#and just kept going. too late now. this is our life and our canvas size now

[wardencommanderrodimiss]

Emerging from a two day haze with a portrait of my newest dnd PC. Her name is Daire, she's a tiefling Drakewarden Ranger, and she has a Charisma of 6 from growing up in a cult.

[togglesbloggle]

How We Decided

The day after tomorrow- that is, February 18, 2021- the Perseverance rover will attempt to land on the surface of Mars.  It will enter the planetary atmosphere at an acute angle, giving it as much time as possible to experience drag and slow down from orbital velocities.  Because Mars’ air is so thin, and the rover is so heavy, this will fail- in the best case, Perseverance would still be going almost a thousand miles an hour when it impacts the surface.  To help save itself, the craft will deploy a parachute of advanced design, seventy feet across and able to withstand supersonic velocities.  This, too, will fail.  Even with a parachute, there is simply not enough air between Perseverance and the Martian surface to slow it down all the way.  So this is where the rockets kick in.  Once air resistance slows the rover to a bit less than two hundred miles per hour, the heavy heat shield will be jettisoned, and a system of secondary rockets will fire against the direction of motion until it slows to near-hovering.  In a final flourish, the rover will descend from the rocket-boosted frame on coiled springs, until it touches down in the western part of Jezero crater in the northern hemisphere of Mars.

As it happens, Perseverance’s destination was one of the very last things we decided about it- not until the craft itself was fairly thoroughly engineered and designed.  Formally, the decision was made by the mission directorate.  In practice, they follow the consensus of the scientific community, which in turn hashes things out at a series of open-invitation workshops.  Things began with a call for white papers- an open suggestion box, basically.  In 2015, the first workshop narrowed things down from thirty serious proposals to eight candidates.  In 2017, the second workshop further winnowed the list down to three.  And in October of 2018, after three days of presentation, debate, and discussion, the final workshop selected Jezero Crater from these final three candidates using a simple vote of all attendees, and passed on the recommendation to the mission leads.

I haven’t been in the business for very long, so the final workshop was the only one of these where I actually participated.  It wasn’t a close vote as such, and I didn’t break any ties, and technically we were just making a strongly worded suggestion.  Nonetheless, my vote is one of the reasons why the Rover will be going to Jezero Crater instead of Syrtis Major or Gusev, and I think I’m entitled to feel ownership of this mission choice, just a little bit.

(This is, of course, terrifying.)

Having gone through the experience, there were a few surprises worth noting.  The first was how small some of the numbers are here.  The conference was not very large: only thirty proposals, debated by just a few hundred attendees.  I’ve seen book review contests with more entries, and that are read by a wider audience.  Which is to say, this is a situation that was, and is, extremely responsive to individual effort.  In that small a room, populated by people that are philosophically committed to changing their minds when they see good evidence or a good argument, one person can stand up and change the future in a very real way.

The second surprise was the attendance requirements.  Or rather, the lack thereof.  The project is public, paid for by American taxpayers, to whom I am profoundly grateful.  And one way the process reflected that public-spiritedness is that this is not a walled garden.  A small attendance fee (iirc, $40?), and you’re in.  You get a vote, if you want to use it.  A few non-scientists even took us up on this; there’s one retiree (a former schoolteacher, I think) that’s attended every major conference I’ve been to in the last few years, and sets up a small table in the back with his home mineral collection just for fun.  In practice this open-door policy is limited by the obscurity of the event itself; if you don’t move in research circles, you have to be something of a space exploration superfan to hear about it.  Still, as symbols go, you could do worse.

And now that we’re coming up on the day itself, the same kind of public-facing mindset is making me think about why I was persuaded to vote for Jezero Crater, what it means to explore there, and how I’d justify that choice to those of you that made the ongoing discovery of Mars possible in the first place.

If you want to know what Perseverance is like, and what you can reasonably do with it, start with Curiosity- the two are built, more or less, on the same chassis.  That means you have a mobile science lab about the size of a Volkswagon Beetle.  Add some mechanical improvements (no more wheel punctures!) and a few bells and whistles (microphone!  helicopter for some reason!).  Trade out some of the scientific instruments- raman spectroscopy instead of a mass spectrometer, for example.  And it’s got these:

That, dear reader, is a sample return canister.  Not to be returned immediately, alas, but to be returned nonetheless.  One of Persevereance’s primary directives is to find interesting rocks, collect them, and leave them in place for a sample return mission in the early 30s.  There’s a ton of work we can do in situ, but there’s even more we can do in a clean lab back home; things like isotopic analysis really need a much more controlled environment than you’ll get in the field.  And so a major, major consideration is to optimize Perseverance’s landing site for cool rocks that we’d like to take back home.

The other thing that Perseverance is really good at is astrobiology.  There’s no such thing as a life sign detector as such, but this rover represents an attempt to approach that ideal: instruments like SHERLOC and SuperCam are adept at finding organic compounds and fine-scale mineralogy and chemistry that might be influenced by microbial metabolism.  This is a natural extension of what we’ve been learning so far: Spirit and Opportunity showed us that Mars formed under the influence of liquid water.  Curiosity showed us that this was not just wet, but actively habitable: lakes and rivers at a neutral pH under a rich and temperate atmosphere.  The next question along this line is the hardest, and the scariest: we know it was habitable, but was it inhabited?

If you’re like me, that question makes you feel weird.  Collecting rocks is one thing, but a fossil?  The mind rebels.  We’ve spent the last two generations of space exploration tempering our expectations, reminding ourselves that the other worlds in our solar system are largely barren and dead, learning again and again how precious life is in the cosmos.  It’s hard to get in the mindset of people back in the 40s and 50s who could, somewhat reasonably, imagine that Mars might not just host life but multicellular life, vegetation and robust macroscopic ecosystems.  We look back at the science fiction of the era, swarthy soldiers hopping from planet to planet in silver rockets, and laugh at the naivete.  A smile at the exuberance of youth, if we’re feeling generous.  When we were first beginning, we may have imagined ancient canals on Mars and crystal cities on Venus, but that was when space was a blank canvas for us to paint our fantasies.  We’ve learned so much since then, and if it was less fun, at least it was true.  We did the hard thing and accepted reality over fantasy.  We accept that extraterrestrial environments are hostile to life- cratered, silent, and still.  We’re grownups now.

Unless…

Unless.

Imagine that we were born just a bit earlier.  Say, three and a half billion years or so.  We raise our telescopes to the sky, and we see a sister-planet.  Not red, but white and blue, with an atmosphere full of clouds and multiple large bodies of water scattered across its surface, prominent ice caps and snow-capped highlands, rivers tracing their way down to the lowlands in the north.  (Maybe the water is all under the ice, not open to the air at the surface; maybe the liquid pools are small and limited to craters, not feeding a large ocean.)  Sober scientists might have suggested we shouldn’t get our hopes up too much- after all, the gravity is much lower, there’s no tectonic recycling, and there’s no protective magnetosphere.  But is sterility really the default assumption we should be making here?  Is ‘we are alone in the cosmos’ really the most sane conclusion to draw from this situation?  Is it not worth, perhaps, sending a rover to go see?

We’ve adapted our sensibilities to a dead solar system because in the moment we’re looking, it kind of is.  We’re hopeful for the icy moons- and the evidence keeps mounting there as well- but the terrestrial planets are a grim reminder of the fragility and contingency of our own world.  The thing is, the more we learn, the more we discover that we’re a bit late to a very, very interesting party.  Venus is a hellscape, but it probably didn’t start that way.  Mars is a desert, but once it was an oasis.  What makes Earth special among the terrestrial worlds isn’t that it developed a temperate climate, but that it kept a temperate climate for more than four billion years.  Stability, not habitability, is the party trick that makes us unique in the solar system.  And if we’re really committed to being grownups, to accepting what’s real instead of what’s easy, we have to learn that lesson too.

And life does not need four billion years to begin.  Not even close.

That brings us to Jezero Crater.  The most interesting feature here is a large river delta- based on some clever geology, we’re pretty sure that a large river emptied into the crater during Mars’ wet period.  When the rapidly-flowing water hit the still water of Lake Jezero, the loose sediments being carried along the current all fell out of suspension at this place, forming a large pile of detritus at the mouth of the river that accumulated over the lifetime of the system.  Even more interesting, check out this geologic map:

See those tiny teal deposits to the right side of the image?  Those are also river delta deposits.  Which means the thing labeled ‘delta’ on this map isn’t the original extent- it used to be much, much larger, at least twice as wide.  Which also means that the outer edge of the ‘delta’ that we see here in this image is actually an erosional surface, and we get a natural cross-section of the thing with the oldest deposits at the bottom and the youngest at the top, just before Mars lost its hydrosphere.  By climbing the outer edge, we can move through time across a large fraction of the habitable period.

Here’s another image I’d like you to see:

The crater I’ve been showing you is the small circle in the lower right- color is elevation, covering a span of about 5 km.  The black line is the watershed of that river, the region of Mars that channeled water to the delta.  In other words, the river delta collects sediments- and potentially, biosignatures- from a region hundreds of kilometers in diameter, and gathers them all in one place, neatly sorted by time.

For this reason, ancient deltas on Earth are a favorite of paleontologists.  In addition to being comfortably wet and active itself- plenty of access to biologically important nutrients, fresh supplies of liquid water, and a nice dynamic environment- deltas do the legwork for us.  Rather than exploring a huge fraction of the planet with a tiny rover, hoping that we stumble upon an ancient life sign, we can position ourselves at the mouth of the proverbial fire hose and let life come to us.

This does come with some tradeoffs.  Most importantly, whatever we find, we won’t know the original geologic setting.  If we find an unambiguous fossil of some kind- a microbial mat, perhaps- then we’ll know less than if we’d found it in its original home.  And if we don’t find life, then the samples we take will be similarly uncertain.  They’ll be defined in time, at least relative to one another, but not in space.  In the case of life signs, this is an important caveat, but the bare fact of proving that extraterrestrial life exists is sufficiently monumental that it’s still a secondary concern.  But if we’re just talking about geology, that’s a hard thing to lose; that terrifying multi-stage descent isn’t the only risk we’re taking.  We’re leaning into the astrobiology mission hard with this one.

And the search for life is, in itself, fraught.  That’s putting it mildly.  There’s every chance that any evidence that’s even slightly marginal is going to touch off decades of debate, rather than being some kind of slam-dunk.  As it should!  Life is such a fuzzy concept, and such an important concept, that it should absolutely be held to the highest degree of scrutiny we can muster.  This is why it matters that Perseverance includes sample return- in the highly likely case that the findings are disputed, we’ll hopefully have the chance to subject those samples to the highest degrees of scrutiny.  So it feels like the right time to go hunting.

On top of that, there’s the ‘evidence of absence’ problem.  Strong biosignatures update our priors very hard in the direction of life on Mars.  But what is the correct amount of evidence necessary to convince us that Mars never was alive?  I’m not sure, but failure to find microbial mats in Jezero probably isn’t enough.  So the search for life can succeed, but if it ‘fails’ that doesn’t necessarily teach us much; the best experiments teach you something no matter what, and ideally a commitment this large would meet that standard.  This is, more or less, baked into the search for extraterrestrial life, and there aren’t too many ways out from under that problem.

That said, Jezero in particular has some compensation.  As I mentioned, we’re collecting a lot of good data regardless; and even without the gologic context, there’s a ton of opportunity to sample different minerals and how they formed, and get a nice broad sample of the Martian surface over time.  And, even better, here’s the location of another interesting potential field site, in northeast Syrtis:

Note the proximity to Jezero crater!  And Syrtis is also a fantastic candidate for a sample return mission.  It has exposed mesas with layered outcrops going all the way back to the earliest days of Mars, and extending (potentially) through many of the most interesting periods.  Now, these are not ideal for the search for life, although they’d give us a ton of technical data about surface chemistry and the behavior of the atmosphere during the early, wet periods; it would go a long way towards resolving arguments about the temperature of the early Martian climate, for example, or tracing the early destabilization and loss of the magnetosphere while teaching us loads about the planet’s core.

Those mesas are still pretty far away.  Too far, probably, for a sensible rover lifespan to make it all the way there.  But there’s a plan- called the ‘Midway’ route, as a nod to the compromise nature of it.  See, halfway between Jezero and these mesas, there are a lot of banded rocks that look suspiciously like they’re sourced from the table mesas in Syrtis.  And those, we can get to, maybe.  If we call a specific deadline on looking for life in Jezero, then we can pivot to Midway and hopefully take a really deep look.  So, in the end, we’re going hard for astrobiology research, but we’re not going all-in.

The importance of the search for life is… well, there are a lot of people out there, and we enter the world in a lot of different ways.  Most of us agree that the existence of extraterrestrial life would be a Big Deal, and we tend to have a lot of different reasons for that.  It’s not a bad subject for a future post or three, in fact.  But there’s one thing lurking in the back of my head that’s a non-obvious reason to go looking.  This wasn’t discussed at the workshop particularly, but it fed into my vote somewhat.  Check the logic of this for me, see if it makes sense:

Worrying about existential risks, we sometimes talk about the ‘great filter’.  That is, the mysterious phenomenon which explains the lack of extraterrestrial civilizations reaching out to us.  Now, maybe we’re in a zoo or a preserve or something, and intelligences are out there watching after all; maybe the Earth really is the center of the cosmos, because of the simulation hypothesis or the various religious explanations.  There’s no real way to know for sure at this point.  But consider the space of very real possibilities where the universe actually is material, and actually is mostly barren.  Why?

Stepping through the sequence, it might be that abiogenesis is really hard- going from a temperate world to a living one is almost (but not quite) impossible.  Maybe there’s some hurdle to clear between genesis and encephalization.  Maybe, given encephalization, civilization and tool-use are almost impossible.  Or maybe there are many civilizations like ours, and the great filter is ahead of us- it is almost impossible for technological civilizations not to self-destruct or turn in to lotus-eaters before they reach interstellar civilization.  There are a lot of possibilities for the filter, and for present purposes we’ll divide them into two categories: those which we would have already passed, and those which are in our future.

And here’s the thing: for each possibility we can exclude from the great filter, all the other possibilities increase commensurately, becoming more likely in our estimation.  (Assuming the exclusion is ‘clean’ and doesn’t favor some other possibility, that is.)  Given that the silence continues, if we could somehow prove that technological self-destruction isn’t a big risk, that would commensurately increase our guesses about how hard abiogenesis is.

Life on Mars, especially if we could be very sure that it evolved independently of Earth life, would be a strong argument against the difficulty of abiogenesis.  One biosphere in the solar system, and nowhere else, might be down to luck.  The one biosphere has to be somewhere, right?  Two in the solar system, and nowhere else, is a good bit less reasonable.  If we find a second genesis on Mars, then we’ve learned that life is not rare.  That the hundreds of billions of stars in the Milky Way are likely host to many billions of different living (or at least once-living) worlds.

And as wonderful as that news is, as much as it makes me so happy that I literally had to take a second to cry on my bed for a bit, it also makes the great silence much, much scarier.  Today, we can reassure ourselves by saying that life may be rare in the universe.  But what if it isn’t?  If the cosmos is full of life, but not full of thought, then…

If this is the case, we need to know.  We need to know as soon as possible, and we need to know it while we’re engaged in the great project of technological development and moral progress.  It’s easy to imagine that this particular mission is one that can be framed in purely positive terms- the joy of discovery, the vastness of truth, the love of how things might be.  But I do also have this sense of civilizational fragility, you know?  And understanding the risks that we face and the chances we’re taking- that’s not idle curiosity.  That’s genuinely urgent.

[needs-to-stop-looking-at-yigas]

yiga foot soldier reader sucking sooga off 👉👈🥺

Sometimes we all get jealous of Kohga, and we want that beefcake to ourselves, I get it. Lets go??

You were struggling. You had just joined the yiga clan, and alongside not being able to use your old name, and the rigorous training, you had an entirely different issue. Your teacher, your guide, your superior, as well as the right hand of the clan- was fucking hot. We're talking big thighs, huge gazangas, absolute PADDYCAKING of an ass hot. Talk of abs so hot you could cook an egg on it, was NOT uncommon amongst your peers. One would think it wasn’t an issue, but it was. Because you didn't have a fleeting crush on him, you didn't just joke about hitting that with your friends.

You genuinely, absolutely, wanted this man. You touched yourself to him, you daydreamed about his touch, everything about your teacher, you wanted. Every touch he gave to correct your frame, was too tempting to you.

"Focus."

You snapped out of your daydream. Unfortunately, too late. You fell off the beam, falling right to the floor, and almost taking a few of your mates with you. The yiga training course was a struggle of itself, doing so while thinking horny thoughts, made it impossible. When he saw that you didn't get up right away, he whistled. Even newbies like you knew the whistle meant to stop. Which was just great, you didn’t feel like getting trampled today. He walked up to you as the hall went silent, kneeling down to you, and holding onto your ankle.

"Hm. You twisted it. You, cover for me, I'm taking this one to the medic."

Another blademaster, previously occupied with snack time, finished his banana, before taking his place.

"You heard him! Till he gets back, I'm in charge! Continue training!"

They all continued, and you couldn't help but feel bad for slowing everything down. You didn't have time to feel bad for long though, as Sooga suddenly swept you up in his arms, bridal style. Woah. Sooga's titties were REALLY huge when you were not even a foot away from them. You felt yourself sink into his arms, damn near swooning. He walked you down the hall to the medics office, about to push the door open, when he saw the sign at the door.

"Ah. Lunch break. For all the medics. How inconvenient. Very well, I shall attend to you until they arrive."

Sooga turned, walking to his quarters. None of your other mates had been in here, because being in certain rooms was NOT allowed for someone so low on the yiga ladder. You wanted to clap as he opened his door, before setting you carefully down onto his bed. You kept your foot up a bit, looking around the room. So neat and organized. Books carefully but away, a nicely kept desk, and the bed was made so neatly, a rupee could bounce off of it. Sooga dug into his dresser, before coming back to kneel in front of you.

"Hold still. I'm going to bandage it, just so it stays still. Let me know if it is too tight."

You stayed still, feeling as his hand carefully bandaged up your foot. He was so...tender, so soft, despite his big size. You struggled for a second, before making yourself speak.

"Hey uhm...I'm sorry I ruined the training. I was just-"

"Daydreaming, I know. I can see it in your face."

"But...the mask?"

"I've been here a long time. I can read expressions and emotions through the wood of the mask. Like me pulling right there, that made this too tight, didn't it?"

You nodded. He loosened the bandages a bit, before continuing. He had such...big hands. Feeling his hands around your leg and ankle-it made your heart flutter.

"So...what emotion am I feeling now?"

"You're nervous. Very nervous. If it's worry over the course, there's no need. You were injured. It happens. Us Yiga take our failures and move forward."

"How can you tell I'm nerv-"

"I can hear it."

Sooga put one of his hands on your chest, firmly. You felt the blood rise to your ears. He was so goddamn big, he could rip your heart right out, and you'd be powerless to stop him.

"Yes, I can feel it too. Boom, boom, boom...like the pounding of a drum. This makes you nervous. I make you nervous, don't I?"

His face leaned a bit into yours, and his grip on your chest tightened. You were sure the people next door could hear your poor little heart.

"You...y-you do."

"Are you scared of me?"

Everyone was, to a degree. He was big, strong, loyal, disciplined, no sane man didn't fear Sooga, at least a little bit.

"K-kinda."

"It's not fear for your safety though, is it? No, that scent is one I can smell a mile away. No...your fear. I know this fear."

He suddenly pushed you onto your back, knocking the wind out of you. You thought you were in some type of danger, before feeling him climb on top of you. He was SO heavy, him just laying on you would keep you in place. He kept you locked in place with his hips, while his free hand cupped your cheek. The feeling of his hand against your chin, it sent shivers down your spine.

"Your fear is lust. That's what it is. You want me. You crave me. You feel my eyes upon you, and it arouses you. You want me to fuck you until my name comes from every breath of yours. Am I in the ballpark?"

You nodded furiously, not even thinking. All your blood was elsewhere, not a thought in your head. He parted your mask just a bit, enough to see your mouth. He pulled down your chin, inspecting your mouth. You kept it open as his thumb pushed against your tongue. He slowly grazed it against you, practically feeling you up. He pulled it away after a moment, inspecting the drool that cascaded down his wrist.

"You have an eager mouth. You're tempting. Eager to please. As a good yiga should be."

He sat up, straddling your hips as he began undoing his belt. You looked up at him, watching as he pulled out his cock. You were NOT ready. He wasn't a Goron, but he was damn tempting. Good girth, and a nice length that ended in an upward curve- it was a cock that BEGGED to be praised. He stroked it in his hand for a moment, and you watched as the skin moved to his touch.

"I want to touch you further. I want this to be inside of you. I want to feel myself pulse inside of you. I want to hear you say it. Tell me you want me, little Yiga."

You looked up his frame. From the top of his head, to his big, tempting cock, he was perfect. You grabbed onto his thighs (god your hands couldn't even wrap around them fully). You nodded, never being more sure of anything in your life.

"I want you. Absolutely-"

He didn't let you finish, before he stuffed his cock right into your mouth. Much like how he teached, he was careful, patient. You felt his head brush against your tongue, grazing your tastebuds with the hot, hard flesh. You heard him sigh loudly in relief, nearly melting on top of you. He pushed himself further and further, nearly stuffing your cheeks upon getting halfway.

"Easy. Relax your pretty throat. That's it. I'm going to be so careful with you. I'm going to make my cock your favorite taste. Oh, you loosened up, just as I said. You're quite good at obeying, aren't you?"

He pushed himself further, further still. Ohe hand against the wall in support, the other holding onto your head. The touch was tender, albiet firm. His hips slowly rolled into your mouth. His cock eased in and out of your mouth, forcing drool to leak out of your mouth and down your chin.

"I'm letting you taste me. I'm letting your little tongue savor me. I'm moving slow, and you're moving against me. You enjoy my taste, and I enjoy your little, drooling mouth."

You didn't realize it until now, but you realized he was right; you were sucking him as much as he was pushing into you. It didn't help that he genuinely tasted good. It didn't help that the precum smeared against your tongue like paint on a canvas. It didn't help that you liked the feeling of his balls against your chin, the way his pubic hair tickled against your own chin. He was 100% man, and you adored it.

"You take things slow, don't you? You enjoy me touching you. You want this to last. Good. I want to remember you long into the night."

You didn't know how long he kept this up. No clue how long he slowly fucked your mouth. You just knew that in no time at all, your mouth was but a toy for him, and you were but a mindless yiga, meant for servitude. Then you heard Sooga swear under his breath.

"I apologize. But I'm done being gentle. You need to be resilient for me now."

You were about to ask what he meant, when he made it pretty damn clear. He was going to fuck your throat. He bucked against you, aggressively yet slowly, the tip constantly hitting your throat and making you gag. You could feel him throbbing. You could feel his tight grip on your head, you could hear him swearing above you. Then, stuffing himself fully inside of your mouth, until his balls nearly suffocated you, he came. You tasted the hot, thick cum as it was pumped into your throat. It slid into your stomach, heating up your entire body as you were forced to swallow. He waited until he stopped cumming, before he let go of your head, pulling away. You panted harshly, feeling your body laced in sweat, and cum dribble down your mouth and neck. He sat there for a moment, watching you and panting, before there was a knock at the door. He got off of you, and cleaned himself up quickly, before opening his door, just a crack.

"Yes?"

"Sooga! I heard someone hurt themselves during our break. I could come in and see them if you-"

"I will take them to you, doctor, thank you."

He shut the door, before turning to you. You coughed a bit as you sat up, trying not to choke on the cum you were forced to swallow.

"How did you...get ready so fast?"

"A Yiga talent. I will be happy to help you practice it later. For now, clean yourself up, and I will take you to the medical bay."

He tossed a towel your way, and as you wiped your face, you screamed into the towel. No one would believe you.

But you just sucked off Sooga. Holy shit.

[queenjunoking]

Wolf Taming Pt 33

CW: Noncon - Shock Collar - Pain - Petplay - Drugs - Kidnapping  - Manipulation - Abuse - Spiders

Z

Rayne’s home couldn’t be more stereotypical. It was a huge gothic eyesore. I knew that Rayne and Flora were one of the more powerful, and rich, couples in the region. I couldn’t imagine they used most of the space inside. It was a flex. Only by the Society’s influence could a place like this remain hidden.

It took a minute to finish the trip up their driveway and park by their front door. It took a lot to unsettle me. This house was one of the things that did. I knew all about the things that happened here. I was under no illusion about what I was to Rayne. She looked at new members that she saw as having some kind of potential and tried to push them. I was vaguely aware of some of the other people she attempted to take under her wing.

Mercy, an ironic name if I had ever heard one. I had seen her work, she worked mostly as a private breaker that just pushed her victims little by little until they broke. I had seen some videos, the childish glee she had as she told her victims they could “take just a little more” over and over. A few more inches. A few more hits. One more notch up on the shock collar. Of course if they could take that Mercy was sure they could take one more. She was to take the phrase “it’s too big” as a challenge. She wanted her victim to say something wasn’t possible.

Melinoë was one of the few people who climbed the ranks from the bottom. She broke people using their phobias. She kept rooms of snakes, spiders, rats and other common phobias and introduced them to people she had rendered immobile. I had seen one of her victims covered head to toe in webs from a swarm of spiders she let into the cell. The light in their eyes had died quickly. Unfortunately not everyone's phobias are so easy to manifest. She was more than happy to keep people in cycles of suffocation or waterboard those that had those fears. She had a technique for almost everything.

