milly: Oh, shush. Whose fault do you think that is? Lelouch: Urgh... (sweating heavily). Well, anyway. It's a good opportunity to ask the president if you have any questions, Suzaku. Suzaku: Let's see... then can you tell me about the era of absolute monarchism — about the Elizabeth I from the Tudor dynasty? She's called the Virgin Queen, but isn't it weird that she has a chld? Milly: That names comes from the fact that she was single for her whole life. There's her famous line, "I have already joined myself in marriage to a husband — my country." Suzaku: But she has a kid. Was it Henry IX? Milly: Yes. Bluntly speaking, it was an illegitimate child. Elizabeth I didn't marry, but she had many lovers. The Earl of Leicester, Earl of Essex and the Duke of Britannia are among the possible fathers. She switched between lovers all of her life. I'm a little jealous. Lelouch: So she was an Amazon. Like someone we know. Milly: What was that, Lelouch? What are you trying to say? Suzaku: I think he meant that you are similar to Elizabeth I. Lelouch: Hey, Suzaku, shut up! You idiot! Milly: I see. By the way, Vice President, did you finish the documents I asked for? Lelouch: No, I've been busy lately... I'll have it done by tomorrow's deadline. Milly: I changed my mind. I want it now. Lelouch: That's high-handed, President! Milly: Call me Queen!

Sakuradite and the Age of Exploration

Suzaku: Unh... Shirley: What's wrong, Suzaku? Are you constipated? Suzaku: Yeah, I feel so bloated... Hey, what are you making me say, Shirley? Shirley: Hee hee. I've been hanging around the President too long. But I'm surprised that you could kid around like that. Suzaku: Lelouch trains me well, doesn't he? Shirley: You guys are really close... I'm so jealous. So, why were you groaning? Suzaku: This. "In (a)'s 'Description of the World,' he describes a country known as Jipang, meaning Japan, and that it is a golden island. But it is foolish to think that this country was rich in gold; rather, it was rich in (b). At the time in Europe, research that was inspired by (c) led to the discovery of an energy source but there was not enough of it, and this hindered the progress. (a)'s 'Discovery of the World' moved the people to explore the world and eventually led to the discovery of the former United States, currently the conquered territory of Britannia." Shirley: Let's see... "Fill in the blanks. If you can." What is this? Why does this worksheet sound so condescending? Suzaku: Lelouch made it. All of his worksheets are like this. Shirley: Oh, Lulu... (laugh) So the answer to "a" is "Marco Polo," b is "Sakuradite," and c is "alchemy." Suzaku: Wow, you're good in history! Shirley: No, I'm ot. But I'm good with minerals and geosciences. My father is a geologist. He works in the bureau and he goes around investigating geological conditions. Suzaku: I see... Shirley: But this worksheet really shows Lulu's personality. Suzaku: Yeah, but I wish... it would show a little more love. Shirley: What are you talking about? It shows a ton of love! Lulu would never do this for anyone he didn't care for. I'm really jealous now. Suzaku: Why don't you tell him that you like him? Shirley: Well... huh!? How do you know that I... Suzaku: It's actually quite obvious. I think the only one who doesn't know is Lelouch. Shirley: I'll tell him myself eventually! So please don't tell him. Promise? Suzaku: Of course. Shirley: Thanks!

The Rebellion of Washington

Lelouch: ~~ ♪ C.C.: You're in an awfully good mood. Humming, eh? Lelouch: !! Oh, I didn't know you were there, C.C. C.C.: Why are you so flustered? ... Huh? What's that? Lelouch: It's none of your buisness. C.C.: Let's see... "Write the reason why the Rebellion of Washington in the Colonies ended in failure in 1770 a.t.b. in 1,200 words." Is this homework? But it's odd that you're making the worksheet... Lelouch: It's for Suzaku. Just go away! C.C.: The Rebellion of Washington... that was a long time ago. It's easy. It's because Ben betrayed the Continental Congress. Lelouch: Ben? C.C.: Oh, sorry, I mean Benjamin Franklin. Lelouch: Why can't you just call him the Earl of Franklin? Yes, it's true that Franklin went to France to ask Louis XVI to support their independence and failed. But that's not the main reason they lost, is it? C.C.: Well, Louis was willing to help. But when Ben went to France, he met the Duke of Britannia. And he was offered a title and some land in the Colonies, and fell for it. Ben is the type who prefers research to war... he was a kind man. No, too kind. If Ben had asked Louis for support, Louis would've given them an army and the Continental Army wouldn't have lost in Yorktown. And George — I mean, Washington — wouldn't have died and America wouldn't have become territorialized. Lelouch: The Duke of Britannia was involved!? That's not in any of the history materials! C.C.: But it's the truth. Lelouch: ... You talk as if you saw it happen. Could you have possibly...!? C.C.: I'm C.C. I know everything. For example, I can name the song you were just humming. Lelouch: !!!!! C.C.: Was it from 8 years ago? The special effects fighting show that aired on Sunday mornings in Japan. Lelouch: Okay! I got it! Shut up! Sheesh, you're such a... C.C.: You're still naive, Lelouch. You can't beat me in a thousand years. Lelouch: Do you mean figuratively? C.C.: Hee hee. Who knows?

The Humiliation at Edinburgh Lelouch: Good. Good. Damn. Good. Suzaku: Lelouch, can you stop correcting my worksheet out loud? Lelouch: No. Suzaku: Why not!? Lelouch: It's fun watching your reaction when you get something wrong. Suzaku: Lelouch, you're a sadist. Lelouch: Okay, 85%. You did pretty good. Suzaku: Because I have a good teacher. Lelouch: Hmph. Flattery won't get you anything! Suzaku: I'm not flattering you. I really think so. Thanks, Lelouch. Lelouch: ... Anyway, today's session... Suzaku: Um, we're at the end of the 1700s, when the citizens were starting a revolution. Lelouch: That's right. Ahem. At the end of the 1700s, all of Europe was facing rebellions that were triggered by the French Revolution. That was when Napoleon started gaining power, was crowned, and had a hold on almost all of Europe. He looked to expand to the British Isles, won the Battle of Trafalgar and held naval supremacy. He then took his 120,000 men and landed on British soil and thereafter advanced to London. The queen at that time, Elizabeth III, was chased to Edinburgh where she was captured by the citizens who supported Napoleon. She was forced to abolish the monarchy in a.t.b. 1807, which is known as the... Suzaku: "Humiliation at Edinburgh." Lelouch: Right. And the one who saved the queen is Ricardo van Britannia, the man who eventually founded the Britannia Empire. Suzaku: So his existence was important to history. Lelouch: Not so fast. That's why you're so naive. You forgot an important person. He will later be featured in many novels, plays and movies: Ricardo's right-hand man and best friend, and the strongest knight. He was the head of the Knights of the Round, the "Knight of One" — Sir Richart Hector. Suzaku: Oh! I think I've heard of him! I think I saw the movie, too. Lelouch: Then there's no problem. Without Richart, the escape from Edinburgh to the New World wouldn't have happened. Suzaku: I see... Lelouch: Then next we'll talk about the founding of the Britannia Empire. Make sure to study! Suzaku: Yes, Professor Lelouch.

The Formation of Britannia Nunnally: Oh, I didn't know you were here. Suzaku: Yeah. Lelouch was teaching me. Nunnally: When you're done, would you like to have dinner with us? They're preparing it now. Suzaku: Thanks, I'd love to. Lelouch: Then Suzaku, we'll move on to the formation of Britannia. Did you study for this? Suzaku: Leave it to me. So Elizabeth III and the aristocrats who followed her went to the New World and set up a capital on the East Coast. They started conquering America, but Elizabeth III died without leaving an heir. Lelouch: Yeah. And normally they would choose one from among the relatives, but Elizabeth appointed her lover, Ricardo van Britannia I, as the heir on her deathbed. And that is how the Holy Empire of Britannia came to be. Suzaku: It's an unbelievable story. She's known as the "Queen who lived an eventful life for love," right? She might've been nice as a lady, but I'm doubtful about her as a ruler. Lelouch: Woah! Stop, Suzaku! Suzaku: Huh? Nunnally: I see... you don't like Elizabeth III? You don't think she had what it took to be a ruler? Suzaku: Huh? What's going on? Why do I feel so cornered? Nunnally: I see... Excuse me, I must go. Suzaku: What happened? Did I say something? Lelouch: Nunnally is a fan of Elizabeth III. When she was younger, she read a highly innacurate story that depicted her as a tragic queen. Suzaku: Oh, I see. I'm sorry. I didn't know. Lelouch: Well, it's not anything new that you can't read the atmosphere. I'm glad you didn't bring up the theory that she assassinated Napoleon, because the damage would've been even more severe. Suzaku: You mean, the theory that Napoleon died on his way back to France after the loss at Waterloo because of poison in his food put in by Elizabeth's men? Lelouch: Yeah. "I will never forget this humiliation." It's a famous quote from her last testament. Nunnally: Lelouch! Suzaku! Dinner is ready. Lelouch: !! Oh, thanks, Nunnally. That was quick. Nunnally: I helped a little, that's why. Suzaku: Thanks. I thought you'd be mad. Nunnally: Of course not. It was I who invited you. "I will never forget." Suzaku:/Lelouch: ...!!! Nunnally: Please, eat up!

Arrival of the Black Ships Lelouch: So the democratic revolutions continued and the aristocrats from all over Europe, especially France, advocated the release of slaves and the war that started in the southern states became the Civil War. Any questions? Suzaku: None, I get it. Oh? I hear a knock. Come in! Kallen: Oh, Suzaku, Lelouch. What are you two doing? Suzaku: I'm having Lelouch teach me history. Lelouch: That's right. So if you don't need anything, you're in the way. Get out. Suzaku: You don't have to kick her out. I don't mind. Come on, let's continue. Lelouch: Sheesh, you're too nice. Fine, let's continue. Britannia worked on stabilizing the country while also looking at foreign opportunities, especially in the Pacific. And finally in 1853 they crossed the Pacific and arrived in Japan. Japan had an isolationist policy and realized that they'd fallen behind the rest of the world. "The denkisen awakens the Pacific slumber; just four cups and we cannot fall asleep." Are you familiar with this? Suzaku: Of course. I'm Japanese. Lelouch: Oh yeah. Well, it's obvious but this is a haiku describing the black ships of Britannia arriving at Japan. Suzaku:/Kallen: ...! Lelouch: What's wrong? Suzaku: Oh... just continue, Lelouch. Lelouch: ...? Fine. So the denkisen refers to the Britannian ships with outer rings that were operated with electric motors. It must be a phonetic equivalent. They should've written it with the kanji for "electric boats," but since Japan didn't have the technology for electricity, they used different kanji... Suzaku:/Kallen: ... Lelouch: Okay, if you gusy have something you want to say, just say it! Kallen: You're wrong, Lelouch. That's not a haiku but a parodied tanka. Lelouch: ...!! It's something similar! Kallen: No, it's not. And the denkisen actually refers to the expensive tea that was loaded on the boat. Green tea has a lot of caffeine, so the four cups making people not fall asleep is referring to the fact that a commotion was made with just four ships. Lelouch: What!? Is that true, Suzaku!? Suzaku: Umm. Sorry, Lelouch. Kallen is right. Lelouch: Urgh! Kallen: I'm sorry, Lelouch. You were enjoying your rolse as a professor, but I guess I ruined your day. Lelouch: Shut up, you. Perry ship!!

