#and they’ve forgotten how to live a life that’s not centred around their kid

[padfootastic]

thinking of qpp prongsfoot in their 30s/40s who’d devoted their entire life to harry (and any other potential kids) and now that he’s moved out of the house, have so much free time on their hands that they don’t know what to do with.

so they pick up new hobbies, travel around the world, learn how to live as individuals, fall in love all over again.

[halfway-happyyy]

I would love something a little angsty with Alex getting annoyed because the reader won't open up to him fully and let him take care of her but he doesn't realise it's because she's independent (yay girl power) and is kind of scared of depending on him incase she loses him and ends up being alone again but it ends all fluffy and cute! 🥺

btw I really love your writing , it always makes me so happy!! 🥰

Thank you for the support my friend! Here ya go, hope you like it 💜

“Your mother did not raise you with a wolf in your chest so you could howl over losing a man.”

As the March sun filtered in through the parted drapes of the penthouse window, you marvelled at the miniscule dust particles dancing in the bright strip of light, how they churned and drifted on in no particular direction. Your lover had yet to wake up and save for the cacophony of the unfamiliar city waking up around you, the only other noise in your room was of his soft snores. You couldn't be sure what time it was; the sunlight pouring in offered little indication. A lingering headache from the night before- a by-product of the alcohol consumed, throbbed incessantly at your temples and you closed your eyes and took a deep breath to centre yourself. When it was quiet like this- when you couldn't spot his impossibly weather-worn suitcase, or the tattered burgundy passport -tangible evidence of the life of a man who greeted aloneness like an old friend- you could almost picture the future you both fantasized so often about. Alexander shifted next to you then, the white cotton sheet falling to rest below his toned abdomen. Turning onto your side, you traced the smattering of freckles adorning the edge of his collarbone like constellations in the sky. Though he was off on a four-month long shoot the next morning, it was not lost on you how wonderful it was to know somebody so intimately, and how extraordinary that of all the people in the world, you got to dream next to him most evenings.

“You’re a million miles away,”

His voice bore the brunt of recent sleep and made you homesick for something you couldn’t put a finger on. “I’m right here sunshine,” You raised the palm of your hand to his cheek, caressed the warm, stubbled skin there, and watched a sleepy grin bloom on his face. “See?” You smiled at him.

“I see you,” He whispered. You regarded each other for a while, neither of you rushing to fill the silence until he traced a fingertip along the line of your jaw. “What were you thinking of just then?”

“I was thinking of how I'll never willingly drink vodka again, as long as I live.”

Nuzzling in to the warm hollow of your neck, his muffled chuckle sent a pleasant shiver through your body. He pressed a kiss to you and asked, “What were you really thinking of, though?”

You sighed softly. “I was thinking of how nice it would be to live in this moment for the rest of my days,” swallowing hard, you continued. “But that's woefully unrealistic so I will be content with however long this lasts.”

Alexander pulled away to gaze at you, his expression dubious. “Why is it unrealistic to think we could have many moments like this one?”

An almost imperceptible shift had occurred in your relationship recently that had become increasingly difficult to ignore. Where he had always been content to let everything in his life take a backseat to his career, he had started actively talking about a life in Sweden that didn't necessarily involve film. You indulged him every single time, of course. Usually, these conversations took place late into the evening, with you both nose-to-nose between the sheets. “Let’s go to Sweden,” He’d whisper. And you’d nod your head and say, “Okay Alex. Take me there…” And you would fall asleep to his voice; to the dreamy lull of his accent as he spoke of the life he knew as a boy, and of the life he wanted with you one day.

“We just live different lives right now, Alex.”

He blanched. “What on earth does that mean?”

You swallowed hard. “It means that when I can swing it with my job- I take two weeks off to visit you in a random city. I pay the plane fare-

“Don’t do that.” He murmured, lowly. “I offered to pay for your trip here, kid. Multiple times. You refused me every single time, so please don’t sit there and tell me that I don’t at least try.”

“How do you think that makes me feel, though? That what- the man that I’m currently seeing makes exponentially more money than I do, and so he should then feel obligated to pay for my every want and need? I’ve done alright for myself my entire life, Alex.”

I’ve done alright without anyone.

“I know you have.”

“I think,” You sighed softly. “That what we have going for us right now works well.”

A humorless laugh exited his mouth in the form of a puff of air and he uttered something under his breath in Swedish. “Of course, it works. It’s no strings attached in the most basic way. We get what we want from one another, and then we head off in different directions until we feel the itch again. It works, but it’s not enough.”

It’s not enough.

Those words rattled around in your brain, and when you repeated them, they tasted bitter on your tongue. “It was enough when we met. It was enough when birthdays and family gatherings were missed. It was enough until three or four months ago, when you suddenly decided that you wanted more. How did that come about, Alex?”

He shifted onto his back; his blue gaze trained on the ceiling above him. “I am so fucking sick of missing out on those things though,” Tossing his hands into the air in frustration, he took a deep breath. “It’s just time, kid. I can feel it in my bones. I want things with you that I’ve never wanted with anyone else before. I want a life with you- more than two or three weeks at a stretch. I want months and years and possibly even decades with you,” He cleared his throat and continued. “But- and I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t noticed it before, that I know that something about it scares you. I can feel how tense you become at the slightest mention of a life together and you don’t have to tell me why, I don’t know that I’m owed that, but I certainly do wonder.”

You turned onto your back and clasped your hands over your stomach, the prickle of looming tears behind your eyes suddenly made you angry. “Like a moth to a flame, I am intrinsically drawn to people who make habits out of leaving when they’ve gotten what they wanted and I’ve made the mistake of making homes out of people before, Alex.” You shook your head, could feel the lump rising steadily in the hollow of your throat. “And every single time it happens, I’m left homesick and alone in the end. And I’ve got no one to blame for it but myself. So please forgive me if I’m just not there yet.”

His expression was unreadable as he turned back onto his side to view you fully. “You haven’t done anything wrong,” He murmured. “I know how much it hurts to have your heart broken; I’ve been down that road more times than I’d like to admit, and I know how difficult it is to pick yourself back up from it. So, I can appreciate how well you guard yourself. But I’m laying it all out on the line for you, kid.” He reached for your hand and brought the back of it to his lips. “And if this is something you think that you might genuinely want- take your time. However much of it you may need. I know the days ahead may not be easy, but please know that you aren’t alone. I’m not going anywhere.”

And a weight that you had forgotten was even there dissipated from your chest in that moment. Though trepidation lingered, it was met with a faint light at the end of the tunnel. Alexander- your sunshine boy. You shifted back onto your side so that you were facing him, your foreheads nearly touching. You inhaled deeply and offered him a small, knowing smile. “Alex?”

“Mhm?”

“Take me to Sweden.”

His azure eyes lit up at the mere mention of home. “Right now?”

You nodded, contentedly. “Right this very second.”

He pressed a gentle, lingering kiss to your forehead and began.  

“There’s something wonderful about the idea of a home on the water…”

[randomoranges]

so this is the 3rd lyric from the song, but i’m trying to keep up with the fic-thing-whatever and ill get to the other parts later. the momentum is going and im trying to match it and such

lamao this reminds me of 2010 and when i wrote a chapter of a fic to match all of canadas medals. good times. that was - hard and a rush

also i made this into snippets of moments in the same day. to - make it shorter. even though it turned into an 8 page tiny monster lamao. 

ANYWAYS

DO YOU LIKE SPORTS. DO YOU LIKE FEELS. DO YOU LIKE NEUROTIC SPORTS SUPERSTITIONS

well, you will be served

Rouge comme le sang qui nous coule à travers

 July 5th 2021

 When Edward woke up that morning, he expected to find Étienne curled up by his side and to splurge and indulge in some good morning cuddles. Instead, the spot besides him was empty and cold. He sighed to himself and after waiting for a bit, in case his boyfriend made a reappearance, he shuffled his way to the kitchen, where he might find him.

 Truth to form, Étienne was there, already more or less dressed, drinking what couldn’t possibly be his first cup of coffee in the morning out of one of many Habs cups Edward had spotted in the last twenty or so hours.

 “Morning!” Étienne sounded a tad too cheerful, but Edward ignored it and made his way to his boyfriend where he could properly snuggle and feel that blessed beard against his skin for a moment. Thankfully, Étienne was never one to deny any sort of physical touch and wrapped his arms around him, before pressing a kiss to his cheek.

 There was a reason as to why Edward had chosen this particular time to visit. For starters, he absolutely did not want to miss out on the beard and with the playoffs wrapping up shortly, he knew that his time was counted. On top of that, Edward knew how the people of Montréal took to the Habs losing this far into the playoff run and the down Étienne would feel if that happened.