Her newest was some newly inducted girl. Apparently she was some serial killer that had killed dozens of low ranked members over the last year. Rayne’s intervention probably saved her a long torturous life at the bottom of one of the Society’s special prisons. I remember Eos making a fuss that the girl had left Rayne’s mansion gone underground a few weeks ago and no one had tracked her down yet. Eos had been on the council deciding the girls fate and had been very vocal about having her imprisoned for life.

I hated them all, none of them had the respect that I had for the people I worked on. I avoided being on that list of people taken under Rayne’s wing by virtue of Eos interacting with me as often as she did. She still left her mark on me though, something I was unable to get rid of, her epithet.

I composed myself as the doors to the limo opened. The driver bowed and helped the both of us out of the car. Once she shut the doors behind us the went up to the front door and rang the doorbell. She waited to the side, her head bowed lest she incur Rayne’s wrath when the door opened.

Rayne

Everything was going… well perfect was a lie. Things never went perfectly. But with a minimum amount of punishments. I only had three other maids taken away while I waited for Z’s arrival. They’d make passable canvases.

I was growing irritated as the minutes slowly passed by. She was supposed to be here at four. It was now ten after four. Good driver’s were hard to come by, but I’d have to find a new one regardless. Perhaps she would make a good lawn ornament. If she wanted to go slow on the roads she may as well be stationary. At least she wouldn’t have to worry about winter for quite awhile.

Finally the doorbell rang, followed by some scattered screams throughout the mansion. The doorbell was wired to some random slaves. It gave them quite the nasty shock when it was pressed, it made sure we would always hear it ring. Our guests were here. Only fifteen minutes late. The two slaves I had left stationed by the front door saw me walk towards them and slowly opened the door.

The sight was… as to be expected. Z was dressed in what I was sure was the most expensive thing she owned. I was a bit upset to see Briar there. I hadn’t given Z a plus one. I’d have to figure out something for her to do, she was just going to make all my plans harder. I wanted Z, alone, without anyone to consult. Having Briar to talk to just made my goal harder.

"Good afternoon Z. I'm glad you could make it to this celebration." I gave her a smile. I tried to play the good host.

"Unfortunately, due to the last minute invitation, I was unable to bring Lady Flora a gift." She looked bored and it pissed me off. Its like she didn't care she didn't bring my darling Flora anything.

"That's alright Z, you're the gift. I'm sure Flora will enjoy meeting you. Follow me." We made our way through the mansion, heading towards the art room I knew my lovely lilac was busy in.

Maids stop and curtsied as we passed by. Flora and I would really have to converge on a design for them. She was in the midst of designing new outfits for them and had them wearing different prototypes. Some were clad in latex, others were dressed in what could only be generously called an outfit. Still others were in floor length outfits that only left their hands and faces uncovered. Different styles from English to French to Japanese. I didn't care much about which style she ultimately chose, I just wanted them to match.

We passed by many of Flora's projects on out walk. All stunningly beautiful. All works of genius. Yet Z looked bored and Briar looked away.

It pissed me off.

I stopped at the top of a staircase in front of a special wall Flora had installed. The renovations had cost a fortune but nothing was too expensive for my beloved buttercup.

"Perhaps you recognize this one, Z?"

Z

The walk through the mansion was what I expected. Battered maids, tortured slaves, and all kinds of horrible art created by Flora.

I looked up at the newest exhibit. It was a resin block that was placed into the wall. There was a woman inside, immobile. Naked and on display. It took a bit for me to see the tubes connected to her inside. Most likely to give her air, water and Ambrosia to keep her alive. She stared out blankly at the room, I doubt she was mentally there anymore.

"I'm afraid I don't." I didn't really care about whatever Rayne was trying to show me. I respected the situation in a certain way. I'm sure the inability to move with no space to take anything more than shallow breaths would break anyone fairly quickly.

It was the same principle I took with Bridget.

"Flora was devastated when you closed up shop. She bought up many of those you broke for her own projects. They're quite magnificent for many purposes. Sometimes its fun to listen to them scream while you work, but you created slaves that simply don't react anymore." She smiled at me as she talked. I hated every word coming out of her mouth. I did this to stop their suffering, not make it worse.

"And the significance of this piece?" I tried pushing the annoyance out of my voice.

"This was the last person you broke. She was sold as a sex slave and was used like that for awhile. But Flora wanted to preserve your last piece. It's been injected with a concoction that should help preserve its beauty. The side effects are quite painful and debilitating, but its encased in resin so it doesn't matter if its debilitating. We believe she'll live another decade in the-"

"I believe you wanted us to meet with Lady Flora?" Briar cut Rayne off. I wasn't sure if it was for my benefit or hers, but I'm glad she did.

Rayne’s fave slipped for just a moment. From a warm and welcoming one to one of sheer annoyance. It only took a moment for her to slip back though. "Yes, we're almost there." She turned and began walking down the hall. I had long lost track of where we were. The house seemed alive with activity no matter where we went. Slaves where everywhere, I couldn't begin to fathom how many she must have.

Rayne opened a door and we could hear someone inside talking. She motioned for us to wait as she slipped inside.

Rayne

"If I heard one more sob out of you I'll give you something to actually be sad about." I heard my gorgeous gardenia tell her canvas as she worked.

Flora's back was to me so I could see her canvas facing me. It was some small thing. It had short black hair, surprising as Flora preferred to claim slaves with long hair.

The canvas was covered in tattoos, new ones. Surprising designs. Flora loved to cover a few maids in tattoos, having some walking art around the mansions. Usually she didn't design tattoos so demonic though.

"What are you working on?" I asked her, giving her a bit of a start as I broke her concentration.

"Oh, raindrop. How many times do I have to tell you not to startle me when I'm working on a piece! I could have gotten a line out of place." She chided me playfully. If she had messed up she'd probably just dispose of it and get a new canvas, it was no big deal.

"My apologies, my sweet… saguaro." I stumbled, my mind was in other places.

She crossed her arms and puffed out her cheeks, looking a bit cross. "A cactus?"

I walked over to her and tip her head up, giving her a kiss. "I apologize, I was taken in by your art."

She smiled, her pout already forgotten. "This canvas was some poor church girl that was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I bought her with the intent of reselling her to The Pandemonium Club."

"Don't they give full body recoloring to all their imps? Won't that cover up your lovely art?" Servers at the club were modified to resemble imps. Horn mods were what their servers were known for. The size of their horns indicated their purpose. But they also underwent full body recoloring. Many were purple, blue, red or pink.

"Not at all. That guttersnipe that you brought in gave me one nice thing, a chemical added to this ink will make it glow under the body repainting. So she'll be purple with nice gold tattoos showing." She gave me a toothy grin.

I gave her another kiss. Longer. More passion. "You know I don't like you talking about her like that, she'll be giving us tons of fun to watch. But I'm glad she's helped you."

"Whatever you say. So, may I ask why you've come in? Just wanted to see my art?" Flora was beginning to catch on.

"Your birthday present finally arrived, Love." I smiled, knowing this would make her day.

"Oh?" She feigned an innocent look. "I had completely forgot. What did you get me?"

"I didn't find you a something to give you this year unfortunately." Her look turned sour and she stuck out her bottom lip. "But, I brought in someone you might enjoy meeting."

Nothing happened for a few seconds. I figured that had been an obvious enough of a clue.

"I brought in someone you might enjoy meeting!" I called a bit louder. This time Z and Briar entered the room.

"Z!" Her face lit up and she practically glided over the floor to her. She ignored Briar much as I had. "Its so lovely to have you visit. I am such a fan of your methods. Perhaps we can talk over dinner." I watched her look Z up and down. "And let's get you some nice clothes. Consider it my treat."

Z didn't get a moment to say anything before Flora pulled her out of the room. My present had gone over well so far. If things went my way I'd get rid of Z and make this the best birthday Flora's ever had.

[straykidsscribbles]

Little Red Robbing Hood

Summary: Best thief in your generation. Heiress to a powerful mafia family. And kind of, on and off best friend to one Seo Changbin, who knows you way too well.

Fairytale AU, based on Little Red Riding Hood; Mafia Au; Female reader; Fluff with the lightest hint of angst 

Genre: Seo Changbin x reader 

Word Count: 11,878 words

Warnings: Violence, profanity, and a bit of blood. 

Happy very belated birthday to her majesty Queen Ruby @changbeanie, I adore you to the stars and back again.

“The line’s secure. You’re free to jump, Red.” 

A small smirk crept over your lips as you took a few quick steps away from the edge of the open window. This would be the easiest heist you’d ever pulled. Pride always goes before a fall. If they wanted to keep such a pretty, pretty painting, they should have guarded it better. 

“Thought you’d never give me the all clear Black.” 

“Oh, you know me, triple checking the wire that’s holding up your whole weight. Your grandmother would murder me if I let you die Red.” 

“She has faith in my skills. You’re just the worry wart.” 

A deep breath. 

In. 

Out. 

You took off, legs pumping until you hit the edge of the window and soared out into the air, nothing between you and the ground.

Nothing that is, except for the wire attached to the climbing harness you wore. 

The wire jerked as it took your weight and stabilized, over five hundred feet in the air. You swung around and grabbed hold of it with your right hand. Tapping the goggles protecting your eyes, you scanned the wall in front of you. 

The goggles immediately flashed, and a number popped up in the corner. 

43. Perfect. 

“Black, I’m good to go. You can get the engine running for me.” 

“Copy Red. Driver’s seat for you?” 

“Well, you do have good taste in wheels. Why not? Now shut up and let me concentrate.” A plate of inch thick glass stood between you and the security system protecting your target. It was the first obstacle in your route to the final piece of Van Gogh’s Wheat Field with Cypresses left in private collections. 

The other two would be easy to steal; museum security was nothing to a professional thief. This one required a little more finesse, which is why you were tasked with the job. 

“I didn’t know master thieves needed to concentrate. You were born into the mafia; weren’t you stealing your dad’s gold cufflinks off his suits for fun at four?” 

Who had even told him that story? You gritted your teeth as a gust of wind buffeted you. This was not the time for distractions; the glass cutter in your hand was sharp enough to cut off a finger if you weren’t careful, and you weren’t in the mood to be bleeding all over whichever fancy car your partner picked out for you. 

“If I lose a finger because of you I will make you pamper me for my entire convalescence,” you hissed, the sensitive microphone on your earpiece catching your words over the rushing of the wind. He really just does not know when to shut up does he? 

Your partner simply hummed in response, clearly abiding by your request for silence. You bit your lip as the glass cutter made its way back around and completed cutting out a circle from the window. 

Slipping the glass cutter into a pocket on your belt, you pushed off from either side of the little circle. Your body swung out into the air, suspended only by the wire disappearing into the open window a few floors above. Like a pendulum you swung back, legs out and braced to hit the glass. 

A surprisingly soft tinkle of glass shards filled your ears as you fell into the room. Taking a few steps forward to maintain your balance, you pivoted in the center of the room. No one in here with me, both sides clear. Looks like our intel was right. 

“I’m in. Give me three minutes to make the switch and drop it down to you.” 

“Yes Red.” 

You padded over to the wall looming at your right, dim lighting making the painting hanging on it glow softly. “You are one elusive little picture aren’t you.” You whispered as you unclipped the large frame that hung from your hip. 

Small metal discs imbedded in the wall where the bottom two corners of the painting were resting acted as pressure sensors. Once the painting was removed, you’d only have five seconds to press the other one in place at exactly the same pressure. Even the slightest millipascal of extra pressure and alarms would fill the entire building. 

Still, you were the best thief in your generation for a reason. Some of it was genetics and family talent, yes, but the rest of it? Pure skill and practice.

Light fingers swept over the beautiful canvas, tracing the edge of the frame as you took one quick breath. Then, in the space of a heartbeat you pushed the edge of the Van Gogh away from the wall and onto the ground, cushioning its fall with your left toe. With your right hand you slipped the replacement frame, carefully measured to be the exact same weight and size, into place. 

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. 

Your heartbeat was racing in your ears, but you still heard the slight click of the pressure plates locking back into place, as though absolutely nothing had happened. 

A slow smirk spread over your lips, one sharp canine digging into your lip as you bent down to pick up the painting and slide it into a carrying case. You’d be gone before they even realized anything was missing. 

You sauntered back over to the open window, shoes making only the slightest crunch as you stepped on the shattered remains of the windowpane. Reclipping the harness, you tapped a button on the winch and let it yank you upwards. 

This is the best feeling in the world. The thought came to your mind unbidden, but the more you considered it the more you realized it was true. The wind rushing through your hair, the exhilaration of a successful mission, the adrenaline of an escape waiting for you–this was the life you were meant for. 

“Black, target acquired. My car better be ready.” 

“I knew you’d get it. And please Red, when have I ever let you down. Your car is waiting downstairs, the valet has the key. And I’m up on the roof to get rid of anyone who might try to follow you.” 

You slipped into the open window of your own suite and began untangling yourself from the harness, pushing everything back into a small black suitcase. “Thanks Black.” 

“Only the best for you Red. Can’t wait for our next date.” 

“Me neither. Always a pleasure working with you. Red out.”

You pulled out the earpiece and squished it between two fingers before burying it inside a tiny house plant resting on the desk. The tech would degrade and disappear within a few hours, leaving no trace of your whereabouts, and nothing the police could gain any evidence from. 

Suitcase in one hand, painting in the other, you swept out of the suite and down to the bottom floor, where the car your partner had promised you was waiting. The sleek black Audi shone in the light from the lobby’s chandelier and you suppressed a little sigh. 

He really does have good taste in cars. 

Taking the keys from the valet, you slipped into the driver’s seat and sped off towards the airport. 

Mission accomplished. 

---

Four hours later, the unfortunate owner of Wheat Field with Cypresses reentered his suite only to find glass on the floor and an entirely different painting sitting in the middle of the wall. 

Four stark red letters on a plain black background stood out as the man stared in horror. 

L R R H

Little Red Robbing Hood. 

He’d been robbed. 

---

“Mother, it’s too early for this!” you grumbled as you picked up the phone lying next to your bed. “I just gave you the painting yesterday!”  

“Yes, well, this can’t wait. I have another assignment for you.”

You sat up and rubbed your eyes tiredly. The planning for the painting heist had taken ages, and you were completely ready to just sleep for the whole day. 

Unfortunately, your mother had other ideas. 

“Lately, NCT has been gathering far too much power. They’ve set up different accounts all over the world to split up their finances and make sure that no matter what happens they have something to fall back on.” 

“What does that matter to us? We’re way stronger than they are.” 

“____, what have I always told you? Overconfidence is why so many mafia families fall. We know better than that–it’s why we’re so powerful years after our contemporaries died off.” 

Your family had started their network almost three hundred years ago, and every other mafia family from that time had slowly lost their power or been absorbed into a new family that rose up and took them over. Yours had survived because of their adaptability and attention to minutiae–no detail was unimportant enough to overlook. 

When most of the other mafia families had been patriarchal, yours had become matriarchal when your great-grandfather only had a daughter. Rather than bringing someone in from outside, he trained his daughter to keep the traditions of the family alive. 

Others had scoffed, saying there was no way a woman could handle the day to day running of the mess of madness, backstabbing, and treachery that was the underground crime network. But your grandmother had thrived in it, and your mother after her. 

And now here you were, best thief of your generation and heir apparent. 

Adaptability and meticulousness. That was what kept your family alive and in power. 

That and a few carefully placed assassinations, take overs, and thefts when necessary. All for the greater good of course. 

“Alright fine Mother, what do you need me to do?” 

“Well, after your little painting heist this should be easy enough for you. There’s going to be a tradeoff with information regarding the accounts and plans of NCT in Singapore. I want you to be there for that tradeoff.” 

“And I take the information, which I’m assuming is on some sort of flash drive?” 

“Yes. If you somehow manage to cause a little dissent within their ranks and make it seem like they betrayed each other, well, so much the better. From Singapore, you have a flight straight to Rome, and then from Rome to London where you will deliver the information to your grandmother. She’s expecting you in five days.” 

“When is the tradeoff?” 

“At nine pm, near the Elgin Bridge. You’ll see them.” 

“Alright Mother. I’ll check in once I have the drive.” 

---

The flight to Singapore had been short, and the use of your family’s private jet certainly had made things easier. You were completely prepped and ready to go; touristy outfit to blend with the crowd, tiny stun gun hidden in your pocket, and a set of earrings that could be pinched together to act as a miniature explosive. 

Gadgets were a bit of a weakness for you. But they had saved your life on numerous occasions, so could you really be blamed? 

You scanned the crowd, looking around for anyone who might seem out of place. No one yet, maybe I’m early. 

You dug through your bag, pulling out a large camera with a zoom lens; naturally, it would look as though you were just taking pictures when in fact you were watching the area under the bridge for suspicious activity. 

Ten minutes passed without anything happening, and you were beginning to feel a little nervous. Had your mother’s intel been wrong? Had someone set you up? The rushed timing had ensured you came without backup; what if this was an ambush?

And then, you saw two men standing at the edge of the bridge, hands held protectively over their waists where presumably they had guns hidden away. 

You rolled your eyes. This is almost too easy. 

One of the men began walking towards the middle of the bridge, where a third man in a black suit stood, a briefcase leaning against the railing of the bridge. You watched carefully through the zoom lens as the third man shook hands with the first, slipping him the small flash drive. 

Target acquired. Now for a little pickpocketing. 

The first man walked back towards his companion, slipping the flash drive into a pocket without pausing. You put away your camera and began walking towards them as well, hands swinging carelessly as though you were simply enjoying the fresh air and light breeze after a humid day of sightseeing. 

Three. 

Two.

One. 

You brushed against your target, slipping your fingers gently into his pocket and slowly withdrawing them, the flash drive tucked into the palm of your hand. You kept walking naturally, hands swinging still, before you passed through a crowd of tourists which blocked you from view. 

Time to disappear. You slipped the tiny yet extremely valuable piece of metal into a side pocket and twisted your jacket inside out so that the red lining was now on the outside. If anyone was looking for a thief in a black and white jacket, they’d never think it was you. 

However, you didn’t see the third man watching from his side of the bridge. The flash of red from your jacket caught his eye and he stared as you made your way over to the nearest bus stop and clambered onto the first bus that passed. 

He couldn’t be sure, but there was something very familiar about you. 

Familiar, and suspicious. 

---

“Hi mom, I picked up a nice new silver mirror for you! I’m on my way to the airport now actually, so I should be on the flight home really soon.” You started speaking before your mother could, making sure that it was obvious you were out in public. 

“Alright ____, thank you. What time is your flight leaving again?” Or rather, do you know what flight you’re taking?

“No, actually, can you check? I think the flight number is CP753.” 

“Oh, you’re leaving at 9:43. If you need anything just call me okay?” 

“I will Mother. See you soon!” You tapped your phone and ended the call. Your mother had set up a flight whose number ended in 943. The time of departure would be easy enough to find out when you arrived at the airport. All you had to do was pick up your things from the airport storage you’d left your suitcase in. 

The familiar routine of heading to the airport, getting your things, and finding your flight on the large tv screens mounted on the wall slowly lulled you into a false sense of security. Everything appeared to be completely normal. The crowded airport was no more empty than usual; there were at least two families and three business executives headed towards the same terminal as you–you couldn’t see anything wrong.

But you couldn’t ignore the chill heading up your spine as you waited for your sandwich at one of the airport bistros. Something inside you, some sixth sense, some weird feeling made you feel like there was someone watching you. 

A malevolent presence, hovering at the edge of your awareness. 

Maybe we shouldn’t have rushed, even if it was important. Maybe we should have waited for a better opportunity, or better backup. 

Paying for your sandwich you grabbed the handle of your suitcase and pulled it after you, continuing the trek to your gate. 

There was no point in worrying now. If someone was following you, they knew where you were headed by now. The only thing you could do was wait and try and lose them in Rome. 

I hope I’m wrong. 

---

“Ladies and gentlemen, we’re going through a little bit of turbulence here. Please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts.” The voice of one of the air hostesses rang out over the speakers. 

You wiped your hands with a paper towel and pushed open the door to the tiny bathroom, making your way slowly down the narrow aisle back to your seat. A loud popping noise broke the silence as the little seatbelt light came on, and it woke up a small baby in the middle row. 

Great. Now I have to deal with a noisy crying baby on top of everything. 

As you brushed past a seat, the man sitting there looked up and his eyes met yours.

A shiver ran up your spine. The look in his eyes was malevolent, cruel, utterly heartless. The man had dead eyes, and the little smile curling the edge of his lips could only mean trouble for you.

Why else would someone like that show up on your flight? A million thoughts racing through your mind, you settled back into your seat and pulled the blanket they’d given you closer to you. 

35,000 feet in the air, what else could you do besides wait. Wait and wait and wait and wait for something to happen. 

Behind you, the baby hiccupped and sobbed loudly. Nausea rose in your throat as the plane rolled, sending your stomach through a whirlwind. 

And now I’m ready to throw up. Wonderful. How the fuck do I live with this? You rubbed the inside of your wrist, trying to force the awful feeling to recede. 

Only partially successful, you settled further into your seat. Right now, you just wanted to get off this plane before someone stuck a knife between your ribs. 

---

The second you stepped off the plane in Rome you knew your earlier feeling had been right. There was someone following you, and it was the terrifying man who’s smile had so unnerved you earlier. 

Oh crap why did this have to happen to me? What do I do how the fuck do I get out of this I have no back up and literally no supplies except for what’s on me. ____, good luck getting out of this you’re in really deep trouble this time. 

You saw a small sign for a restroom up ahead and you immediately took a deep breath and ducked inside. Fingers slightly shaky after the long flight, you pulled out your phone and immediately dialed your mother’s number. 

Four rings later, she picked up, voice clipped with irritation. “Yes ____, what’s wrong? I’m extremely busy right now, things have gotten crazy all over east Asia.” 

“Some of that might be my fault. Because I didn’t have backup or more time to prepare, I wasn’t able to make sure things were secure. 

The silence on the phone was deafening. You cringed a little as you waited for your mother’s response. While you were one of the most dangerous individuals in the criminal underworld, your mother was still more dangerous, and you hated disappointing her. 

“Well. This can’t be helped. Are you in Rome now ____?”

“Yes.” You tapped your foot on the tiled floor, waiting for her response. 

“Alright, one of our best wolves is in Athens right now. He’ll meet you at the Trevi Fountain tonight. You need to make sure you are staying in public spaces and being as unobtrusive as possible. Join a tour group and stay with them, blend in with the thousands of other tourists and appear as normal as you can.” 

“Don’t worry Mother, I’m not hopeless.” Already you felt a little better now that you knew you had backup coming and no one blamed you for your little mistake. The weight on your shoulders felt a great deal lighter, less overwhelming now that you had a plan. 

“I know you aren’t. But a mother worries no matter how capable and smart her daughter is.”

You weren’t sure how to respond to that. Your mother cared about you, yes, but the mafia life wasn’t really the best place for touchy-feely displays of affection. Things must be really bad; that’s why she’s being so uncharacteristically soft. 

“You’ll recognize the wolf on sight, you worked with him on your last mission. He is the only one you can trust at this point alright?” 

Wolves were the secondary leaders in the mafia, right underneath the hereditary leaders like you and your family. They were given the title of wolf once they had proven themselves as loyal protectors and skilled fighters, much like actual wolves. They led in every situation not important enough to require the attention of one of the family, and they were the ones responsible for making sure your family was always safe. 

They were the most loyal operatives, their clan ties to yours stretching back to when your family was first making a name for themselves. 

And this particular wolf was the person you trusted most outside of your immediate family. Having him as a partner again would make everything easier, and you wouldn’t even have to worry about dealing with an unknown player. 

He’s trustworthy and… safe. Always safe. 

“Yes Mother. It’ll be nice to see Black again.” 

“At this point, no codenames as well. Use your real names; someone might have overheard your codenames and your real names are safer. You’re simply ____ to him, and he’s Changbin to you.”

Well. This would be interesting. No more Red jokes. He’s been calling me that for years, it’ll be weird not to hear it. 

“Understood. I’ll check in once we meet.” 

“Only by text ____. You cannot afford to call me again, even now you don’t know who could be listening. Changbin will have access to some supplies for you to restock, and you will have to make your own way to your grandmother, is that understood?”

“Yes Mother. As you wish.” 

“Good luck ____. Stay safe.” 

The phone clicked off before you had a chance to say anything else. 

You shoved the phone inside your bag. As things stood now, you couldn’t afford to get rid of it; you didn’t have the resources to replace it, even if it was a security risk. 

Placing your palms on the cool stone sink you stared at your reflection in the mirror. Dark circles rimmed your eyes, the result of the long sleepless flight and the constant fear that someone was watching you. Even now, inside the bathroom, your shoulders were tense with anxiety. 

What if I don’t last until Black– Changbin– comes? You had to remind yourself that your old color codenames were not to be used. Years ago, you’d decided on those nicknames as a group with a few of your fellow younger agents, each of you picking a color for a heist in Switzerland. The names had stuck long after that mission, and not using them would definitely take a little effort. 

Still, you liked the sound of Changbin’s real name. Using it felt somewhat more intimate than using his codename; many of your friends knew his codename but only those closest to him knew his real name. 

“Come on ____, you got this. You’re the best thief of your generation you can damn well make it to a rendezvous.” Splashing some cold water on your face, you tightened your hands into fists. 

Someone might be after you, but if they expected to get you easily, they were just about to be proven grievously wrong. 

---

Soft sounds of someone strumming a guitar filled the night air as you sat on the cool marble of the Trevi Fountain. Despite your fears the day had passed relatively painlessly; the bus ride into the city and ambling around the cobblestone streets soaking up the history behind a tour group had been almost fun, if you let yourself forget about the reason you were there. 

Unfortunately, the malevolent presence you’d sensed in Singapore was still hovering somewhere nearby, even if you couldn’t see anyone tailing you. 