Occupation of Japan

Lelouch: So this is the last session. Suzaku: You're as abrupt as usual. But isn't this a bad place to end this? Lelouch: What are you talking about? This is just as I planned. I can't talk about the a.t.b. 1900s because it's related to the main plot. I've been told not to say anything. Suzaku: Really? But this is the last DVD volume, isn't it? Lelouch: Urgh! It's the end but not the end! Anyway, here's the last session! We're going to skip to a.t.b. 2010!! Suzaku: You don't have to yell. Oh, 2010 is the year we first met. Lelouch: Yeah. At that time Japan took advantage of how the Chinese Federation and Britannia were on hostile terms and stayed neutral. They used the sakuradite card, manipulated the distribution, and created a three-way standoff between the Chinese Federation, the EU, and Britannia to enjoy economic prosperity. Suzaku: And no one thought that Britannia would break the balance using military force. Lelouch: That's right. The common assumption in international relations at the time was that it was taboo to attack Japan. Because once a fire started, all the other factions would follow suit and a full-scale war would break out. But the one who broke the rule... Suzaku: ... Was Charles zi Britannia. The 98th emperor of the Holy Empire of Britannia. And your father. Lelouch: That man's preparations were complete. As a blindside he sent all of the Knights of the Round to Africa and Inda, and the flagship ship, the Great Britannia, to the Indian Ocean; and while others were looking away from the Pacific he seized Japan quickly. The situation was practically decided in the first 24 hours, and by the time the Chinese Federation and EU tried to act, it was too late. And what happened after that... is not necessary to say, I guess. Suzaku: Yeah, you're right. Lelouch: Now starting tomorrow, I'll talk about the history of other countries. Don't forget to study. Suzaku: Huh!? But you said this is the last session. Lelouch: It's over as in what's going to be in the DVD booklets. Your class will continue. We're starting with the Chinese Federation. Suzaku: Why the Chinese Federation? Lelouch: "It's not the end of the story" is a hint. Suzaku: Sigh... I guess there's much more... Lelouch: Are you unhappy with that!? After all that I went through to teach you!? Suzaku: No, I'm very grateful, Professor. Lelouch: Very well. Then that's the end of today's session!

[thezeekrecord]

Negative Space

[content warnings: amputation, death, descriptions of body horror, unreality, deadnaming/transphobia]

EIGHT.

I saw an angel today.

It was perched on top of the abandoned temple, where the Moroni statue normally stands. Most likely, I wouldn’t have noticed it at all if it weren’t for the shifting, glowing shapes behind it; whether they were meant to be wings or halos, I’m not sure, but they would stretch out every couple of seconds as though it were about to take flight before the edges would round out into a perfect circle again. The glow caught on a steady trickle of some dark substance dripping from underneath its generously decorated golden crown, where its circle of eyes around its face all bore deep into my chest, as though passing final judgement on my soul. It had ten arms, some gripping the platform tightly to steady itself and others stretched out wide, palms pointed towards the sky as if it bore the weight of the heavens.

Of course, I know it wasn’t really an angel. It’s supposed to almost look like one, but they say it’s really a demon masquerading poorly as one to garner attention from humans. Apparently, if you see it on a night exactly like this without giving it an offering, it drags you down the stairs to the basement eight days later, and you’re never seen again. Some say it kills you, others say it’s a fate worse than death.

I think it’s a load of crap.

SEVEN.

My town isn’t very well kept. There’s plenty of abandoned lots and buildings that make perfect settings for urban legends. What else are kids supposed to do around here? All we have for miles is a dying mall and a movie theater. Might as well make up stupid ghost stories to get your friends riled up. When I was in junior high, I was dared to sleep in a supposedly haunted house for the night, and I just got attacked by a stray dog. Of course, I fed into the fear even more and told my friends my injuries were from the ghost. That’s just what you do around here.

You can imagine that’s why I want to leave; twenty-eight years in this tiny town with absolutely nothing to do can get to you. With my minimum wage jobs and no college degree, though, it’s hard to get the money to move anywhere exciting. I’ll probably be stuck here forever.

SIX.

I’ve seen the angel twice more since the first night. Every time I walk home from work I pass the abandoned temple, and it’s always been there. Yesterday I could see the glow through the grimy stained glass, and today the locked doors had been torn off their hinges entirely; it just stood there in the entryway, staring at me the same way it had the first night.

The story of the temple, however tasteless it is, holds a lot more water than most of the stories I grew up with. So much of it is based on real events that I remember with perfect clarity. I didn’t grow up religious, but my friend’s mother used to volunteer at that temple, so one day when my father still hadn’t come home, I tagged along. It was a hot morning; I thought the smell as I stepped in was just some leftover buffet that hadn’t been cleaned up and took a seat as close to the open doors as I could.

My friend and I had been sitting there for about ten minutes before we heard the scream. Her mother discovered it–the eight bodies barricaded in the basement, each missing one arm. All but one of the people that had disappeared over the span of a couple months rotted there for about three days before they were discovered.

Eight funerals, no culprit.

They say the killer was performing some kind of ritual to summon a demon that grants your wish if you offer it a part of you in return. Apparently, it took great offense to the killer offering it the arms of others to grant his own wishes, and stole his body as punishment. Now it’s taken residence in the church, trying to find humans to worship it. Fitting that it’s in a temple, I guess.

FIVE.

I haven’t told anyone about the angel. I don’t have the time to be worried about it; I’m working two jobs already, all I have the energy to do in my downtime is sleep, not get freaked out about some stupid urban legend.

Surely, there’s a logical reason I’m seeing the angel. I’d love to say it’s an elaborate prank, but it seems far too perfectly executed to be the work of some bored kids in this small town. How would they manage to get the costume to look so convincing? Besides, it would be a really sick prank to pull on me of all people. Everyone knows that.

FOUR.

I’m starting to think I need to see a therapist. I can at least acknowledge that I’ve never been good at processing my emotions–it’s just easier to bottle something up and set it aside. Maybe that’s why I’m seeing the angel. I’m sure since it’s so close to the 15th anniversary of my father’s disappearance, my brain is coming up with grotesque ways to force me to acknowledge my grief. That’s how that works, right? That’s why I’m seeing things.

I pestered one of my coworkers to walk home with me tonight. I’m sure I wasn’t as subtle as I wanted to be, but at least she humored me.

The angel was close to the fence this time. It was gangly and bony, and the extra arms were all clumsily stitched on and half rotten. Its face was completely unrecognizable, the ash-gray flesh pulled taught over its skull and soaked in that black substance flowing from underneath its crown. Its eyes stared directly at me with a kind of monstrous intensity I couldn’t bear to stomach.

Then, for the first time, it opened its disgusting mouth and spoke. It said my name. Not my real name, the one I’ve been legally known as for the past ten years, but the one my father gave me.

As I shrieked and stumbled back, my coworker stared right through it. She held onto my arm and asked me what was wrong, and I barely managed to scrape together enough composure to say I thought I saw some stray animal and pull her along. I don’t think she believed me.

THREE.

I avoided the temple tonight. I know it’s not real, but I thought if I avoided seeing it, I would feel more at ease. I can’t shake this terrible feeling, though–if I didn’t see it at the temple, how do I know it’s there?

Of course, that sounds stupid. It’s always been there. I’m not even sure it can leave, according to the legend–but of course, what does the legend matter if it’s just in my head? I keep picturing it around each corner I turn, waiting for me at the end of each dark hallway, ready to pounce whenever I open a door.

Some part of me wants to run back to the temple and confirm it’s still there behind the fence, not lurking in the shadows of my apartment. I’m not going to let myself give into the fear, though. I can’t let it get the best of me.

TWO.

I gave up. Today was my day off, so I was never obligated to leave the safety of my apartment. Still, the fear gripped me, dragging me down to the temple to confirm the worst.

There was nothing there when I arrived, as far as I could tell. At first, this terrified me–if it wasn’t there, it could be absolutely anywhere, right? The only comfort I could take was the realization that I had only ever seen it at night. The reasonable thing to do would be to go home and force myself to forget about it, but instead, I sat outside the fence for several achingly long hours, just waiting for a glimpse of its glowing halo somewhere inside.

Nothing. No sight of it, even well after the last glow of daylight had dipped below the horizon. I rushed home and hid under my blankets until morning.

ONE.

My father had been gone for three days prior to the discovery of the murders. However, his body was never found among the eight corpses in the temple’s basement. He always used to say how badly he wanted to see the rest of the world; he would homeschool me while we traveled, and we would always be home as long as we were together. If only we had the money to do it, he’d say. Money was the only thing stopping us.

It sounded perfect at the time. Just me and my dad, no loud classmates and overwhelming homework. I’d learn from the real world, just as he said. As I grew older without his influence, though, I started to leave that dream behind, just as my dad left me.

Still, even if I’m not traveling the world on a whim, I could never shake the need to get as far away from this town as possible. Get away from his memory.

The angel was outside my apartment tonight. Perched on a nearby tree to see into my window, it stared deeply at me, right into the tear in my soul. I could see in its hard gaze that it knew me, unlike any other person had. All in an instant, just at the blink of an eye, it could see my all my pain, my misery, my joy, my hopes–everything that made me who I am. I stared right back at it as I swung the window open, holding up a metal bat threateningly.

“I can give you what you want.” It groaned at me. Its voice was harsh but airy, its throat dried out and no longer meant for speech, and yet there was a tone of familiarity to it that only made my stomach churn. Still, it insisted on speaking, leaning in closer to speak my old name again.

I told it that’s not who I am anymore, and it only laughed before spreading out its glowing wings. “Who you are now and who you were before are of no concern to me. Make your choice soon, or none of it will matter at all.” It said before taking off. I watched it launch itself into the sky, but I lost sight of it almost instantly.

Instead, I set my sights on something else.

ZERO.

It wasn’t a hard choice to make, now that I saw everything in front of me clearly. I did put together a bag of clothes and food, but as I was walking through my front door, I threw the bag off my shoulders and let it land hard in the middle of the floor. There was only one thing I would need, I realized. Nothing else mattered–none of it ever mattered.

I stopped at work to buy it. A flash of worry spread across my manager’s face as I held the wooden handle firmly in my hands, telling him I wouldn’t be coming to work tomorrow–or ever again, in fact. I ignored his prying questions as I left the store for the final time.

It wasn’t easy getting past the fence to the temple, but when I finally stepped foot into the abandoned building, I felt a surge of dizzying energy around me. Everything was distant, even my own hands gripping the handle were miles away. The specks of dust that gently floated through the air were white noise on a television, the telltale sign of an absolute nothing, the manifestation of a lack of existence. The filler in our space between one place in time to the next. My life was just that; filler, nothing but biding my time from the last time I ever saw him until now.

That didn’t mean none of it mattered, of course. The deliberate call to attention to nothing in stark contrast to the presence of something can be absolutely vital. The negative space around a portrait provides context and depth to the thing your eye is ultimately drawn to. For the angel to laugh in my face as I declared who I am, dismiss the total nothing of my life, was an insult that cut deeper than it knew.

The cut went right through me. One minute it was there, and the next, blood flowed freely to the floor, pooling around my feet and sending me into a spinning haze. My axe clattered to the floor and I pressed my hand to the wound, where my arm used to be. The angel’s face split into a pleased grin while it accepted my offering. As it spoke my old name for the final time, I weakly retrieved my axe, heaving each painful breath and swaying as I stood upright.

“My name is Ramiel.” I spat through gritted teeth. “And I want your crown.”