 It wasn’t that Étienne’s mood solely depended and fluctuated because of the hockey, but with so many people being emotionally vested in the team, their winning or losing would ultimately have an impact on Étienne. Now if they won, well, Edward wanted to live vicariously through it. Plus, there was something quite wonderful in an Étienne who was that jubilant and ecstatic. However, if the Habs lost, Edward wanted to be there for emotional support and also to make sure that the slump wouldn’t eventually tie in with one of Étienne’s own spectacular, unrelated to hockey, depressive episodes.

 “Plans for the day?” He asked, perfectly comfortable in the crook of Étienne’s neck.

 “Well, funny you should ask,” Étienne started and Edward had visions of intense biking up the mountain in the oppressive humidity or something as ridiculously insane, “I – have an errand to run, but I don’t want to impose on you.” For some reason, Étienne sounded a little nervous about this errand and Edward didn’t understand why.

 “So? Go run your errand. I can come with you if you need help.” So long as it didn’t involve standing in the scorching heat, he was fine.

 “No, no it’s fine! I appreciate you wanting to help – but, I don’t want to bother you, really.”

 Edward stepped back and took a good look at his boyfriend’s face. Something was up.

 It took him a moment, but then it clicked.

 It had to be one of his ridiculous pre-game rituals he had completely forgotten about. He almost groaned. Étienne was anal about his rituals to bring the Habs good luck. Downright neurotic, really and Edward had been victim to many séances of Étienne doing the most ridiculous of things that he swore would help his team win. (To be honest, Edward did wonder, deep down, if maybe Étienne wasn’t on to something, considering the fact that the Habs had won 24 cups in their history, but he wasn’t about to say any of that out loud.)

 “Do I want to know what crazy task you’re going to do?” He asked.

 Étienne gave him another nervous smile and tugged on his beard, “It’s not that crazy, really...” He murmured and Edward feared for the worst.

 “What is it this time? Putting your left sock on before you’re right one? Talking to your posters? Building a puck pyramid? Prepare a specific meal?”

 “Please, that was last night and this morning. I need to go to the Oratory.”

 Edward’s face blanched. Of course Étienne would go to the Oratory. He had forgotten all about it.

 “You’re kidding.”

 Étienne scoffed, “I am not kidding, Édouard. This is very serious. I need to make my pilgrimage to the Oratory, climb the steps on my knees and then light up a candle for the Habs’ victory tonight.”

 Edward remained silent. He knew better than to argue or say anything about it. Étienne took his rituals very seriously.

 “My issue is that you flew all the way to spend time with me and I don’t want you to think I’m just abandoning you.”

 “Don’t worry about me,” Edward said with a chuckle, as he finally decided to grab a mug that didn’t have a Habs banner, a players number or Youppi’s face on it, and poured himself some coffee, “You go do whatever it is you need to do and I’ll acquaint myself with your glorious pool.”

 “Are you sure?” Étienne twirled the hem of his shirt around his thumb and followed after Edward when he headed for the table.

 “More than sure. I don’t want to be held responsible for your team losing if you don’t complete your set of rituals. Plus, I’ll be fine here and I can spend more time with Mercury.”

 “Sure?” Étienne asked again.

 “Yes. I promise.” It wasn’t as if Étienne would be out for the entire day anyways.

 “Thank you, thank you, thank you! You’re the best!” Étienne was careful not to topple the coffee out of his hands, but still wrapped Edward in a tight hug.

 --

 In all honesty, Edward was a little overwhelmed to be sitting in the Bell Centre. There were so many people and so many lights that it was quite dizzying. After over a year of leading a quiet life at home, this felt like too much too soon, but at the same time, the energy was electrifying.

 “Can you believe that the last time I was here for a final, you were also here?” Étienne said excitedly as they settled into their seats. It was crazy to think that Étienne looked tame in comparison to some other fans in the arena, even if he was wearing one of his many Habs jerseys, his Habs pants, his Habs shoes and most likely other articles of clothing he couldn’t see.

 “Really?” Edward thought about it for a moment, “Shit, you’re right – so does that make me a lucky charm?” He joked, “Do you need to rub my head for good luck?” He laughed, but then when he saw the serious look on his boyfriend’s face he stopped. Étienne looked at him and seemed to be debating this for a moment. He had definitely shot himself in the foot with that idea.

 “Better off not taking any chances,” Étienne said as he rubbed Edward’s head for good measure, much to Edward’s chagrin.

 “Are you happy now?” He asked, when Étienne was done.

 “Maybe. I would’ve been happier if you would have let me dress you for the occasion. You’ve got to be the only person here who’s not wearing something Habs on them.” He pouted.

 Étienne had offered to lend him anything from a tank top to a signed jersey, with everything in between, but Edward had refused. For as much as he enjoyed being at the arena, there were still team loyalties he had to respect and that would be going too far.

 “No I’m not, look, there’s a few people wearing Tampa jerseys.” He pointed out.

 Étienne didn’t seem to think he was very funny, “That’s not the point, Édouard!”

 “Fine, but look, I wore a white shirt – this is as far as I’ll go.” It was a neutral colour and – well, both of their teams had white somewhere in their jerseys.

 “Tampa is playing in white.”

 There was no winning this one.

 “My jeans are blue and my blood is red?” He tried and he only got a death glare in response.

 --

 The one thing Edward had always loved about watching a game with Étienne, regardless of whether it was a season or playoff game, was that Étienne knew a lot about hockey – more precisely the Habs and he loved to share his knowledge – especially when he was stressed. (Not that Étienne ever admitted to being stressed about a game.) It was endearing the way he would blabber on and all Edward had to do was listen.

 “This has been such a crazy playoff run,” He started, “Like – no one expected them to come this far and it’s been such a boost to the morale of the city. For as much as hockey has its issues, it also brings people together, and I wish there was more of that. Walking around the city these past few weeks has been something else. You meet people and hear their stories – about how they got into the game – where they’re coming from, who they’re here with. It’s beautiful. Kids who are living their first real playoff run. Older people who remember 93, 86 and the runs in the 60s and 70s. It’s been surreal! I’m just – I love these people – my people and the way they’ve just run with this as well. Hoisting orange cones as Cups and living the magic.”

 “I know it might end tonight, but whatever happens – it’s been such a great run. I mean, obviously, it would be really great not to get swept. That would just – no. Do you know that the last time the Habs were swept in the final was in 1952? I don’t think the people would be able to handle that. You don’t make it to the final to get swept. Tampa can go and win at home, but to be swept?! No thanks.”

 Edward knew all too well about being swept. At least the Habs had – avenged the Oilers. He supposed.

 “And, also, on that note, do you know that the Habs only ever lost the cup once at home?”

 “Did they now?” Out of their twenty-four that was quite the feat, really.

 “Yes! And you’ll never believe what team did it!”

 For some reason, Edward felt like he did know, yet the answer escaped him at the moment.

 “The friggin Flames! I had to sit and watch Calvin’s stupid face light up like a goddamned Christmas tree when they won. I never thought I was going to live that one down!”

 Now he remembered.

 To be honest, he’d tried to forget.

 It had been the most awkward of times, really.

 For starters, Étienne had invited him to come watch the game with him. He’d agreed. If it meant spending more time with Étienne, he would’ve gone anywhere. Had gone to many places.

 He’d just – forgotten one minor detail.

 Calvin.

 This was the second time, really, that the Habs and the Flames had met for the final. The first time had been awkward as well. In its own way. It wasn’t even with the fact that he was – involved with Étienne and Calvin was his friend and could not know about his involvement with Étienne.

 It had – more to do with the fact that – the Flames had – impeded Gretzky and the Oilers from getting their third cup. He’d been – resentful to say the least.

 Yet, Étienne had hesitated going out to Calgary to see them team, but then Calvin had asked him to convince Étienne to go. As a power move? To show off? He’d never bothered finding out. But, Edward had spun the idea to Étienne, telling him that wouldn’t it be nice to see the Habs extinguish the insufferable Flames at home?

 Étienne had agreed.

 They’d gone.

 The Habs had won.

 And Calvin – hadn’t even really cared.

 His victory had been in beating the Oilers.

 The bastard.

 1989, however...

 Shortly after Étienne had invited him, Calvin had reached out, saying that wouldn’t it be nice to go out and watch the game in Montreal. He had seats with the execs in their special section and they could make a whole trip out of it! Heck, the Flames might even win the cup! And – wouldn’t that be something! The Cup back in Alberta!

 It had been very hard for Edward to tell Calvin that he already had Other Plans. Yet, without missing a beat, Calvin had told him that he should totally tell Étienne to come watch with them and that Edward didn’t need to worry about lodging, as they could share the hotel suite together.