Where is Changbin and why isn’t he here yet? Is he planning on having me die all dramatically in his arms? 

No, Mama would never forgive him, and he idolizes her too much to do that. Honestly, sometimes it’s like she’s his grandmother, not mine. 

You shook the errant thoughts out of your head, choosing instead to focus on scanning the crowd for Changbin. The sun had set almost an hour previously and the fountain was glowing with lights from within, highlighting both the carved marble and the people admiring it. 

Where was he even? 

The pasta you’d had for lunch seemed like a meal from years ago. You’d been waiting long enough; you needed food at this point. You dug through your bag, searching for the savory pastry you’d bought earlier for a snack. The little packet of dough, herbs, and vegetables was bright on your tongue, giving you a little energy and brightening your mood. 

But the fear that he’d been discovered too, and people were lying in wait to capture you and take the pretty silver drive tucked in your inner pocket kept you from enjoying your food. 

If NCT didn’t capture and kill you, the anxiety would instead. 

---

Changbin stared out from the shadow of a building, cap pulled low over his eyes. His gaze skimmed the crowd, looking for your familiar figure. 

He’d been hiding for a while, having already taken out one of the operatives tailing you. He had spotted you earlier as you were eating, illuminated by the glow of the fountain that seemed to light you up with a glow that made Changbin’s heart stutter a little when he looked at you. 

His eyes, while drawn to you like magnets, still noticed the dark figure in all black that was watching you from the gelato shop opposite. 

Changbin’s wolf training kicked in almost immediately. Someone was threatening one of his teammates, his friends– he wasn’t about to let the man anywhere near you. 

He crept up behind the man and tapped his shoulder to get his attention, smiling benignly before yanking him backwards into an alley and taking him out with two quick punches to the temple and jaw. Surveillance now taken care of; he could focus on making sure the area was secure before approaching you. 

And now, after another half an hour of searching, Changbin was certain no one else was watching you aside from him. He pushed up his cap and let a smirk play across his lips. 

Sure will be nice seeing _____ again. She always looks cute when she’s startled. 

He sauntered up to you from behind, hands jammed into his pockets and headphones swinging around his neck. 

“Hey Princess, made a wish yet?” 

A tiny gasp escaped you as you whirled around and almost fell against Changbin. His arms came up almost reflexively and held you tightly against him, making sure you weren’t about to fall over into the fountain. 

“Fucking finally Bin, you took forever. I thought you were going to stand me up.” Your words were carefree and blasé, but Changbin heard the faint quiver in your voice. 

The hours of stress, of waiting for someone to come, of fear that in the next second a bullet would somehow end up in your skull, of one of the most turbulent flights you’d experienced in a while all swept over you as you stood there tucked against Changbin. His arms cradled you gently, spreading warmth throughout your body, swaying with you as he hugged you like you were the most important person in the entire universe.

“As if I’d ever stand you up. Now come on, we’re staying pretty nearby.” He lowered his head slightly so that his lips were just brushing your ear. “The man who was watching you earlier will have a pretty bad headache when he wakes up, not to mention that he’ll be getting severely punished for losing you.”

Already a grin crept across your face as you reached down to grab your suitcase, still holding Changbin’s arm with your other hand. “Thanks Bin.” 

“Always ____. Always.” 

---

The walk back to the little apartment was quiet; exhaustion poured over you in waves as you tried to stay upright. Changbin clutched your suitcase in one hand, the other clasped around yours to give you some sort of support as you made your way between the brightly colored houses. 

He stopped soon after in front of a door with an ornate bronze knocker. Digging through his pocket, Changbin pulled out a small key and slipped it into the lock, pushing the door open. 

“We’re on the top floor, with roof access in case we need to get out in a hurry. We shouldn’t need to though, this safehouse was set up by my dad.” 

Grumbling under your breath, you climbed up the two narrow flights of stairs that led up to the loft apartment. Changbin pressed his thumb against the doorknob and waited for the fingerprint recognition to work. He then tapped in a quick code on the keypad revealed in a panel in the door and it finally swung open. 

“There’s a shower in there, and I brought some stuff for you if you need clothes to change into.” Changbin went over to another suitcase waiting inside the little apartment and pulled out a plain black t-shirt and gray sweats. 

Taking the proffered clothes, you slipped inside the bathroom. The heat and pounding of the hot water washed away some of the tension still coiled inside your muscles, leaving you limp with exhaustion. You let the water wash over you, losing all sense of time, enjoying the relief of focusing on one sensation without having to worry about who might come after you while your guard was down. 

Changbin was outside, and you trusted him to keep you safe. 

Finally, you turned off the water; sleeping in an actual bed would probably result in a lower risk of drowning that falling asleep in the shower, which you were certainly close to. Drying off quickly, you threw on the clothes Changbin had given you and tumbled out into the main room of the little studio apartment. 

“You look slightly more human.” One corner of Changbin’s lips quirked up as he looked up from the gun in his hand. A small bottle of liquid sat on the table next to him, and a stack of cotton scraps which he was using to clean and oil the metal. 

The smell was familiar in a way; Changbin always cleaned off his twin pistols before he slept, and you’d spent enough time with him to know his routine almost as well as your own. 

“I feel a hell of a lot more human. So, how are we getting to London?” You set down on the bed and leaned back against the pillows behind you, taking a deep breath as you sank into the plush warmth. 

Changbin tucked one gun next to his shoes and put the other on the nightstand on the other side of the bed. He sat down, the bed sinking slightly on his side as he turned to look at you. 

“Well, air travel is going to be a lot harder to manage because it’s a lot more regulated, and even if we call the jet, we’ll still have to file a flight plan. Boat would work but it would also take a long time, so we’ll go by train. We shouldn’t have any reason to get our passports checked as long as we’re within the EU, and then once we get to Calais, we can easily just take a boat over to England. It’ll be a lot more subtle, and we should be able to make it within the deadline.”

“Train? Really? Will it be fast enough?” 

“_____, Europe is tiny. If we take a train tomorrow morning, we’ll be in Paris by evening. From there it’s easy enough to get to Calais.” 

“If you’ve put so much thought into this, then how are we supposed to make sure no one follows us onto the train.” You crossed your arms over your chest, frowning thoughtfully. 

“It’s a risk we’ll have to take. The only thing is, there’ll be less regulation and so hopefully if things go sour, we’ll have an easier time escaping. That and, if we’re on a train we can get off in the middle, and that’s a hell of a lot easier than jumping out of a plane.” 

You nodded slowly, considering his plan. He did have a very good point; it would be easier to escape off a train. 

What choice do we have? At least this way we have a chance. 

“Fine. You’re right. Now come on, if we have to take a train I’m assuming we’ll have to be out of here early in the morning.” 

“Departure’s around 5 am Princess. You can finish up your beauty sleep on the train, I’ll even let you use my shoulder as a pillow.” He pulled one of the armchairs next to the bed and settled into it, eyes already beginning to close. 

“Good night.” 

You let the soft sound of Changbin’s steady breathing lull you to sleep.

---

Dark woods all around you.

Shadowy trees looming every direction you turned.

One path forward.

A break in the tree line, only to reveal clouds obscuring part of the glowing yellow full moon. 

A howl cutting through the air, making the back of your neck prickle with fear. 

A flash of mangy brown, and claws swiping through the red cloak you had wrapped around you. 

The basket in your hand falling, falling, falling.

Red splattering through the air.

Blood red. 

Painpainpainpainpain

Menacing shadows all around you.

Black warmth enveloping you, calling out your name.

“_____! _____! Wake up for fuck’s sake! _____!” Changbin’s voice broke through the dense fog of the nightmare that had captured every one of your senses. Heart racing, you opened your eyes only to make out his face close to yours, close enough for you to see the fear in his eyes. His hands clutched your arms, shaking you to try and rouse you from whatever horror you were seeing. 

The moonlight streaming through the window calmed you as your eyes adjusted and you realized where you were. Changbin was sitting on the bed, leaning against the headboard and holding you tightly against his chest. You could feel the steady beat of his heart under your ear, a little fast but still helping ground you. 

Breathing fast, you simply lay there for a moment. His arms wrapped around you, his cheek resting against the crown of your head.

Every time you closed your eyes you could still feel the sharp claws of the monster that had attacked you. 

Slowly, steadily, your breathing began to even out and you settled further into Changbin’s embrace. You slipped your arms around his torso, not ready to let him go just yet. 

“_____?” His voice was softer now, a gentle whisper rather than the sharp order it had been. “What happened Princess?”

“Bad dream.” You mumbled, embarrassed now that you were more awake. You were a professional thief and the heir to a mafia family; you were not supposed to get so freaked out by a nightmare of all things. 

“It must have been pretty bad, if you were screaming like that. Do you want to talk about it?” The gentle rasp of his voice was calming.

You sighed. He wouldn’t let this go without you telling him– Changbin was stubborn like that. “It’s probably because of the whole Little Red Robbing Hood thing people have been calling me lately. I don’t even know, it was weird. I was trapped in this forest and all the trees were like monsters. There was this mangy-looking, kind of flea-bitten brown wolf or dog or something that jumped at me and clawed me, and then a bunch more shadows were surrounding me or something and it was like this explosion of pain, I don’t even know.” 

“So, a wolf attacked you? In a dark forest? ____, that does sound like a fairytale. Maybe you need a break from all this. You’ve been going on so many heists and missions lately, no wonder you’re stressed.” 

“I guess.” You trailed off, not sure if you wanted to finish your tale. That somehow there had been a black wolf that had protected you, made you feel safe and warm and comforted and kept whatever pain you felt at bay. 

Changbin tapped the lamp next to you and a soft yellow glow filled the room. He looked down at you, dark eyes meeting yours unflinchingly, without the slightest hesitation. 

“You know, any monster, real or imaginary, would never be able to come near you if I was there. You have a wolf for protection after all.” 

At any other time, you would have felt shy at his direct statement. You might have laughed at his dramatic, even slightly romantic streak. Who used their ridiculous title as an actual declaration of protection? 

However, the way Changbin’s eyes were drilling into you made that all but impossible. 

If anything ever happened, he means it. He really would protect me with his life. 

Unable to muster up the words to respond to him, you simply nodded and curled your fingers into the fabric of his shirt. The little clock on the nightstand read 2:26 am and you could probably squeeze in another hour and a half of sleep before you had to leave. 

With the solid warmth of Changbin curled around you, you actually did have a chance of getting some proper rest this time. 

---

Changbin sighed as your breathing finally evened out, signaling that you were asleep. He traced a finger over your cheek, drawing a little heart on your skin as you slept. 

“What am I to do with you?” He whispered into the darkness. “You’re going to be the death of me.” 

He sighed softly, the puff of air escaping from his lips pushing a lock of hair away from your face. “I–”

I love you. But he didn’t have the courage to utter his thoughts aloud and make them real. 

The night would keep his secret for him; never telling you how much you meant to him. 

He was just a friend to you. Nothing more. He couldn’t aspire to be more with someone of your prestige and rank and skill. 

And if all he could do was give you a safe space to break down in and protect you to the best of his ability? That’s what he would do. 

You were too important to him; he wouldn’t risk the bond between you for anything. 

---

“Rise and shine Princess, you don’t want to miss the train, do you?” 

“I hate you.”

“Yeah I hate you too and look where we are now. If you don’t get up then we’re going to be stuck here for another twelve hours, and that’s twelve whole hours for NCT to get their shit together and find us.” 

“Are you ready?” You mumbled from underneath one of the pillows 

Changbin rolled his eyes. “For your information, I actually am. Unless you want me to show up at your grandmother’s house without you saying ‘Oh, ____ just wanted to sleep and that’s why I had to leave her behind’ I suggest you get going.” 

You grumbled but pushed yourself up, sitting on the bed. “Did you already pack all of my stuff?” 

“Yes, because I’m the best partner you’ll ever have.” 

“Questionable. Orange did a pretty great job last time.” 

“Jisung is talented but he’s got nothing on me.” Changbin threw a sleazy wink at you and laughed when you threw the pillow next to you at his head. 

You splashed water on your face and huffed at Changbin’s grin in the mirror. “His ego isn’t as ginormous as yours either.” 

“You love me even with my ginormous ego, so I think I win.” 

He meant it as a joke. Changbin always says stupid shit like that, it’s nothing new. 

“Keep telling yourself that Bin.” 

Somehow though, his words kept reverberating through your head. Now that the idea had been planted your head, you couldn’t help wondering. 

Would it be that hard to fall in love with him? 

You weren’t sure if the answer scared or excited you.

---

The train station was crowded despite the early hour; no doubt commuters and locals and jetlagged tourists were taking advantage of the cooler weather. You and Changbin stuck close together, hands brushing as you made your way to the platform. 

As you approached the train, you couldn’t help feeling like there was something watching you, something you could sense and feel but not actually see. 

A malevolent presence. 

You tugged on Changbin’s sleeve to get his attention. “Bin, I think our friends from last night might be somewhere around here.” 

“Fuck.” The curse escaped his lips as he glanced around. “Hopefully they don’t spot us, and the train gets away alright.” 

He reached over and pulled the hood of your yellow hoodie up over your head. Your heart gave a little thump as his fingers brushed the side of your cheek. “Come on, let’s go. We’re leaving in ten minutes anyways.” 

Changbin quickly busied himself with putting your suitcases in the storage rack, while you got your tickets out and kept things ready for the conductor to check. The sooner you left Rome, the better. 

Within a few minutes, you felt the train begin moving under you, the acceleration pushing you against the back of the seat. Changbin reached over and patted your hand, twining your fingers together and squeezing slightly. 

“You okay? We seem to be alright so far.” 

A sigh escaped your lips as you looked out of the window, the grand architecture of the city you’d gotten to spend far too little time in looming in the distance. 

“It’s just… I kind of wanted to have more time here. Maybe see the sights, go on more than just the one short day tour while constantly stressing about someone following me. It feels like I got cheated, you know? I came to Rome, of all places, and I barely got to see any of the history and architecture and art.”

One corner of Changbin’s lips quirked up. “Well, who knew Little Red Robbing Hood had such an interest in art beyond what’s easy to steal?” 

“Hey!” You hit his arm, hard. He didn’t have to tease all the time, did he? And mentioning that name in a public place was dangerous!

“How’s this Princess? If we get out of this alive, and your grandmother doesn’t kill me for displeasing her, I’ll take you to Rome for fun. No work, no missions, no targets. Just you, me, and whatever else you want.” 

You gulped at the look in his eyes. 

Warm. Soft. Heartfelt. A little cheeky. 

Loving?

He’s serious.

A chuckle escaped him as he leaned back against the seat. “Like I said though, that depends on us getting out of this alive. And for that, you’d probably want a bit of a nap. I promised you my shoulder, didn’t I?” 

He patted his right shoulder and you shook yourself out of the reverie that had overcome you. He was just messing around. I’m imagining things. It’s just being with someone who’s sort of cute and hot and knows me well. It’s the proximity is all. He doesn’t actually like me. 

Does he?

You scowled even as you settled into place, head resting against Changbin’s shoulder. He was warm and smelled of pine needles and something else, something you couldn’t place. 

Slowly, your eyes drooped shut and you fell asleep curled up against him, barely noticing the arm he wrapped around you as he pulled you closer to him. 

---

Not even two hours later, you were jolted awake by Changbin shaking your shoulder roughly. “_____, wake up. They found us. We have to move.” 

Your eyes flew open and you stifled a groan as you realized what he was talking about. Behind you, through the glass door connecting the compartments, you could make out two dark suited figures coming towards you. 

One of them looked all too familiar. The man from the plane, who had a bandage on his forehead where Changbin must have knocked him out earlier. He wasn’t smiling now; rather his face was twisted in a snarl. 

All too aware of the flash drive hidden inside your pocket, you reached down and grabbed Changbin’s hand, squeezing it tightly. While you had been asleep the compartment had emptied, and now its only occupants were the two of you. 

And of course, the two men from NCT. 

They approached you slowly, each one making his way down one aisle towards you. You reached into your pocket and pulled out a small knife–a gun’s noise would attract far too much attention.

“Finally caught up with us hmmm? Took you long enough,” you quipped, rolling your eyes. 

“Give us the drive.” 

Changbin smirked at the man coming towards him. “Come and get it, if you can.” 

All at once, the tension in the compartment snapped. The man coming towards you leaped over the last row of seats and bore down on you, stabbing downwards at your hips. You twisted, avoiding the small blade and scoring a long shallow cut along the man’s sleeve, which protected his arm. 

He threw two quick punches at your head and you skipped out of reach, moving around him so that his back was against a window. As you slashed and feinted and blocked his blade, the wheels in your mind turned constantly. 

How do I get rid of this guy?

The red latch on the window caught the edge of your vision, and a little smirk slipped over your lips. Bingo.

You swung out with your left hand, hoping to distract your opponent, and with your right hand you grabbed the red handle and pulled. The window flew open, the glass falling out exactly as expected of an emergency exit. 

Hands flat against the man’s chest you shoved him once, hard, and he toppled out of the window as the idyllic countryside streaked by. 

He was gone in a moment. 

Panting, you turned back to Changbin, expecting to see him standing over the body of his opponent. 

Instead, his opponent had him in a headlock, arm tightening around Changbin’s neck and cutting off his air supply. The man brought his other hand closer and closer to Changbin’s neck, a small knife in his hand. 

He stopped with the cool metal cutting slightly into Changbin’s skin, holding him in place carefully. His eyes though, were fixed on you. 

“Well well well. Little Red Robbing Hood, caught at last.”

“I wouldn’t exactly say ‘caught’, but whatever asshole.”

The man shook his head ruefully. “Tsk tsk. You should be a little more polite. After all, I do have your wolf right here with a knife to his neck. I think I hold all the cards in this situation.” 

The knife in his hand cut into Changbin’s skin a little more, and a thin rivulet of red seeped out of the wound, staining the collar of Changbin’s shirt. Changbin’s eyes were panicked as he met yours, and his lips moved in the same way over and over, as though he was mouthing something to you. 

Leave me ____! Run! Leave me!

“Well, I can’t have you hurting him. So how about you let him go, and then we can talk about this in a more… civilized manner.” Despite your panting, you managed to keep an even tone. 

The man chuckled hollowly. “What’s there to talk about? You have three seconds to pass the drive to me, otherwise I will kill your little mangy runt. Fine job he did protecting you. You should join NCT, perhaps there we can outfit you with talent more suited to you.”

The knife moved closer and closer to the veins in Changbin’s neck, until you simply couldn’t bear it anymore. 

If he got hurt because of you, you’d never forgive yourself. 

“Stop! I’ll give you the drive. Just don’t hurt him.” 

You dug the little metal rectangle out of your pocket and slid it across the floor. The man smiled almost to himself, and then–

Changbin collapse sideways, falling onto a row of seats with a limp thud. The man reached down and grabbed the drive, shoving it into a pocket and immediately slipping out of your compartment.

It galled you that you couldn’t chase after him. 

But as you came level with Changbin’s limp figure on the seats, your heart jumped into your throat. 

The seat was covered in red. 

Blood red. 

Your signature color. 

Quick as a flash you were kneeling beside him, one hand cradling his face even as you tilted it upwards to trace over his neck. The cuts there were shallow, hesitant, only a threat. 

Where’s the blood coming from? 

“_____,” Changbin coughed. “My arm.” 

You unbuttoned the first three buttons of his shirt and slid the soft fabric off his shoulder, only to gasp. The man had stabbed Changbin’s arm and then yanked out the knife at a different angle, leaving blood dripping. 

“Fuck, this is bad.” You ran back to the seat where you’d been only a few minutes previously, digging through your suitcase and pulling out the first aid kit. 

You were not going to lose Changbin. Not to something as dumb as blood loss. Not to anything ever.

“Okay, Bin, I need you to try and sit up, if you can.” You reached around him and grasped his other arm, pulling him upright even as he swung his legs off the seat. “Now hold this against the cuts on your neck, I need to work on your arm first.” 

You quickly swabbed the whole wound with alcohol wipes and began wrapping it with gauze and tape, keeping it as tight as you could around Changbin’s bicep to restrict the blood flow. 

Changbin winced even as you finished up, his eyes soft despite the pain no doubt filling his senses. 

“You shouldn’t have done that _____. I’m not worth that drive, we all know the information on it is incredibly valuable.” 

“Shut up.” 

“I’m serious ______. You can’t tell me my life is worth more than that drive.” 

You tightened your hands, your bloodstained, shaking hands, into fists.

“Seo Changbin how fucking DARE you. Do NOT tell me what your life is worth. You have absolutely no idea how important you are and how much you’re worth to me. So shut the fuck up you idiot.” 

“I—”

“Did you not just hear me tell you to shut up.” Kneeling in front of him, you grasped his chin in one hand, fingers gentle despite the anger still coursing through your veins. You tilted his head up, wiping off the cuts on his neck and placing bandages on each of them as well. 

Changbin winced as you finished, turning back to look at you.

“You know they’ll be long gone with that thing. We need to get it back.” 

“I know we need to get it back. Do you really think I’m that stupid?” 

Changbin chuckled, then immediately raised a hand to his neck as the movement pulled at the tape. “Well, you did just give them the drive.” 

He was infuriating. You were just about to smack his arm when you caught yourself. A pout stole over your lips even as you spoke. “You’re lucky you’re injured; you get a free pass.” You changed the movement to a light brush of your fingers against his skin, tracing the line of his muscles and the edge of the gauze.

The moment hung in the air, tense and yet comfortable at the same time. The banter between you was normal, but the concern for each other that was normally buried under five layers of sarcasm and six of wit was now well out in the open. 

There was no way he could mistake the look in your eyes.

There was no way you could mistake the look in his. 

“Well, I guess I am lucky.” Changbin broke the silence between you. “I mean, I do have a pretty girl basically sitting in my lap, holding my arm, and stroking my neck.” 

You almost choked, scrambling off his lap in an instant. “I was making sure the gauze was in place! And you still have blood on your neck you dumb-dumb. Planning on getting that off yourself?” 

The moment was broken, but you still felt heat suffusing your cheeks. Only Changbin could get you so riled up with such ease. 

“I did say I was lucky, didn’t I? Maybe if I’m luckier you’ll kiss them all better.” 

“I hate you.” 

“Clearly not, you did just save my life and trade an extremely valuable object for my safety.”

“Shut up and put this on.” You dug around in his bag and pulled out a hoodie, throwing it at his head. “You have until we arrive in Paris to start feeling better.” 

“Awwww Princess, you do care. You know what would make me feel better almost instantly?” 

Ignore him. You have work to do.

“A kiss. One right here—” he pointed to his arm like a petulant toddler, complete with pout and all. “—and one here, and one right here.” 

“Your lips aren’t injured Bin.” 

“Damn. Maybe I should have gotten that guy to punch me too.”

“You are so lucky I have to figure out this tracker and I can’t pay attention to you.”

---

Changbin lay back against the pillows in your little hotel room in Paris, finally clean and freshly bandaged after the harrowing train ride into the city. You were still seated at the desk, fingers clacking on the keyboard much as they had been for the past four hours, aside from regular breaks to check on Changbin’s injuries. 

“What are you even working on?” he mumbled sleepily, eyes half closed as he cuddled into the pillows. 

You waved a hand in his direction, trying to get him to shut up before he broke your concentration. A few more clicks and… perfect. 

The laptop hummed as you turned back to Changbin and padded over to the bed, sitting down on a corner. “If you didn’t keep interrupting me, I’d have gotten done a hell of a lot sooner. But anyways, you don’t think I would have given them the drive without some way to get it back.” 

Understanding dawned on Changbin, even in his sleepy, pain medication-induced daze. “You put a tracker on the drive.” 

“Exactly. And, I was also working on this.” You reached into your bag and pulled out a small hard disk. “There’s no guarantee that they won’t have placed a tracker on the drive as well. So, what we do, once we get it back, is move the information on that drive to this one. It’s set up to be automatic. All we have to do is plug the other one in.” 

“Well aren’t you clever?” The dopey smile on Changbin’s face as he looked at you made your stomach do flips.

“People have said that before.” A shy, almost coy smile worked its way across your face in response. You got up from the bed and went over to the chair, pulling it so that it sat next to the bed. 

“You should sleep, we both should really. The computer will finish its search for the tracker in an hour, and we need to be at our best before we try and take on NCT again. 

Changbin patted the pillows next to him. “Come here then. I’m cold.” 

“You have blankets.” 

“Yeah but I—”

“Fine.” You lifted a corner of the blankets and got in next to him. “I guess I owe you after my nightmare.” 

“Thank you.” The soft reply in the dimly lit room made your heart skip a beat. Changbin reached out under the covers and grasped your hand, pulling you closer to him. 

Five minutes later, you were out cold, one hand resting against Changbin’s chest right over his heart, the steady thumping reassuring you that he was alive and safe and here with you. 

---

“How’s your arm?” You asked, searching through the items in your bag for pepper spray and throwing weights. 

Changbin stretched it carefully, moving it in small circles to test its range of motion. “I think we’re good. It’s sore, but I can work with this.” 

“Now remember, I’m doing most of this. The drive is being taken to a music festival in the Latin Quarter. That means they’re probably going to have a handoff there, in the crowd. I’ll be in the mess of people, and I’ll nab the drive and then come to you.” 

“I’ll have the transfer disk waiting, and once we’re done, we simply toss the drive out the window and leave as fast as we can.” 

“Exactly. If we have to run, you make sure they don’t catch you again.” 

“Princess, you do care.” 

“Well of course I care about you idiot!” The words burst out of your mouth. The constant worry about Changbin and his needling had worn you down to the point where you were ready to throw something. “You’re my closest friend. I’d trust you with my life. And I care about you more than you know, so can you please not get hurt again? I don’t think I could handle it.” 