The angel’s smile was gone in a second. “My crown?” It asked, lacing its fingers together thoughtfully. “Is it wealth you’re after?”

I stared into its numerous eyes wordlessly.

After a long few minutes of contemplation, the angel lifted the crown off its head. The black substance dripped unresisted down its face, mixing into my blood until we were surrounded by a sea of darkness. The crown was heavy as it carefully placed it upon my head, and as it took a step back to admire me proudly, it gave me a content smile. “You remind me of him,” it sighed fondly. With every ounce of strength I had left, I raised my axe high in the air.

“One more thing.” I said, relishing the way its eyes widened at me. “I want you to regret what I became.”

As I buried my axe into its skull, darkness sprayed everywhere until I was thrust into true nothing. A long, furious shriek pierced through my heart, blood spilling from my chest as I fell to my knees. My back burned white hot like the light that filled the endless void around me. The wings had taken their rightful place behind me, flapping wildly in defiance until slowly forming into a halo. I dragged myself up the stairs from the basement, existence slowly returning to me with each heavy step.

I took my perch on top of the temple, newfound power coursing through my veins. The static of my meaningless existence had ended. I occupied a new space, directly at the center of the world.

[spiteweaver]

previous | first | next

“All right, Dreamy,” Banrai said, “how did Phantasos do it?”

Dreamweaver plucked a small shard of pink celestine from the air. Ever since Phantasos’ departure for Aphaster lands, it had taken to floating. Parts of it came together and attempted to rebuild, but were ultimately unsuccessful. Whatever spell Phantasos had cast, it was potent and lingering and reacting to the celestine in unpredictable ways.

The whole of Observatory Hill had been cordoned off. Only Arcane dragons and those with Dreamweaver’s explicit permission were allowed at ground zero. Truthfully, as Abaddon had implied, even they should not have been there. The air was heavy with Arcane magic, but thus far, the protective web they had spun around themself and their mate had held out.

Holloway was overseeing the clean-up effort. With his expertise in crystal magics, he had managed to clear away much of the dust--which, he had confided, was the most dangerous part, as smaller particles were harder to detect and, thus, more likely to be missed and left to regrow. The larger shards remained where they were, hovering several feet off the ground.

Crucis had yet to stir within his chrysalis.

“I’m not entirely sure,” Dreamweaver confessed, and released the crystal back into the air. It bobbed before them for a moment, then meandered lazily toward its siblings. “Our inherent magic is that of dreams,” they went on. “The light-based magic I possess was gifted to me by Her Grace. Unfortunately, that means I don’t know very much about it. I can wield it, bend it to my will, but the fullness of its nature remains elusive.”

“You never told me that.”

Dreamweaver smiled and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “You never asked, my love,” they replied. “I’ve been able to keep many of my secrets simply because you are so wonderfully uninquisitive.”

Banrai wanted to press the topic, but seeing Dreamweaver smile made him weak. He returned their kiss with a soft peppering of them across their face. “I’m so glad you’re all right,” he said. “I was terrified you would be inconsolable after all this.”

“You are safe,” Dreamweaver said, “and our son is safe. I have no more need for sorrow.”

They walked the site’s perimeter hand-in-hand, surveying the damage done to the surrounding area. A few growths of pink celestine remained here and there, stubbornly refusing to bow to Phantasos’ will. There were holes in the observatory, caused by the sudden, violent growth of the colony, and the inside of it was still humming with Arcane magic so thick that Dreamweaver dared not venture near.

“My guess,” they began, “is that he experienced a controlled loss of control--a bit like what we believe happened to Xerxes. His emotions took him, and he unleashed a massive amount of energy in a very small space. Of course, Xerxes’ was more than likely a defense mechanism, a calling of the elements to him, while Phantasos’ was an expulsion of magic, but it’s the same general concept.”

“So if he hadn’t been able to concentrate it--”

“Everyone would be dead, yes--excluding, perhaps, myself.”

Banrai gulped. “We’re grounding him for that, right?”

“Oh, most definitely!” Dreamweaver replied. “Still, it was an impressive feat. Even I’ve never managed something like that--truthfully, until today, I didn’t know it was possible.”

“How did he withstand the Seat’s power?” Banrai asked.

“Technically,” Dreamweaver said, “I’m not elementally-aligned. The only reason I’m weak to Arcane magicks and proficient in Light magicks is because I chose to serve the Lightweaver, and tuned myself to Her element by choice. Phantasos hasn’t chosen to serve Her yet, though--and he’s only half a ‘proper’ Acolight, on your side. His weaknesses will, therefore, be greatly diminished.”

“Magic is confusing,” Banrai grumbled.

“Magic is a mystery we have yet to unravel,” Dreamweaver replied. “Even the most learned of us have much yet to discover.”

“Dreamweaver!”

Holloway waved to them from the far side of the hill, where Crucis lay dormant within the remnants of his colony. Banrai and Dreamweaver exchanged nervous glances. “What’s wrong?” Banrai called. “Is it the Seat? Have you found it?”

“No,” Holloway said, “it’s Crucis!”

Crucis’ eyes were wide and rolling in their sockets. They could see his mouth moving, but the pink celestine encasing him was too thick for any sound to escape. Holloway pushed more insistently against it. Small cracks appeared along its surface, but none large enough for him to get a foothold.

“Why is he panicking?” Banrai asked. “Is he all right?”

“He’s fine,” Holloway said, “for now, but I think he knows his shield is weakening. Once it’s gone, the celestine will consume him, and he’ll die. If I can’t get him out now--”

“Do what you must,” Dreamweaver said. “No matter how dark the magic, I will turn a blind eye. Get him out of there, Holloway.”

“I don’t need to go that far,” Holloway assured, “but I need a push.” He looked up to meet Dreamweaver’s gaze. “I need your energy.”

“My...energy...?”

“Demons can siphon energy from other beings,” Holloway explained. “Among dragons, and even among your kind, I suppose that’s not a common ability--but among demons, it’s innate. We can all do it to one degree or another. If you let me siphon some of your magical energy, I can break him out.”

“I’ve heard of such things,” Dreamweaver said, “but the only demons I’ve dealt extensively with are dream demons. I don’t know, Holloway. Our energies are very different, and if it’s anything like mixing magics, it could have catastrophic results.”

“I’ve done it before--not from you, obviously, but from ‘opposite-aligned’ beings.”

“My magical potential is so much greater than yours--no offense.”

“None taken, love, it’s the truth.”

“Are you sure it won’t overwhelm you?”

Banrai’s head was spinning by now, his mind well and truly lost among a sea of words he knew the meanings of, but that, when paired together, made no real sense. “Please,” he said, “I don’t speak magic.”

“Think of it like borrowing a cup of sugar from your neighbor,” Holloway said. “I need more sugar to make my cake, but I don’t have any in my kitchen. I go to Dreamweaver and ask to borrow some from their kitchen. They give me their sugar, I return to my own kitchen, and I finish my cake.”

“So energy is the sugar,” Banrai said, “your kitchens are your bodies, and the spell to free Crucis is the cake?”

“Right.”

“What happens if it ‘overwhelms’ you?” Banrai asked.

“Similes aside,” Holloway said, “I’ll die.”

“Let’s just wait for Lutia,” Dreamweaver suggested hurriedly. They were wringing their hands in that way they always did when they knew they were about to give in to something reckless.

“When will she be coming?” Holloway asked.

“Well,” Dreamweaver said, and their voice grew progressively quieter as they went on, “considering she can’t tell up from down at the moment, my guess would be, ah, several days.”

“Yeah, we don’t have that kind of time,” Holloway replied.

“If it overwhelms you, you’ll die and then he’ll die, too,” Dreamweaver pressed. “I hate to say this, but isn’t losing only one better than losing two?”

“Yes,” Holloway agreed, “but we might not have to lose any. Dreamweaver, I have done this dozens of times in my life. I know how to control it.”

“But what if--”

“Oh, in the Dark Name of Astaroth, give me your hand!”

Dreamweaver tried to reel back, but Holloway was too fast for them. He lunged, grasping their wrist, and another brilliant golden flash lit the hilltop up like the Beacon. Holloway grit his teeth, his arm spasming with the sudden influx of foreign magic into his body. Dreamweaver’s eyes had gone yellow again.

Finally, Holloway fell forward limply, gasping against the grass, and Dreamweaver returned to their senses. “You idiot,” they hissed. “You could have died, you absolute fool!”

“I’m fine,” Holloway panted. “My, that was a bit of a rush. A demon could get addicted to it.”

“Don’t you dare!”

“Stand back. I’m busting him out.”

Banrai did not bother trying to pull Dreamweaver back. Instead, he wrapped his arms around their waist, lifted them straight off their feet, and took off down the hill with them. Their protests fell on deaf ears. All he knew was that Holloway was about to perform a volatile bit of magic, and he didn’t want his mate anywhere near it when it went off.

He’d already almost lost too much today.

A resounding crack split the air, and, suddenly, Dreamweaver was very glad their husband had carted them off when he did. Arcane magic exploded from the hilltop, so raw and powerful that it turned the sky above it pink. They buried their face in Banrai’s chest and pushed more of their own magic into the web of shields around them both.

“The Seat!” Crucis cried, scrabbling from his cocoon. In his arms was the piece of the Seat, clutched tightly, protectively, to his breast. “Run! Run, go, get out of here! Forget me, I’m already dead, go!”

“Crucis,” Holloway said, “Crucis, it’s all right. You’re all right.”

“No, no, the--the colony! Pink celestine! It’s reacting to the Seat!”

“You’re disoriented,” Holloway persisted. “You were under for quite a while. Take a deep breath. Have a look around.”

Crucis did as he was told--reluctantly, because every fiber of his being was screaming at him to do whatever he could to save Holloway from a fate worse than death. His eyes fell first on the piece of the Seat cradled in his grasp, then on his ruined observatory, then on the floating celestine shards all around him.

At last, it fell on Holloway’s face. “It was an accident,” he said, and collapsed.

“I’m telling you, I don’t know how it got into my workshop.”

Crucis hissed as Hollyhock applied another treatment of healing salve to a cut on his cheek. He was battered and bruised, but free of pink celestine--Holloway had confirmed as much before allowing him out of quarantine. Now he sat, piping hot cup of tea in hand, staring glumly at the piece of the Seat that rested between himself and Dreamweaver.

“Hold still,” Hollyhock commanded when he raised his cup to his lips. “I’m almost done. Oh, poor thing--you’ve had a difficult time of it lately.”

“I see why Solaire married you,” Crucis said. “I don’t like people, but I think I could grow accustomed to having you around, Hollyhock.”

“High praise coming from you,” Hollyhock replied.

“Are you sure, Crucis?” Dreamweaver asked again. “Are you positive?”

“Dreamweaver, you can tell when people are lying to you,” Crucis reminded. “If I were lying, you would know.”

“But if you forgot something, some small detail, I’d be none the wiser,” Dreamweaver said. “I’m not accusing you, Crucis, it is clear to me that you had nothing to do with this--but if there’s anyone you can think of, anyone at all, who might have access to the Seat, who would want to harm you or the village, you must tell me.”

“Of course,” Crucis said, “I would if I knew, but I don’t. I’m sure I’ve garnered a fair number of enemies, but none with access to the Seat. No one should have been able to access it--not for long enough to take a chunk out of it, let alone one of this size and power.”

“It would have to have been an Arcanite,” Banrai reasoned, “but none in Feldspar could have done it.”