 He forgot exactly what he’d ended up telling both Calvin and Étienne, but somehow or other, the three of them had found themselves sitting in Calvin’s section, while Étienne had grumbled all along about having better seats than whatever this garbage was.

 It only went from bad to worse as the Flames won and Calvin all but gloated, while Étienne threatened to set the city on fire. It wasn’t that Étienne had accused him of throwing him off, but Étienne had reminded him, more than once, that clearly, because he hadn’t been able to sit at his usual seat, the Habs had lost.

 (Again, Étienne was anal about his superstitions and rituals.)

 “Well, here’s hoping they don’t lose at home and get swept. Good vibes only,” Edward told his boyfriend before Étienne could get in a tizzy.

 “Yes, you’re right. Anyways, it’s sort of thanks to the before last game against the Oilers we’re here anyways. Habs needed one point to assure their spot and that tie brought them to the playoffs, even if they lost in overtime. It made sure the Flames couldn’t sneak in, so, thanks? I guess?”

 Edward chuckled remembering that particular video call.

 “See, I told you, good luck charm.”

 For good measure, Étienne rubbed his head again.

 --

 It was hard not to get wrapped up in the game, regardless of who was playing, even if it wasn’t his team. This was a playoff final game and both teams were trying their best to win. Even though the first ten minutes or so made it seem as though Tampa was going to finish this off without mercy, the Habs, somehow, managed to take the lead twice. Étienne kept on saying that some of the ghosts had clearly finally arrived and that some miracle had been cast on them by the three legends watching from the box.

 Regardless of what it was that had brought the score to 2-2 with few minutes left, Étienne was clutching his arm like a lifeline and Edward was convinced there would be marks there when his boyfriend would let go.

 “Please, please, please, please, PLEASE,” He chanted as the puck went one way and then the other. He clutched Edward’s arm even tighter whenever Tampa got close to scoring and whenever the Habs missed a shot.

 It finally seemed as though the Cinderella run would come to the end with that last double penalty, which continued in over-time, yet somehow or other, the Habs managed to kill it and then, by another miracle, or maybe a clever game of pass-the-puck, managed to score in over-time.

 Considering the fact that there were only three-thousand-five-hundred people in the Bell Centre, the resulting collective scream made it feel as though the place was packed to the brims.

 Edward got swept up in the momentum of it all and found himself standing with all the other Habs fanatics, yelling and screaming.

 When he turned to look at Étienne, his boyfriend looked jubilant and ecstatic. It was such a good look on him and it made Edward’s insides warm at the sight. Étienne deserved to feel this happy all the time, really. If there were a few tears at the corner of Étienne’s eyes, it only made him look lovelier and Edward did his best to school his face in the most platonic of smiles.

 “They live!” Étienne yelled over the continued shouting, “They did it!” He said, even giddier as he kept on jumping up and down, waving his playoff flag with all the other people in the Bell Centre.

 It was magical, really – living a playoff run like this one. He was glad he could be part of it – somehow, even if it was only for the last stretch of it.

 --

 “You know, no matter what happens next, I’m at peace. They fought and they’ve kept fighting from day one and – of course I want them to win. God, I want it so bad, but I’m just – really glad they brought it to game 5. And – I like to believe that – that they’ll be back. For game six. I’m just – I’m happy.” Étienne said, voice thick with emotions as they finally managed to step out of the Bell Centre. Some of the earlier euphoria and adrenaline had tempered down and Étienne was a little calmer by now.

 “If any team can do it at this point, it’s certainly yours.”

 Étienne beamed at him as they walked down the street, away from the crowds still chanting and yelling and celebrating, off the beaten path for a longer way home, if only for some fresh air and a quieter moment to re-center themselves.

 “Yeah – you’re right,” He trailed off with a small smile. Étienne made to grab his hand, but knowing that there were still so many people out, he let their fingers brush against each other instead. “Everyone’s so happy – so proud of the city... I hope the feeling lasts.”

 Edward made a quick grab for his hand and gave it a squeeze, before letting go. He wanted to tell him that the hockey didn’t matter. That this city was more than just a glorious hockey history. That he was proud of him. Of what he’d done. Everything he’d worked for outside of hockey. For himself. For the city as well. And that he had more worth than he realised. To him. To others. But – that was a talk for later. Right now, it was time to enjoy the moment – bask in it. Celebrate the victory.

 “Let’s go home, yeah? I want to celebrate with you.”

 Edward nodded and kept step with him as they made their way back to Étienne’s place, where once safely behind closed doors, they could properly celebrate together.

 FIN

[seokiloquy]

Bones - Sugawara Koushi

AU: Corpse Bride (Groom)

Revamp

Word Count: 3k

"Watta wuss." 

You walked through the forest on the edge of the city, trying to get away from your responsibilities. Decomposing leaves and bark decorated ground you walked on. Looking around you found yourself in an open patch, but towers of wood in every direction. The trees were old and weary, slowly shedding all of their components for fall. You shivered as a breeze whistled through them. A chill crawled down your spine as you sat on the tree stump in the centre of the open grass. You glared into the dark shadows of the forest with a huff.

The moon let off a dim light that made everything look like an old movie, too dark to make anything out. The shadows were intense and the light was dull. Even as your eyes adjusted to the dark, it was hard to see. You fiddled with the golden ring your parents dropped in your hands before you ran off. Leaning forward, you studied the cool metal that was too big for your finger and the small diamond that twinkled gently.

"I have to propose. I have to plan for the wedding. I have to pay for the wedding. I have to buy the house. I have to do everything while he just goes to the tavern every night while his parents think he's doing his damn job." You ranted, getting up to pace in circles around the stump.

"Oh, sir!" You chanted snobbily, freezing in position, holding the ring out in front of you, dramatically flicking hair over your shoulder. "I couldn't help but notice how handsome you were as I was passing by. In fact, I'm meant to get married. I even have a ring that I must use to propose to a man worthy of it! Please, do me the honour of picking up after your worthless self for the rest of my miserable life. Your presence will make it all the more bearable."

Leaning down to a branch sticking out of the dirt. You slipped the ring onto it and spun away, landing on your knee. The wind danced happily through your fingers that were flared open in the air behind you.

"Oh look, a perfect fit! You must be my husband. It's meant to be!" tilting your head toward your shoulder you let out a low grumble, letting your eyes roll along the rim of your eyelid. "If only you would get off your lazy ass for a change."

"Well I sure do hope that wasn't directed at me."

Turning in circles, you looked for the source of the man's voice. All you saw were the dark woods that surrounded you, making fear take over the anger you that was boiling in your stomach. Your shoulders twitched up to your ears.

"Down here."

If someone said a stick could talk, after today, you would believe them. The stick, that was wearing the engagement ring, was now positioned as if wearing a sock puppet, moving it’s thumb as it spoke. The wrist rolled snootily.

"But I sure do hope you won't speak to me like that, because I for one believe that as your fiance, I should be treated like royalty."

Blinking you stepped away from the stick and waddled back around the stump. Crouching onto your knees, you held the wood’s rim tightly. The pinky and pointer fingers curled up, creating a shape that took the place of the hand’s eyes.

"I've gone insane. They've driven me mad. I'm talking to a stick. Wait no, a stick is talking to me!"

Looking at the twig and moving back and forth, you watched as it watched you. Pointing in the direction you leaned. With a loud whine, you smacked your forehead on the wooden stump.

"As much as I deeply care for you. Could you not call me a stick? I am flesh and bones after all, well, mostly bones. But I still have flesh... Somewhere... But I can't seem to find it at the moment. It has a tendency to fall off from time to time,” it laughed. How could it laugh?

The hand moved around a bit more before opening up in your direction.

"You could always help me of course, you are my fiance after all."

You quickly got to your feet, speeding around the stump to face the old root.

"I'm not your fiance. You're not my fiance. I'm dreaming. This isn't real. I'll wake up tomorrow morning and—"

"Do you trust me?"

"What? What kind of question is that? You’re a twig!"

"This world. Your life. It brings you pain. That much is plain to see… uh, hear. If you were to come with me. You wouldn't have to face it any longer. Please, as my fiance?"

Shivering, you looked at the open hand/stick thing as you stepped towards it and let your hand hover over it. Your upper lip curled when you noticed the fuzzy moss that had grown in the center of its palm.

"My names (Y/N). And I'm not your fiance."

"Well, princess, the name's Sugawara, Koushi. And I'm sure you won't be saying that for long."

Placing your hand in it, you felt each joint bend and wrap around it. The gagging was hard to stop when the moss pushed in between the crevices of your fingers.

"You're rather boney, sweetheart. You don't eat much meat do you?"