The quaver in your voice was unmistakable. 

Changbin reached over and cupped your cheek, turning your face to look him directly in the eye. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat, if it meant you were safe.” 

Slowly, giving you every chance to back away, Changbin leaned closer and closer and closer until his lips brushed against yours, soft and warm and just the slightest hint of teasing as he traced a heart on your back with his finger. 

You melted into him, one hand curling into his hair and the other holding him against you, solid and steady and unwavering. You weren’t sure why you’d never done this before, why you’d waited so long for something that felt so right. 

Beep beep beep. The computer interrupted you and you fell apart, hands still reaching for each other. 

You leaned your head on his shoulder, arms going around him in a hug. “Be safe. And if you think you can kiss me and then die to get out of doing it again, I’ll drag you back to life myself.” 

“_____? Wake up,” Changbin patted your cheek. Your eyes fluttered open and immediately you felt yourself deflating. 

It had just been a dream. 

He didn’t actually love you. 

He hadn’t kissed you. 

“Yeah. I’m up. We should suit up.” You stumbled out of bed with a groan and padded over to the bathroom, splashing water on your red face. 

“Come on, we should be at the festival before it starts, so we can scope out our getaway.” Changbin tucked his favorite pistol into his ankle holster and slipped a knife into his sleeve. 

He paused as you brushed past him, going to your suitcase. “Are you okay ____? You feel off somehow.”

“I’m fine. I’m more worried about you really, you’re the one who got hurt earlier.” 

“Don’t worry, it’s healed enough that as long as I don’t do anything dumb, we’ll be fine. Thanks for patching me up so well.” 

“It’s fine.” 

“Are you sure you’re—”

“Changbin, we need to go before it’s too late. Come on.” 

The two of you slipped out of the little hotel silently, not a word of conversation between you. Changbin seemed to sense your mood, staying quiet rather than initiating his usual banter. 

But the silence only seemed to cement the fact that, while you might care about Changbin, he’d never said anything about loving you back. 

Even in your dream. 

---

Music filled the air, the crowd moving with energy that easily obscured you and Changbin as you made your way closer and closer to the blinking red dot on the screen. The dot had been stationary for almost five minutes, suggesting that it was about to change hands soon and you wanted to get to it before that happened. 

“I think I see him.” Changbin whispered, the mic in his ear catching his every word. “Look near the stage, left side, three feet away from the big speaker.” 

You followed his directions with your eyes and took in the man standing there in dark wash jeans and a black hoodie. A beanie was pulled low over his head, obscuring some of his face. 

Somehow though, you could tell. He was the same man who had almost cut Changbin’s throat. 

Anger rose up in you, and you fought to keep yourself calm. Losing control would do nothing, and you needed to get to him and pickpocket him without anyone realizing. 

“Okay, I’m going in. Be ready to run.” You wiggled your fingers, ready and waiting for the exchange. Slowly, carefully, you neared the man, head down so that he couldn’t see your face under the cap you wore. 

You brushed up against him, making it appear as though the crowd had shoved you and you had simply stumbled. “Pardon, monsieur,” you muttered, hand slipping into the man’s pocket and out again.

One glance down was all it took to check if you had the drive. 

The little silvery piece of metal in your hand blinked up at you in the brightly colored lights of the festival, and you let yourself take a breath of relief. You had it back. 

“I have the box. Initiating transfer now. Let’s run.” You plugged the drive into the box in your pocket and pushed your way through the crowd, finding Changbin once more. He reached down and grabbed your hand the second you were in reach, tangling your fingers together and pulling you along behind him. 

“Come on Princess, let’s go.” The brisk walk through the crowd became a jog as the throng of people decreased, and before you knew it you were running, running as fast as you could, even as the mechanism in your pocket slowly transferred the files. 

---

Fifty feet away, a man checked inside his pocket, only to pull out a rectangular prism made of simple red glass. 

Gold letters spelled out LRRH on top. 

You weren’t about to let him think just anyone had pickpocketed him. A thief of your caliber deserved recognition. 

The man snarled in anger, pulling out his phone and dialing a number. 

“She’s taken it again. Use the tracker.” 

And sooner than you realized it, you and Changbin were being tailed once more.

--- 

The device had just beeped out eighty percent completion when you felt the first bullet whizz past your head, only missing you by inches. You jumped to the side, pulling Changbin with you as you entered a modern looking office building. 

“They caught up to us already! I didn’t think they’d check so soon, I even switched in a weight so he wouldn’t notice the difference.” 

“Nothing you can do now. Let’s get that thing loaded so we can ditch it.” 

The building was a maze of corridors and cubicles, and you took as circuitous a route as you could, to make things difficult for your pursuers. Still, they kept getting nearer and nearer, closer and closer. 

Your head start was dwindling.

And by now, you and Changbin were both exhausted, at the very ends of your strength. This was your last shot to get away. 

“100% complete. File transfer finished.” The automated voice spoke into both of your earpieces. You exchanged a quick look with Changbin. 

“We can’t get out from the bottom; they’re bound to have it sealed. The roof too probably.” Changbin considered for a moment, panting a little. 

You glanced around frantically, looking for a way out. 

And you saw the floor to ceiling windows opposite you, and office building next door, barely eight feet away. If you jumped, you could enter that building and get out that way. 

“The windows!” Changbin immediately realized what you were planning. 

“Drop the drive now, I’ll get the window open.” He reached down and pulled out the small pistol from his ankle holster. One point-blank shot to the window and it shattered, sending shards of glass flying everywhere. 

You unplugged the silver drive and ran back to the elevator, throwing it inside and pressing the button for the highest floor. Hopefully NCT would think you were heading up to the roof to escape. 

“Let me go first, then you,” Changbin stepped a few paces back, then with a running start he sailed into the night, crashing through the opposite window with a roll to regain his balance. 

“I made it, come on _____!” He called. The wind rushed through your ears, your heart pounding like crazy. 

“Come on! I’ll catch you; I promise _____!” 

You took a deep breath. 

In.

Out. 

Now or never. 

You ran as fast as you could, falling through the air until you weren’t any more.

You opened your eyes, a laugh escaping your lips as you realized that one, you weren’t dead, and two, Changbin had caught you just as he promised he would. 

Hysterical giggles burst out of both of you as you looked at each other, the adrenaline rush finally bubbling over. You’d made it, you were safe, and if you got out of here fast, you could be home within the next six hours. 

“Can you—”

“No way—”

“I didn’t even think we—”

“—we’d make it.” 

Your laughter quieted as you calmed down, the adrenaline seeping out of you leaving you more tired than before. 

Changbin grinned down at you, light and carefree. “You have glass in your hair you know Princess? They look like diamonds.” He reached over and picked a shard out of your hair, flicking it over his shoulder without taking his eyes away from yours. 

“You do too Bin.” You reached up and brushed the mess from his hair, tousling it gently. 

Suddenly, you realized just where you were. Standing barely a hair’s breadth away from Changbin, breath mingling as you calmed down, hand half tangled in his hair. 

It was like your dream all over again. 

You moved to back away, pulling your hands away from him but Changbin reached up and grabbed them both, pulling you flush against him. 

He stared deep into your eyes, his gaze pinning you in place to the point where you couldn’t move, couldn’t think. Changbin filled your senses, his scent the only thing you could smell, the light sound of his breathing the only thing you could hear, the soft touch of his fingers on yours the only thing you could feel, the warmth in his eyes the only thing you could see. 

And then—

The sensation of his lips, his tongue against yours the only thing you could taste. 

He cradled your jaw as gently as he possibly could, holding you against him and kissing you with every ounce of his being, as though if he let you go, he would lose a part of himself. 

You weren’t sure when you broke apart. 

Changbin was still close, close enough that your breath was intermingled with his, your noses brushing every time you moved even the slightest millimeter. 

“What was that?” you whispered. Somehow a normal volume was far too loud for this situation. 

Changbin scrunched his nose ruefully. “Something I’ve wanted to do for a while.” 

“Why didn’t you?” 

“I was a bit scared I’d get slapped. That and I didn’t want to fuck this up. You’re the closest friend I have _____, you’re more important to me than anyone else. I couldn’t risk losing you.” 

“Why kiss me now then?” 

“I couldn’t wait any longer. We could have died jumping just now and I don’t want to die without having given this a shot. Why all the questions?” 

“Last one, promise.” The sparkle in your eyes made Changbin gulp. “Kiss me again?” 

And you yanked him down towards you, pressing your lips to his with a sigh. 

It felt… right. 

He was meant to be yours. And you were meant to be his. 

This time you pulled away first, resting your head on his shoulder for a moment before stepping away from him. 

He smiled shyly at you, the tips of his ears turning slightly red as you blew him another kiss. “Let’s get to our hotel. Now that we don’t have a tracker on us, we can fly to your grandmother and get it to her within the next few hours.” 

“Lead the way Princess.” 

Hand in hand, you made your way out of the building. 

---

Epilogue

The car pulled up in front of your grandmother’s manor smoothly. You hopped out of the driver’s seat and handed the keys over to her butler, who bowed respectfully. 

“Welcome home Miss _____. Your grandmother is in her favorite sitting room.” 

“Thank you.” You grasped Changbin’s hand in yours and began the familiar trek to the sunny room your grandmother ran her empire from. 

“Well _____, Changbin, what took you both so long?” 

“Sorry Mama, we had some mishaps. But here you go.” You handed her the new red disc and she immediately tucked it inside her desk. 

Her eagle eyes, still sharp and perceptive as ever, landed on yours and Changbin’s hands. 

“These mishaps wouldn’t have anything to do with you holding hands with a boy right in front of me, would they?” 

“They helped us get to this stage?” You were a little nervous as she stood up and walked over to you both. 

“It’s about time you found someone _____, you keep a good grasp on this one alright? And you, boy, you look familiar. What’s your name?” 

The little twinkle in her eye suggested she knew exactly who he was. She’d met him plenty of times before, she just enjoyed playing with you both. 

“Seo Changbin, ma’am.” 

“You treat my granddaughter well, and don’t let her get too absorbed in her work. She needs a little teasing now and then alright?” 

Of all the things you were expecting from her, that had not been one of them. 

“Mama! Leave him alone, he’s been a perfect gentleman.” 

“Well maybe he should be less of one, you could do with a little shaking up. You’re far too sure of yourself sometimes _____, let yourself live and enjoy your childhood a little more. There’s more to life than just our work.” 

At this point, both you and Changbin resembled tomatoes. 

“Now go do whatever it is young people do in their spare time, I have work to do.” 

Clearly dismissed, the two of you left the room, shyly exchanging looks as you walked out into the gardens, still holding hands. 

“I wasn’t expecting her to be so…” Changbin trailed off uncertainly. 

“Forward? Pushy? She likes you Bin, that’s all. It’s a good thing.” 

“Well, now your grandmother approved of me. You’re stuck with me _____.” 

“Maybe I like having you around.” You weren’t entirely sure where this level of flirtatiousness was coming from but Changbin’s blush was far too rewarding for you to stop. 

That is, until he pecked your nose and then ran off, taunting you into trying to catch him. 

[diyunho]

The Joker x Reader - “John Wick” Part 3

Y/N left The Organization 3 years ago for the one reason strong enough to make her settle down: love. But after tragedy crushed her to pieces, she decided to leave The Joker and seek refuge with an old friend and mentor - John Wick. Needless to say The King of Gotham can’t accept his wife running away without a word, especially since he didn’t have a chance to tell her things she might want to hear.

Part 1     Part 2

The Joker listens at the bedroom’s door, impatient to have a conversation with you. It seems you are engaged into a fervent phone call with Winston and figured he shouldn’t interrupt.

“Please, anything you can discover would be a great help! U-hum… U-hum… Thank you,” and you hang up, which queues your husband to walk into the room.

You completely ignore him, scrolling through the numerous text messages you sent to your connections; several are already answering back and hopefully you can get some news soon. The more people are involved into the project, the more chances to find Kase and untangle the mystery of what happened to him after he was removed from the car.

“You left me there,” The Joker sneaks in and closes the door behind him. “Luckily we had Wick with us so he gave me a ride.”

No reaction. He takes a deep breath, trying to get your awareness.

“I didn’t sleep with Evelyn; sex wasn’t the reason why I kept visiting her. I know how that asshole made it sound and he was totally out of line!”

You quickly glance at him, busy replying to Ares since you feel you’re going to explode soon.

“The only skill I was interested in is the fact that she is an excellent painter and a popular art smuggler, OK?” J raises his voice, sort of annoyed you neglect to participate into his monologue. “I did not cheat, alright?” he approaches his wife. “First of all: I’m VERY picky! Second of all: why would I want a woman everyone else had?! I don’t like used toys. Third: nobody’s been polishing my gun as you tastefully addressed the issue! I have one Queen and I married her!!”

A little bit of doubt in your eyes and he utilizes the opportunity.

“You said you saw me going to her house? I did! The Bowery King asked if it was for the last 6 months? Yeah, I did! You know why?!”

At least now The Joker got your attention: you play it cool but he guesses you’re torn apart by his confession.

Many unfortunate events crammed in lately and hating the man you love made life infinitely more unbearable.

“Why…?” you barely muster the strength to inquire and he sees it as a possibility to mend a few broken pieces; although you can hide your emotions well, J can still read between the lines.

Maybe that’s why he answers with another question:

“Do you realize there are just three Monet paintings in circulation on the black market in the entire world? You admire his work and it took a lot of effort and a substantial fortune to acquire The Water Lily Pond painting. Evelyn Black helped with the transaction, then I had her make some modifications to the original masterpiece.”

You keep staring at The King of Gotham, uncertain about the stuff being tossed your way: is he lying or telling the truth?... In your line of work translating feelings is a huge part of the job; ultimately you had the best mentor to teach you the ropes when you started with the organization: none other than the legendary Baba Yaga. Despite his reputation and to your own amazement, John was one of the few hitmen with integrity and perfectly mastered the aptitude of not being a jerk. Such a rare gem… And blissfully unaware of it himself.

On the opposite end, The Joker is a jerk and flawlessly acquainted with his own “captivating” personality that made you fall in love with him anyway.

Also, doesn’t appear to be deceitful for the moment.

And you despise yourself even more for wanting to believe him.

“What… modifications?...” you throw him a bone and J is definitely not going to pass on the alternative of explaining his actions.

“I wanted to surprise you so I took advantage of Miss Black’s capabilities in the art field; I had her add small images to the authentic canvas: an evolution of you being pregnant, the nine frames culminating with a tenth: the new mother holding our son. Similar to a timeline,” he emphasize and you look intrigued, which might be a positive sign. “Needless to say it was tedious, difficult work, especially because she had to apply special pigments you can’t find at every corner of the street. Apparently you can’t mix old paint with contemporary shades, thus I had to order aged, special colors from Italy, Spain and France. That’s why I went to her place so often: I had to supervise the long process and make sure it turns out astonishing. Then…” and The Joker pauses,”…Kase was gone and I didn’t know what to do with my gift: bring it home or not? Would you have loved it? Would it make you sadder? I continued to drive to Evelyn’s and glare at the stupid painting for hours, undecided on what to do…”

J watches you bite on your cheek, then straightens his shoulders as you utter the words:

“… … … You ruined a genuine Monet?”

Your spouse might be a smooth talker when needed, yet he’s not wasting his versatility on this statement:

“I didn’t ruin it; I made it better!”

Silence from both parties. A good or bad omen? Hard to decipher the riddle with two individuals tangled into a relationship that somehow worked despite countless peculiarities meant to keep them apart.

“I have to talk to Jonathan,” you finally mutter and The Joker steps in front of you.

“Talk to me!”

“Unless you know the exact location of the suitcase full of gold coins he’s been safekeeping for me, I really have to speak to him. Or do you want to hammer the whole basement searching for it?”

Y/N walks out of the bedroom and J lingers inside, evesdropping on the conversation happening downstairs. He can’t understand the chat, but you are probably notifying John about the details your husband left out.

Might as well join the party, therefore The Clown pops up in the living room with a plea impossible to refuse:

“Hey Wick, can I stay here? I don’t care if you say no, I’m not going to leave.”

Your friend crosses his arms on his chest, focusing on the random topic:

“How could I deny such a polite request? Of course you can stay Mister Joker; my house is your house.”

You’re watching the free show unamused; usually it would make you smile…now you lack the depth for such connotations.

“Don’t get smart with me, Wick!” J growls and Jonathan pushes for a tiny, unnecessary quarrel.

“I’m not; although generally speaking, I fancy considering myself a smart guy.”

The Joker opens his mouth and you’re not in the mood for whatever the heck they’re initiating:

“I’m going to pump, then after you dig out the suitcase I’ll take half to the Bowery King,” you announce your plans to them.

“You can do that and rest; I’ll deliver the coins,” John immediately offers. “I can stop by Aurelio’s car shop and ask for his collaboration: he has a lot of associates, doesn’t hurt to get him involved. You have plenty of gold.”

“I have two more suitcases in the Continental’s safe and two more at The Penthouse. It doesn’t matter if it’s all gone as long as I can find my son.”

“I know gold coins are preferred; don’t forget we have a lot of money too,” J reckons with spite.

Is he reminding you or Jonathan?...

*************

Your husband spent the last hour in the garden, talking and texting with a lot of people; needless to mention he’s capitalizing on his network also. Winston disclosed Stonneberg’s contract is still opened, meaning the son of a bitch is out there; you have to scoop him before anybody else does.

“Y/N…” The Joker tiptoes in your quarters. “I thought you were taking a nap,” he huffs when he sees you at the edge of the bed.

You glare at the vial on the nightstand, sharing your idea for a future you wish will come true:

“I didn’t have my medicine in two days; I won’t take it anymore because if we get Kase back… I will nurse him. It all goes in the milk and I want to be able to feed my baby… Do you think his little heart is still beating?...” you sniffle and J is currently debating on a clever response since his mind is blank; one could deduce messing up is encoded in his DNA, but on such a huge scale… well, it gives new interpretations to the term even for him.

The grieving woman seeking reassurance for their loss is trying to make sense of the pointless occurrences that lead to Kase being an innocent victim and The Joker can’t render clarification: he has no clue why he asked her to marry him and why she said yes, it’s not that he’s husband material or a family man. Perhaps Y/N thought he could be… just enough to get by, that’s why she accepted his proposal.

Most women would have cringed at the concept. Most women. Not Y/N.

Most women would have flinched at the notion of having his baby. Most women. Not his wife.

Above all, she trusted J with their son and he treated the three weeks old like a trinket: didn’t drive him home because he had an important meeting, didn’t bother to assign escorting cars nor extra security. The King of Gotham took his child’s safety lightly and it definitely had severe consequences. Too late now to fix past mistakes... but he can attempt.

“You’ll be able to nurse him, OK?” he sits by you and hands over his cell. “Can you enter your phone number in here? Or am I not allowed to have the present digits?”

You’re hesitant and he slides the screen while you hold the gadget.

“Lemme help you,” The Joker sarcastically mumbles. “It should be the first on my list, right where the old number you canceled was.”

You exhale and fulfill his demand out of pure frustration when he squeezes in a second innocent petition.

“Chose my avatar.”

You grunt at his rubbish, scrolling through his folders for a picture anyway; J hopes the largest file will get your attention and that’s the point. How could Y/N miss it?!

Entitled “Baby”, the humongous cluster of pics contains 5,723 items. You open it quite absorbed by its size; what’s more puzzling is the collection depicting Kase’s ultrasounds, hundreds of frames with you being pregnant taken without you knowing: there’s a few when your ankles were so swollen you had to sleep with your feet up on 4 pillows, others with you munching on strange food you craved, more with you in the shower focused on your bump, a decent amount of couple selfies when you were sleeping and J had to immortalize the moment without waking you up and approximately 1,500 images of the newborn.

“You didn’t gross me out when you were pregnant,” The Joker reminds a teary Y/N. “Not sure why you would believe such aberration...” he pulls you on his knees and yanks the phone away, tossing it on the nightstand. “I would also like to underline I didn’t have an affair with Miss Black, alright?”

J lifts your chin up, forcing to look at him.

“Let’s put it this way: why would I fuck around with another woman when I have a wife at home that wants to kill me on a regular basis, hm? Where would the fun be? I mean, she didn’t pull the trigger yet but it’s exciting to hope she might. You know me: I’m a sucker for thrills!”

“Do I?”

“Huh?” J steals a kiss and you frown at his sleekness.

“Know you?”

“Yeah,” the green haired Clown acts composed while in fact his feathers are ruffled. Before you catch onto it he has to ultimately admit: “I’m sorry I didn’t drive the car… I should have…”

The Joker holds in his breath when your arms go around his neck very tight.

“I’m suffocating…” he grumbles. “I can’t tell if you’re trying to hug me or choke me to death,” J keeps on caressing your hair, prepared to block your attack in case you’re actually in killing mode.

This is the excitement he was speaking about: with you, one could never know until it’s a done deal.

“I bumped into Magnus at the Continental,” you give him a bit of space to inhale much needed air and The Joker is surprised at your revelation. “I had no idea about his scheme, otherwise I would have skinned him alive right on the hotel grounds! I wouldn’t have cared about the consequences!”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” J cuts you off and he can tell you’re getting mad; maybe you think he doesn’t give a damn but the reason is simple. “You would’ve been declared excommunicado for murder on neutral ground and I don’t want my wife to be the target of such punishment from the company she so proudly retired from. I need my partner!”

The King of Gotham touches your forehead with his as you whisper:

“I hate you!”

“Mmm, regarding this true love affirmation, I’m gonna need you to take a break from detesting me until we have Kase, then you can despise me full throttle again. Deal?” he extends the palm of his hand and you reluctantly shake it, not realizing you’re reacting to his nonsense. “Is that a smile?” J returns the favor with one of his creepy silver grins.

“No.”

“Liar,” he pecks your lips and can’t explain the weird feeling in his heart when you kiss him back.

*************

Jonathan enters the house and becomes suspicious after a few minutes: too much silence.

Omg! Did you and The Joker engaged into a brawling that ended up badly? Did you end each other?!

John frantically runs to the garage, nervous to see your car and J’s are still parked inside. Shit!

“Y/N?” he shouts, concerned about your fate; The Joker’s… irrelevant. Nobody in the garden, patio is empty also. Downstairs is deserted thus he rushes upstairs to your room. The door is not completely shut and he slowly pushes it, knocking.

“Y/N? Can I come in?”

The first thing he notices are clothes scattered on the floor, then he halts his movement at the sight of Y/N and her husband dozing off on the bed sideways: the naked bodies are covered with a blanket, but he can tell you’re snuggled in J’s arms.

Jonathan steps backwards, guilty of invading his guests’ privacy; he certainly didn’t expect to intrude in such a manner and softly closes the door, grateful it’s not what he feared.  

You and The Joker are so worn out the sound of your phones vibrating on the nightstand doesn’t wake you from the deep sleep. Your numerous contacts keep replying back to the text messages, the most important one showing up on his cell: one of the people J reached to is Evelyn Black and the two sentence conversation lights up the screen.

“Let me know if you see Stonnenberg.”

“He’s here.”

 Also read: MASTERLIST

You can follow me on Ao3 and Wattpad under the same blog name: DiYunho.

[foreheadtouch]

i don’t want your memory. (i want you here with me).

Why do you want to learn Russian? With that question I was suddenly transported to a cold, metal police interrogation room to confess for a crime I was most definitely guilty of committing. I was handcuffed and trapped. Exposed.

*3k words of pure angst* 

———

It was an eerily frigid January night—black and silent—like drifting out in the middle of space. People doing everything in their power to escape it. The wind chill burned against my cheeks and the freezing air seemed to shrink my lungs to the size of lemons. Each breath I drew was sharp and labored.

Inside Hobie’s apartment wasn’t much better. My blood felt hot and thick underneath my skin—the heat was turned up slightly too high, so as to make me sweat underneath the itchy sweater that I couldn’t take off, because then of course, I'd be cold again.

The sky was deep and dark and not a single star was visible. I felt that if I stared too long, its vastness would swallow me whole. Only the bright white headlights of whirring cars seeped through the window and bounced across the walls of my bedroom in a series of dizzying flashes.

I sat on my bed with a half empty bottle of vodka, feeling claustrophobic in an empty room.

The heat made me hyperaware of any nagging discomfort that would have otherwise gone unnoticed. Every itch and ache was pulled out of me, like a magnet with scraps of metal.

I tried readjusting the neckline of my wool sweater, but it would not stop scratching and clawing against my skin, almost choking me. Had it somehow gotten tighter during the day? Why couldn’t I breathe?

I was just drunk enough that my movements were sloppy and my fingertips felt slightly numb.

I looked over at my desk, where a brand new copy of Dostoevsky’s The Idiot was resting, the lamp shining directly on it, like an ironic spotlight, and I felt the walls close in on me.

I didn’t want to, but I thought back to the conversation I had that afternoon.

It happened in the campus bookstore. Dozens of hasty university students were furiously barreling through the narrow passageways between shelves filled with books like Guide to Financial Markets, Plato’s The Symposium, Multivariable Calculus Volume 1, Shakespeare’s King Lear.

How was your break? Did you get the classes you wanted? Oh, I’m actually working at this bank. Doing research in this laboratory.

Their obnoxiously eager attitudes and bright eyes bore a sharp contrast to my own. I couldn’t remember the last night I had gone to bed sober. My eyes were sunken and glassy. Plum-colored patches formed under them and had not gone away. My skin had developed a grayish, sickly looking tinge that caused Hobie to insist I take a multivitamin in the morning. And how many days in a row had I worn this sweater?