“No,” Dreamweaver said, and it was as if a haze had come over them. “No, there is one who may have been able to manage it, but I--I cannot imagine what motivation he could possibly have. He’s a conniving, scheming coward, so I doubt he’d go to such great lengths without equal reward.”

“Who?” Crucis asked.

“Atsushi.”

A rare (less so in recent weeks) flicker of emotion crossed Crucis’ face. For the first time since Dreamweaver had known him, he was visibly perplexed. “Atsushi’s like that, is he?” he said. “He always seemed well-adjusted enough to me.”

“He’s no worse than Ambrosius or Armand,” Dreamweaver replied, “just your run-of-the-mill undesirable, the kind who only cares for himself. I would suspect him, but, as I said, I cannot fathom what he stood to gain.”

“He’s not the power-hungry sort?” Crucis asked.

“Mmm, no,” Dreamweaver said, “not that I’ve gathered.”

“No grudge against any of us?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Don’t suppose he would do it for the sake of Arcanite curiosity.”

“Gods, no.” Dreamweaver gave a short, mocking laugh. “As I said, he’s a terrible coward.”

“Should we really talk about one of our own like that?” Banrai said.

“Sorry...” Dreamweaver touched their mate’s hand. “I suppose I am being a bit cruel, aren’t I? He hasn’t caused any trouble since coming here, so perhaps I should be softer on him.”

“Still,” Hollyhock said, “it’s odd, isn’t it? He’s been going off on his own a lot lately, and he wasn’t at the hill with Junior. I didn’t smell him there, anyway.”

“He...” Dreamweaver’s brows furrowed. “He wasn’t there?”

“No,” Banrai said, “come to think of it, he wasn’t.”

“Then where is he?” Dreamweaver asked.

“I thought you said he wasn’t a suspect,” Crucis said.

“I still don’t like that the only person in our clan capable of approaching the Seat in any capacity isn’t here when a piece of it has turned up out of place,” Dreamweaver replied crossly. “Banrai, ask Vladimir to fetch him. It will put my mind at ease.”

[suiciderealestate]

This morning I left work a little after 8 a.m. following a shift that lasted approximately sixteen and a half hours. They say New York is the city that never sleeps, that if you can make it here you can make it anywhere, and now it is apparent why: because the demands of New York-based enterprises require bodies to remain perpetually in motion, and if there are only a few bodies available for a specific job then those bodies will simply never stop moving. My long work absences often left Elic, who I have somehow begun to communicate with once again, disappointed. He always seems to want to talk when I’m at work, when I am occupied and not talking at all, and when I am available he no longer suffers the same itch. His boyfriend left him and now he is retreating into what he knows, which is me, and I feel that somehow I am doing the same. He wanted to live in New York for a moment, and I think that really he only wanted to live in the city he idealizes as New York and not the actual New York City, which he would find completely insufferable. But now he wants me, I think, to move home to Nashville again. It is something I’ve considered, because all things considered, I’m not exactly sure what I’m doing here, and if the city has taught me anything it’s that not all that glitters is gold. On the one hand, I held the door for and was looked at directly by world-famous super model Bella Hadid, and on the other hand I am only finding myself in a position of holding doors for such people. I only encountered Bella because I was checking a hallway for carts. She was leaving a Michael Kors shoot, walking alongside one of the production assistants who she apparently hadn’t seen all day, and to me she was just a smartly dressed, lissome woman speaking warmly to someone who may or may not have been a total stranger. At the time I thought, “This attractive woman is really behaving so graciously toward this nebbish young man she doesn’t appear to know very well,” and when she turned toward the elevator as I began to walk away from her she looked to us both and said, “Have a good night!” That was Bella Hadid. I’m really never any good at spotting celebrities, but Bella caught my attention and earned my recognition because even in person she looked exactly like the Bella gracing the covers of magazines the world over. In person she was warm, energetic, kind, genuine — happy. I sometimes like to tell myself that celebrities, even with all of their fame, money and glamour, are just as sad as me, but Bella didn’t seem it. Of course, appearances can be deceiving, but there was a woman who seemed as if she had been spawned by an effluence of universal energy that simply had nowhere else to go. The life-giving essence that may have gone into six or seven average sentient flesh pods instead converged into one, resulting in a radiant humanoid with zero pores, perfect, glowing skin, and a smile that puts toothpaste models to shame. To think, if I hadn’t shown up for that sixteen-and-a-half-hour day I never would have been spoken to by Bella Hadid, who looked to me and the production assistant in those parting moments and said, “Have a good night, guys!” In my excitement, I immediately recounted an abbreviated version of my experience on my Instagram story, only to be reminded by two other photographers who have experiences working at Pier 59’s rival studio Milk that in posting that information to my Instagram I was undoubtedly violating a NDA I signed at the outset of my employment at Pier 59. But, as anyone in Hollywood will tell you, nobody honors NDAs and absolutely everyone talks. God forbid someone find out Bella Hadid was in America’s most populous city at one of the most trafficked photography studios modeling for one of the world’s most renowned designers and she was actually a decent human being who was surprisingly down to earth in person, and that for a fleeting moment she looked at me and my mostly unremarkable life collided mundanely with hers in this Universe that is always so full of surprises. If I hadn’t moved to New York City I wouldn’t share proximity with people like Bella Hadid, Allie X and Rose McGowan — people doing great things with great teams behind them, but who are only ever human beings living different experiences with the same anxieties and insecurities that we all face to some degree or another. But still I think of home and I think of my family and my friends, two elements of life that are stridently absent in my life in New York City. Today my mother sent me a quilt with beige florals, blacks and earth tones that she’s been sewing for about two years. With it she included in her characteristically beautiful handwritten cursive a note scrawled on looseleaf paper torn from her organizer that says, “With All My Love. Miss You! Mom.” I imagine this quilt will become one of my most prized possessions, but it reminds me that my mother hasn’t seen me in almost a year, may not see me again for some time, and has not even seen the place I live in New York City. Over the phone she reminds me that she feels disconnected from me, that she misses my journalism because my stories gave her a greater sense of place and occupation, and that she worries she may never see me again. I, too, miss journalism and writing. Just the other day I heard a knock at my door and when I opened it I found a manilla envelope that held within it a plaque from the Kansas Press Association. The KPA had given me first place for a story I had written about a medical marijuana refugees in Kansas, one of the very last of America’s fifty states to withhold successful legislation of any law allowing any consumption whatsoever of medical cannabis. Though I enjoy the possibility of crossing paths with celebrities at Pier 59, I am reminded that my life path requires more variegated attention to the talents I so often neglect. I have not written an article since my departure from the Telegram, much to my dismay, and in fact I have hardly really been writing at all. My photographic documentation of New York City nightlife has been ongoing but my photography has begun to stagnate in every other regard. Money is becoming more forthcoming, but not enough. My hands are beginning to reflect my age, and in the battle against time I am reminded by the young 20- to 24-year-olds in the fashion magazines I’ve been browsing lately that the time for magazine covers and notoriety began almost a decade ago, if not more by the new American standard, and for me may soon expire. I have never been hungry for fame but I share the common human desire to be validated and recognized for my talents, that I may feel in myself more value than simply being another cosmic fart. It’s hard to live life on the run, flitting from place to place even as I drag the vestiges of my many previous identities with me in every step. I have already been so many people, but none of them match up to the person I want to be. I think what I’m learning at this age, though, is that I may never live up to the apotheosized version of myself that lives in my head, and even if I do, the experience of it still may fall short of vertiginous expectation. And so the question remains: Do I return to a simpler life in Nashville and spend time with my family in their golden years? With my friends? With a boy I claim to love? Or do I keep climbing, never knowing if I’ll reach the other side of the mountain, or even if I’ll like what I see? (Edit (10/3/2019): I am reading these words again and can see how tired I was after that shift, how desperately I wanted to be happy and see meaning in the things around me, and I am honestly embarrassed.

[foundcarcosa]

cxcvi.

Why did you close the door the last time you closed one? >> If you’re thinking about reading this, I’d consider passing unless you’re ridiculously fascinated by my every word or something -- it’s extremely long. Anyway, I actually closed it by accident, because I didn’t compensate for the change in air pressure when I swung it behind me.

Stripes or polka dots? >> I prefer stripes.

Do you care if people touch you when they’re talking to you? >> I do care. I’d prefer not to be touched. Exceptions exist, but they’re so few and so specific that it’s easier to just start from “don’t touch me” as a rule and then write in the amendments as they become relevant.

What is your gender? >> I don’t have one. Except for Sparrow’s interpretation of my gender, which is “a .gif of a twerking spider”. It’s acceptable.

Do you think that people think its obvious? >> I think that my lack of fucks given re: gender is plenty obvious by my appearance, but at the same time, it’s probably better in general if people don’t assume.

How long did your first date last? >> I don’t remember. It was almost 12 years ago.

Is your favorite color within 10 feet of you? >> I don’t have a favourite colour.

Highlight of your day? >> The high point of today was getting to three-quarters done with WoW’s Loremaster of Draenor achievement. Spires of Arak was a pain in the ass.

Would you rather be on a boat or a plane? >> That would probably depend on the length of the voyage and where to. I do love flying, though.

Can you tell when girls (or guys) have eyeliner on? >> Whether I can tell if someone has eyeliner on or not depends on how closely I’m looking at their face and also how much I care.

Can you cook? >> I can.

How high is your ceiling? >> I don’t know.

Whats the worst job you can think of? >> The worst job for me would be janitorial work, especially if bathrooms are involved.

Do you swear a lot? >> I do.

Does the last person you texted have an O in their name? >> Yes.

Is everything working in your house? >> More or less, I assume.

Would you rather have a pool or a trampoline? >> I’d rather have a trampoline, as I’m more likely to use that than a pool (seeing as I can’t swim and find the rituals surrounding pool usage -- the showering, the drying, the changing of clothing, the uncomfortable sensory bits -- to be overwhelming most of the time.

Does pop give you energy? >> Not that I’ve noticed.

TV show you love with a passion? >> Metalocalypse is one. So is Vikings. And Person of Interest. And Hannibal. And Tremé. And Carnivale. And...

Do you think you learned anything from the worst night of your life? >> There are no such things in my life. Perfect age to get married? >> The age you feel like doing so. Is it safe to say you own over 20 pairs of shoes? >> It’s not safe to say that. I own two.

Name a career path that women are known for taking. >> I’m not confident enough in the veracity of any demographic-based statistical data to answer this.

Favorite type of cookie? >> Thin Mints are the only cookies I can eat more than one of in a sitting.

A quality you look for in choosing a significant other? >> I don’t look for specific qualities, I look for well-crafted and intricate and intriguing tapestries -- and then I mine the details.

What would I find if I looked in your pocket? >> A lip balm.

What was your first word? >> I don’t know.

A musical instrument you wouldn’t mind learning how to play? >> I’m fine with not knowing how to play one. Singing is more my thing. And rhythm-based music games. :p

Last time you went to 7-eleven? >> I don’t remember. I was probably in New York.

A fast food restaurant that you hate with a passion? >> None.

Does everyone in your family have a job? >> I don’t even know everyone in my family, let alone their employment status.

Going anywhere this weekend? >> Not that I know of / can recall.

Is your room ever clean? >> The bedroom is generally some level of clean. More cluttered than I’d like, but that’s because I’m inclined to minimal possessions and Sparrow is not.

What does it mean when youre being quiet? >> It means I don’t feel like being loud. Which is usually.

Last person you had a face to face conversation with? >> Sparrow.

Wheres your phone? >> On the bed beside me.