"Don't have a stomach to do so."

Before another word could slip off your tongue, it pulled you in. The light reflecting off the moon made the diamond on the ring twinkle, giving you a bit of light in the black abyss that surrounded you.

"What in the world?!"

"Correction, what in the underworld," Sugawara said as he pulled you along through the crowds of zombies.

"Underworld?!" you looked around at the walking corpses around you as they tilted their hats, said hello and/or waved in your direction. Your hand quivered as you waved back.

"Yes! I live here. And here we will get married." He turned a corner that led to a flight of stairs.

"Married?!" you stopped dead in your tracks as Sugawara's body continued forward. Leaving his arm with you. His detached hand had a very firm grip on yours. You screeched and tried shaking the limb off, but its grip continued to tighten. “Eughh! Get it off, get it off get it off!”

"Yes married! You proposed didn't you? Oh, do you mind bringing me my arm? It gets attached easily, won't let you go just yet." He didn’t at all seem to mind missing an arm.

A chill ran through your spine at the idea of forever being attached to a detached limb of a dead man. You took a step forward, pushing the arm back into its socket with a sort of snap before eagerly pulling away with a disgusted gag.

"(Y/N), now that my arm’s attached, how about we go talk to the priest and discuss our marriage? Or do you want to go home first? You're probably tired and hungry. Home it is then. I can make you a great meal. Would you prefer decomposed scrambled eggs or mealworm sandwiches? Oh, you know what, I’ll just surprise you. Come along!"

The short ramble was finished when he started walking again. His skin, though still faint of colour, looked much fresher? At least compared to those in the streets, who had flesh falling off their cheeks. His hair was a light grey, though you wouldn't be able to tell if it was natural or just grey from death. He looked young, much too young. 

"Sugawara, how did you die?"

Looking at you Sugawara smiled with an upbeat laugh as he continued walking. The light laugh calmed your nerves slightly making you feel at ease despite the peculiar situation. He guided you gently onto cracked old steps that led up a hill. 

"I was murdered," he said, opening the door to an old rickety building.

He walked in with his hands open, palms facing the old wooden boards, and a small sway. It looked like he was trying to not skip around. You stayed in the doorway. Nails digging into the skin of your arms. You had forgotten to grab a coat when you ran out of your house.

"Ah," he sighed as he pushed things around on a circular table in the room. "Home, sweet home. Don't mind the mess, it's just something I've been working on."

He picked up various bottles filled with things from liquids to objects and set them on a counter nearby. The house wasn’t messy, just old and slowly collapsing on its side.

"Murdered? By who? When?" you asked, holding your hands tightly together as Sugawara sat you down at the now organized table.

"I don't quite remember. Your mind begins to go the longer you're dead. Time-wise it might have been 5 years ago? Maybe 6." he went to the kitchen and began putting some food together, but continued to talk over his shoulder. "Tomorrow morning I need to speak with the witch. So, we could go speak to the priest first and then consult the witch on my project."

He placed an unknown pile of what could be food before you. “It may be a bit rough. I haven’t needed food for a long time. Or air for that matter.”

"Either you live." The old (oh so very old) man's finger shifted to point in your direction instead of Sugawara who he was speaking to, "Or she dies."

Smiling, Sugawara nodded, grabbing your arm to pull you towards the door. "That went well."

"Well?" You asked. Eyebrows beginning to push in opposite directions.

"Yes well. We have two options and they are both very simple. Now knife or mallet?"

"For what?"

Stopping Sugawara turned to you with a slightly confused look on his face.

"To kill you of course. What else would they be for, princess?"

Completely freezing in your place you shook in fear at the thought of dying at the hands of a weapon. Sugawara's laugh on the other hand gave off a completely different story. Turning around, he took hold of your shoulders, squeezing them with his sharp, boney fingers.

"I'm kidding! Why do you think we're going to the witch? I've been planning for this for ages. Now my chance to live again, take back the life that was mine and get rid of a murderer in the process. Maybe an axe? That would hurt more right?"

When the two of you got to a large door, Sugawara used the looped handle to knock against the wood. An old (but definitely less decayed) lady opened the door and allowed the two of you inside.

You mumbled to Sugawara under your breath, “Whatever lasts the longest without knocking them unconscious will be the most painful.”

"Last bit," you said, dropping an unidentified liquid into the brewing mixture in front of the three of you.

Sugawara clung to the side of the pot but suddenly let go when it began to boil, causing his hands to rip off as they still hung to the metal. You gently pulled them off and shoved them back in place, giving Sugawara back the ability to pat your head gently. He sighed looking at the lavender liquid as it bubbled.

"This took longer than expected," you grumbled. 

"How long did you think it would take?" Sugawara smiled down at you and laughed to himself.

"A week at most. I now know that I drastically underestimated the amount of time it would take to do this. Do you want to try it?" you asked holding his boney arm above the brew.

"You should take a sip too. Your time spent here has taken a role in your health. You look like a ghost." He smiled, filling two vials with the potion.

You grimaced, looking at your skin that had lost a lot of pigmentation since getting here.

The old lady packed away her things and pulled out a book on potions and magic and she sat to read. "Close your eyes. That way you won't go blind." she croaked out.

Sugawara handed you a vial as he held his own. He smiled so broadly it ripped the sides of his mouth. He didn’t seem to feel the pain. You winced for him and held up the potion.

"Cheers."

When you had shown up to your parents’ house with a man that they had never seen they were a bit more than furious. After a number of days spent missing just to turn up with someone other than the ones they had suggested, your parents were more than willing to give you a lecture that lasted a few hours. You apologized for running away before going into your own rant about how poor their choice in men was (your dad was more offended by that). After discussing the agreement further, with Sugawara happily listening in by the closed doorway, the three of you had finally come to an agreement. 

Sadly it left you in a similar situation as before. Working and paying for everything until Sugawara found a job. A job that wasn’t going after his previous murderer.

Trees created a thick wall around the two of you. You laid down in the grass circle in the centre of it. Looking up at the sky, you watched as the pastels melted together in a sunset. Forcing yourself to sit up, shifting the extra weight on your legs as you tried to move and lean against the tree stump.

"It's good to see the colour in your face. You look alive. You aren't skin and bones either. You finally have some muscles in that body of yours." Your fingers twisted the ends of his silver hair as his head rested on your lap, looking upwards to see the tops of the trees and light sky. His cheeks were full and free of tearing the skin. His hands were strong with underlying muscle but still looked gentle. No bones were in sight. His hair colour didn’t seem to be a bi-product of death though.

"It's nice to have a heartbeat. And be able to feel yours."

You smiled and let your hand rest on Sugawara's chest as he breathed in suddenly and heavily.

"Don't forget the breath."

"Sorry, I still have to get used to that."

You looked up at the trees, watching the bright birds flying around as they enjoyed the spring heat.

"Is that marriage proposal still on the table?"

"Mawiage," the priest, though trying, said horribly. He continued on, his lisp making his words come out jumbled and difficult to understand. He stood on a tall stool and wore a long robe to appear much taller than he really was. He read off a folder to the few people who sat in the audience that was made up by your closest friends and family. Which meant they were all laughing loudly every time the priest spoke and ready to go out and get drunk.

In front of you, Sugawara held your hands gently squeezing them every time the priest tried to pronounce any 'l', 'r' or 's' sound. At least he was cheap, or at least you thought he was.

"May youw wove watht ath wong ath the mithithippi wiver. Wasthing until death doeth you part."

Sugawara squeezed your hands tightly as a snort escaped from him. The priest shot an annoyed look at the silver-haired man wearing a nice suit. You pinched your lips together desperately trying to hold onto your breath

“Sorry,” he whispered.

A small number of flowers were spread along and around the small church. Your friends sat in their seats smiling in nice clothing as they watched you and a previously dead man get married. Earlier that day your friends split themselves up between jobs. Some took Sugawara to get a suit, a few grabbed decorations and brought them to a small church all while booking a last-minute priest and the last two shoved you into a white dress that flowed around your ankles. It had a few holes here and there, and it had definitely been worn by multiple people before you, but did the job. But, it was obvious that they spent more money on Sugawara’s suit.

"Would you pweath not thpeak. I’m twying to wowk hewe."

"Sorry, again. Please continue."

Sugawara turned to you, smiling gently as he leaned closer to rest his forehead against yours. He huffed a restrained breath through his nose.

"Your friends are amazing. It's hard to believe they managed to do all this in a morning," he said.

"They probably have been planning this for weeks. They love you." You smiled, flicking your eyes to your friends.

"I love you," he whispered, trying to pull you as close to him as possible.

"I love you too."

"Yeth yeth, I wove you too. But you may now kith the bwide."