I moved, begrudgingly, against the grain of the crowd, and slumped through the shelves while people forcefully shoved against my shoulder and scoffed at me under their breath for going the wrong way. But who cared what these crappy trust-fund kids and pompous brainiacs thought of me. I drowned out their complaints and dragged my fingers across the spines of the books, until I had successfully collected all the necessary novels for the upcoming term.

“Wow! That’s a lot of Dostoevsky! Let me guess… Based on your reading list I’d say… Intro to Russian Lit and… maybe Conversational Russian with Professor Khachanov?” the bubbly girl at the checkout asked as she scanned my stack of books. I wasn’t expecting her to actually pay attention to them.

I wondered how many espresso shots went into her morning coffee or if she was this energetic naturally. She seemed like the kind of girl who kept her customer service smile on 24/7. I could not bring myself to muster up enough energy to match her excitement.

“You guessed it.” I replied with a stiff, lifeless smile and apparently, less enthusiasm than she had hoped for, judging by the little twist her mouth did. She began transferring the books into an ugly canvas tote bag with the university logo on it that I knew cost extra money. I didn’t ask for it, but I also didn’t care enough to tell her to stop, so i just watched her silently and adjusted my glasses.

I thought my curt reply would signal that I wasn’t in the mood for small talk, but she started up again: “You now, that’s not very common. I see a lot of Slavic Studies and International Relations students take Conversational Russian, but not English majors. You guys usually just take Intro to Russian Lit. Why do you want to learn Russian? Is your family Russian or something?” She stuck her hand out for my student ID card.

Immediately after she stopped speaking, my palms grew sweaty and my pulse thumped throughout my body and I felt its rhythm pound in my ears. My mouth went dry and I felt a lump form in my throat. I was suddenly transported to a cold, metal police interrogation room to confess for a crime I was most definitely guilty of committing. I was handcuffed and trapped. Exposed. The harsh fluorescent lights of the store glared and pierced my brain.

I cleared my throat, which felt like sandpaper, unable to force any words out, so I stood there, like a dumbstruck idiot, blank-faced and silent, for an uncomfortably long amount of time.

Finally I managed to stammer, “I uh, I want to be able to read the original translations. At some point, I guess.”

With my head down, avoiding eye contact, I quickly snatched the receipt from the girl, shoved it into the canvas bag, and hurried out the door. God, she probably thinks I’m a psycho. But it didn’t matter. I desperately needed to get away from there. Away from that question.

Now, hours later, in my stuffy bedroom, I sat confronted with my crime, suffocated by the truth. Why had I really signed up for conversational Russian?

———

It was the same reason I found myself buying the cheap brand of vodka that we used to drink together, even though I could afford better stuff now. It tasted like jet fuel and burned my throat, but it was familiar and reminded me of the countless, blurry days we spent in a state of drunken stupor.

It was the same reason that on my way home, I would hesitate and then walk to the gas station around the corner for a pack of Marlboros, even though Hobie had taught me how to hand roll my own cigarettes. “They’re much better this way, Theo. It’s all about the craft. About paying attention.” And it was true, they were better, way better actually, but that didn’t stop me. I didn’t want better, I wanted him.

It was the same reason I took the subway down to Brighton Beach and the Lower East Side on weekends and wandered through the Russian neighborhoods, pretending like I was meant to be there. Because maybe, just maybe I was.

It was the same reason I would lie down with Popchik on my chest and close my eyes, feeling the weight against my lungs as I inhaled and imagined the warmth of him pressed up next to me, boney arm draped over me, holding me.

It was the same reason I curled up in bed at night with my earphones in—the Velvet Underground’s entire discography lulling me to sleep. Except for “I Found a Reason.” I recognized it by the first note and would immediately skip it. I couldn’t listen to it.

The habit we had of maintaining a constant level of drunkenness and snorting whatever we could find up our noses had unfortunately stuck with me. When I removed myself from my own depressing turmoil and looked at my life like a stranger would, I knew it was a problem. Without me realizing, it had spiraled from being a vice to a legitimate addiction.

But I didn’t have a reason to stop.

I tried so hard to forget him. I really did. Every time that feeling started to creep up, to gnaw at me, I would try to press it as far down as it could go. I would crumple it up into a tiny ball and throw it far far away. I would hold it underwater until it hung limp and lifeless.

I had no choice, because if I let it linger, just for one moment, it would consume me entirely.

It was a dull ache that never went away. The sting of tears welling up in my eyes. A lump in my throat. A knot in my stomach. Weak knees, like right before you’re about to faint. Heartache.

Sometimes he would come to me in a dream or in a nauseating, intoxicated hallucination. It was like looking at a reflection of him on water or through a mirror. It was almost real and I could have pretended he was there until, looking at him wasn’t enough and I greedily reached out to touch him. Suddenly, the water around my hand would ripple in expanding orbits and he would vanish.

We existed on two different planes now. I was here, doomed to live in this reality, where at one point, we had faced the disorder of life together, but now he was reduced to a figment of my imagination, a cursed dream, a memory of what once was.

And so that night, I gave in. I surrendered.

While I stared at that book, I let the memories wash over me with a force like a wave, crashing violently against a cliff. The rock I was grabbing onto crumbled beneath my finers and I was ripped away from my pretense of safety and pulled back into the sea—back to Las Vegas. Back to Boris.

———

“Potter. You can’t ask me to read to you and then just… fall asleep.” Boris said, through laughter, as he flicked my head.

My dad and Xandra had gotten into a big fight. It wasn’t their usual bickering about him watching too much football and not paying enough attention to her. Or about her staying out too late after work with friends and forgetting to make him dinner.

I couldn’t quite make sense of the full argument, or even remember why they started yelling. From the broken shouts, I figured out that my dad had lost a lot of money. And he had used some of Xandra’s? Or was about to? I wasn’t sure.

All I knew was that when Boris and I came home that night, there was a dent in the drywall of our living room and they were shouting. Judging by the accumulation of beer bottles on the coffee table, my dad had been drinking. A lot. They hadn’t even noticed us walk in.

We grabbed Popchik, who was a shaking mess in the corner of the kitchen, and we went back to Boris’. His dad was away on “special business.” I knew enough by then not to question it.

“Is great, actually,” Boris said, “when he is gone, he leaves money. 30 bucks this time.” He looked at me with his wide, dark eyes, sparkling with childlike excitement, as if we had just won the lottery.

We got started on our usual routine when we had extra money. Getting fucking blasted and buying cigarettes and a family sized bag of Cool Ranch Doritos.

We were passing a cigarette back and forth in his bedroom, sitting shoulder to shoulder, faces inches apart. Boris was slouched next to me, in silence, but a comfortable silence.

The air was charged with something electric that I couldn’t find a word for. I turned my head and traced his profile with my eyes. I didn’t realize how long I had been staring, but when he slowly turned and looked up at me, softly, my stomach jolted.

“You’re tired, aren’t you?” He asked, sitting upright, still maintaining his gaze. I liked how he could read me so well. It was a mark of how close we had gotten, how we moved in and out of each other’s minds with little effort.

“Yeah. I think I’m too wasted” I said, looking away abruptly and taking another drag of the cigarette before passing it to him, our fingers brushing, as he took it from me and brought it up to his lips.

“Stay here, Potter. I have great idea. You’ll love this, promise. Will cheer you up right away.” He got up quickly and handed the cigarette back to me.

“Where the fuck would I go?” I laughed and watched him slip into a room down the hallway.

He came back smiling and holding something behind his back.

“Please don’t tell me that’s more vodka.”

“Is not vodka. Guess again.”

“Boris, I have no fucking clue.”

He rolled his eyes and held out a thick book. The title was in Russian but fortunately, it was one of the words Boris had taught me. Идиот.

I was a little confused. What did this mean. Where was he going with this. I scrunched up my nose and said, “I don’t know enough Russian to read a whole novel.”

He sat down next to me and shoved me a little.

“No, идиот. I read. You listen.”

So I did. I slid down the wall and rested my head in his lap. Boris put one arm over mine, held the book in his other hand, and began to read the opening chapter.

I always appreciated how he was so forthright and unapologetic with his movements. He didn’t hesitate when resting his hand on mine. Or playing with my hair. Or stroking my arm.

He didn’t leave room for me to resist, not that I wanted to, although my first instinct was usually to pull away.

“This book. My favorite.” He started reading: “В конце ноября, в оттепель, часов в девять утра, поезд Петербургско-Варшавской железной дороги на всех парах подходил к Петербургу…”

I couldn’t understand a single word, but I didn’t care. I liked the sound of his voice when he spoke Russian. The way his mouth shaped the letters was firmer and smoother in Russian than in English—it was sultry, almost hypnotic. I closed my eyes and felt the soft vibrations of his voice wash over me.

I also liked the way I felt in his arms. Safe, cared for, loved, even.

———

That was, after all, why I signed up for Conversational Russian. Because of Boris. Because I might not ever see him again, and the thought of that was too unbearable, so I did everything in my power to feel close to him. To stay connected to him in some way. Any way.

Because I was in love with Boris but somehow I had lost him, caught up in the tangled tragedy that was my life.

I didn’t know if it was for good, but how would I ever find him in this great big world? It had been years since I last saw him and months since I last heard from him.

One day, I realized his face was becoming fragmented. I tried to construct and image of what he might look like now, like I was collecting scraps of torn up newspapers and piecing them together with glue.

Dark wavey hair against translucent ivory skin, a sharp contrast like an old film photograph taken in black and white. I could see the blue and purple veins underneath his skin. I could see his ribs poking out. I remembered his striking but soft eyes, always filled with a glimmer of curiosity—an inextinguishable thirst for life and all its excitement. The way they could communicate thousand of phrases in just one glance. His full lips that were often chapped and bleeding. But I miss them. The way the felt against my own that night. And the many nights before.

The image of the fourteen year old Boris I knew would forever be seared into my memory, in the way cattle were branded with molten hot metal. But what was he like now?

Sometimes I would pull out my old phone and read back through our conversations, then close my phone, and hold it over my chest while tried to hold in tears and catch my breath.

Other times I would look up at the moon and wonder where in the world he was. And if he ever looked up at the moon and thought of me.

Did Boris think of me? Did Boris miss me? Was Boris breaking apart and tearing up inside too?

Oh, the countless nights I would type out long messages with no intention of ever sending them. Are you okay? Where are you? I miss you.

I knew what loss felt like. That’s wasn’t unknown to me. I had lost my mother. For good. But the thing about Boris is that I didn’t know if it was for good. And that small chance is what was killing me and eating me away, but it was also the only thing keeping me alive. Because there was still a chance and I wanted to believe in it. I needed to. Things fall apart. But things come together too. But how many times? Had our time come and gone?

Maybe I would go the rest of his life wondering what could have been. That would be a death sentence I was sure of it. Because it was torture not knowing.

How would I ever be able to know peace when there was that small chance—that infinitely small chance we could meet again.

I wanted so badly to get a text one day from an unknown number. Potter. Is me.

I wanted to shout across the world. Here I am. Here I am. I won’t ever stop looking for you. I love you.

So I would continue hoping. I would keep going to Brighton Beach. I would keep searching the ends of the earth, forever.

But as for now, I had to learn how be content with the memory of him.

[monochromemedic]

The Pickman Gallery

When Hancock told me and MacCready to search a strange little place called the Pickman Gallery, I wasn’t too concerned.  It was when the both of us entered the dimly lit art exhibit did the strangeness start. MacCready reached for his loose scarf around his neck, pulling it over his nose and giving a little choking gasp. “Jesus, you smell that? It’s like an abandoned butcher shop in here.” I gave a little sniff only to regret my decision. Even with my horrible nose that could barely pick up any scent, even I could could smell the horrible lingering scent of old and fresh blood mashed together with the scent I could only get when slicing a rotting ghoul open. Mac gagged more as he crouched down, tying his scarf around his face as he began to search the place for anything of interest. It didn’t take long however, as the first door made him grow pale as he stood completely back up, hand grabbing the rifle as he entered the room. I hissed his name, following behind only to behold the horrors that were inside that very room alongside him. Paintings. Many paintings of various size all painted in some thick paste of paint. I walked up to one, marveling as I noticed the horrid, erratic paint strokes. The paint was what interested me the most. Of course, all of the pictures were grotesque and horrid in their own way, but they were all painted with the same paint. It seemed wrong, a strange red color to almost all of the hues. I reached a hand out and gently touched the paint, my finger pressing deep into the still fresh part of the painting. It was jelly like, clumpy, and as I pulled my finger out, a strand of long hair clung to my fingertip. I scrunched my nose up and rubbed my finger against the wall, turning to MacCready who was staring back at my actions. “I wouldn’t be touching those if I were you... Something real... well just don’t touch them.” We continued  along the the rooms, paintings and bodies covering the place.  When looting through some of the bodies, seeing if they had anything on them that was worth while, we found that they were all some raiders, marked by a card lodged in some wound  in their body. I picked up a card and read it before shoving inside of my pocket. “Pickman. I guess he’s the one doing these. I’d... thought that it’d be some other raider but... “You think he’s the one doing the nightmare paintings?” “Possible. I mean the place is named ‘Pickman’s Gallery’.” “Disgusting...This guy is fu-...messed up.” MacCready hissed under his breath as he stared at a few other paintings. Another walk into a room when I felt the familiar tug on my shoes that signaled a tripwire being broken. I quickly tried to grab MacCready who was a few steps ahead, trying to pull him out of harms way. I was too late, and from a few hidden nozzles from the sides of the door blasted a yellowish gas around us. I tried to hold my breath, but the gas seemed to stick around us like it was plastered on our skin. We didn’t make it far, my hands grasping MacCready as my vision became cloudy, trying to focus on MacCready’s face. His eyes were wide, scared as he too tried to stay conscious, barking out an insult as I blacked out against him. When I woke up, I was bound by my ankles and wrists, leaning against a wall as my vision and hearing slowly came back to me. The sound came back loud, and it came back clear but my vision... was distorted. Everything seemed to shift and shimmer, twisting in on itself and sharpening just as fast only to begin to ripple. Everything seemed so... scary, so unreal, yet  the harsh ropes on my ropes that dug into my skin kept bringing me back from just thinking this was just a dream. The room was dark accept for a light beaming down on a figure strapped to a table, a small cart of cans and sharp objects littering it in an almost neat manner.  On the other side was a canvas, blank but rather large. I could hear the figure on the table straining against his restraints, gasping and heaving as he thrashed about wildly, yelling for help. It was MacCready, and as soon as I realized that the shapes I saw before me seemed to make sense. His beard, the sharp blue eyes, wide in terror. He was stripped down to his underwear and drenched in sweat. I opened my mouth to call out to him but could only managed a dry gasp as a couple of fingers grabbed my jaw, and yanked over to look at a new man. I tried to focus on the man’s face but in my haze everything was so distorted. His smile was big, too big that it seemed to slide off of his face. His eyes were manic and only seemed to get larger the longer I looked at him. But besides the crawling motion in his skin that seemed like there was a thousand bugs nesting under him he seemed like a handsome man. But his eyes were dark and his smile was sinister, even without my vision I could tell there was a darkness within him. “Good morning sunshine...did you have a nice sleep? I hope that the fall didn’t harm you too much.” His hand caressed my cheek before he was interrupted by MacCready’s shrill voice breaking this man’s smooth facade. “J...Jenna? Is that you?! Damn it!” He roared, thrashing harder against the restraints. “Leave her alone you psychopath!” “All in due time my friend. I was just waiting for our mutual to wake up to view the main event...” He stood up and slowly made his way over to Robert, who began to thrash again “You see... you are actually the art that I wish to pursue right now. And, I wanted to have a friend witness my art. You see, I am an artist and I always want to improve my art. I want to grow... I want to experiment. And so i’ve found something interesting to toy with. An audience, someone who could see through my eyes... That gas, it’s a hallucination agent. Hopefully you can see the creativity through the gas and get an ounce of what I see and appreciate my vision unlike so many before me. Who knows... I see that you’re a bit of an artist yourself, perhaps I could have an underling to teach my knowledge to. Isn’t that what all artists aim for? Someone that looks up to them and follows in their lead?” MacCready’s eyes darted around nervously, from me, to Pickman, to the scalpel that the was gripping delicately in his hand. “No, no, no, no.... AUGH!”  Mac’s breath became fast and strained as he tried to hold in the scream as the scalpel dug inside his stomach, making a deep cut that quickly spilled crimson down his stomach. “Now don’t breath so heavily, I need to collect a bit of this...” Pickman held a small tray to his side, collecting the blood. I tried to close my eyes, realizing why the paint before looked so odd to me.  “Blood paint? You paint using blood?” I choked out, only to get an idea. “Yes... blood, the life source of all humans, it brings a life to the paintings, something that no normal concoction of paint could compare.” “You... know that’s kinda stale right? Blood paint, that’s sort of a cliche at this point, i’m sure i’ve seen that a couple of times. Don’t you want to do something more original?” Pickman turned to me, the anger in his face turning demonic in the psychedelic haze. “Unoriginal? Unoriginal?! Perhaps it’s such a cliche because it means something! But if you’ve only seen this in comics and movies then no one has had the gull to do it in actuality! No one has had the bravery and vision that I have, they only merely come up with the concept... ha...haha.. No i use more then just blood in the paint. I capture the pain, I use every life force  that the body gives me to put into my art...” He paused before giving a little laugh,  taking the scalpel and stabbing it into MacCready’s chest, earning the ‘rewarding’ scream that escaped his lips. “You take me a dullard don’t you? Trying to distract me by insulting my art. Well now you’ve just owned my ire.” He walked towards me, grabbed me by my shirt and tossing me  across the room, causing my nose to bust against the hard ground and filling my throat with blood. “Well... no matter what you try to do, i’ll still finish my art piece.  Perhaps make a painting with two types of paint... since you so desperately want to pretend your little friend.” I sputtered and coughed up the blood, turning my head to the table where  MacCready wheezed, eyes darting form me and then towards something a few feet away. I followed his gaze, seeing a sharp rusty blade that was discarded. It was all I needed to understand what he wanted me to do. I gave him a look back, mouthing for him to distract Pickman. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, glaring at Pickman  as he pulled the scalpel back out of him. “You... a... you’re a sick puppy you know that? Who does that? Huh? Who even thinks about doing this kinda stuff?” “Aren’t you doing the same, making art in the a similar manner? You just do it with a gun, and leave your art to rot in the Commonwealth. It’s minimalist, but still a form of art none the less... I have just ascended that  concept and put it on a canvas.” As MacCready continued to distract him, taking cuts and stabs as I slowly moved to the blade. I managed to reach it in little time, rubbing my bindings against the  blade to free myself.  “I’m sorry if your scavver brain can’t understand true art. Although I don’t think it matters much though. You’ll understand soon enough, you’ll become art and others will learn the meaning though your sacrifice-” His speech was stopped by the rusty knife plunging into in neck.  Pickman stumbled back, hand going to the gushing river of blood that began to spill onto his nicely ironed suit. “You bitch! You... d...damn it!” The man stumbled forward, grabbing for another scalpel and charging towards me, only trip and fall as I moved to the side, the large amount of blood quickly knocking him unconscious. I turned to Robert, tired and wheezing as he gave a small smile on his face. “Nicely done kid.” I gave a huff as I went to free him of his restraints, hands plastering to the more serious wounds on his chest. “You gotta take care old timer. We need to patch you up. You’re... really fucked up.” “Yeah... we uh... do. I’m really glad that guys kinda... bleeding out. He was a... well he was just an ass.”  I gave a little smile and helped MacCready over to the lump of supplies that was left in the corner and began to patch him up with med-x and stimpaks “I’m...i’m glad you’re ok Cready this guy was fucked up, i’ll say it for you. This was... really fucked up. Ha... I think i might have nightmares.” I tried to keep a joking, positive attitude but as the adrenline died down I could feel myself begin to shake “I’m... sorry i didn’t mean to step on the wire, damn it i’m so careless you could have... fuck...” Robert grew quiet, only placing his hand gently on my cheek, causing me to flinch as I thought of Pickman’s backhanded stroke as I woke up. He quickly did it again, turning my head to look at him. “Aye, hey... look at me. I ain’t him. He’s on the floor bleeding out. I’m here, you’re here, he’s dead. Normally i’d chew you out but uh... just... look to the ground more ok?” I nodded and leaned my head against his hand. It was rougher then Pickman’s but calming then that bastard could ever be. “We should go back to Hancock and get you actually patched up. Sleep at the inn for the night, get a drink. Try not to think about this shit.” He nodded, giving a little smile. “Maybe more then just a drink, I could use a full bottle.”

[vintagemiserie]

hey guys!!! this is a really beefy revamped drabble, i am absolutely begging you to read at least part of this, and like/rb this cuz i couldve spent the time i used writing this to write, like,, the essay i have due tomorrow

Patrick knelt down at a specific tree. It looked rather dead from all the cold, but he suspected it would come to life after the prolonged winter found itself ending; on the trunk was a heart with initials inside it. "Joseph, it should be right here. Good luck with the snow, I'm far too weak to help."

The human fixed his collar to cover up his reddened cheeks. "What is it we're looking for, again?" He asked, stepping up. Patrick got out of his way to let him start digging, and adjusted his musket. Though no one had gotten hurt in a month, the townsfolk still reported seeing the undead animals roaming about the surrounding forests, and they had to keep careful.

"A sizeable wooden box. It was a birthday present, I was going to dig it up once the problem with my father was over, but… I suppose I forgot until recent times."

Joe laughed, his breath saturating the air. "I'd love to hear the story behind that," He said, and the snow he shoveled away appeared to be thankfully less packed than it was closer to the town.

--

It was a beautiful spring day, and Louis had set up an easel, though he was taking a break from his charcoal and paints for the moment. After all, a portrait wasn't the only point of the date. Patrick sat up, as well, and pushed the platter of cheese and fruits closer to Louis. "Is that lace on your collar?" Patrick asked when his love finally pulled off his vest, leaving them both down to just their undershirts and breeches.

"I was hoping you'd notice. I got this shirt tailored while I was in the capital, I thought you'd love it."

"I'd love it more if you took it off, Louie." Patrick grabbed a raspberry off of the platter, leaving it between his teeth for a moment before biting down. "Really, you're very handsome in it. Can I see how your painting's coming along?"

Louis adjusted his glasses and pushed a hand through his thick, dark curls. "I'll show it to you once it's done, Patrick. It'll be better as a surprise."

"The last surprise I had ended up with me sweltering in my room, bandaging up my arm."

Louis, who had been pouring himself a cup of wine, stopped halfway through Patrick's speech. "The differences between your father and I are quite numerous," He said between gritted teeth. "We ought to deal with him soon, hm? I can't bear how depressing it is to see what he's done to you."

"I really can't imagine how things will happen when we confront him. I can't have him turn you."

"Me neither. How about I work for another fifteen minutes before we take another break?"

--

"Aye, Patrick, we've hit solid ground. Ah, Patrick..?"

He pressed a hand to his cheek and found that tears had begun to freeze. "That's good, Joseph. It can't be more than a foot or two lower." He said, realizing that Joe likely wanted to hear about the story rather than watch him clam up as he thought over it. It was really too late for him to say anything, though, so he instead wiped the tears from his eyes and tried his best to concentrate on his surroundings.

--

The painting was clearly of the scene, with the beautiful forest and the creek in the background, and with the blanket they were lying on in focus. On it, obviously, was Patrick in the pose Louis had him in, but slightly differently, for Louis had also painted in himself, and it appeared as if they had just pulled away from a kiss. In the foreground was their food, the whole thing painted in a lovely, hazy manner. "Louis, I… this is really quite touching, hm?" He said, finding it difficult to compose words.

"I'd love for it to become a reality," he said, removing the painting from Patrick's grasp and placing it in the box he brought with him. "See, since I know you won't be able to bring these home with you, I was thinking we'd seal the box and bury it, then come back on the birthday after we finish dealing with your father."

"Oh, that's a lovely plan, Louie. Let's get to the kissing part, please."

Louis's lips felt less chapped than usual, tasting of cheese and fruit and wine. It wasn't long before he pushed Patrick down and settled arms around him, and Patrick managed to get a hand behind Louis's head, pulling lightly on his cropped hair. It was quite nice, being able to tilt his head to both better their position and keep his lover's glasses from pressing uncomfortably into his cheek.

A hand found its way to Patrick's waist, tugging on his shirt in a way that suggested to Patrick that, for how smart and clever Louis was, he still struggled with undressing someone. That was fine, though, since Patrick could use his hand to pull Louis off of his for just long enough to pull off his shirt, and it was at this point that Patrick realized he couldn't do much else but tug near Louis's collar to have him reciprocate the action, not wanting to dirty the lace.

For some reason, Louis started to laugh, a giggle stifled by a sleeve. "Oh, my love, my darling, my—" He stopped, pulling off his shirt and knocking his glasses off with it. "When should we stop and head back?"

"Well, not now, we only just started kissing."

"It'll get dark come a couple hours."

"I can handle my father being mad at me, just… let's keep going, darling."

Louis thought a moment, then obliged.

--

Joe grabbed Patrick's arm and pulled him to the hole that was dug. "I know how weakened you are in this cold, but I won't be able to pull this out by myself."

"I… yes, I suppose I can try to help. How are you planning on doing this?"

"Well, there's most of the perimeter cleared out, so if we can get our hands under it, we should be able to pull it out just fine. Seems well preserved."

"Good, good, that's good."

It took less time than either of them thought for it to be removed, and after deciding against going through the trouble of covering the whole back up, they began to head back home, Patrick promising he'd open it up and examine the contents by the heat of the fireplace.

--

Louis had gotten on to digging a hole for the box before Patrick had even pulled his stockings back on, his cheeks still feeling overly hot. "People don't get to sleep this disheveled," He mumbled, grabbing his vest and watching how beautiful Louis was whenever he did anything.