Do you know the difference between your and you’re? >> Yes. I don’t find it worth arguing about, though.

How late did you stay up last night? >> I went to sleep sometime around 1a EST, I think.

Anyone you’re ready to kill? >> I’m ready to kill whatever mobs I need to kill to continue grinding out these achievements.

Do you need to get a tan? >> No. I certainly wouldn’t complain about getting a shade or three darker, but I don’t think I spend enough time in the sun for it to happen regardless.

What do you want? >> A slight decrease in humidity. A stone-and-glass shower that could feasibly fit a dozen people comfortably. A giant Snorlax plushie. Her.

Favorite TV show as a kid? >> I don’t think I had one. Whats a show that you absolutely refuse to watch? >> Sherlock.

How many times have you been in love? >> I don’t know.

Go camping or go to a party? >> Partying while camping is a lot of fun.

Do you remember how old you were when you started swearing? >> Yes. I started in earnest when I left my dad’s, because I wasn’t allowed to swear while I lived with him. So, 17.

How many years older than you would you date someone? >> My general guideline is no more than 10 years older than me.

What was the last thing you pinky swore on? >> I don’t.

Would you consider yourself a nice person? >> I don’t consider myself a nice person. I don’t want to be a “nice” person. I want the adjectives that describe me to be more... detailed. Less fake-sounding.

Are there a lot of mirrors in your house? >> There are three.

Has there ever been a serial killer in your house? >> As far as I know, no. Do you know anyone who looks like Adam Sandler? >> No.

True or false: Glee is annoying. >> I don’t know, I’ve never watched it.

Last thing you cooked? >> Half of a bag of frozen potatoes and onions and peppers.

Do you use slang often? >> Sure.

Wear glasses? >> Sunglasses, and sometimes clear lenses for aesthetic. About how old was the last person that hit on you? >> I don’t remember the last time I was hit on.

What color are your headphones? >> One pair is black, the other blue.

Would you make a good teacher? Why? >> I don’t know. I’ve never really thought much about it, but I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be socially acceptable enough for any established educational system.

Don’t you hate those commercials that try too hard? >> No. I don’t understand a lot of them, or what their target demographic is, or what the hook is supposed to be, but I accept them as a quirk of modern society.

Is the fan on? >> Yes.

Any special reason why you’re taking this survey? >> No special reason. I was in the mood to take one and I found this in the tag.

What does the last text message you sent say? >> I don’t remember and don’t feel like finding out. Your friend needs you to run to the store to get a pregnancy test. Do you? >> In this highly improbable situation, I have no real problem picking up a pregnancy test for someone... as long as I have a good reason to. I’d be more interested in why they couldn’t go get it themselves.

Do you log out on facebook when you leave the site? >> Except for the very rare times I’m on a public device or someone else’s device, no.

What color are your underwear? >> Black.

How short are your nails? >> They’re about a centimeter extended past my fingertips.

Do you like the opposite sex to be dominant or you the one in control? >> I’m too lazy to manipulate this question into one remotely answerable by me.

Favorite holiday? >> Christmas.

If I asked you to point to Ohio on a map of the US do you think you could? >> Yes. I remember Ohio’s shape.

Youre locked in a room with spiders. Do you have an issue? >> How many spiders? How big are they? Are they venomous? Also, why am I locked in a room at all?

Do you wear your most expensive item of clothing often? >> I think my most expensive item of clothing is either my winter coat (which I only wear in... winter... so no, not often) or my Tripp coat (which is too small for me, so now I don’t wear it at all until I can figure out how to repurpose it).

Do you eat a lot of food? >> I eat as I’m compelled to. /shrug Have your parents ever tried to control your relationship? >> I was an adult when I started having those kinds of relationships, so there is no way he could exert control over them.

Have you ever had to give someone directions before? >> Yes.

Speaking of which, are you good at understanding driving directions? >> I don’t know how good I’d be at understanding driving directions, seeing as I don’t drive. I understand most directions pretty well, if multiple frames of reference are given (compass directions and landmarks as backup, for example).

How many people do you text daily? >> Zero, usually, unless Sparrow texts me something.

Do you play any instruments? Which instruments do you play? >> No.

Is there anyone who you call by their last name? >> No.

What did you do on your last birthday? >> On my actual birthday, I didn’t do anything. My birthday trip was at the beginning of that month.

Which of the Seven Deadly Sins do you commit the most? >> I don’t know.

Has anyone ever told you that you’re incapable of whispering? >> No.

What is your least favorite subject in school? >> All of them.

Have you ever been involved in a custody battle before? >> No. My father won custody of me pretty easily when I was a baby, considering my mother didn’t even show up to court.

Do you know a couple who constantly sucks on each other’s face? >> No.

When was the last time you watched a YouTube video? >> Earlier today. I watched the Leeroy Jenkins video.

Have you ever babysat a newborn baby before? >> No. When was the last time you held someone’s hand? >> I don’t remember.

How many meals have you eaten today, so far? >> I don’t eat meals, I just eat when I’m hungry. I ate on about four separate occasions today, but not much.

Do you think it’s stupid for people to call others “hot?” >> No.

Do you personally think Wikipedia is a reliable source? >> It’s reliable for what I use it for.

Have you ever shopped at Wet Seal before? Did you like it? >> Yes. I thought it had some cool things.

Do you care about spending money if it’s someone else’s money? >> I respect people’s financial limits, especially if they’re clearly defined (”ok I only have 20 to spend so”), but I don’t make a big deal out of trying to order the cheapest thing on the menu. I order what I want, and if they don’t want to buy whatever it is, then I’ll pick something else. --Or pay for it myself.

What is your favorite Disney movie of all time? >> Lilo and Stitch.

When you were a child, did you ever want to become a wizard/witch? >> No. I didn’t really have a context for that.

Would you rather have hardwood floors or carpet? >> I’d rather hardwood everywhere except the bedroom, I think. I just find it so much easier to keep clean, and also... I can just put rugs down if I want soft. (Rugs are also easier to clean for me, because they can be taken outdoors and beaten and aired out.)

Who was the last person you yelled at? Why? >> I don’t remember.

As a kid, did you ever go to camp? >> Day camp, sometimes. And church camp once, when I was 13.

Have you ever made out in a movie theater before? >> Yes, once. Wouldn’t mind doing it again.

Are you currently trying to learn to play any instrument? >> No.

When was the last time you went somewhere you thought was haunted? >> I don’t know.

Who was the last person to compliment you? >> I think that was Krister, on Instagram sometime in the past week or two.

How old were you when you got to go on your first date? >> I was 18.

Would you call your parents over-protective or under-protective? >> My father was overprotective and strict.

Did your parents ever let you play in the pits of those multicolored balls? >> No.

Have any of your siblings ever had a crush on your significant other? >> No.

Do you still watch cartoons on television? >> Yes. I especially like to watch them on the bathroom TV at the in-laws’ house when I use their shower.

What do you usually order at Taco Bell, if you go there? >> A couple of soft tacos and/or a quesadilla or something. Nothing too extravagant.

Is there anyone currently annoying you? >> In general, yes, but now there is a finish line in sight.

Have you ever felt like someone was following you? >> Yes. Do you like short or long surveys the best? >> I like the 30-50 question range best. Any longer than that, and questions start to weaken and get repetitive. Case in point: this survey, which has asked me about instruments three times already.

Have you ever bought fake money and tried to make it pass for real? >> No. That doesn’t strike me as an intelligent move.

Are your siblings nice the majority of the time? >> ---

Do you freak out when a thunderstorm comes along? >> No. I often get excited, though.

How often do you shower? >> Two to three times a week.

Have you ever had to sell something for a school fundraiser? >> I don’t recall ever doing that.

How many sodas do you usually drink in one day? >> Zero.

Have you ever met someone who was completely weird all-around? >> I don’t think I have a context for that kind of opinion.

Do you ever watch any soap operas? >> No.

Have you ever met someone who was mean to everyone? >> Well, probably.

Do you think long surveys are boring or entertaining? >> If the questions manage to remain interesting, as I said before, then I’m fine with them. This one is pushing my patience.

What color is your significant other’s hair? >> It’s usually purple or red or some shade in between the two.

Have you ever applied for a job at Walmart before? >> Probably at some point.

Would you ever become a foster parent? >> I’d rather become an adoptive parent. I prefer the long-term investment model of parenting; the short-term investment model does not appeal to me.

Are you ashamed of anyone in your family? >> No, but a couple of them ought to be ashamed of themselves, probably.

When you get married, will you convert your last name? >> Yes. Provided Sparrow does what I think she should do, and change hers before the legal proceedings. Otherwise it just won’t make as much narrative sense, god dammit.

Are your parents divorced, married or separated? >> My parents were never married.

Has someone ever left a relationship with you for someone else? >> Probably. I never paid too much attention to that.

What’s the most painful thing you’ve ever experienced? >> Superlatives and me don’t get along.

When was the last time you went shoe shopping? >> It’s been a while. I can never find shoes I want to wear.

When was the last time you cried? For what reason? >> I don’t remember.

What is your favorite shop to go to at the mall? >> Hot Topic, Barnes and Noble.

Would you ever consider becoming a marine biologist? >> No.

Did you carry a lunchbox as a child? >> I did. I was raised vegan and sugar-free so I had to take packed lunches.

What is your favorite ‘sweet’ to eat? >> Sea salt brownies are pretty good.

Are you someone who usually eats when you’re bored? >> Sometimes.

Have you ever eaten your way through a breakup? >> No.

Who was the last person you texted? >> Sparrow, most likely.

Do you usually buy popcorn when you eat at the movie theater? >> No. I don’t really like popcorn in the first place, but especially not for those prices.

Did you sleep alone or with someone last night? >> Alone until Sparrow went to bed. We have Venn-diagram sleep schedules.

What kind of dressing do you eat on your salad, if any? >> Balsamic vinaigrette, or Italian in a pinch.

Are you someone who constantly likes to wear hats? >> No. I like my floppy hat, but that’s it. And that’s just for winter, when my short hair can’t protect my head from the elements.

Have you ever seen a Lifetime movie that relates to your life? >> No.

Is it your summer vacation right now? >> I don’t have vacations.

Do you like traveling? >> Yes.

What color are the walls of the room you’re in right now? >> White. Do you go to church regularly? >> I did for a few months, but I don’t think it’s something I could keep up for long. Dragging myself out of bed in the morning just to go get frustrated at Christianity can sometimes be fun, but mostly I’m too lazy.

Who’s your best friend? >> I suppose that is Can Calah.

Are you determined? >> Determined to do what, exactly? My personality traits are dependent on the circumstance. Are you always looking for/in a relationship, or do you like being single? >> I have been in at least one relationship for the past five years, and I don’t see that changing any time soon.

Ever had your heart broken? >> I’ve felt like that, yeah.

Even broken someone else’s heart? >> I don’t know. No one’s ever told me that, to my recollection, so I assume not.

Are you confident? >> I don’t know. Probably. It’s not something I put a lot of mental energy into. It strikes me as a largely unimportant trait to focus on at this time in my life.

When’s the last time you smiled? >> I don’t remember. I also don’t really... keep track, ya dig.

Are you tan? >> I am dark-skinned. Any big plans for today/tonight? >> No.

What’s the background on your computer? >> It’s a slideshow. Right now, it’s some cool space art I probably found here on tumblr.

Do you have days where you just want to listen to sad songs? >> Not whole days, usually. Periods of time in general, though? Certainly.