Laughing, Sugawara pulled you closer, holding you as if you were about to dance out of the church and onto the streets. You tried not to snort into his face as his hand tickled your side. It got harder to restrain yourself when he started to talk.

"May I kith you, printheth?"

You chortled, throwing your head backwards while smacking his shoulder repeatedly. He chuckled but waited for your response.

"Yeth you may, my pwinth."

With a grin, Sugawara placed his hands on the small of your back pulling you right up against him. Your heart throbbed sending tingles down your spine and onto the palm of your hands. He held you like a glass sculpture that could shatter at any moment.

He places his lips gently against yours, squeezing you when he began to run out of air. He huffed, sucking in as much as he could.

"I still got to get used to this breathing thing."

I would put a gif of Betty White dabbing, but that’s distracting. - Bacon

Posted: 03/08/2020

[edelwoodsouls]

calling out for one more try (to feel alive) - ch. 1

Adam hasn't been able to sing since he found out what his parents do for a living. Until he stumbles across the ghosts of a band who died twenty-five years ago, and the world begins to look a little brighter. But how did they die? What did they leave behind? (and why is the front man so freaking cute??)

(ghost band au, or the jatp au that possessed me last night and wouldn’t let go)

Shoutout to @exhaustedwerewolf for putting up with my yelling and giving me some brillianty angsty thoughts for later plot

Word Count: 3,071 | Also on Ao3

chapter one: wake up, wake up (if it's all you do)

Adam

It's quiet in the music room.

Just outside the door he can sense the seething mass of teenagers and noise and colour, the pantomine of a clockwork life ticking onwards. But in here it's quiet, and the world stretches out in a haze of blue and grey.

His fingers rest on the piano in front of him, slotting perfectly against the keys. A heartbeat away from making sound, falling short.

He could spend a life in this moment. Let the whole world slip away into silence. He stares at his splayed fingers, stark against the pale keys. Just play, he thinks. Shatter this moment into fragments, break free from the weights around his ankles dragging him slowly to the bottom of the blue.

Just play.

"Adam."

He looks up. He hadn't even noticed her open or close the door, but there stands Chloe, hands on her hips, blond hair so frizzy it looks like its about to make a break for the sky. There's paint on her nose and splattered all over her overalls in messy, natural way aesthetic influencers could only dream of.

"Oh, hey, Chloe. What's up?"

She gives him a frown, hands on her hips. "I could hear your thoughts from the art studio." She raises an eyebrow. "That's on the other side of school, Adam."

"Oh, uh. Sorry."

"Don't you dare apologise!" She comes to sit beside him at the piano, leaning against his shoulder. "You know you don't have to apologise to me, of all people. I know what you're going through."

"Whether I want you to or not."

"Pros and cons of having a mind reader for a best friend," she shrugs, a smile playing on her lips.

They've been friends ever since they started high school, the quiet creative kids who spent more time in their own heads than the world around them. Silent lunches together had become awkward murmured conversations had become a tentative friendship.

That was before Chloe started hearing voices in her head, and Adam found out what his parents do for a living.

Sophomore year had been pretty intense, and their friendship had been forged in fire.

It's certainly strange having a mind reader for a best friend, but it comes with perks. Like not having to name the endless blue sea in his chest for her to understand what it is.

"You nervous?" she asks.

"Do you even need to ask?"

"I like to hear it from the source, sometimes."

"Isn't my brain the real source, technically? So you're always going direct, unless you listen to someone speaking instead of thinking?"

She narrows her eyes in mock annoyance. "You're deflecting. But it's okay, I'll let you. I know you're stressed out."

How could he not be stressed out? There's an unscaleable wall inside his mind, behind which he's trapped everything he cares about. Music. Feelings. Sunshine.

He hasn't played the piano, hasn't sung, since Chloe stumbled across a homeless man with thoughts of Adam's parents burned into his brain. Can't bring himself to even press into the keys resting under his fingers.

And now he's about to get kicked out of the music programme, if he can't perform today.

"I've got this," he says, and from Chloe's expression he's not fooling anyone.

"Even if you can't play, Adam, you know that doesn't make you a terrible person, right? People want you to play for  you, because it used to mean so much to you, not because they think you're only worth what you create."

"Mm," he shrugs noncommittally, as if she hasn't hammered right to home. As if he hasn't always judge his own worth by what he can do.

This is his thing.  What is he without it?

"I'm gonna get to class early," he says, pushing away towards the door before Chloe can stop him and confront him on his so-called unhealthy coping mechanisms (aka - none). "I'll see you later."

"I'm rooting for you!" she calls after him.

His phone buzzes in his pocket as he weavs through the halls. He doesn't dare to check it; knows that it's his parents wishing him luck.

The absolute last thing he needs. The one thing, in fact, more likely to throw him off performing than anything else.

He isn't the first to arrive to class, as much as he'd hoped. He could never be that lucky -  of course Caitlin is already there, surrounded by her entourage.

"Oh hey, Adam," she smiles, more viper than girl, as he spills into the doorway. She's dressed stunningly as always, pale purples and creams.

The jacket Adam bought her for her birthday last year, before everything.

If she rememebers, she doesn't say anything, looking down at him with the look of someone regarding an insect.

He knows he deserves it. They'd been close, before last year, but how could he possibly explain everything to her? How could he explain the rainclouds that gathered above his head and made a home? How could he explain what his parents did, the whole world of the atypical, without being thought completely crazy?

It had been easier to let her go, and she had taken it personally. Friendly rivalry had become enemies.

He can't feel enough today to even be sad.

"Hey, Cait," he shrugs into his seat.

"I'm surprised you came today. Wasn't yesterday your last chance?"

She knows that's not true, is trying to get a rise out of him. He busies himself with leafing, unseeing, through the sheet music he's half-heartedly prepared for today.

He already knows he's not going to be using it.

Caitlin sighs dramatically and turns back to her group, the conversation quickly drifting away from him. Frankie is staring at Adam, trying to catch his eye, to ask if he's okay, but he ignores that, too. As he much as he appreciates him - the only other atypical in school apart from Chloe, who knows a little of everything that went to shit last year but has also very clearly thrown his lot in with Caitlin - he doesn't want to give Caitlin reason to pause.

Better to fade into obscurity.

He doesn't notice the rest of the class file in. Doesn't notice the teacher begin the lesson, or the other performances that come and go.

"Your turn, Adam," Mr Beck says gently, and the world snaps back into focus.

Every eye in the room is on him.

He makes it to the piano without breathing. Chest constricting, world contracting to a single, narrowed point. There's cotton wool in his ears, spots dancing in the corners of his vision.

His fingers rest on the keys.

Just play.

Just play just play just play just play just play just-

"I'm sorry." He stands up suddenly and, without looking back, flees the room.

It feels like freedom.

It feels like the cell door slamming shut behind him.

~/~/~/~

When he gets home, he heads straight around the back, avoiding the risk of his parents being home.

Tears burn in his eyes but he refuses to blink them away. He can’t bear to see the sadness on his parents’ faces, the confusion, when they find out he’s been kicked out of the music programme.

Because they know they’re the reason he stopped. They just don’t understand, or refuse to try to, why he’s still not over it.

As if his horror at human experimentation should have a shelf life.

Behind their house is the old garage slash studio his parents had soundproofed, back when Adam first got into the music programme. They’d been so proud, and the world had been so full, back them.

He hasn't been back inside his studio since he found out what his parents do for a living. His mom had been the one to first bring music into his life, and now he can’t trust anything she's ever given him. This studio is built on blood money and half-truths.

The air is thick with dust when he slips inside. Sunlight filters through the garage door window, catching the dust motes in beams, spinning dizzily like planets.

His piano sits in the centre of the room, untouched, surrounded by boxes of half-packed things - relics of Adam’s childhood, old memories and things that might be useful someday, left over objects the last owners of this house forgot to take with them.

He has the sudden urge to smash everything in this room apart.

Instead, he takes a steadying breath. It’s not like he needs a studio anymore - may as well start packing his things away along with the rest of these forgotten memories.

He grabs a half-full box at random and begins shoving things into it haphazardly. The first notebook he wrote songs in. The headphones his aunt gave him that only work through one ear now. The metronome perched on top of the piano, its slider in the shape of a smiley face.

The sellotape at the bottom of the box gives out just as he’s shoving a second notebook in, and everything clatters onto the floor. Of course. This is on par with the rest of his day, really.

He stoops to begin picking things back up when he sees it: a CD box, dusty with age. The front cover is watercolour, blue blending with yellow to create a sea of green in the middle. The band name -  Atypical!  - is emblazoned in black across it.