"I think I've got a comb and hand-mirror somewhere in my bag, my love."

Patrick laughed. "How egotistical of you. Lucky you're so handsome, otherwise I bet I'd hate you."

"And if you weren't so handsome, I'd say that that's shallow of you," Louis quipped. He turned and grabbed the box, settling it in the hole he dug and repacking the rest of the hole with dirt. Watching for a moment how Patrick was still pulling on clothes, Louis headed to his bag and threw a comb in Patrick's direction. "Here, to make sure we remember where it's buried, I'll carve something on this tree, okay?"

Patrick pulled on his overcoat and shoes, and fixed his hair as best he could. "You're so smart, Louie, darling. I'm so glad you haven't left town for something bigger, yet."

"I'm not gonna leave until you're father's taken care of. Then I'll go and work for the royal court, and I'll come back as much as possible to see you. You'll become Marquis, won't you, after your father's taken care of?"

"Oh, yeah, I suppose that's what'll happen to me. Wonder how that'll work, hm."

They cleaned up and, with Louis's hand at Patrick's back, they headed back to town.

--

Once they got the box open, its contents were clear. Patrick pulled out the painting first and tried his best not to start crying right then. "Your great grandfather was an incredible man," He mumbled, setting down the canvas. "We'll have to find a frame the right size, for this."

"You knew him?" Joe asked.

"Better than I've ever known anyone, Joseph," Patrick said. "I forgot about the painting, but if you're curious as to what my life was like a hundred years ago, I suppose you can stare at it for a while."

The rest of the box held a beautiful but now old-fashioned coat, some jewelry, and a few letters that Patrick decided against reading immediately, out of fear that he would break down then and there. "Patrick, something's written on the back of this," Joe said. Without giving the vampire so much as a moment to set down the coat and glance over, he began reading it. "My love, though times are tough, I promise you that you'll be remembered by me forever. Though I fear our time together is short, I'll—oh, he was rather, ah, raunchy, hm..?"

Patrick laughed and hoped Joe couldn't hear the lump building in his throat. "Louis was the smartest, funniest, most handsome man I've ever met," He, keeping his gaze away from Joe. "It was so easy to be with him."

Joe snorted. "Yeah, clearly. I'll see if I can find a frame in my father's manor."

"I'd bet you could find more of his paintings there, too. Your mother, his granddaughter, would be good to ask—she has kept most of them, I do believe."

"Will do, Marquis. Y'know, I didn't think of you as, like, someone who ever had love. Let alone having it be, um, my great grandpop."

Patrick laughed, though perhaps it could be described more accurately as a sob.

[jessethejoyful]

uwu what’s this?? part six????

buckle up kids

read it here on ao3

SIMON

After Halloween, we all kind of hit the ground running. It’s always like this in November - we’re startled by how near we are to finals, and there’s a vicious scramble to catch up with a semester’s worth of work in a few weeks.

I barely see Penny or Agatha, let alone Baz, who spends nearly all of his time in his studio. I poked my head into the room once, and he was facing away from the door, and I actually got a glimpse of his canvas. The painting he was working on was breathtaking, for lack of a better word. I’m not great at describing things, or understanding paintings, but even I could tell that this piece was already a masterpiece.

Painting is one of the few things Baz is bashful about. He doesn’t let me look at many of his paintings, even though I’ve seen most of them displayed in the cases. I don’t know why he’s so nervous about it, because he’s incredibly skilled. And he’s more willing to show them to Penny than he is to me, I’ve noticed.

My own classwork is getting heavy. The closer I get to graduating, the more pressure I feel. The animation industry is highly competitive, and while I know my style is unique and interesting, that’s not always what companies are looking for. I’m terrified of trying to find a job after uni, but I don’t really let on to the others about it.

I asked at work for fewer hours to make up time for finals, and they were kind enough to agree. So I’m spending even more time in the lab, working until the tips of my fingers go a bit numb and I can’t see at all without my glasses, and even then I’m squinting. I’ve been sketching this sequence for weeks, but I can’t get any of it to come out right, on paper or on the screen. I thought my storyboard was finished, but every time I try to digitize it, it comes out all wrong.

I’m getting so agitated, I finally shut the computer down, grab up my stuff, and march downstairs to the private studios, and find myself banging on Baz’s door.

He opens the door quickly, breathless, and looks at me. “Simon.”

“Do you mind if I sit in here with you?” I ask before I even realize the words are leaving my mouth, and we’re both surprised. But then I think that I really could use the company, and he must be thinking the same, because he steps out of the way to let me in. I follow with a muttered thanks.

The room is small, big enough for two easels, a small cabinet of drawers, and the stool Baz usually sits on. So I curl up in a corner, my bag pulled tight next to me, and smile up at him. I sit behind his easel, so he doesn’t get anxious thinking I’m watching him.

He looks down at me, a slight frown on his face, so I drop my own smile. “Is everything alright, Snow?”

I nod vigorously. “Yeah, I’m just - I’m stressed, y’know? And sometimes I like to sit around people when I work, and Penny is already gone for today, and I knew you’d be in here. The people in the lab stress me out because I think their expressions all mirror my own.” I can tell he understands, and he finally sits back down on his stool.

“Alright, then. I’m not really going to talk much, so I hope the silence doesn’t bother you.”

“Definitely not. Penny always talks about how creeped out she gets when I’m focusing, how quiet I get.” He snorts softly but doesn’t say anything else, putting only one earbud back in before picking up his brush.

We work in companionable silence, and I’m finally able to get something of substance, sketching with my brows furrowed and hunched over my pad in my lap.

I don’t think Baz even registers my presence after a while, focused as he is on his work. He’s so engrossed in his canvas that I’m able to watch him, and seeing his face so serious is honestly a fucking gift. He’s sucking on his lower lip again, and I find myself turning to another page in my sketchbook, glancing up at him now and then to find details. The way his bangs fall into his eyes. The deep curves of his ridiculous sharp cheekbones. The little points at the top of his ears, like he’s some kind of elf.

He doesn’t catch me this time. I fill up the page with little sketches of him, some cartoony, some not. I go to the next page and do a few more, and I find it getting easier, my hand moving better across the paper. He’s the perfect warm-up, all angles and marked lines.

It was already pretty late when I came down here, and I know a few hours have gone by when I finally close my drawing pad and stretch. Baz sees me moving and takes out his earbud, raising his eyebrows at me. A glance at my phone tells me it’s after three am. Jesus.

“It’s bedtime,” I say, broken by a yawn, and we both chuckle. Tired sounds, like we’re both too out of it to get a proper breath.

“You go on, then,” he says, and I stare at him.

“Baz. You need to sleep.” He’s already shaking his head.

“No, I need to keep working.”

“When was the last time you ate?”

He thinks about it. “When I woke up this morning, I guess.” I know he was out of his flat at eight this morning, because his first class is at nine-thirty.

“Fucking ridiculous. Pack your shit up, you’re going home too.” I hop to my feet, ignoring the spinning at the sudden altitude, and glare at him. He knows better than to argue with me when my jaw is clenched and my shoulders out. He very resignedly puts away his paints and his brushes, cleaning them quickly, then hoists his bag on his shoulder.

“Alright, then, Snow. Let’s go.”

We walk together, in silence again, and we’re still bad at keeping pace with one another. I’m slower than usual, because I’m tired, and his legs are already so much longer than mine. I try to hurry to keep up, and he finally slows down, and our shoulders brush. It’s like an electric shock. He speeds up.

When we get upstairs in the apartment, he goes to his door, and I follow him. He stops before putting the key in the lock, furrowing his brows at me.

“...Good night, Snow.”

“I want to make sure you eat something.”

“I’ll eat.”

“Yeah, but I don’t know that.”

Baz lets out an angry breath, looking at me. “You can’t just invite yourself into my flat.”

“Invite me, then.” I’m too tired to care that I’m being difficult. I guess he agrees, because he unlocks the door and doesn’t slam it immediately in my face.

This is the first time I’ve been in his flat. I close the door quietly behind me, since it’s nearly four, and take it in.

I know he doesn’t have a roommate, but he’s put a little bit into decorating the space. I recognize one of his paintings on the wall, the muted color scheme matching well with the wall’s soft tan. He’s got two lamps with beaded shades, and it’s all very neat. It doesn’t really looked lived in, until Baz tosses his bag onto the couch and continues into the kitchen. I put my own by the front door and follow him.

The kitchen is nearly the size of ours and seems even less used, the only thing out on the counter being a coffeemaker, a microwave, and a line of frivolous mugs, which is hilarious to my sleep-deprived mind. I pick one up, flamingo-shaped, the one behind it printed with a mustache, and the one behind that reading ‘World’s Okayest Dad.’

“Wow,” I say, leaning over them and laughing. Baz looks over from the fridge and snorts.

“Gifts from my aunt,” he explains. “She thinks she’s so fucking funny.”

“Pretty funny to me.” I pick up another one, plain white, until I look inside and see the bottom reads in swirly script, You’ve been poisoned.

“Well, you both have a shit sense of humor.”

I just laugh and lean back against the countertop, watching him as he throws a bowl of leftover pasta in the microwave. “Do you see your aunt a lot?”

He doesn’t seem too suspicious of my motives as he answers. “A fair amount. I go to my family’s home during the summer, and she’ll come by to visit now and then. But she lives in London.”

“You get on well with your family then?” I don’t know if he’d normally be so forthcoming if it weren’t four am.

“Not as much. My dad’s more difficult than I am, if you’d believe it. I like my stepmom well enough, but with them and four siblings running around, it gets a bit tiring.” He takes out the food, pokes it, and then puts it back in for another minute and a half. “The oldest of my siblings though, Mordelia, we get along pretty well. Make a good team against the others. She’s only thirteen, but she’s too smart for her own good, not that I’d ever tell her so.”

I’m impressed by the outpour of information. It feels unfair, so I nod before saying, “I wish I’d had siblings. It was just me and Agatha, and she’s not really my sister. Close enough, though.” Baz looks over at me, doesn’t press, so I keep going. “M’dad David was… well, he was a bit of a loony. I was with him til I was ten or so, and he had a manic episode. Killed some birds, he kept birds, and then he tried to kill me.” I’m rambling, but I can’t stop, the words falling out of my mouth without me really registering them. “My mum died having me, so it was just us. Me and David. He came at me, hands bloody, but I was small enough I was able to slip away. Ran to my neighbor’s, called the police, and they came and took him away. The Wellbeloves took me in, Agatha and I had made friends at daycare and God knows they had money to spare. Her dad’s a doctor, her mum’s some posh beauty queen type -”

“Simon,” Baz cuts in, and I realize he’s staring at me in alarm. I swallow. “I - Jesus.” He puts his bowl down and comes over to me, and I flinch without meaning to, and he slows down, reaching out to take my arm.

“I’m sorry,” I gasp, and it occurs to me that I’m crying, and I’m horrified by this sudden realization, and I’m shrinking away from Baz. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to -” Baz hushes me and gently pulls me against him, his arms wrapping around my shoulders.

BAZ

I don’t know what else to do. We’re strung out of our minds, exhausted beyond belief, because it’s so late and we’ve both been burning the candle at both ends. So when Simon is standing in front of me, suddenly telling me his tragic life story and tears start running down his face, I don’t know what else to do but wrap him up in my arms.

And it does help, I think, because he’s still shaking, but he’s gripping my shirt, his face wet against my neck.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters again after a few minutes of quiet sniffling. “I don’t know where this - came from, I’m not weepy -”

“Simon,” I say quietly, pulling away enough so I can look him in the eyes. He meets mine, and I’m nearly struck dumb by how the wetness makes those baby blues suddenly mesmerizing. “You don’t have to apologize to me for your trauma. Okay?” I tilt my head down and kiss his forehead, and I hear him take a shuddering breath. “Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me. And I’m sorry.”

“S’not your fault,” he grumbles, the grip on my shirt loosening a small amount.

“Nor is it yours.” His lower lip trembles, and I reach up and pass my thumb across it. “Alright, then? All cried out?” He laughs weakly and nods, bringing his wrist up to take his glasses off and wipe at his eyes with his shirt sleeve. “Good. How about some tea?” It’s all I know how to do when someone’s this upset. It’s all my mother did for me when I’d have fits, sit me down across a steaming mug and talk me down.

Simon’s face splits in a sudden yawn, and I can see all the way down the back of his throat. “I think I’d better just go to bed,” he says, embarrassed, and I agree. “I’ll let myself out.”

“No.” He’s confused, and I grab his wrist carefully. “You think I’m going to send you back by yourself, like this?” He just stares at me. “Are you hungry?” A shake of his head. “Then go ahead and lay in my bed. I’ll be in in a second. Alright?” He luckily doesn’t take anymore convincing, just knocks his head into my shoulder before slinking out of the room.

I shovel pasta into my mouth, ravenous suddenly, then follow him. He’s curled up on top of the sheets, and I remember he runs hot, with his shirt off and wearing a pair of my joggers. I think he’s asleep as I sit down, but his eyes flutter open and he holds a hand out to me. I rest my hand on his, and his thumb moves several times across the back of mine.

“Thank you,” he whispers, his eyes closing already, and he rolls over to face the wall. I don’t get under the blankets, just lay down and curl up against his back, because he radiates heat, and I fall asleep to the sound of his breathing.

The light wakes me in the morning, and I sit up slowly. This time, I don’t startle at all to see Simon beside me, stretched out like he’s floating on water, and he doesn’t jump up when I move. Just folds up and rolls over, facing me, but still asleep. I watch him, because I’ve been starved of him, honestly. His freckles, his nose that looks like it’s been broken multiple times. His curls.

I’d watch him for hours, but my phone tells me it’s nearly eleven-thirty, and I have to be at work at noon. I’ll leave Simon a note for when he wakes up.

But when I come back from the fastest shower I’ve ever taken, he’s sitting up, staring at the only painting I keep in my room. It’s the ballerina. I’d hidden it, towards the end of the sale. I didn’t want to part with it, after all. I’m embarrassed he caught me.

He doesn’t say anything about it though, just looks at me and smiles. “Good morning.”

“Hardly,” I say, because I’m difficult. “It’s almost noon. Duty calls.” Simon nods. He slides off the bed, and I try not to stare his shirtless chest. He’s just as covered with freckles there, and there’s just a little bit of chub around his stomach, and it’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. The prettiest picture.

I know what he’s going to say, so I’m already shaking my head when he says, “Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me for anything,” I say, and I can feel my cheeks getting warm. “Nobody should be alone when they’re like that.” He crosses the small room to me, and I don’t step back, just let him put himself in my space.

“But you didn’t have to. You didn’t have to do anything.” When he tilts up and presses his lips to mine, tentative, I sigh mentally and cup his chin, pulling him back to me.

I don’t want to push him away anymore. I just want to pull him in, where I can keep him safe and out of harm’s way. So I do.

[art-now-france]

THE MARBELOUS CADILLAC, Roland Baladi

The marbelous Cadillac 1985-2009 Fleetwood Cadillac 53 220X160X420 Cm 16Tns Carrara's marble About The Marble Cadillac project The recording will be pretty, pretty bad because of the sound of the car. You better shout. It's running. When the Cadillac is complete, where would you like to have it shown. Whose collection would you like to see it in? I'm not aware enough of collections. I don't know any single name of collectors beside the names of the people who bought my pieces. The best place to show the Cadillac is the place where I want to show it in front of O.K. Harris. It could be a Landmark on West Broadway, but they will have to move that bloody fire pump. How do you feel about the marble Cadillac going to a private collection? Would you prefer to see it in a public setting a museum? I prefer, certainly, a public situation. if it is a museum, I prefer outdoors. I see it ,best on the street. Why a Cadillac as opposed to another car? The first pieces I did were appliances from my childhood, from my appartment my mother's sewing machine, our radio, the toaster. I want to do our ref rigerator. When I was a kid, my parents had no car but .I remember being picked up at school by a close friend's car with a chauffeur. I remember they had a regular Plymouth for every day and f rom time to time, when the chauffeur was coming directly f rom the office of my friend's father, he came with a Cadillac. That was very special to us. We were maybe seven or eight years old and at that age the senses are very developed. The Cadillac did really smell different. The little knob to set the window up and down was transparent plastic and the steering wheel was very glamerous. The car was kept in very good shape and was the object of care of the chauffeur and the admiration of the people on the street. It was a treat to ride in it. So you actually remember touching and seeing the details? It wasn't just the idea of a "Cadillac" and what it means, what it symbolizes? I liked the car bef ore I knew what Cadillac means. I remember the quality of the car and the shortest cut to describe the quality of the car is to give it it's name and it was a "Cadillac". It was not a 50s car, it was a 47 or 48 Cadillac so what I am doing now is not exactly the car I used to ride in, but I think it is more representative of cars in general and American car production in particular. The car I chose is more a symbol and a car I admired f rom outside, looking at it on the streets and in gas stations. Do you think the Cadillac has a wide audience? Do you think your sculpture will trigger such memories in many people or is it more a private vision? I do love to be loved, to have feedback from the people who regard my work but I think of myself first. There is no speculation on being loved more by using a car that everybody loves, i t is first of aIl a car that I design as being a symbol and a car that pleases me. One often thinks that the artist has a message to deliver. That's bull shit. I believe that the artist shows with his work what everybody has uncon-ciously felt. When I do a Caddy that means Hey.' See? Me too: Why marble? Did you ever make paintings of these childhood images - the appliances in your home, the car you rode home from school in? Marble is a unique material not because of it's tradition and what people see in it as a symbol of durability but because you have te carve every piece separately and you can't make an edition, like in bronze for example. I like the no-return aspect. marble does not offer a chance te redeame yourself . You make a mistake, it's too late. Yeo better buy another block and start again. In other materials, you can add or subtract mater. In marble, and in wood also, you cannot add you can only subtract. But I de prefer marble te wood because while wood pulls you, marble pushes you - I mean your chisel. I do paint objects in marble. They are watercolors. Here exactly the opposite happens. You can not subtract, you can only add. You know that in painting with acrylic or oil you can add density or subtract it by adding white. That means coming back on an addition of color. It's like subtracting color. In watercolor you can't. If the paper is too dark, it's too late. No repentance. So, in f act, it has the same quality. It's the same kind of quality. No way of return. It is somehow like life itself . The way of no return. You can't really erase part of your life. It's done. It's done. So, this is a risky business. We are talking about a 45 ton block of marble for the Cadillac. Is there much chance for mistake? The state of artist is dangerous in general. When you are talking about business, it is really risky. That is the reason parents are completely f reaked out when they hear that their child is going in that direction. Artists are used to risks, we take them all the time. I'll be care-full. I'll set my belt on - my safety belt. Is that art? Artists have hardly an idea about what is art and what is not. It's the public and the art critic who define that. Artists confess only themselves to be artists and whatever they do is art. Whatever they sign is art. We are now after Duchamps who signed a bottle rack. We know that Andy Warhol did his silk-screens by phone. He called the printer to say "put some red on the mouth, green on the eyes and print". It 's still an Andy Warhol and no one discusses that. I love it. Can you imagine doing a series of sculptures of cars or is the Cadillac the ultimate car sculpture? Artists make pieces that are good and others that are less good. I hope to do always better than the last. Now I have to do this one - the Cadillac - and this leads to the next piece. I am not thinking yet about another car. I would rather think about a Grey-hound Bus or a DC 3 or something like that. You never know what could happen. As a matter of fact, I saw a Volvo the other day. I thought it was a great car but you know.....this is still in the air. Is there a great deal of resistance to your pro-ducing this piece? The marble it self offers resistance to carving it is not a easy medium. There is no resistance at all to my carving a Cadillac. It's only the lack of money. if I had the money, I would have done it without hesitation - without a second thought. A Greyhound Bus, a DC 3. The Cadillac is a huge project by itself . Is it the scale - the menumentality - that interests you? It's true that the dimension adds te the ex-citement of the project. Mount Rushmore and the Great Pyramids are interesting because they are big. Imagine a model of Mount Rushmore. Would you be interested to look at it? Size is part of the excitement. There is more dynamic in it. marble works with its density. Does your use of marble in sculpture have some-thing te do with permanence as well? A marble sculpture will not decay the way a wooden one, or a painted canvas, will or the way the Cadillac itself , in metal, will decay. Everything decays if it doesn't get attention. Everyone does. Marble is not so solid, not so un-breakable as peeple think. If we still have some mar-ble sculpture f rom antiquity, it's not because they are marble. It is because people cared about them. I haven't speculated on the solidity of the marble in order te survive. Can you imagine the Cadillac surviving 500 years f rom now - a damaged antiquity with a broken headlamp, a missing bumper or doorhandle? Yeah, I think about it. It's very exciting. May-be some idiot will try to fix it - restore it. It will end in a French museum. It may end up with a French hubcap. It's fun te speculate. You know about the Sphinx in the Louvre which has been restored with a French baker's nose. No one notices it except someone who is very alert and can tell the difference be-tween a French and an Egyptian nose. De you think of your sculpture surviving you? I'm tempted to say I don't care but it would be a lie. I think that all artists believe they have a little victory on death through their work. I hate to say that after thousands of dead artists who have said it before me. In other words, I could answer yes or no with the same conviction. Noreen Lewandowski and Roland Baladi New York 1985

https://www.saatchiart.com/art/Sculpture-THE-MARBELOUS-CADILLAC/8893/1348543/view

[jungshoox]

Faded - Chapter 2

The morning Jungkook went back to work, he woke up feeling good, he hadn't felt that well rested in months. Tae had to have been right, the break was definitely what he needed. He stretched his arms out and ran a hand down his face, his eyes half open and lips pursed from sleep. Before getting up, he looked around the room and his eyes landed on one of the sketches he'd done. A small smile stretched it's way across his lips and he felt a rush of energy. Practically jumping out of bed, Jungkook hurried to the shower to start his normal routine. However, today was different. He just felt good, something he hadn't felt in a long time. He stared at his reflection, like any other day, but the bags were filled in and his eyes had a sparkle to them as he smiled back at himself. He wasn't even sure what made him feel so good, but he wasn't going to question it. His routine went by faster than normal as he was excited to start back up at work so he didn't waste any time. After getting out of the shower, he quickly brushed his teeth and towel dried his hair at the same time, rushing to then get dressed in a pair of gray sweatpants, a loose black t-shirt, and black boots. Rushing out the door, he locked it and set off for the studio at a fast pace. He couldn't seem to get the smile to go away, either, not that he was complaining or anything. The people he would pass didn't seem to be bothering him as much today as they usually​ did, too, even though they still made the same expressions when he read the time out loud, just as he always does. "2m: 9d: 0hr: 1m." Instead of awkwardly avoiding eye contact, he just smiled and kept walking. He had never felt this optimistic before, and all he did was draw a few sketches, sketches he wasn't even sure held any relevance to his life. But even just thinking about them made his heart flutter and his stomach flip with the way the jaw cut so sharp and the way the puffy lips pouted. And the eyes, they held such a deep emotion, but Jungkook couldn't for the life in him decipher what it was. He was infatuated with this person, but he had to remember that they might not even be real. He arrived to work on time, finding the doors already unlocked. His eyebrows drew together finding it odd, they never left the doors unlocked until the first group of students showed up. Quickly he shut and locked the doors and headed to the office. When he opened the office door, he found Taehyung with his big, goofy grin sitting at the desk with a colorful, rectangular box with a just as colorful bow on top sitting on the counter. "Uh..hi Tae. What's that?" Jungkook pointed to the box on the counter. "That, my friend, is a present because I've missed you and I'm glad you're back." The rectangular-smiled boy slid the present closer to him and he eyed it suspiciously. "You didn't have to get me anything, you know." Nonetheless, Jungkook grabbed the box and began unwrapping the patterned paper. Inside was a plain white box taped shut. He carefully tore the tape and opened the cardboard box to find a single used paint brush, taking it out to inspect the black paint on the bristles. Jungkook looked at Taehyung to find him looking at him excitedly. There wasn't a person that could resist a smile when Kim Taehyung was looking at them like that. "Thanks, Tae." "Kookie, there's more! Look in the lid." Obeying instructions, Jungkook looked in the lid and found the words, 'Follow me!' "'Follow me'? Follow what?" With furrowed brows, he looked to Tae for help but found he was pointing to the wall behind him. On the wall there was a sheet of paper with a black arrow painted on it, the same paint from the tip of the brush he assumed. "Follow that, Kook! That will take you to your real present." Jungkook did as told, now getting slightly excited but still cautious. He followed the various black arrows that were placed around the building until he ended up in a spare room that they used for storage. Except this time, the extra equipment had been organized and moved toward the walls and standing alone in the center of the room on a big cloth square was a beautiful easel. The easel was already holding a decent sized canvas and to the side was a bookshelf with dozens of bottles of paint in different colors and paintbrushes all varying in size. Jungkook's mouth hung open and he just stared at the set up. It was perfect, he couldn't even find words to explain how the sight made him feel. "Tae...what is..." He felt an arm wrap around his shoulders. "You know how we get those bonuses when we hit our two year mark here? Well, I got mine and I couldn't think of something else I'd rather do than try to help my best friend get back in his normal groove." Taehyung walked over to the set up and began to excitedly talk about the stuff and how he wasn't sure what colors he would need so he got a little of everything and he went with the best stand he could find, and that the brushes are 'supposedly the best you'll find in town.' Jungkook couldn't stop staring in awe at the surprise, his mind was already thinking about all of the ways he could turn his sketches into paintings. He could honestly say he had never received a better gift. "Taehyung, I can't thank you enough...this, all of it..it's so perfect, thank you so much!" He excitedly hugged Taehyung and went back to looking at everything. "I set it up here because I know your place is kind of cramped as it is, so Jhope and a couple of his friends helped me clean it up, organize things and such, getting it ready for this. I'm expecting a lot of paintings to hang around here, the walls are too bare." Tae kept smiling proudly as he watched his best friend sift through the supplies. - Over the next couple of months, Jungkook used the makeshift art studio frequently, he was there almost more than he was at his own apartment. Taehyung even found a couch sitting on the side of the road on his drive to work and brought it for Jungkook so he could spend nights there if he needed. He had spent so much time painting and sketching in that room, he had created dozens of pieces in just that short amount of time. However, out of every painting he'd done, he had yet to do the one he was the most excited to paint. Every time he would try to start it, he would get nervous that it would lose some of the vulnerability it seemed to portray when he recreated it. Jungkook looked curiously at all of the paintings he had made, staring at the different colors, the blends, taking in everything about them. He was proud of them, but there was just something off, they all seemed to be lacking a specific element, but he couldn't pinpoint it. "Ok, Kook, just do it. Don't think, just do..." He gave himself a small pep talk and marched over to the easel with an expression just as determined as his mind. He turned on a stereo he kept near the set up and turned the volume almost all the way up with beautiful piano blaring from the speakers. He knew what he needed to paint, it had to be the thing that was missing. Picking up his paintbrush, Jungkook began to finally recreate his sketches, using one he kept with him as a reference. The brush glided across the canvas so smoothly, making each angle and color fit perfectly together to make one big, beautiful piece. It made Jungkook think about the music he was listening to, how to the pianist the keys were like their canvas and their fingers were the brushes, each note being the colors and shapes and patterns. They, too, worked beautifully to create something bigger and magnificent. After several hours, Jungkook made one final stroke and stood back to make sure everything was in its rightful place. And there it was, his sketch but almost otherworldly. The paint added a depth that pencil or pen just couldn't. He wanted more than anything for this person to come out of the painting and to tell him what he's thinking, why his expression is the way that it is. He turned the music off and stared at the final product proudly, his eyes shining with admiration. His attention was pulled from the painting only when he heard what sounded like loud music from the somewhere down hallway and left the room to find out where it was coming from. He found the hallway empty, but noticed a door left cracked at one end that the music was obviously coming from. "Tae? Is that you?" A head popped out from the room with the open door, but rather than Taehyung, Jungkook was met with Hoseok's bright, smiling face. "Jungkook! I heard the music, figured you were busy so I didn't want to bother you." He disappeared back in the room at that, Jungkook following him inside. "Ah, it wouldn't have been a bother. What are you doing here? It's late, you should be at home." Jungkook found a chair in the corner of the practice room and dropped onto it, his body sore from standing in the same position for too long. "I stayed after, I wanted to get a little extra practice in before tomorrow. We're going over some new moves and I wanted to make sure I had them down perfectly before trying to teach them." He chuckled and turned on the music, his body beginning to move in time with the beat. Hoseok had nothing to worry about, he always executed his dances perfectly. Jungkook watched in amazement, he loved Hoseok's dancing. After a few moments, he got up and began going over the steps with the other, wanting to help and to learn. When they decided they'd had it down enough for the class tomorrow, Hoseok grabbed his bag and followed Jungkook out of the room. "I left my bag in the storage room, hold on." Jungkook took off down the hall and into the room with his stuff, quickly grabbing his things and shoving them into his bag. When he threw the bag over his shoulder, he heard a quiet 'wow' and turned to find Hoseok in the room as well, staring at the new painting. "You painted that?" His voice sounded cautious and amazed at the same time, making Jungkook slightly nervous. Jungkook's eyebrows drew together and he bit on the inside of cheek, his form shrinking slightly. "Uh, yeah. That's what I've been working on all night." He stepped over to the painting to inspect it again. Maybe it wasn't actually as good as he thought. Was it the eyes? Are they too sad? Or the big lips too pouty? Why had Hoseok sounded so strange?