Who’s the last person you kissed? >> Sparrow.

Are you hoping they will also be the next person you kiss? >> I mean, at this point it’s kind of assumed.

[dyreatic]

Aqours 1st Live - Pre-Live Reflections

Thank you, Aqours.

I have to admit, it was sort of a rocky start. I wasn’t even into Love Live when the original key visual of Chika was released. I didn’t know you existed until weeks after I watched the Love Live Movie, when I was looking around for more information about this series that had just captivated me. I sort-of stumbled upon you? ...or something like that. I think I just happened to run across a page in the wikia with a link to “Aqours”, so I clicked it out of curiosity, and discovered a whole new group with none of the girls I was used to seeing. Who were these 9 new girls? Inferior copies of μ’s? ...was what I thought. And so I just threw you to the back of my head with no second thought. But somehow I returned to you sometime in December, after Final Live was announced. I figured, you were going to replace μ’s in the future, so maybe I should at least try listening to what you had so far. I listened to the whole of your first single… but I felt absolutely nothing. And back to the back of my head you went.

And then I tried once again, by tuning into your 1/11 Niconama. I was still in love with μ’s lives after watching them, so I was hoping to be able to watch you live. I didn’t, but I have to admit, it was a completely new experience. And I was mesmerized. But unfortunately, your predecessors still occupied my mind, and nothing much proceeded from then. Third time unlucky.

But then, Final Live happened. I saw a world far greater than the Love Live I had enjoyed from within the comforts of my room, and I wanted more of it. I joined the /r/LoveLive Discord, and saw my gateway to that world. No longer did I have to wait for leaks of songs, or discover news maybe days after it was announced because I was cooped up in my own shell; I would be part of the discovery as it happened. I became part of the frontline for Aqours discoveries, and I was really amazed at how fun it was.

And then, AX and CharaExpo happened. You went overseas, and I saw and experienced firsthand the excitement of a group of people at those events. Everyone was so cheery, eagerly making plans to meet up, and the environment was just really welcoming in the server. I can’t forget those days of waking up at 4:45am, going out to CharaExpo and finally getting to see three of you live on stage. And most of all, meeting Shukashuu. I actually chose to meet her over a pretty petty reason (because AX didn’t get her), but I don’t regret it at all. And it was thanks to seeing all three of them on stage then I went and dove fully into your fandom, and I’ve been getting deeper ever since.

The anime was airing around that time, but I think the best part about it was that I was enjoying it not by myself, but watching it live along with the rest of discord. By itself, the anime was nice, but with everyone, it became great. But of course, the best part of the anime was that it brought along with it the 1st Live announcement. We heard the songs, saw them animated, but the culmination of all that was to see them performed live on stage by all the seiyuu. And so, we started waiting. For us in Japan or SEA, it was just a matter of time before we could watch them live. But for everyone else in NA or elsewhere, it was a battle to convince companies to give them a chance to watch them.

Watching from the sidelines, I saw as the Americans and Canadians all pleaded earnestly to various companies about an NA Live Viewing. I saw their hopes rise and fall with every response, or lack of response. With every little hint that someone at NA noticed their efforts, they jumped and cheered, and with every “seen” or “we have no plans”, their spirits fell. And from the sidelines, I nudged them on, rallying others who might not have known about their efforts to get their desires heard as well. But time passed, and it slowly looked like the dream was dead. First was the major countries, then Australia. Then came the news that China had been downgraded. And Indonesia’s failure. And then Philippines succeeding with only a week to go. There was no more hope.

...and then everything changed on Saturday morning JST. The bomb was silently dropped; but the aftereffects were felt. And all the Americans were finally saved from the pit of despair, all thanks to the US Live Viewings. All their hopes and smiles returned, and I felt relief, knowing that I would join them in just another year. I guess that’s my future now, huh.

Aqours, you’ve turned me dreading from going back to the prospect of having to wait out a few years before I could watch you live again to comfort in the fact that you’ve reached out to all of those in America and welcomed them into your arms. Thank you.

Thank you, Ruby and Aiai. You look like a crybaby on the outside, but you showed me that even someone who looks weak could still be someone who others could rely on. I didn’t have much feeling towards you at first, but as I watched your antics and realized that maybe, you were the onee-chan after all, I grew fond of you. And if there’s anything that all of us can relate to, it’s your love for idols. Ganbaruby!

Thank you, Mari and Ainya. I was never really fond of characters who used English phrases as a running gag, but somehow, I grew to really like you. And that was even before the anime, where you showed your caring side, hidden deep beneath that playful exterior of yours. And most of all, it was all thanks to you that I dipped my feet into translations and am here right now, spreading all of Aqours’ appeal together with ONIBE. Shiny~

Thank you, Hanamaru and King. School Idols were truly a “Mirai-zura!” moment for me; I had no idea there would be something that would be able to drag me this deep down and give me so much fun with all the people I’ve been able to meet. I was just someone who stuck by myself, reading books, playing games, all alone, thinking that I would never be able to enjoy anything to the level that I saw all the hardcore fans for any series did, but here I am today, having turned into one of those people. Ohana… Maru!

Thank you, Yoshi- I mean Yohane and Aikyan. There’s a part within all of us that desires for fantasy to be real, but we’re also grounded by the fact that there’s a real world. And I think you were able to capture that side of us and the struggles with wanting to escape from our struggles and the judgement that others have placed upon us perfectly. It’s not as easy for us to find an answer as it was for you, but even so, I can still look to you as an example of someone who overcame that challenge and truly realizes the difference between reality and fantasy well. Ohayohane~

Thank you, You and Shukashuu. Meeting you in real life left me with a sense of awe, and even though I didn’t give you a chance to say much I could still feel all your energy and passion. There’s a running joke that You can do anything (except Chika), and with that smile and energy, maybe that’s true after all. Keep that energy up! Yousoro!

Thank you, Dia and Arisha. I didn’t like the way you carried yourself at the beginning, or how you sounded like you were looking down on everyone else, and I guess I still don’t really like that part of you, but discovering that you were a hidden idol fan, and maybe even the most hardcore out of all of Aqours, gave me a new appreciation for who you are. There are many of us who are loud but are only barely into the fandom, and some of us who keep our hobbies quiet but in reality are really hardcore, and I think I can really see the challenges that the latter group faces when dealing with the former in your interactions with the rest of Aqours. Diahoo!

Thank you, Kanan and Suwawa. I once loved to joke that your fanbase was like an empty theater, but within me I was also supporting you. Your lines were sparse, and so you were the mysterious girl that everyone just made fun of because no one knew you well enough, but after I learned more about you, I realized that you were pretty cool! It was like you could carry yourself in a collected fashion, yet you still fell prey to Mari whenever she decided to tease you. Ja, hagu shiyou!

Thank you, Riko and Rikyako. You grew out of my initial impression of “slightly inferior Umi/Mimorin but still best”, and I realized that you had a completely different charm compared to them. Others might call you boring, but I think that it’s just a part of you that fits you very well, and I won’t let what anyone else thinks of you affect that. Keep on making those funny faces and memes, and don’t be afraid to defend yourself if you ever get teased!

And finally, thank you, Chika and Anchan. All throughout our lives, many of us want to be more than just “normal”, and we see all the leaders and pioneers as extraordinary people who we aspire to become. But you are normal, just like us. A normal girl, able to be found anywhere, with dreams and aspirations towards an extraordinary group. And in spite of that, you became our beloved leader. You have carried our hopes and dreams for these two years, and even though you started from zero, you pushed through with the mere hope to become one. From the rural areas of Izu, you have reached the grand stage of Yokohama Arena in Tokyo. And just like us, the smiles of school idols are what have got you to this point. Leader, just as how you have led Aqours all the way up until now, please do your best tomorrow! We will continue to support you and spread your joy to many more people in the world! Kan kan… Mikan!

Now all that’s left is tomorrow.

[lauramalchowblog]

Ask a Health Coach: Tuning in to What Your Body’s Telling You

Hi folks, in this week’s Ask a Health Coach post, Erin is answering your questions about the “keto flu”, what to do when you’re hungry all the time, and how to fulfill your need for human connection during the pandemic. Keep your questions coming here in the comments or over in our Mark’s Daily Apple Facebook Group.

Jared asked:

“I’ve been doing Mark’s Keto Reset for a few days. At first, I felt great, but now I’m achy and all I want to do is sleep. What happened to all that energy people talk about with Keto?”

Ah yes, the keto flu. There’s no mistaking it. Well, at least to those of us who have been through it and safely made our way to the metabolically flexible side (which you will Jared, trust me). As you might have read, eating lower-carb — especially if you’re transitioning from a Standard American Diet can cause all sorts of uncomfortable symptoms. Everything from headaches and fatigue to nausea. But don’t let that keep you from sticking with it.

When you’re faced with a challenge, it’s easy to give up. And even easier to convince yourself that whatever it is you’re attempting to do isn’t right for you. So, when the going gets tough you jump ship. No shame, that’s just how it rolls sometimes.

On the flip side, a lot of people decide that punishing themselves is their only course of action. They put on a brave face and decide that they must deserve every ounce of discomfort they have coming their way. That’s the price they have to pay to “get healthy.” As crazy as it sounds, they’ve actually done studies about this. In this one, researchers asked undergraduate students to remember a time when they felt guilty, sad, or (in contrast) did something boring and non-emotionally driven like grocery shopping. Then, they gave participants six mild electrical shocks (stay with me here), with the option to increase the voltage for each subsequent shock.

The students who recalled feeling guilty, chose to raise the voltage well into the mildly painful zone, while the other groups didn’t. The use of self-punishment to reduce feelings of guilt are, unfortunately, well-documented in research.

Now, let me offer you a third perspective. What if you took this opportunity to give your body what it needed — without guilt, shame, or judgement? It may sound simple, but if you’re extra tired, why not take a midday nap or go to bed earlier? If you’re feeling achy, how about taking a few rest days or doing more gentle workouts?

Also, think about positive steps you can take to make you transition more pleasant. Most of the time the low-carb flu is caused by an electrolyte imbalance. So, drink some bone broth, eat more leafy greens, or try this homemade electrolyte drink that Mark swears by. Hang in there Jared, your symptoms won’t last long and if you can get through this preliminary phase, you’ll be home free.

Sue asked:

“As a natural extrovert, I find that I actually require human connection. Not being able to give my friends a hug might just kill me. Am I the only one who feels this way?”

First of all, you’re not alone. In addition to things like love, understanding, and growth, the desire for connection is a fundamental human need. After six months of doing what we can to slow the spread of COVID, even introverts like me are missing a good hug.

Whether it’s hugging old friends or shaking hands with new ones, most of us are used to some level of physical connection on a daily basis. And while health officials are concerned with controlling the virus (as they should be), another major issue is becoming more prevalent — and that’s the quality of our mental health due to lack of physical touch.

According to Dacher Keltner, a psychology professor at UC Berkeley, touch deprivation can impact people on a psychological and physical level. He says “positive touch activates nerves in the body that improve your immune system, regulate digestion, and helps you sleep well. It also activates parts of your brain that help you empathize.”

Researchers at Carnegie Mellon University agree, citing that hugging is proven to make people less susceptible to the virus that causes the common cold. In the study, 404 healthy adults answered questions about their perceived daily social support and how often they received hugs. Then they were intentionally exposed to the cold virus. The participants who reported having more hugs (and more social support), were less likely to get sick.