He doesn't recognise it, though it's in a box of his old things. One of his parents’, maybe? Or left over by the last owners? Curiosity guides his hands, and before he knows it he's clicking play on the old CD player his mom gave him for his twelfth birthday.

Music bursts into the room for the first time in a year, swells to fill the space. This room has felt hollow and empty, a black hole pulling at light, this whole time- until now.

It's good music, too. Rhythm sinks into his bones, sparking something inside him he hadn't thought was still alive.

He's so caught in the music, it takes him a minute to notice the air is beginning to shake. Not with the soundwaves- he's not playing it that loud - but the space in front of the speaker is shivering and shimmering, like a heatwave.

He can't say when it happens, can't pinpoint the moment his life pitches off a ledge. Between one blink and the next- they just appear.

Adam blinks. He blinks again. Rubs at his eyes until they're swimming.

They're still there.

There are three people in his studio. Strangers, teenagers about his own age, two guys and a girl.

The first guy is dark haired, dressed in an over-sized pink hoodie, so many leather bracelets peeking out from his pushed-up sleeves he looks more straps than skin. The girl wears her black hair in space buns that are trying their hardest to escape her head. A slashed denim jacket covered in patches, black pleated skirt, neon green and black striped leg warmers.

It's the second guy that stops Adam's heart in his chest. Bright green eyes, styled golden curls spilling over one side of his face. He's dressed in a red high school lettermans jacket, except the sleeves have been cut off, showing off muscles that are frankly unfair given the current situation. He's staring around the studio in surprised confusion, eyes darting over the room in a remarkably familiar way.

His eyes land on Adam, and it's like lightning has struck. Adam's breath vanishes from his chest.

"Who the fuck are you?" he manages.

"What do you mean who the fuck are you?" the guy narrows his eyes. His voice is low and hypnotic. "Who the fuck are you? What are you doing in our studio?"

Frustrated anger crushes any confusion momentarily. "Your studio? Dude, this is my studio."

"Uh, no, it isn't. Look-" the guy all but lunges across the room, as if he knows exactly where to go. He digs through a pile of discarded objects and emerges seconds later with a guitar clutched triumphantly in his hands. "See! This is my guitar."

"That guitar's been there since my parents moved in. Seventeen years ago."

The guy deflates suddenly, and Adam feels immediately guilty, finds himself wanting to find any way to reignite his enthusiasm.

"We're dead," the guy in the pink hoodie says, in a nonchalant way, as if this is a perfectly normal thing to say. He waves an awkward hello, a bashful grin. "Hey, sorry about him. He's a total jock sometimes."

"Hey-"

"You are, Caleb. Embrace your brand."

The cute guy - Caleb? - pouts, still clinging to his guitar. It’s ridiculously adorable.

"I'm sorry, I'm confused," Adam says slowly, mind racing along with his heart. "You're dead?"

"Uh, yeah. Sorry, this is a lot, huh? I'm Mark." He sticks his hand out to shake and Adam, instinctively, reaches out to take it.

Their hands pass right through each other.

Welp. Not much more proof he needs.

"Ghosts," he breathes, staring at the place where their hands should have met.

"Oh my god, it wasn't a dream," the girl says, voice high and taut with anxiety. She's twirling drumsticks in her hands - where did she get those? - so fast they blur into panic-inducing windmills at her side. "I really thought- that maybe- but no-  but how long have we been- I mean, maybe we just- but that means-"

Her gasped sentences are triggering a tightening in Adam's own chest.

"Hey," Mark says softly, reaching over and putting a hand on her shoulder. The twirling freezes immediately, their eyes locking. "Sam, it's okay. We're okay. We're safe."

"We're dead," Caleb deadpans. How is he holding that guitar if he's incorporeal? None of this makes sense.

"Well nothing can hurt you when you're dead," Adam says before he can think better of it. Three pairs of eyes fix on him, unblinking.

"Oh my god," Caleb laughs suddenly, snapping the silence instantly. "I love this kid."

"I'm not a kid - you look the same age as me!"

"Sure, kid," Mark says, turning back to the girl - Sam. "Look, I know this sucks. But for now, we're okay. We've got each other, yeah?"

Sam nods shakily, tapping the drumsticks in a nervous but manageable rhythm against each other.

Caleb practically bounces across the room to Adam. "Hey. Sorry for the freak out. We, uh, we've been through a lot."

"Not surprised, considering you're dead."

Caleb cracks a grin that makes Adam's insides swoop. "What's your name?"

What's my name. His brain short circuits. "Uh, I'm Adam."

"Adam! Cool. That's really cool. How're you so cool with all this?"

"What?"

"You're, like, super chill about this. We just showed up in your studio and told you we're dead. Wouldn't most people freak out about that?"

Why isn't he freaking out? He supposes there isn't much left that can surprise him, after everything. Superpowers? Evil scientists for parents? Ghosts seems like a logical progression.

"You're not the weirdest thing I've seen. Wait, hang on- how did you know I was so chill?"

Caleb's face plummets like he's been caught in a lie, face cycling through too many emotions to translate.

It clicks like a spark to a fuse, understanding crashing through him so fast he's almost knocked over. How the hell did he not put two and two together?

"Oh my god, you're atypicals!"

It's as if he dropped a bomb in the centre of the room. The three ghosts freeze, not in the surprise of before, but palpable, chilling fear.

Sam vanishes.

"Fuck," Mark hisses. Takes a slow breath to gather himself. "It's okay. She'll be back soon. No need to worry."

He sounds very worried.

Caleb is so close to Adam he towers above him. If it wasn't for the open, imploring eyes, Adam would have his own fear thrumming through his chest. "How do you know that?"

"I mean, I played a CD for a band called Atypical! and you appeared. I’m guessing that’s your band? And you said you knew how I was feeling, I'm guessing you're an empath?"

“You listened to our CD?” Mark asks, bright-eyed. “What did you think?”

"More important,” Caleb shoots Mark a look, “how do you  know  about atypicals?"

"Caleb, he can see ghosts!" Mark throws his hands up in exasperation. "He's obviously atypical, too."

"Uh, no- I'm not- at least, I don't think-"

Adam's brain grinds to a halt. Is he atypical? He's never had reason to consider it. He's always been at the periphery, a totally average human looking in through a window at the miracles and atrocities on the other side.

Wouldn't Chloe know if he was atypical? Not if he didn't, he supposes.

Do his parents know? They can't, can they?

The pit in Adam's stomach becomes a sickening, plummeting vacuum.

"My best friend is atypical," he says quietly, carefully boxing away those dizzying thoughts and burying them beneath the sea of blue in his mind. For future consideration.

Or never.

"Oh, cool." Caleb says, no doubt feeling the hurricane going on just beneath his surface. "What can they do?"

"She’s a mind reader. Great in class, not so much fun at parties. Ha." The words fall flat. He's in shock, he thinks. The world is distant, slipping back beneath the grey fog of the rest of the day.

Mark grimaces. "Okay, kid- Adam - I know this is a lot, but you need to chill."

"Chill?"

"Your emotions are all over the place. We haven't been around people in a long while, aren't used to other people's emotions."

"You're an empath too?"

"Mirror. I take on other people's powers when they're around."

“That’s cool.” His parents would have a field day if they knew about this guy.

“Most of the time,” Mark says, something odd and hitching in his voice. “Not right now, though.”

“I can go,” Caleb frowns. “If it’s getting too much-”

“No, no,” Adam interrupts, guilt rising up to churn alongside his apathy. He feels bad enough when he inflicts his depressive thoughts on Chloe - he can’t imagine how awful the emotions themselves must feel. “I’ll go. It’s, uh, it’s been a long day. I’m sorry. I just-”

He flees the room, for the second time that day.

He really does ruin everything.

[grimelords]

I have been unbelievably busy for all of 2020 so far. Starting a new job and crunching to finish an old one, it's been very good but it has also meant that I haven't had the downtime I'd have liked in order to write long screeds about when drums sound good in songs so my December and January playlists unfortunately never got finished. They will exist as 'lost' playlists in the grimelords canon where you will simply have to listen to them and have your own thoughts about the songs instead of having your judgement clouded by me saying things like 'this sounds nice' and 'I love when the guitar goes woo-eee'.