[rue-by-another-name]

“Home remedies” -h.s. Part 5

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4

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It didn’t take you long to pack a bag. All you needed to do was throw in a couple pairs of leggings and some of your favorite knit jumpers and you were ready to go, zipping up your thigh high boots that kept your legs warm and lugging your suitcase to Harry’s car.

You’d texted and let Kat and Tilly know where you’d gone. Tilly had given her condolences quickly but you knew she was distracted by Todd. Kat had called to make sure you were both going to be okay, telling you to please give her prays to Anne before she said she would keep your flat from falling apart while you were gone. And now you were on your way to Harry’s house about fifteen minutes from your own flat.

“I’ve never been to yours,” you realized as Harry drove a bit faster than usual to get to his place.

“I think you’ll like it,” he nodded, “Bit like back home.”

And it was. The house had a rather cozy feel to it with a warm color scheme and artsy, rustic feel. You wanted to turn the fireplace on almost as soon as you saw it, and you could picture yourself curling up by the fire and reading on colder nights. But now was not the time as you followed Harry through his house towards his bedroom. 

It wasn’t a big house as you’d expected a famous, rich person would have. It was rather average sized, and you had to remind yourself that only one person lived here, and that one person was Harry who oftentimes got lonely quite easily. 

His bedroom came up rather quickly, and you almost didn’t have time to look around before he was walking into his closet and tossing his suitcase out onto his large bed. But it didn’t take a second before your eyes fell on the picture above his bed.

“Where’d you get that?” you asked, not even thinking before you were crawling up onto his bed, standing between his pillows in your socks to get a closer look at the printed canvas. Your body was tingling.

Harry walked out of what you could only assume to be a closet bigger than your own bedroom with some jumpers of his own before looking up at the picture of the cold beach. “It’s a photo I bought a couple years ago,” he cleared his throat before climbing up and standing next to you. “Not that special of a picture really, but I swear this is the beach my mum took us to that winter where we ran around in our wellies for ages against the wind.”

“Got wind bitten,” you smiled softly, watching Harry as he fondly looked upon the picture. 

“We ran around for hours and then stayed in that cottage overnight,” he nodded, “Swear we both would have stayed out all night too if my mum hadn’t made us go to bed. It was the first time we slept in the same bed, remember? Wasn’t enough beds for all of us so my mum put us together.”

“Claudia was on a weekend work trip,” you recalled, “And you and your mum already had plans so she took me along without a second thought. It was one of the best weekends of my life still to this day,” you bit your lip. “First time I remembered what having a mum felt like.”

“I bought this picture at an auction a couple years ago,” Harry told you as he jumped back down off his bed and started packing his bag. “They weren’t asking for much for it.”

“But you still bought it way out of the price range,” you looked down to where he was looking up at you with a quizzical look.

“Yeah. Meant a lot to me. I swear I know that beach.”

“It’s the beach we went to,” you nodded, taking his hand as he helped you down.

“How’d you reckon?”

“Because I took the picture.” This simple sentence took far more courage than you cared to admit or allow Harry to see as you shrugged in a casual manner. Tilly had been right when she said you belonged in the world your photography alter ego was in. Regardless of how well of a job you did dodging the press as yourself in your own world, Harry’s world was so different and the intensity you were sure you’d face as his friend would by some means bring out who you really were behind the camera. You’d rather Harry find out from you, as well as the rest of the world.

Plus, this was Harry you were talking with. When had you ever kept anything from Harry before? Why should this be any different? There was no need for any sort of drama to separate the two of you. You’d both already been separated enough for years, and a simple profession wasn’t going to cause a rift between you. The photographer you were was a huge part of you, your life, and your essence. Harry was also a big part of you now and you knew he wasn’t going away any time soon. 

So why shouldn’t he know?

“You ... wait you - you took this picture?” Harry looked beyond puzzled, sitting down on the edge of his bed and blinking multiple times while thoughts flew through his head. He shouldn’t be surprised. He knew you were dedicated and talented, but he also knew the caliber of which this photographer worked at and the fact that you were this high achieving photographer with such a massive following and title caught him off guard.

“Is that ... a problem?” you bit your lip, “I work anonymously so no one knows who I am as a photographer. I got by -”

“Your first initial and your middle name,” Harry nodded, “I’ve been following you as a photographer for years now since I saw this photo. I can’t believe I didn’t make the connection. Oh wow,” Harry rubbed his eyes, “I bought your topless self-portrait last year for a lot of money.”

“Rather it go to you than anyone else,” you chuckled, attempting to keep this a light tone. “You’re not ... mad or anything?”

“Mad? Why would I be mad? You’re a ridiculously successful photographer. You’re - you’re social media sites are crazy! I follow you on every platform. I’ve bought tons of your prints. This is ... wow.”

“I figured you should know,” you shrugged, “It’s where I go to work every day.”

“Yeah yeah,” Harry nodded, “Yeah wow. Y/N this is amazing.”

“Tilly knows, since she works with me. But I haven’t gotten around to telling Kat. I’m afraid she’ll ask for a photo shoot or something and when I get home the last thing I want to do is pick up a camera again.”

Harry chuckled as you smiled down at him, reaching out for his hands. He took them in his, rubbing his thumbs over the back of your hands before bringing them to his mouth and kissing them. “I’m proud of you,” he nodded, “Your work is amazing.”

“You have to say that. You’re my friend.”

“I’d like to think I’m more,” Harry shrugged, “We should probably talk about that actually ... you know the whole ... kiss thing.”

“We’ll have time,” you nodded, “I’m not going anywhere. But we need to get home first and check on your mum.”

Harry nodded and quickly finished packing. You observed his room as he did so, lying on his bed and admiring the pictures in frames, finding a childhood one of you, Kat and Harry all in rain gear at Kat’s sixth birthday party smiling widely. It was supposed to be a swimming party in the lake down the street from her house, but when it started raining you’d all gone puddle jumping instead. Kat looked as gorgeous as ever with her long hair and flawless pose. But you and Harry looked like muddy trolls with your arms around each other’s shoulders and smiles wide. You couldn’t believe how long ago that had been yet you remembered the rain on your face and the squeals of laughter as if the memory was right outside the window.

“Let’s go,” Harry said softly, his lips on your temple as he pulled you from your thoughts. You were both pretty quiet on the drive back to Holmes Chapel. It was still dark out by the time you pulled up at the hospital and Robin was waiting for you both as Harry parked and you jogged through the cold to get inside.

“She’s just fine,” Robin nodded, “Her right leg is broken and her left wrist is fractured, and other than a couple bumps and bruises she’s all good.”

“And how are you?” Harry asked, observing the soft case on Robin’s right wrist and the cuts scattered across his skin as well.

“I’m just fine too,” Robin waved it off, “Just a sprain.” He looked to you now as you lowered your hood and rubbed your tired eyes. “Well look who it is.” Robin’s smile was warm as you gave him a hug and he squeezed your arms once you’d pulled away. “Anne and Gemma will be so pleased to see you.”

“I’m sorry it couldn’t be under better circumstances,” you said as you and Robin followed Harry to Anne’s room. 

“Yes well, we all come back when we’re most needed,” Robin shrugged, “Regardless, any reunion with friendly faces is a happy one.”

You allowed Harry for a moment alone with his mum, watching as he went over and leaned his tall and lanky body over her to give her a hug. She was smiling, as she always was, and you stepped aside so the door could close quietly. 

Gemma gave you a questionable look before you turned to see her, her eyes widening before a smile spread across her face. “I knew that was you!” she cried, nearly jumping into your arms in a fit of giggles, “Harry had mentioned that he had seen you again and that you were living in London but I’m so uninformed of his friends lately that I had no idea who he’d possibly bring with him back home and it’s been such a long time since I’ve seen you and you’ve grown so much with such shorter hair that I couldn’t be sure but oh my gosh you look really just the same it’s so good to see you I can’t believe -”

“Gem,” Harry cut in, chuckling as you both turned to see Harry sitting on the edge of Anne’s bed. “Breathe.”

“It’s so wonderful to see you,” Gemma said, giving you another hug. “Welcome home.”

“Thank you,” you smiled, “Congratulations on your engagement, by the way. If I had known earlier I would have sent flowers or something.”

“Oh please,” Gemma scoffed, “Seeing you again is far more wonderful than any flowers.”

“Yes it is dear; it’s so good to see you,” Anne said, reaching out her non-fractured hand that wasn’t in a sling for you to grasp. “You’ve matured into a beautiful young woman. Claudia would be proud.”

“Mum,” Harry groaned, “Don’t get weird.”

“I’m on medication,” Anne huffed, “I can be as weird as I want. I have an excuse.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as Anne pulled you in for a hug, kissing your forehead as you pulled away. “It’s so good to see you again,” you smiled, “As I was telling Robin, I’m sorry it couldn’t be under better circumstances.”

“Oh nonsense,” Anne smiled, “I’m just happy Harry has you back in his life. He’s quite annoying without you occupying all his time, you know.”

You couldn’t help but blush slightly as Harry rolled his eyes again. “Seriously Mum.”

“You kids worry too much,” Anne tsked, “Really, I’m just fine. We’re both fine,” she said, gesturing to Robin, “You both didn’t need to put your holidays on hold for us.”

“You were in a car crash, Mum,” Gemma groaned, “Of course we’re going to come and make sure you’re alright.”

“She can’t help she’s a troublemaker Gem,” Harry smirked, “She missed her kids on the holidays and was seeking attention.”

“You’re both brats,” Anne hit Harry over the head, “And you’re nearly not quite as funny as you think you are, young man.”

“Merely joking Mum,” Harry leaned in and gave his mum a kiss on the cheek as she rolled her eyes. 

“I don’t know how Y/N will ever put up with you now that she can’t escape you in London,” Anne gave you a bright smile. “Now that you’re here though, how long do you think you’ll be staying?”

“For as long as you need us,” you nodded.

“Oh please dear that’s very nice of you but I’m sure you have a job you’ll need to get back to.”

“Oi, what about me?” Harry asked, “I have a job.”

“You do not,” Anne scoffed, “You’re between work. My son, unemployed.”

“To think I was worried about you.” Harry couldn’t keep himself from smiling though, as he looked on his mum with a fondness you hoped to one day receive from your own children, if you ever had any. The thought suddenly of little ones running around a warm and inviting house with your skin tone and Harry’s curly hair and green eyes washed over your mind, a vision of Harry snuggling with a baby or giving a toddler a piggyback ride making your cheeks warm. The thought intrigued you.

“We’ll at least stay through New Years,” you caught Harry saying, “And however long you need help with anything.”

“This will be fun then,” Anne patted his cheek, “The family back together for New Years. Will you stay as well, Gems?”

“Yes,” Gemma nodded, “Charlie is already on his way down so we’ll be able to stick around. I told him to just go straight to the apartment and we’ll stop by tomorrow morning before you’re released.”

“They aren't releasing you tonight?” Harry asked, checking his watch.

“It’s near two in the morning, Harry,” Robin chuckled, “We’re probably the only ones on this floor still awake.”

“We should head back to the house then,” Harry yawned, suddenly aware of the time. “What time tomorrow morning?”

“Anytime before noon,” Anne nodded, “Please sleep in.”

“We’ll be back tomorrow morning,” you promised, leaning in to give Anne one more hug. It felt good being back under a motherly watchful eye as you shared a smile with Anne. “Please rest up.”

“Oh you don’t have to worry about me sleeping,” Anne smiled, “You’re free to anything in the house. I’d worry the guest room isn’t set up, but we all know you won’t use that room at all.”

“Mum,” Harry turned with wide eyes, blushing at his mum as she gave him a confused look.

“What?” she asked innocently, “You always used to share the same bed when you were younger! Why would that be any different?”

“We haven’t seen each other for like, three or so years!” Harry blinked, “Why would you think -”

“Oh please,” Anne scoffed once more, “Don’t try and fool us. I’m surprised you’re so embarrassed.”

“Jesus, Mum,” Harry mumbled, grabbing his jacket. 

“Unless you have a reason to be embarrassed,” Gemma crossed her arms and smirked at the two of you as you felt your ears burning and Harry sputtered to get an answer out.

“Whatever. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Good Lord,” you grumbled, following Harry out of the room as he’d grasped your hand so hard that he nearly yanked you right out of your shoes. 

“She’s perfectly fine,” Harry grumbled, “2am and she’s still embarrassing me every chance she gets.”

“You forget that she will equally find pleasure in embarrassing me as well,” you smirked, “So I have no sympathy for you.”

Harry’s annoyed façade cracked, a smile shining through as he wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you close as you walked through the cold to his car before driving down the familiar streets towards his house.

It was something out of a dream being back in the Styles household you’d grown up in. You could remember running up and down the stairs, cutting your forehead on the coffee table in the living area, and spilling milk all over the kitchen when you’d left cookies and milk for Santa Claus. There was still the large window out front with the warm window seat that would be basked in sunlight after school where you’d lie and take a nap as Harry finished the homework you’d already done during your study hall. 

You tripped over the same welcome rug you remember tripping over countless times when you’d arrive unannounced and without even knocking to open the door and scream for Harry to come out and play. The house sent chills down your body as you looked around, almost everything exactly how you remembered it.

And Harry’s bedroom was no exception. There were less posters and more awards, more pictures hanging on the walls of his band now and less of those old sports memorabilia he’d once collected. But it was still the same room you’d snuggled next to Harry almost every night. Still the same room you’d cried in after your first breakup, and still the same room where you’d hid from a game of spin-the-bottle during a very adventurous party Harry and Kat had once thrown. Harry had gotten suspicious when you hadn’t showed up for around a half hour or so and had come up to his room to find you sound asleep in his bed, all your clothes and even your shoes still on. He’d told Kat he was tired as well after that and made her kick everyone out before coming up and taking off your shoes for you and helping your extremely sleeping little body get into bed before he’d snuggled right up next to you.

“Brings back memories, huh?” Harry asked, the thump of your suitcases making your jump slightly as you were brought from yet another deep memory. Harry couldn’t help but smile at your jumpy nature. “Relax,” he chuckled, his fingertips pressing to your shoulders as he pulled your jacket down your arms and tossed it on his desk chair. “Are you tired?”

“Extremely,” you nodded, “It’s been a long day.”

“It has,” Harry sighed, “Come on then. Let’s get ready for bed.”

Harry’s mattress, no matter how famous and rich this kid became, would still always be the lumpy uneven mess that sucked you right into the actual mattress as you laid down in your baggy t-shirt and underwear. The concept of being in a thong around Harry didn’t shake you at all as you allowed your body to mold to the comfiest mattress you’d ever experienced after all these years. It was a piece of shit old mattress, but nothing could ever replace it.

Harry sounded like an old man sinking down onto the damn thing, his groan lasting longer than you expecting and causing you to giggle a bit as he reached out for you blindly and humphed when his hand met your stomach. “Just how I remember it,” he grumbled, “Most uncomfortable mattress in the whole world.”

“I love it,” you mused, “Best sleeps I’ve ever had.”

“Me too,” Harry sighed contently after a small moment. His arms tensed, using all his strength to pull you towards him as you fell into him like a rag doll. 

You were both quiet for a moment as there was an awkward presence between the two of you. You’d kissed. You’d made out. That boundary was broken. Harry had basically admitted he was in love with you and you hadn’t declared that you weren’t. And yet here you were pressed against each other but neither of you were saying a word. You’d both agreed you’d talk about it, but with everything going on now ... it just didn’t seem like the right time. 

“Thanks again for coming with me,” Harry finally said, breaking the silence. 

“Yeah of course,” you nodded quickly, “Nowhere else I’d rather be.”

Harry’s arm slowly wound its way around you, pulling you close as you nuzzling your face into the crook of his arm. 

“Happy Christmas Y/N,” Harry whispered, nuzzling his nose against yours in an eskimo kiss.

“Harry Christmas Harry.”

You didn’t remember falling asleep, but the feeling of being in Harry’s arms again in this bedroom where you’d once fallen asleep together almost every night brought a level of comfort you hadn’t achieved since the last time you’d seen Harry before he was a singer, before you were a photographer, and before either of you were old enough to ever admit that the feelings you’d always had for each other was something you should act upon. 

So many things had changed since then, but you were happy they had or else you wouldn’t be right back here waking up in the morning to Harry’s face nuzzled into your neck and his body wrapped all around yours like a snake. 

You were up before Harry like usual, attempting as quietly as you could to unwind yourself from Harry’s slumbering body as he rolled over away from you. Showering quickly, you got dressed and made your way downstairs to start making some coffee as the front door rattled and Gemma walked through, box of pastries in her hand.

“Oh,” she smiled once she saw you standing in the kitchen. “Well good morning.”

“Good morning,” you smiled, “I’m making coffee. Would you like some?”

“I’ve already had some and should probably turn it down, but yes I’ll take a mug,” Gemma smiled and sat down at the kitchen island. “How’d you sleep?”

“Just fine. Surprised I woke up at a normal time for me though,” you chuckled, “I’m not a night person whatsoever.”

“I remember,” Gemma chuckled, “Still an early riser, I see.”

“Yeah and your brother sure isn’t.”

“Are you two fucking?” Gemma asked bluntly.

“You nearly choked on the doughnut you’d pulled from the pastry box as you felt your entire face burning. Gemma looked on with a smirk as she waited for you to compose yourself. 

“No! No Gemma we aren’t ... we aren’t sleeping together,” you hissed, “Jesus.”

“I’m just saying,” Gemma raised her hands in defense, “There was always something between the two of you when you were younger and Harry would whine about you the past couple years whenever he felt lonely when he got home and none of us would hang out with him,” she laughed, “‘Y/N would go with me. Y/N would hang out with me. Y/N would find that funny.’ I swear it was the most annoying thing ever.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the thought of Harry still talking about you during your time apart, and shrugged as you turned towards the coffee machine to pour the fresh brew.

“No Gemma come off it,” you felt the blush beat on your face as you attempted to hide your expression as much as you could. “You know Harry and I were never anything more than friends growing up.”

“People come back for a reason though,” Gemma shrugged, “I’m just saying.”

“You’re just saying what sister mine?” Harry asked tiredly, stumbling into the kitchen and rubbing his eyes. “Jesus, you’re both us early.”

“Would you expect anything different?” Gemma asked, not even getting up from her stool as her brother gave her a lazy hug. You and Harry shared some awkward contact before he nodded at you, opening the fridge to break your eye contact as he reached for some orange juice. 

You didn’t like this. You didn’t like how awkward and disjointed you felt with Harry right now. But you couldn’t imagine what must be going through his head. First he has this strange epiphany not even he was expecting by realizing feelings he was developing for a long time friend he never thought he’d have the pleasure of seeing again. Then there was the accident with his mum that he was probably still wrecked up about inside thinking of all the repercussions of her healing from this. And now, not only were his best friends back in his life and he was back home, but the one he’d declared his love for haphazardly ended up being a famous photographer he’d been obsessing over for years now. 

You were sure he was confused and overthinking everything, so you didn't want to rush him. But you did really, really want to kiss him. 

Releasing Anne from the hospital was a whole thing. Harry insisted on pushing her wheelchair for her and then insisted on lifting her up into the car. None of you really said anything against it, knowing that he was far too stubborn for his own good and Anne was already giving him enough shit for pushing too fast or too slow that you all just figured sitting back and letting it all happen was the best scenario for the rest of you to not be harassed either. 

Once you were back home, Anne was situated on the couch until she was comfortable and Robin went to check on how everything was going with the car and the insurance agency. You barely saw any of Harry all morning, spending majority of your time with Gemma and meeting Charlie who was absolutely one of the nicest human beings to walk the planet. He belonged in the Styles family for sure and without a doubt. Harry spent most of his time with his mum, watching TV and going through some pictures and playing cards with her. 

Around lunch time, you exited the kitchen per Gemma’s request considering you lack of any cooking skills and Harry took your place, allowing you some time alone with Anne.

“So how are you doing, dear?” she asked, grasping your hand in hers. “What are you up to these days?”

“I’m a photographer now,” you couldn’t help but smile. “A pretty good one, if I do say so myself.”

“And you’re happy?” 

“I am,” you felt your ears heating up at having to talk about yourself. “I like what I do and the people I work with. The money I make of course is just an added bonus, but really I just love that I get to do what I’ve always wanted for a living.”

“You’ve always been a smart girl, Y/N,” Anne squeezed your shoulder. “I’m happy you’re back in Harry’s life.”

“Yeah I’m glad we all met up again as well,” you nodded, fiddling with the edge of your dress. “Feels like childhood.”

Anne nodded and admired you for a moment as you sat together. “I’m glad you’re both staying around for a little bit,” she admitted, “You two can pretend all you want that you’re adults but we all know you’re still kids at heart.”

You couldn’t help but laugh along with Anne as Harry walked into the living room. “Ears burning?” Anne asked, smirking up at her son as he stood there awkwardly. 

“What? Oh uh ... no. I just ... your medicine, Mum,” Harry cleared his throat and handed the pills to Anne before nodding awkwardly and making his way out of the room. You watched him go, his shoulders slumped and his feet shuffling.

“What is wrong with him?” Anne chuckled before tossing her pills in her mouth and downing her glass of water.

“He’s worried about you,” you were able to lie easily. You could tell you were the issue, and you knew that you were the issue because you were the only one he wasn’t talking to. But you didn’t want to tell Anne that considering then you’d feel like you were intruding and there was a selfish part of you that was starting to realize how lonely you’d been without a family and you selfishly wanted to stay a little longer. 

So you kept to yourself, and dreaded having to go to bed where you would face Harry on the other side of the bed and there was no way out. 

-----

-----

Okay I’m so sorry for the wait for this. I know it was longer than usual but I’ve just been a lot busier than I thought I would but I’m going to have a slower couple of days so hopefully I’ll be able to pump out the next couple of parts (if you’d like them lol). 

Part 6 HERE.  

[ramialkarmi]

How Terry Crews went from sweeping floors after quitting the NFL to becoming a transcendent pitchman and huge TV star

Terry Crews has built a career by doing everything from action movies ("The Expendables") and comedy series ("Brooklyn Nine-Nine"), to being a game-show host ("Who Wants to Be a Millionaire") and pitchman (Old Spice).