But here we are in the middle of the pandemic. And although nothing beats a loving embrace – or even a platonic one, there are some things you can do to feel more connected:

Be of service. Helping others reminds us that we’re all connected in some way. You might consider checking in on a neighbor, volunteering at a food bank, or donating to a cause you care about.

Carve out one-on-one time. Whether it’s over a video call or in-person with social distancing parameters in place, engaging one-on-one creates an emotional connection that increases levels of the feel-good hormone, oxytocin.

Take an online yoga class. Yoga studios might still be closed, but plenty offer live classes that create the feeling of being together. Watching others do the same movements and poses as you’re doing gives your brain a sense of connection, even though you’re apart.

And rest assured, we will get past this. It may be awhile, but there will be a time when we’re all hugging again like crazy.

Tracy asked:

“No matter what I try (Primal Blueprint, LCHF, intermittent fasting) I’m always starving! Aside from taping my mouth shut, what advice do you have for not shoving food in my face 24/7?”

Helping my clients achieve an effortless relationship with food is my specialty, so I’m glad I can answer this one for you. It’s different for everyone, but I find that a lot of people have become tuned out to their own hunger signals.

You might be so focused on what you can’t have that that’s all you can think about! Or maybe you were raised in the “clean plates club” where hunger had nothing to do with whether or not you took another bite.

My guess is though, that like most of today’s society, you’ve gotten so used to using food as a crutch — a way to cope with stress, boredom, sadness, happiness, or fill-in-the-blank emotion that you’ve forgotten how to listen to your own body.

Our bodies are miraculous, and they will give us the clear signs that they need fuel. That is, if you really listen. Be aware of things like:

A growling stomach

Feeling light-headed

Less energy

Less focus

Some of these signs can be subtle, especially if you’re avoiding foods like breakfast cereals, chips, cookies, and other processed foods that cause your blood sugar to spike and then crash. But there’s a great strategy you can use to determine if you’re physically hungry or just looking for something to quench your emotional hunger. To do this exercise, get in a comfortable position, close your eyes, and take a couple of slow deep breaths in and out, bringing your attention down to your stomach.

Imagine a scale from zero to ten, with zero being absolutely famished and ten being painfully full. Without judgement or deciding what number you should be, think about where on the scale describes how hungry or how full you are.

If you’re anywhere in the zero to four camp, you’re showing signs that you’re physically hungry. Five and up is an indicator that you’re not actually hungry, but instead craving something to self-soothe.

Did any of these tips resonate with you? Do you take time to listen to your body? Share your experience in the comments below.

(function($) { $("#dflytbl").load("https://www.marksdailyapple.com/wp-admin/admin-ajax.php?action=dfads_ajax_load_ads&groups=674&limit=1&orderby=random&order=ASC&container_id=&container_html=none&container_class=&ad_html=div&ad_class=&callback_function=&return_javascript=0&_block_id=dflytbl" ); })( jQuery );

The post Ask a Health Coach: Tuning in to What Your Body’s Telling You appeared first on Mark's Daily Apple.

Ask a Health Coach: Tuning in to What Your Body’s Telling You published first on https://venabeahan.tumblr.com

[jesseneufeld]

Ask a Health Coach: Tuning in to What Your Body’s Telling You

Hi folks, in this week’s Ask a Health Coach post, Erin is answering your questions about the “keto flu”, what to do when you’re hungry all the time, and how to fulfill your need for human connection during the pandemic. Keep your questions coming here in the comments or over in our Mark’s Daily Apple Facebook Group.

Jared asked:

“I’ve been doing Mark’s Keto Reset for a few days. At first, I felt great, but now I’m achy and all I want to do is sleep. What happened to all that energy people talk about with Keto?”

Ah yes, the keto flu. There’s no mistaking it. Well, at least to those of us who have been through it and safely made our way to the metabolically flexible side (which you will Jared, trust me). As you might have read, eating lower-carb — especially if you’re transitioning from a Standard American Diet can cause all sorts of uncomfortable symptoms. Everything from headaches and fatigue to nausea. But don’t let that keep you from sticking with it.

When you’re faced with a challenge, it’s easy to give up. And even easier to convince yourself that whatever it is you’re attempting to do isn’t right for you. So, when the going gets tough you jump ship. No shame, that’s just how it rolls sometimes.

On the flip side, a lot of people decide that punishing themselves is their only course of action. They put on a brave face and decide that they must deserve every ounce of discomfort they have coming their way. That’s the price they have to pay to “get healthy.” As crazy as it sounds, they’ve actually done studies about this. In this one, researchers asked undergraduate students to remember a time when they felt guilty, sad, or (in contrast) did something boring and non-emotionally driven like grocery shopping. Then, they gave participants six mild electrical shocks (stay with me here), with the option to increase the voltage for each subsequent shock.

The students who recalled feeling guilty, chose to raise the voltage well into the mildly painful zone, while the other groups didn’t. The use of self-punishment to reduce feelings of guilt are, unfortunately, well-documented in research.

Now, let me offer you a third perspective. What if you took this opportunity to give your body what it needed — without guilt, shame, or judgement? It may sound simple, but if you’re extra tired, why not take a midday nap or go to bed earlier? If you’re feeling achy, how about taking a few rest days or doing more gentle workouts?

Also, think about positive steps you can take to make you transition more pleasant. Most of the time the low-carb flu is caused by an electrolyte imbalance. So, drink some bone broth, eat more leafy greens, or try this homemade electrolyte drink that Mark swears by. Hang in there Jared, your symptoms won’t last long and if you can get through this preliminary phase, you’ll be home free.

Sue asked:

“As a natural extrovert, I find that I actually require human connection. Not being able to give my friends a hug might just kill me. Am I the only one who feels this way?”

First of all, you’re not alone. In addition to things like love, understanding, and growth, the desire for connection is a fundamental human need. After six months of doing what we can to slow the spread of COVID, even introverts like me are missing a good hug.

Whether it’s hugging old friends or shaking hands with new ones, most of us are used to some level of physical connection on a daily basis. And while health officials are concerned with controlling the virus (as they should be), another major issue is becoming more prevalent — and that’s the quality of our mental health due to lack of physical touch.

According to Dacher Keltner, a psychology professor at UC Berkeley, touch deprivation can impact people on a psychological and physical level. He says “positive touch activates nerves in the body that improve your immune system, regulate digestion, and helps you sleep well. It also activates parts of your brain that help you empathize.”

Researchers at Carnegie Mellon University agree, citing that hugging is proven to make people less susceptible to the virus that causes the common cold. In the study, 404 healthy adults answered questions about their perceived daily social support and how often they received hugs. Then they were intentionally exposed to the cold virus. The participants who reported having more hugs (and more social support), were less likely to get sick.

But here we are in the middle of the pandemic. And although nothing beats a loving embrace – or even a platonic one, there are some things you can do to feel more connected:

Be of service. Helping others reminds us that we’re all connected in some way. You might consider checking in on a neighbor, volunteering at a food bank, or donating to a cause you care about.

Carve out one-on-one time. Whether it’s over a video call or in-person with social distancing parameters in place, engaging one-on-one creates an emotional connection that increases levels of the feel-good hormone, oxytocin.

Take an online yoga class. Yoga studios might still be closed, but plenty offer live classes that create the feeling of being together. Watching others do the same movements and poses as you’re doing gives your brain a sense of connection, even though you’re apart.

And rest assured, we will get past this. It may be awhile, but there will be a time when we’re all hugging again like crazy.

Tracy asked:

“No matter what I try (Primal Blueprint, LCHF, intermittent fasting) I’m always starving! Aside from taping my mouth shut, what advice do you have for not shoving food in my face 24/7?”

Helping my clients achieve an effortless relationship with food is my specialty, so I’m glad I can answer this one for you. It’s different for everyone, but I find that a lot of people have become tuned out to their own hunger signals.

You might be so focused on what you can’t have that that’s all you can think about! Or maybe you were raised in the “clean plates club” where hunger had nothing to do with whether or not you took another bite.

My guess is though, that like most of today’s society, you’ve gotten so used to using food as a crutch — a way to cope with stress, boredom, sadness, happiness, or fill-in-the-blank emotion that you’ve forgotten how to listen to your own body.

Our bodies are miraculous, and they will give us the clear signs that they need fuel. That is, if you really listen. Be aware of things like:

A growling stomach

Feeling light-headed

Less energy

Less focus

Some of these signs can be subtle, especially if you’re avoiding foods like breakfast cereals, chips, cookies, and other processed foods that cause your blood sugar to spike and then crash. But there’s a great strategy you can use to determine if you’re physically hungry or just looking for something to quench your emotional hunger. To do this exercise, get in a comfortable position, close your eyes, and take a couple of slow deep breaths in and out, bringing your attention down to your stomach.

Imagine a scale from zero to ten, with zero being absolutely famished and ten being painfully full. Without judgement or deciding what number you should be, think about where on the scale describes how hungry or how full you are.

If you’re anywhere in the zero to four camp, you’re showing signs that you’re physically hungry. Five and up is an indicator that you’re not actually hungry, but instead craving something to self-soothe.

Did any of these tips resonate with you? Do you take time to listen to your body? Share your experience in the comments below.

(function($) { $("#dfPN3eu").load("https://www.marksdailyapple.com/wp-admin/admin-ajax.php?action=dfads_ajax_load_ads&groups=674&limit=1&orderby=random&order=ASC&container_id=&container_html=none&container_class=&ad_html=div&ad_class=&callback_function=&return_javascript=0&_block_id=dfPN3eu" ); })( jQuery );

The post Ask a Health Coach: Tuning in to What Your Body’s Telling You appeared first on Mark's Daily Apple.

Ask a Health Coach: Tuning in to What Your Body’s Telling You published first on https://drugaddictionsrehab.tumblr.com/

[democratsunited-blog]

As goes Billy Kovacs, so go Pima Democrats

https://uniteddemocrats.net/?p=7487

As goes Billy Kovacs, so go Pima Democrats

Thanks to

Updated Aug 7, 2018, 10:30 am  Originally posted Aug 6, 2018, 11:15 pm

Blake Morlock TucsonSentinel.com

Billy Kovacs is going to lose.

Billy Kovacs is the future of the Democratic Party in Southern Arizona.

Reconciling those two truisms is the biggest challenge the party faces, here, statewide and nationally because they sure could use some fresh faces and new energy.

Republicans face a different set of challenges but one thing the Grand Ole Party has proven good at over the years is stocking its bench with candidates skilled at bringing the conservative gospel straight to voters.

Democrats?

Kovacs is one of seven Democratic candidate seeking the nomination to vie to replace U.S. Rep. Martha McSally and I use him as a proxy for all up-and-comers out in our corner of the desert who seem to terrify party leaders in D.C. 

The Democratic Party in Tucson, statewide and nationally must figure out how to turn its bench and walk-ons into potential starters, lest it start placing want adds or figuring out how to clone Terry Goddard.

Kovacs is one of six Southern Arizonans who are struggling to stand out against the Northern Arizona transplant (and as a former Northern Arizona transplant myself, nothing but respect) Ann Kirkpatrick. The former congresswoman is in the crosshairs of former state Rep. Matt Heinz’s attacks for being a carpet-bagging Republican Lite. But Kirkpatrick has the money to bury Heinz because she has the establishment’s support.

The fact that Kirkpatrick won that support at all is the mind-bending news of this primary and it should send shockwaves through the local party. On some level there’s absolutely nothing wrong with hiring from out of town. Business does it all the time. But someone from Tucson or Southern Arizona must be in a position to make a go of it next time.