You can listen to them here:

December https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4crPEVSPwftPpWl14xUrXF

January https://open.spotify.com/playlist/25MP7onYLCwWRYBIi0u3yc

As far as this, my February playlist goes: It's great! It's two and a half hours. The songs sounds nice and the guitars go woo-eee. I was worried I wouldn't be able to listen to as much music with my new job but it turns out I'm listening to more than ever which is extremely nice. Please enjoy, and if you'd like to subscribe to this playlist please do so here: https://tinyletter.com/grimelords

Listen to this playlist here: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ZraEZOeS6qvVxfnz3AJS9

Ballad Of The Skeletons - Allen Ginsberg, Paul McCartney, Phillip Glass and Lenny Kaye: I had a dim childhood memory of this 1996 Hottest 100 funny skeleton song that my sister randomly brought up this month and was was shocked to find out that somewhere deep in my brain the part where the electric chair skeleton says “hey what’s cooking???” was still stored. I was also shocked to find out that the funny skeleton song I remembered from when I was a kid was actually a collaboration between Allen Ginsberg, Paul McCartney and Phillip Glass and was an unexpected hit on MTV and Triple J in 1996 for an as yet unknown reason.

I Can Go With You - Sam Burton: This song came up in my Discover Weekly, and I was so excited to listen to more of this 70s singer songwriter I've never heard of before who has no doubt had a long and illustrious career and was shocked to find out that not only is this song from 2020, it is also the first and so far only release by Sam Burton and his debut album is coming out sometime this year. I love how plain it is, and the first time I heard it it made no impression on me until a couple of hours later when I realised I was humming the melody to myself. It has this decepitive simplicity to it, and it sounds like a song you've always known which is really about as good a compliment as you can give a song. I also love this statement from him: “I was writing a song a day for 30 days as a personal challenge to myself. I Can Go With You came near of that practice and I considered it a throwaway at the time. After recording most of the album I still needed a couple more songs and decided to throw it on and we recorded it live followed by two others. When I listened back it ended up being one of the tracks I was happiest with on the record.” I love when artists are asked about songs and they have no divine inspiration to relate, just a process of daily work where they're like "well, I wrote it, like I always do. Did the chords and the words and everthing just like normal. I write hundreds of these things and this one came out pretty good. I don't know what else to tell you."

Wild Dogs - Colter Wall: This is a song by Billy Don Burns who you can probably expect to see on this playlist next month, and who as I understand it is one of these 'real' country guys that have been around for a million years and only ever had success when other people sang their songs. So it's very nice of Colter Wall to continue that tradition for him. I love the way this song takes the metaphor to a place of almost uncomfortable literalism, a tryst metamophising into something private, bloody and feral. The subtle way the lap steel whines slowly along in the background before stepping out and taking centre stage once the song picks up steam near the end is a marvel too.

Tom's Diner - Suzanne Vega: I had a live version of this randomly recommended to me by youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DkYPge6ZKSQ and it made me see this song that I'd always been sort of aware of in a new light and really properly appreciate it for the first time. Somehow I'd never noticed the last verse where it moves from literalism to memories, and of course that's sort of the moment that ties the whole song together. What I really appreciate about the acapella arrangement is that it feels like this is a song that's existed a million times before but she's the first person to actually write it down and record it. Everyone's made up a little dishwashing song or a little walking song, reciting some to-do list in your head. It's an entire genre that exists under people's breath for a few minutes and gets immediately forgotten.

If You Don't Know Now, You Never Will - Drugdealer: I could have sworn this was a Tobias Jesso Jr song. I really just assumed it was until I looked at the credits. It's such a nice song though and I'm glad this sort of 70s californian vibe is making a quiet comeback because it is just uniformly pleasant and it's nice to hear these sorts of arrangements, with the accenting violin runs and things like that. All the extra decorations and ornamentations that have sort of disappeared.

Crimson Tide - Destroyer: I absolutely love this new Destroyer album because it just feels like such pure uncut Destroyer. I’ve always thought of him as a sort of 400 year old vampire lounge singer who is just amusing himself at this point and so the cover art has really confirmed my suspicions on that front. The lyrics through this whole album are so good, the sort of stream of consciousness strangeness like ‘when lightning strikes twice the funeral goes completely insane’ that takes a on such gravity because he sings it with complete deadpan seriousness.

Truth (feat Alicia Keys and The Last Artful, Dodger) - Mark Ronson: I didn't really give this album a chance when it came out but ever since I found out Alicia Keys is good now (Time Machine) I've been looking for more good Alica Keys work and found one here. The Last Artful, Dodger is one of the worst artist names I think I've ever heard but she absolutely kills it on the way she says biiiiitch so I'll forgive it.

Surf & Turf - Boldy James + The Alchemist: Alchemist's production on this whole album is so incredible. He really just lets Boldy go and doesn't get in his way like good production should. Especially on the opening verse where Boldy James sticks with that loping flow for so long in 3s over 4 that matches that arpeggios in the beat, it's just a perfect harmony of rapper and producer.

Fat Mac - Duke Deuce: Misogyny in rap is a real issue that nobody seems really allowed to talk about because it's obviously very complicated, and this song some real classic 'stay in the kitchen' type woman hating in it and is basically incredibly callous and cruel throughout. However this beat is hot and there is also a part about a third of the way through where he says "fuck her till that pussy fart" and then makes a big fart noise, so.

Set It Up (feat. Trina) - Kamaiyah: I only found out about Kamaiyah's fantastic 2016 album A Good Night In The Ghetto about two weeks before her new one came out so I've been on a real Kamaiyah hype for a little while now. She's just fantastic. I love this song because I love the part where Trina seemingly out of the blue threatens to piss in my mouth. The first time I heard it I said 'wow!' out loud.

Come As You Are - Greg Phillinganes: There's something going on with the pop math in this song that I just can't put my finger on. It feels for all intents and purposes like this should be a hit. The melody is great. The big synth voice is great, it's got extremely fatty bass. It's great! But something about the structure of it is just off, it's got too many sections or something. Which kind of makes me love it more really.  

Devotion - Pure Bathing Culture: What surprised me the most about this song is the secret shredding happening throughout. It feels like a sort of clean and cool guitar that hasn’t existed in the wild since the Lethal Weapon soundtrack and it adds such an energy to this already completely wonderful song.

Paper Cup - Real Estate + Sylvan Esso: The production on this song is just so beautiful. The violin melody and the pillow soft synths really add such an extra dimension to it. The tone on everything really. The guitar in the solo. Every time I listen to this song I just want to listen to it again because it goes down so smooth.

Mark Zuckerberg - Nap Eyes: I’m a very big fan of the way this song transitions from a sort of TMBG novelty song halfway through into a lonely and beautiful thing instead. It’s like he got distracted and wandered off in the middle of his set but the camera followed him. I also haven’t heard a lyric in a long time that made me bark laugh so instantly as “And what does he do with all that sand? He collects sand right? I think I read that somewhere. Seems innocent enough.”

Viking Hair - Dry Cleaning: I fell in love with this band immediately on hearing this song. The way the spoken lyrics sit in a place of almost coherence, dipping between mysterious phrases and earnest admissions feels like Life Without Buildings for a new generation. I love the feeling of a huge crush at the centre of this song that comes through achingy in every single word, even when she's talking about abandoned refrigerators.

LeBron James - Do Nothing: This is my number one song this month I think. I've listened to it every single day and I cannot wait to see what this band does once they've got more than a couple of songs out. It's my absolute favourite kind of lyrics: the kind that sounds like you just wrote down every one-sided phone conversation you overheard on the bus and then the music is some halfway point between Black Midi and Franz Ferdinand. What else do you need!

Can I Receive The Contact? - The Spirit Of The Beehive: The Spirit Of The Beehive's album is one of the best I heard this month. The way the production incorporates sound collage and samples without diluting the immediacy of the songwriting is really something special that feels hard to pull off in a rock context but sounds effortless through this whole album. The way this shifts at the end into the odd time section is so great and really the way the whole album flows like one long track is just amazing. Please listen, I'm obsessed.

An Air Conditioned Man - Rolling Blackouts Coastal Fever: There is so much space in Rolling Blackouts songs. They just go and go, sitting in this great jam space without feeling shaggy. The tempo across the album stays pretty consistently at this breezy, upbeat, driving speed that makes it feel like as soon as one song ends the next one just picks up exactly where it left off. It almost feels like a studio confines them and they'd be better off just recording their album live at a show where every song can go for 8 minutes like it wants to.

Leak -Truth, yesnoyesnoyes- - Boris: I got to see Boris and Merzbow this month, which was a great treat for me but it was also at a seated theatre venue which was a very strange choice. Sitting down and clapping politely as Merzbow pressed the screaming button feels odd, like being at an 1800s World's Fair show about the wonders of electricity or quite literally like being the guy in the chair getting blown away by the speakers in the Maxell ads. I bought earplugs for the show but ended up pulling them out for the last three songs or so to properly experience it, and it was fucking great. Something I was thinking about after the show is that it's interesting how Boris mostly have clean vocals, and really approach metal as an idea from and angle that's more shoegaze than Slayer. Aside from the immense volume, there isn't a lot about their music that I would describe as agressive, even most of what Merzbow added to the set was just extra feedback frequency noise, not atonal agression. I don't mean this in a trve kvlt way, more like it's interesting how they've taken the aesthetics of metal and refined them into pure amplifer worship, in their words, by either playing straight drone, or just playing normal hard rock at inhuman volumes. Boris are very good is what I'm saying, and I can't wait to listen to more of their extremely large discography.