But at one point, after playing in the NFL, he was broke and had a job sweeping floors at a factory.

Now, he's one of the most recognizable faces on the planet — and even has a furniture line.

Terry Crews learned the hard way that you should never take an opportunity for granted. 

He was 11 years old when a woman at his church, impressed by his drawing ability, offered to have him create a sign for her storefront. She would give him $25 for the work, which for a kid from a blue-collar family in Flint, Michigan was quite a pay day. He was told to complete the sign within a week.

“I thought, ‘This is going to be easy!’” Crews recalled to Business Insider in a recent interview. “So I spent the week watching cartoons, hanging out, playing around, and the day before it was due I started. But the paint wasn’t sticking to the canvas, everything was going wrong, it was awful. The woman showed up at the house and looked at it and was like, ‘I’ve never been more disappointed.’ I was crushed. I didn’t put any effort into it. I vowed to work hard after that. I never wanted anyone to have that disappointment in me again.”

And Crews’ career proves that he’s never forgotten that life lesson. 

From being the face of Old Spice commercials to his memorable roles in movies ("Idiocracy," "The Expendables") and TV ("Brooklyn Nine-Nine"), thanks to his hulking size matched with his comedic talents, Crews, 49, has gone from being broke after a lackluster career in the NFL, to being an actor who seems to always have a new goal he’s chasing down.

And recently Crews also stood up and became part of the #MeToo movement — the viral wave on social media denouncing sexual misconduct in the wake of the Harvey Weinstein allegations. Late last year, Crews said in a series of tweets that a Hollywood executive groped him at a party in 2016. This, and subsequent statements and interviews, led to Crews being included in Time magazine's Person of the Year: “Silence Breakers.”   

For this piece, Crews took Business Insider through some of the landmark moments of his career to show that when it comes to his brand, as he puts it, “I’m happy, but I’m never satisfied.”

Broke and sweeping floors in a factory after quitting the NFL

Terry Crews’ career in the NFL was not a memorable one. Basically a glorified tackling dummy in the league after being drafted by the Los Angeles Rams in the 11th round in 1991, Crews also played for the San Diego Chargers and Washington Redskins. He walked away from the game after being on the practice squad for the Philadelphia Eagles in 1996. He played a total of 32 games over his 5-year career.

With no other career to fall back on, Crews tried to get into acting, but quickly realized having the NFL on his resume didn't equal instant success.

"It was a big shock to me," Crews said about not finding immediate fame in the entertainment world. "I moved to Los Angeles thinking that because I was a football player, I was going to get a lot of big opportunities. They didn't even have a football team then, nobody cared!"

Crews said he spent a year broke, and had to get a job sweeping floors at a factory to make ends meet.

"I realized I had to start all over again," he said. "I gotta sweep these floors and make sure they are clean but I also felt like I was doing something about the situation. It was a gut check."

Finding his big break in "Friday After Next"

With no acting experience but a lot of desire, Crews got himself into auditions thanks to his size and outgoing personality. It led to him being cast on the syndicated show "Battle Dome" in 1999 — think a combination of "American Gladiators" and pro wrestling — where he played the character "T-Money" for two seasons. He also got extra work on movies like "Training Day" and the Matthew Perry comedy "Serving Sara."

Then in 2002 he got his big break.

After working security on the set of 2000's "Next Friday," the sequel to the Ice Cube stoner comedy "Friday," Cube cast Crews in the third movie, "Friday After Next." Crews played Damon, an ex-con who basically was the intimidating presence in the movie (as Tommy "Tiny" Lister's Deebo character was in the first two movies).

But Crews took the character to a whole new level and became a standout in the movie. This was particularly because his Damon character is sexually attracted to another male character, Money Mike (Katt Williams), a storyline that at the time in black culture was very taboo.

"I remember talking to Katt and saying, 'If this is the last thing we ever do, they can love us or they can hate us, but we have to make sure they never forget us,'" Crews said. "That was our whole mantra. Do something that will just make everyone's eyes bug out."

And they did just that. Crews said he pushed the homosexual tendencies of the Damon character to the point that even on set fellow actors thought it was going too far.

However, despite the movie being a box-office bomb (it grossed only $33.3 million worldwide), Crews was one of the highlights.

"At the premiere, Ice Cube came up to Katt and me and he was like, 'That whole third act with you and Katt takes over the whole movie.'" Crews said. "And I was like, wow. I got respect from people in the industry because I was willing to go all in."

The Old Spice commercials

Crews' "all in" approach led him to be a huge part of an advertising campaign that has influenced the way commercials are made today.

In 2010, he began doing commercials for Old Spice deodorant called "Odor Blockers," and the company's YouTube channel suddenly became one of the most addictive destinations on the site. Created by the Wieden+Kennedy ad agency and directed by Tim Heidecker and Eric Wareheim, of "Tim and Eric Awesome Show" fame, the videos instantly became viral thanks to Crews insanely yelling and screaming while doing bizarre things (with the help of CGI). Whether it was rolling his head down a bowling lane, popping his now-famous pecs, or suddenly appearing in another brand's commercials, Crews embodied the insanity that made the commercials — as well as Isaiah Mustafa's equally zany "Smell Like a Man, Man" Old Spice commercials — go on to win advertising awards and spawn countless imitators.

"I remember the first time we shot any of the Old Spice commercials we did three on the same day because we kept coming up with ideas," Crews said. "I had to sign contracts and fax them to Wieden+Kennedy on set because I was only signed to do one ad."

"I trusted these guys and it was a magical moment," Crews continued. "It's been eight years and I'm still doing them. I'm filming a new one on Thursday!"


President Camacho from "Idiocracy"

Through the years Crews has played some entertaining characters, but his most memorable (so far) is President Dwayne Elizondo Mountain Dew Herbert Camacho from the 2006 movie "Idiocracy."

Though hardly anyone saw the movie when it was released, it's found a second life on Blu-ray, cable, and streaming. And Crews' portrayal of the president in a future when corporations are king and everyone is stupid has gotten to cult icon status.

There was even talk of Crews portraying Camacho in some anti-Donald Trump ads that "Idiocracy" director Mike Judge was going to make during the 2016 presidential campaign. But Crews balked, saying he would only do it if all the candidates were made fun of.

Looking back now, Crews feels he's protective of the Camacho character because of how it can be shaped to any political agenda — none of which the actor wants to be a part of.

"People are way more complex than Republican and Democrat, and that's what I love about 'Idiocracy,' it just told the truth," Crews said. "That's the comedy I like to do. I still think there's room to do Camacho stuff, I would love to. But I want to also just tell the truth and then let it lay."

"Brooklyn Nine-Nine"

Recently, Crews' steadiest work has been playing Detective Sergeant Terence "Terry" Jeffords for five seasons on the Fox comedy series "Brooklyn Nine-Nine."

And if you're wondering, no, it's not a coincidence Crews' character is named Terry on the show.

"We designed the role for Terry, we named the character 'Terry' just to tell him how much we wanted him to do it," Michael Schur, co-creator/executive producer of "Brooklyn Nine-Nine," told Business Insider in an email. "Everything about Terry Crews is impressive — his talent, his work ethic, his courage, his activism, everything. In fact, his biceps are the least impressive thing about him, which is saying something."

There is no better place than TV for actors to work on their craft, and Crews is appreciative of the show for that — and for the incredible response he's received from the show's fans over the years.

"One woman told me she watches 'Brooklyn Nine-Nine' because her son passed away and they enjoyed watching it together," Crews said. "So when she watches it now it brings her back to that time. You start to realize the influence. This is beyond me."

Furniture line

That's right, Terry Crews has furniture named after him.

Crews said he was helping a friend out on a furniture line when he was suddenly offered his own.

"On the [list of] things I want to accomplish, furniture wasn't on there but art was," Crews said. "I felt, wait, furniture is art, if you make it it's art!"

Crews dove into the project, coming up with sketches on his own. It was evident for those working with him that he wasn't just going to slap his name on anything placed in front of him.

"He had so many solid ideas that the difficult part was choosing which ones to pursue for his first collection," Jerry Helling, creative director of furniture maker Bernhardt Design — which is doing Crews' line — told Business Insider in an email. "His knowledge of design and his passion for the industry, combined with his artistic skills made him an ideal collaborator."

Crews' collection ranges from seating to tables, all inspired by ancient Egypt. A second collection will be coming out in the spring.

Using his art skills to make a TV show

Before scoring a football scholarship to attend Western Michigan University, Crews got an art scholarship. He's also been a courtroom sketch artist (back in his hometown of Flint, Michigan), and even painted portraits of NFL players to earn some extra cash during his playing days (sometimes charging $5,000 a portrait).

Now Crews is trying to combine his passion and his celebrity status to make a show.

He's prepping a pitch to send around Hollywood of a talk show in which he'll interview a guest while also sketching them. The pilot has already been shot with his "Brooklyn Nine-Nine" costar Andy Samberg as the guest.

"The pilot looks great, we got a lot of pitch meetings lined up," Crews said. "Our biggest thing is will the show be 30 minutes, or 10 minutes, or even a couple of minutes? We can tailor to whoever wants it. So we're keeping it open to any format."

Time magazine Person of the Year: "Silence Breakers"

Recently, the biggest thing on Crews' mind has been an incident that happened to him at a party back in 2016, he said.

In the wake of the Harvey Weinstein sexual misconduct allegations this past October, Crews was one of the many who spoke out about sexual harassment.

Through a series of tweets, the actor said that a "high level Hollywood executive" groped him at a party he attended with his wife.

Crews later revealed that the exec he was talking about was Adam Venit, head of the motion picture department at the talent agency William Morris Endeavor. The same agency represented Crews (the actor has since left WME). After a one-month suspension, Venit went back to work at WME and was demoted.

Crews, who has since filed a report with the LAPD alleging Venit sexually assaulted him, was later named as one of the "Silence Breakers" in Time's Person of the Year issue.

Looking back on the past months, Crews said telling his story was "a good thing" because it revealed who really was in his corner.

"I found out who my friends really were through this thing," Crews said. "There were a lot of people that I thought were behind me and weren't. I didn't cry in my bed, 'Oh, I've been betrayed,' as a businessman the difficult times revealed who was there for me and who wasn't."

"I'm thankful," Crews continued, "because I would have gone for years thinking these people had my back. I would have just kept going. Sometimes you don't see until something weird happens, and it doesn't get weirder than what happened to me."

SEE ALSO: Inside the 14 long years it took for the director of Amazon's Grateful Dead documentary to finally get his dream project made

Join the conversation about this story »

NOW WATCH: Terry Crews explains how intermittent fasting keeps him in shape

[mredwinsmith]

It’s Never Too Late to Become an Artist | Here’s Inspiration to Get Started

New Year, New Artist

If you’ve always wanted to be an artist, why not start off the new year by making this an achievable goal, or better yet, your New Year’s resolution? Whether you’re eight years old or 80, it’s never too late to start making art. Give in to your passion, find the right inspiration and dive right in.

Take artist Annie O’Brien Gonzales, for instance. She decided to become an artist after completing her education, raising children and having a “real job” while doing lots of arts and crafts on the side.

Ready to get started on your own artistic journey? Below is an expert from Gonzales’ book, The Joy of Acrylic Painting, on how to find inspiration. This book is geared toward those of us who just discovered our desire to make art, or who may have set our passions aside because of other life primacies. Enjoy!

Getting Started

Breakfast by Annie O’Brien Gonzales

Twelve years ago I decided to pursue my dream and take the leap to finally become a full-time artist. Though I had many doubts, I decided it was now or never. I took painting classes, attended workshops, read lots of books on painting and painted almost every day.

After all, I have tried to remember what Georgia O’Keeffe said: “I’ve been absolutely terrified every moment of my life, and I’ve never let it keep me from doing a single thing that I wanted to do.”

I have never looked back, and I kept going forward until I discovered my style and clarified my artistic goals. I have learned a lot about learning to paint — what works and what doesn’t — and I want to share what I have learned.

For many years I taught adults in professional fields, but it wasn’t until I started teaching painting that I ran into adults with so many doubts and insecurities about learning.

For most adults, going to art school is not an option, nor would it be the right option unless the goal is to teach art at the college level. Fortunately, there are so many opportunities to learn to paint. The trick is finding what works for you.

Finding Inspiration

Alameda Garden by Annie O’Brien Gonzales

Inspiration is all around you. Start to notice what attracts you and record it as a reference for future paintings. The more you begin to notice the inspiration around you, the sharper you will get at recognizing it.

Open your awareness to your own history, talents, interests and fascinations that make you who you are. What activities bring you true joy — cooking, setting a beautiful table, dressing creatively, hiking, gardening, movies?

There must be many things, and these things tell you something about what inspires you and holds your interest. Make a point of stopping in museums and galleries when you are traveling. They are practically in every town, and you might be surprised by what a random visit triggers in you.

Some artists find inspiration externally and others internally. It’s a personal frame of reference. Think about the direction you consistently look toward for inspiration:

External Focus: You are inspired by what is around you — travel, people, nature, etc.

Internal Focus: You are inspired by your own heart and emotions.

Both: Georgia O’Keeffe, for example, painted what she felt but was inspired by natural beauty.

Check out popular design magazines (home design, gardening, cooking, crafting, etc.) that contain brilliant color schemes and composition ideas created by some of the most talented designers. Start to look at them with an artist’s eyes.

Take note of display windows, nature, clothing, antiques, music, people in cafes, the sky. … There is no limit. The more you exercise your creativity, the more it will grow and show up for your art.

Pinterest Power

It’s a good idea to collect your inspirations before they fly out of your mind. Three approaches I recommend include Pinterest, inspiration boards and what I refer to as Painting Notes, or art journaling.

For instance, if you haven’t already, join Pinterest so you can create separate boards for your art inspiration categories. If you are fascinated by birds, start a “Birds I Love” board, for example. Additionally, make Pinterest Boards for all your Artist Ancestors (artists who have inspired you).

If you prefer not to share your interests publicly, you can always make your boards private. You could also share your boards with a select group, so it’s possible to form your own critique group online. The possibilities are endless on this platform.

For ideas, check out my Pinterest Boards on the five Elements of Art. I have a board for each one: Line, Shape, Color, Value and Texture plus way too many other boards!

Make Your Own Inspiration Board

If turning to an online platform, such as Pinterest, is not an option, or if you also want to work with something physically in addition to virtually, then create your own inspiration board.

As artists, we respond to and actually require visual stimulation. Inspiration boards are visual references of what excites us at the moment.

Create an inspiration board right away in your studio or painting area and pin on it anything that excites and delights you — color chips from the hardware store, swatches of fabric, photos, postcards, clippings from magazines and quotes that inspire you to keep creating. But be careful not to put your to-do list on your inspiration board or you may decide you never want to look at it.

Here is what you will need:

Cork bulletin board, largest size to fit your space

Inspiration — clippings, swatches, photos, quotes, etc.

Pushpins

After you have all your necessary materials, first you should hang your inspiration board in your studio or work area so you will see it every day.

   Next, collect your inspirations and pin them on your inspiration board without thinking about editing. Stay in your expressive, creative brain rather than your analytical brain.

Inspirational Boosting Tips

Here are nine strategies to try in case inspiration just doesn’t want to strike.

+ Go to your studio or workspace anyway. Don’t talk yourself out of it. Show up, and see what happens.

+ Do busy work: Wash brushes, gesso canvases, organize collage paper and clean your studio space.

+ Grab an old painting and paint over it. Slap paint around in ways you’ve never done before, like you have nothing to lose — which you don’t!

+ Sit in your workspace and look through inspirational art books or magazines. Put tags on anything that intrigues you.

+ Take your sketchbook or art journal outside, sit and make lists: song titles, quotes you’ve overheard, flowers you love, favorite animals, etc.

+ Fill the pages of your journal with doodles or just shapes or lines.

+ Turn on your favorite music really loud in your studio. Put a large blank canvas up, dance and throw paint on it.

+ Pick one of your favorite Artist Ancestors’ paintings and copy it. It’s good practice and quite an acceptable way to learn. Just don’t sign it and show it as your own!

+ Try a technique you’ve never done before, like collage with junk mail, cutting up old drawings or paintings, origami from art magazines, etc. Just wing it!

These Little Things by Annie O’Brien Gonzales

We hope Annie O’Brien Gonzales’ advice and tips help you discover the motivation you need to start making art. And, be sure to tell us in the comments below if you have any more tricks for finding your inner artistic spark.

Whether you’re a beginner artist or a pro, consider making a New Year’s resolution to work toward enhancing your artistry. Here’s to a successful 2018 filled with lots of art-making, artists!

The post It’s Never Too Late to Become an Artist | Here’s Inspiration to Get Started appeared first on Artist's Network.

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[ozsaill]

Poised for the Bahamas

“I hear you’re putting Totem on the hard.” “Will you go out again?” In fact, we have no plans to park Totem for an extended stay on land (or in the water), and have never considered remaining in the US. But given the dearth of information in this space about what 2017 holds I can understand the speculation. We are on the cusp of departure and thrilled to be heading out for more adventures afloat.

Cascading events prolonged our departure, but the boat’s been humming, and legged out timing has shaped our direction. Routing clarity comes slowly after many shuffles on how we’ll fill the gaps between now (in Fort Lauderdale, Florida) and a year from now  (Pacific Ocean, via Panama Canal). It still has a lot of squiggles and question marks, but the bigger picture should stick.

For many months, that year-long view was literally nothing more than get out of the US and back to the islands, spend a couple of months in Cuba, and explore Panama’s Guna Yala. (Remember that Plan is a four-letter word for cruisers! Corollary: Thar Be No Schedules)

Bahamas Baby

We’d written the Bahamas off, but they’re now solidly ON, and their late arrival means I’m scrambling for information. Friday I got our Waterway Guide’s Bahamas, Turks & Caicos book. IT’S GORGEOUS. The last years of Western Pacific / Indian Ocean / Southern Atlantic sailing had poor guides, if any, and it put me off. What did exist covered too wide an area to be useful, so I stuck to travel guides instead and started thinking cruising guides weren’t important. You know what? They’re incredibly useful, I’d just been too long without an example of what a good guide offers. So with 2017 Bahamas edition in hand, instead of helping Jamie and the girls scrub the hull that morning, I did this:

I did also buy a traveler’s guidebook for the Bahamas. I’m probably going to leave it behind, because the Waterway book is better, and has everything I need: the travel guide insights (cultural orientation,  things to bring, cool places to visit) AND annually updated cruising data (what to bring and where to provision, details for moorings and choice anchorages, the latest marina info– even updates on impacts from last fall’s hurricane, and recommendations for things islanders might need that we can ferry over).

That schedule thing

Although schedules are the bane of cruising, I’ve happily added a fixed Must Be There date by signing on to present at the US Boat Show in Annapolis in April. Pam Wall and I will lead a 2-day Cruising Women seminar, and I’m giving a few additional presentations as part of the show’s Cruisers University. I’m very excited about this, especially the Cruising Women program. Jamie seems to have been born with saltwater in his veins; before we went cruising, it was important to me to seek information and skills. Women-only courses provided the shared perspective and camaraderie that best supported my goals.  If you sign up, tell me! I’d love to anticipate meetups.

Places and people

It feels very good to be poised for Bahamas takeoff in Fort Lauderdale, but first we had to get south from Jacksonville to Miami for my friend Lynne Rey’s birthday. Schedules again? Maybe, but no way would I miss this since we could be there! Along the way, there wasn’t  a lot of wind, but some beautiful sunny days and mellow seas that meant Niall could combine studying with watchkeeping in the cockpit.

Along the way we spent a couple of evenings hanging out with Kirk McGeorge. He’s done a couple of circumnavigations on a sistership, Gallivanter, and now does some crazy cool work building underwater submersibles with an outfit in Fort Pierce (he was a Navy diver, and drove Alvin- THE Alvin- on Titanic, way back when). The last time we saw Kirk was Australia, nearly five years ago! Cruising friendships like his are GOLD – you pick up right where you left off, despite intervening years.

In Miami, Lynne, her husband Tony (we sailed together in college) and their kids hosted us at the Coral Reef Yacht Club. This made fun birthday celebrations, late nights in the cockpit, kids learning and playing together, and a lot of good times very easy.

It also made it much easier for a visit from Kerry (the impressive endurance athlete / sailor / quadriplegic I sailed with last month). She gave our family and the Reys a preview of a powerful documentary she’s a part of that I hope will be ready to share publicly soon. Some tissues required after viewing before we could pose for a pic together, our thumbs in the air for Kerry’s nonprofit, ThumbsUp International. ThumbsUp connects people of all abilities to tackle athletic challenges, in particular by teaming able and disabled athletes.

Please check out the Facebook page for ThumbsUp International and give it a like to show your support! Kerry would really like to nudge it over the 2,000 like hurdle: can we do it?! Follow and share!

More friends visited: we first knew Tiffany and Greg as “the Coast Guard Couple” when we met them in Mexico eight (!) years ago; we last caught up in Australia. They’ve traveled a loop around the world since then, by sea across the Pacific and by land from SE Asia to the UK. Both are Coast Guard Academy graduates, both are hard core professional seafarers, and they had great advice on college and maritime licensing for Niall. Just the folks to help toss the lines when it was time to head to the anchorage, right?

Projects projects projects

And then, there was maintenance and repair. Lots of it. Because that’s one definition of the cruising life.

To give you an inkling of that everyday fun on Totem, and a peek into what’s kept Jamie busy here in Florida:

Outboard: FINALLY FIXED. It’s been sick for five months. Diagnosis by mechanic in Jacksonville: failed CDI unit, but we replaced that and still no spark. Option two: bad coil. Ding ding ding ding! Wires from the coil had both broken…photo above. They were crimped by a strain relief device, but the break was hidden inside of a plastic sleeve. Great 11th hour help from our new friend Conor, who borrowed a flywheel puller from a Miami auto shop to get it done.

Sundowners on Totem later, time to talk story with Conor (former cruising kid, now physicist) and his dad

Aft cabin: I went to a road trip to Miami with my friend Patty, and Jamie broke the aft cabin. He’s since rebuilt my workspace, relocated the solar and wind charge controllers to a newly-constructed locker, and cleaned up a bunch of wiring spaghetti. Few words for a LOT of work.

Dodger: As a sailmaker, Jamie knows his way around a sewing machine. But canvas work is “fiddly” (his description) and he hoped to outsource Totem’s new dodger sides. But after weeks of no joy or no action from service providers in northern Florida, he took our friends on Shanthi up on the offer to borrow their SailRite and made it himself. Templating with Tyvek from the hardware store, then constructing the final from Sunbrella, Strataglass, and Tenara thread…on the dock, until it rained, with child labor…as you do. It IS fiddly, but he does great work, and saving the expense is a great bonus.

Before he could get to the canvas, the whole hard top was shifted forward: this meant changing the frame (it’s more vertical on the forward face now) and building new supports.

Deck hardware: fully reinstalled the repaired stanchion base that broke on our unpleasant passage from Bermuda to Connecticut.

Engine: Fixed pesky drip from fuel filters after troubleshooting. Replaced barbs with correct size, replaced 3-way valve fitting, and O-rings. Hopefully this saves the $250 racor replacement kit!

Electrical: We use a rugged Panasonic Toughbook for our nav computer. Both plug connections for the nine-year-old 12v charger had failed; solder now leads directly to the board. All good.

Plumbing: Replaced failing cockpit drain hoses (shared with galley sink drain: presumed grease buildup). Fixed flaw in primary water tank that prevents proper venting with a few holes (and finally found out the actual capacity, two years later- 73 gallons!). Discovered (and replaced) leaking outlet fitting in tank. Aft head required an unclogging adventure, then replacing seals and hose and other work that I’d rather not know too much about. Thanks to my sweetie for being The One That Deals with the Head on board.

…and that’s just what he did on Totem! On friend’s boats, Jamie helped install a solar panel, did a few (three? four? five? I lost track) rig evaluations, and helped get one tuned properly.

I married well.

Much more than fixing stuff

One of the more significant preoccupations outside of prepping Totem is working with coaching clients. We thoroughly enjoy helping people make the leap to successful cruising! More recently, the kids have gotten into a few of our Skype sessions, too: prospective cruising kids want to hear the real scoop directly from them. Sitting around the iPad, this is a pretty typical scene.

We closed our our Miami stay by anchoring in Marine Stadium, a sweet little spot with near 360° protection and a killer view of the downtown Miami. Backlit by twinkling lights from the skyline at night, we could detect dolphins circling Totem only by loud huffs of their breath. An idyllic spot to raft up and make some great memories with the pretty Huckins, Cortado (which is for sale, by the way), and her crew.

Totem is now in Fort Lauderdale, on our final countdown to departure for the Bahamas. We don’t know when we’ll be back in the USA, but it’s probably some years. I’ve got an insane list, and it includes major items like, oh, battery bank replacement. Full watermaker servicing. Diesel mechanic services. Provisioning for 3 months in islands with limited stores, and high costs. Supplies for Bahamian communities still impacted by hurricane Mathew last fall. Then there are the incidentals “but we won’t be in the USA for how long?” that inflate our list. Here in the mainland, we have access to better breadth of goods, at a better quality, and a better value, than we will likely encounter for a long time.

It’s been blowing for days, but Totem is in a protected anchorage. There is access to supplies. Anchorage neighbors stopping by to chat from their kayaks. Visits from shoreside dwellers, arriving with friendship, the gift of papaya, and lessons in art (thank you, Jim!).

Life is beautiful. I’m grateful every day for the choices we have and our freedom as a family, and can’t wait to extend our adventures…starting soon in the Bahamas!

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