Pima County Democratic voters have elected 11 state lawmakers, three county supervisors, seven city council members, a county attorney, county recorder and county superintendent of public instruction. If none were deemed to be able to take on Martha McSally (or her replacement) in a good Democratic year, then there is a big need for new blood.

Kovacs is making mistakes — the same mistakes every rookie makes — and the powers that be aren’t to blame for that. He doesn’t have the money to get the message out to overtake Heinz trying to overtake Kirkpatrick. But he’s got the youth, charisma and smarts to make a dent in local politics and one day be “the guy” when the time comes. The powers that be will be to blame if they turn around in 2023 and say “we got no one” to make a race again without going to more Fred DuVals or retread Republicans.

Stefanie Mach had the chops. So did Tim Sultan. So did Brandon Patrick. Matt Kopec may not have been the most charismatic guy you ever met, but he worked his tail off. They left the arena and went on to other things (although Kopec’s sliding back into the elected side of politics with a run for the Amphi school board). Democrats have a way of treating progressive comers as nuisances. And how they welcome Latino faces? Don’t even get me started.

This election cycle was going to be good for Democrats the moment Donald Trump was certified the winner in 2016. As sure as summer leads to monsoons, the party that wins the White House gets shellacked two years later. Pima County Democrats, being the stronghold of Democratic Party support in Arizona, should have had at the ready a candidate ready to give McSally a swashbuckling run.

Instead, a three-term but twice-losing candidate for federal office who moved to Tucson last year has become the front-runner for the seat.

Scouting the party

Locally, the Democratic Party has done a lot to get itself modern. First it built up its its base of legislative district chairpeople to establish something of a grassroots structure. Then it got real about fundraising and becoming more professional in terms of staffing.

But a party exists for one reason: To elect partisans. That means more than just finding candidates; it means grooming candidates.

I’m not talking about picking winners and losers during the primary process. I’m talking about recruiting and teaching candidates before they even take out their campaign paperwork. I’m talking about identifying among the current crop of elected officials, the ones best suited for moving up. Finding those new activists who should run for school boards. Making sure every precinct has its full slate of committemen.

The work that needed to be done to get someone ready to make the CD 2 race in 2018, should have been done in 2013.

Pima problems

Stepping-stone offices like sheriff, county attorney and mayor that typically feed congressional and statewide offices have been held in Tucson by Democrats like Clarence Dupnik, Barbara LaWall and Jonathan Rothschild — folks who’ve showed zero ambition to take the next step up.

Arizona’s Clean Elections provisions relieve candidates of state offices from the burden of raising money above the $5 individual contributions required to gain public financing. So they don’t build up their own donor bases.

Safe Democratic districts socially promote progressives without having to get in a cage fight with real conservative challengers, thereby proving their electoral appeal beyond the party’s base. Arizona’s 2nd Congressional District contains four Legislative districts with 12 serving members. Eight are Democrats. Last cycle, just one election was close, with Republican state Rep. Todd Clodfelter ousting Mach in 2016 (something we will revisit). 

The party honchos want Democrats to schmooze moderates and independents by denying any presence of a political conscience. They don’t want liberals being so silly as to try to win with progressive arguments. (I don’t care if it’s a liberal idea or a conservative idea, so long as it’s the right idea for the people of X.” Sound familiar?) Republicans will preach their ideology anytime, anywhere and do so with enough confidence to win.

I’m going to say it’s a knowable unknown that a liberal message can win moderates and independents. Voters tend to favor clean air, safe drinking water, Social Security, Medicare, public schools, public lands, the minimum wage, student financial assistance, gun restrictions and Obamacare, all of a sudden.

It’s at the very least a fair fight against popular conservative ideas like balanced budgets, rule of law, free markets and a belief that being aggrieved is no way to get ahead. It’s more than a fair fight now that President Trump has convinced the Right those are stupid liberal ideas too.

What the Beltway wants

Candidates seeking to climb need help at both the local and national levels, but the locals who are hooked in with the national players consider themselves to be players, too — and players in progressive politics favor resumes over talent.

The perfect candidate is a Latina who opened a successful shooting range after being discharged from the Marines after seeing combat overseas. A business person can’t be called pro-tax and won’t be tagged for wanting more regulation. A combat veteran won’t be hammered for a lack of patriotism. She will turn out the base without having to bend to their issues.

Progressive Latinos, of course, need not apply unless maybe they were registered Republicans just a few years back. 

That’s borderline sexist and racist, while missing the point that Republicans would call Ayn Rand a socialist purveyor of permissive objectivism if her ghost ran for public office.

The worst candidate possible is a liberal, let alone a gay half-Lebanese liberal like Heinz whom the Left didn’t go out of its way to help as they begged the politically impaired Ron Barber to cling to life until his predictable political demise. Barber is a damn nice guy, but was an awful candidate. He was supposed to be a temporary placeholder but the gurus in Washington felt they needed him to keep running because they thought no one else in Southern Arizona could win.

What separates Kovacs and those like him from the real contenders isn’t a lack of talent but a lack of know-how and connections. There’s a nuts and bolts to campaigning and people aren’t born handy in the ways of politics. They also need access to money, which requires a whole bunch of hook-ups.

When the South rose

Once upon a time, a scouting unit would watch for young talent to groom.

The Southern Democratic Leadership Council rose up in reaction to Walter Mondale’s 49-state drubbing just 12 years after George McGovern’s 49-state drubbing.

The party saw the South as the route back to power but only if they could break the the northern lock on Kennedy liberalism. The SDLC leadership dropped the “Southern” part in the 1990s and became the DLC.

They scored successes at the state and national level, helping Bill Clinton get to the White House and providing a template demanded of swing district candidates that was very simple.

I found this priceless quote from a 2001 article in the American Prospect touting the DLC’s string of successes throughout the 1990s:

“Today’s is not your father’s Democratic Party. Though the dwindling chorus of party progressives provides counterpoint, today’s Democrats are proud to claim the mantle of budgetary moderation. They oppose President Bush’s $2-trillion tax-cut plan not by arguing mainly for more spending on health, education, and welfare, but because it risks the new sacred cause of paying off the national debt. They are the party of increased military spending, the death penalty, the war on drugs, and partnership with religious faith. They are the party of Ending Welfare As We Know It, the party of The Era of Big Government Is Over.”

What? No protecting the American family from the gay agenda? The DLC did a great job repositioning the Democratic Party as the Republican Party with a bit more social conscience.

National Democrats haven’t changed much in their approach to winning tight races but the rest of the party has moved on.

After pushing for the Iraq War and the kind of deregulation that brought down the banks, the DLC shuttered in 2011. 

Looking for a hook-up

“True Progressives” can applaud that all they want but the DLC served a purpose.

The DLC scoured the political landscape for young leaders and hook them up with all sorts of help. In Southern Arizona, they found their woman in the early ’00s. A businesswoman and, most important, a former Republican with connections to the Tucson business community. Gabby Giffords was a comer.

The political world made room for her. They helped her with connections. When a seat came open, she had nearly $300,000 in the bank within a month.

For his part, Kovacs jumped into the race early while other Democrats hemmed and hawed at the prospect of taking on McSally. He managed to bring in about $20,000 in his first two months. Great money for a Tucson City Council race but not enough to convince anyone he was a serious contender for a congressional run. When McSally bolted for the Senate campaign after Kirkpatrick entered the race, Kovacs’ fundraising dried up.

Maybe here, progressives/liberals want to gripe about “legalized bribery” and the contamination of money in politics. Good. Fine. But there is a real world thing going on here that needs to be recognized.

What is the new Democratic Party’s answer, in its new liberalizing incarnation, to hooking candidates up for cash? Anything? There are organizations like “Swing Left” that has raised $4 million for primary winners in swing districts but that’s awfully late in the candidate recruitment process to count much. Small-dollar donations can pack a wallop, too, and there are groups trying that approach. Again, they are seeking to reward the candidate long after the real help is needed.

The Center for Progressive Leadership does offer some training and fellowships for “future leaders” but they take a broad approach to help fill staffing positions in liberal institutions and teach community organizing. That’s fine and all but it’s not retaining and grooming candidates.

From Sirhan With love

Which brings me to the rank-and-file needing to grow up some.

Democrats want to fall in love. They want passion. They want to walk passed the bumper sticker, look at the candidate’s name and feel it. They don’t want to hire someone to do the job they need done. They want the X factor.

I blame Sirhan Sirhan.

The man who murdered Robert F. Kennedy left a giant gaping promise never redeemed or never found to be a broken promise. Boomers passed the romanticism onto Gen Xers and somehow millennials still carry the infirmity.

The party isn’t in love with Heinz. It’s heart doesn’t skip a beat when Mary Matiella walks in the room. Bruce Wheeler is a nice guy … but …

Democrats here took out Matt Kopec in a 2016 legislative primary and then for reasons I can’t even begin to understand didn’t turn out for Stefanie Mach that November. Local voters never knock out incumbents but they chose to 86 Mach? The woman had a personal narrative so inspiring, she chafes at the idea that she’s an inspiration. And that’s the candidate a Democratic stronghold full of older voters looked at and said “eh, I bet she likes hip-hop.”

It’s OK to “just be friends” with a candidate who shares most of your principles. The soul doesn’t have to dance. Republicans learned long ago it’s perfectly fine to hire a candidate to do a job without hoping they notice you from across the room.

Well, they did until Donald Trump came along and suddenly they are waiting to find out what they believe based on what Trump will tweet tomorrow morning.

Losing a race for Congress is no big obstacle to a future in elected office, especially if it’s a primary. Ann Kirkpatrick lost a House election, and bounced back for two more terms. Barack Obama, George W. Bush and Bill Clinton all lost a race for the House before working in an office without right angles. Twenty percent of U.S. presidents lost an election before finding themselves at that desk. Even the seemingly undefeatable Raul Grijalva lost his first bid for elective office. McSally lost a primary and a general election before eking out her first narrow win. Steve Farley lost a City Council primary before turning his sights on the Legislature (and now the governor’s chair).

No matter what happens in 2018 or 2020, Democrats are going to need someone to run in 2022 and 2024. The time to start thinking about those races isn’t 2021 or 2023. There are Billy Kovacses out there ready to make the leap. Without some help now, they’ll make that leap and lose. If the Dems let them wander off into oblivion, then Terry Goddard’s DNA will start looking good.

Blake Morlock is an award-winning columnist who worked in daily journalism for nearly 20 years and is a former communications director for the Pima County Democratic Party.

Correction: An earlier version of this column incorrectly reported the election cycle in which Kopec lost his primary race.

– 30 –

(function(d, s, id) var js, fjs = d.getElementsByTagName(s)[0]; if (d.getElementById(id)) return; js = d.createElement(s); js.id = id; js.src = "http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/sdk.js#xfbml=1&version=v2.4&appId=178263198853136"; fjs.parentNode.insertBefore(js, fjs); (document, 'script', 'facebook-jssdk'));(function(d, s, id) var js, fjs = d.getElementsByTagName(s)[0]; if (d.getElementById(id)) return; js = d.createElement(s); js.id = id; js.src = "http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"; fjs.parentNode.insertBefore(js, fjs); (document, 'script', 'facebook-jssdk')); window.fbAsyncInit = function() FB.init(appId:"178263198853136", cookie:true, status:true, xfbml:true, oauth:true); ; (function() var e = document.createElement("script"); e.src = document.location.protocol + "//connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js"; e.async = true; document.getElementById("fb-root").appendChild(e); ()); Read full story here