Nameless Streets - Defeater: I've never really listened to much hardcore and I'm not really sure why. I've listened to Defeater's first two albums to death though so maybe it's time to branch out. What I love about this song, and this band in general is the vocal delivery. In a lot of agressive music from metal to screamo, because the agression and emotion is always sitting at a 10 the nuance can get lost and it becomes a sort of white noise, but Defeater have a nice way of backing off musically and vocally here and there to let the hard hits really hit hard. The outro to this song is also some absolutely world class snare work, building a tension bed in the simplest way thats relieved when the rest of the band comes crashing back in.

Boys In Town - Divinyls: I love the true desperation in this song. The trapped in a small town, surrounded by fuckers stress that gives way in the second half to just screaming "get me out of here!!". I am also interested in the evolution of the phrase 'too much, too young' and would like to know whether this song is referencing the song by The Specials, and if the Defeater song on this playlist is referencing this song or The Specials song, or if all three came up with it independently. It's a simply enough phrase, I suppose they could have. Who cares, really.

Body By Crystal - Spike Fuck: Come on a journey with me and imagine a world where Alex Cameron makes good music. That's Spike Fuck! The sort of burned out, past their prime singer desperate for a hit in any sense type of character - except actually put together with some heart and emotion and not an 80s comic book writer's understanding of human lows. I cannot wait to hear more from Spike Fuck.

Rogue Wave - Aesop Rock: It is something of a marvel how consistently high quality Aesop Rock's work is. For all his verbosity and expansive vocabulary he seems to never veer into white guy rap god flexing for the sake of it. Even a song like this that's 3 minutes of dense verses with nothing resembling a hook doesnt feel exhausting, it just feels like a series of extremely pleasing words and images like "take it where the warlocks lock horns, soda pop, popcorn / top notch gore set to Bach over fog horns" that makes my brain go "nice".

Momentary Bliss (feat. Slowthai and Slaves) - Gorillaz: I love the strange rollout Gorillaz are doing for this album, building the tracklist one song at a time. It's a nice way to force close listening, especially in songs with odd structures like this. I love hearing how different prouction changes Slowthai's approach; on this and Deal Wiv It that he did with Mura Masa it feels a lot brighter than anything on Nothing Great About Britain and there's a playfulness in his flow that comes through accordingly. Gorillaz are always moving around musically but I love how much of a live band feel this has compared to the more studioy sound that killed their last album for me.

We Will Always Love You (feat. Blood Orange) - The Avalanches: I am so excited at the possibility of a new Avalanches album already, and this is the perfect song to have as a lead single because it functions more like a teaser. Like 'would you like an hour more of this kind of beautiful, loving dream?'

Tar Sequence - Lalo Schifrin: I found out a little while ago that the local news theme when I was growing up was actually this song from the score to Cool Hand Luke, and according to a bunch of other guys in the youtube comments it was the local news theme for a lot of stations across America as well. The scene is of a prison road gang working under the blazing sun, and I'm sure someone could write a thinkpiece about the soundtrack to the nightly news, and really the platonic ideal of news themes in general stemming from the score to a scene about prison labour. But not me! I'm just going to write this little post and say we all owe Lalo Schifrin our lives for inventing the sonic pallette of kung fu AND the news, which is an incredible achievement whichever way you slice it.

When You - Tha Pope: It's a little bit of a shame that footwork is 'over' now but I suppose that's the way of things. The intro to this song is an absolute all timer for me. The delay soaked tag, the extended organ lick and then a total gear shift into this shrieking vocal sample that sounds like something has gone wrong but is revealed in actuality to be the centre of the whole track. I absolutely love Pope's little adlib at the start, and halfway through when he brings it back - it injects some real humanity into this cacophonous, volatile song and lets you know someone's done this on purpose, they've not just turned every dial to 10 and pressed play.  

Jonny/Jonny (Reprise) - Faye Webster: I am absolutely in love with the tone of Faye Webster's voice and especially the way she slowly slides up to the note at the end of every line in the verse. This is a song that belongs to the great genre of songs that sound like they were entirely written and performed while laying on the floor and staring at the ceiling. The reprise here comes back at the end of the album and I love it so much. It feels like a Sex And The City monologue set to music, an underexplored genre I'd definitely like to hear more of.

Holes - Matt Berninger: Matt Berninger of The National covered Mercury Rev's Holes for a series of charity 7"s that Planned Parenthood are doingand I really love his take on it. It's a difficult song to cover because it is so beloved, and I think he does really well to not smooth out the arrangement into any sort of easy listening version. The rumbling piano and the extra vocals that mirror the original saw sound near the end are just wonderful. The part that always breaks my heart in this song is the "bands" line at the end and he really does it perfectly without being overdramatic.

Ta Aro - Nadia Reid: I love the way this song is just soaked in tension and potential energy. She has a beautiful way of holding a note just past the edge of her breath, like when she sings 'glory hallelujah' or 'I am stronger' and in the wordless refrain that just draws me in. Then the way it all closes in on itself and shadows close in at the end while it swells to this beautiful thunderstorm of sound. Just great.

Purify - Neurosis: Someone had a tweet a while ago that was like 'listen to a new album every day in February and write about it' and I thought 'fuck it why not' and started doing that. I kept a little note in my phone of every album I listened to that I'd never heard before, and I ranked them out of 5 so I could remember which ones I liked. I ended up listening to 49 new albums which surprised me, and it was surprisingly easy to do as well so I've decided to keep doing it in March as well. Highly recommended. A nice side effect of constantly searching for new things to listen to is it's given me a chance to hear bands that I've always heard about and know the name of but never actually listened to for one reason or another, which is how I got to Neurosis. It's nice to hear this kind of industrial 90s metal that I'd only ever previously heard in Tool from another angle, and it is especially nice to hear bagpipes in a drone metal context - a thought I'd had independently about a week before hearing this album and was glad to have willed into existence before me.

Shallow Sun - Real Estate: Time! I love a song about aging that mentions specific years and ages so you can count along on your fingers. '25 in 2010... so he was 24 when they put out in their first album.. 39 in 24.. so he's... 35 now.. and i'm 28... which means I'm... 3 albums behind..'

Quand Vas Tu Retrer - Melody's Echo Chamber: I'll listen to any song in 5/4. It is simply groovy. This song is so beautifully textured it feels like you can just get completely lost in the sound while the groove moves it along.

Living Through Another Cuba - XTC: I think I've posted this song on one of these playlists before but fuck it, the more time passes the more I think this might be one of the best songs ever written and a complete and total encapsulation of the cold war mood. The absolute maniac resigned powerlessnes on full display, screaming and shouting about pullings fins from an atom bomb and the absolute certainty that even if the world isn't destroyed this time it'll all come around again soon enough anyway.

Time - U.S. Girls: I am a huge proponent of the long song at the end of the record as a concept, and really I believe every song should be the long song at the end of the record if at all possible. This amount of colour in this jam is just incedible, it never gets weighed down or waylaid it just keeps moving though an ever shifting kaleidoscope and I absolutely love it. It also reminds me of Los Bitchos who were on one of my secret lost playlists from December so it's nice to have their vibe represented here at least. This song also interestingly ties into a thought I was having this week about the limits of music wherein time is the only immutable constant. In all of life music is an inescapable constant of course, but in music especially compared to visual art or written art, time is an inexorable force. You simply cannot bend time in music, a song or performance will always have a duration that will define it, short or long, which cannot be muted or played with in the same way that rhythm or tonality can. 4'33" is a good example of that, being devoid of everything except time. When there is nothing, there is still time. Canyons of time.

Bad Magic - Weyes Blood: I got to see Weyes Blood a couple of weeks ago and I feel extremely blessed that I did. She's just amazing. She played this song solo as her last encore, and she's in a sort of interesting position of blowing up majorly on her fourth album so people (myself included) weren't overly familiar with her older stuff. So when she said 'this is a song called Bad Magic' everyone clapped politely and one woman right up the back screamed "oh my GOD??" which is the kind of personal, just for her, singular experience I'm always here for. Hearing this song for the first time in that setting has really made me fall in love with it. The thing that's always alienated me a little abot Weyes Blood's earlier work, and the thing she changed so dramatically on Titanic Rising is the structuring of her songs. Titanic Rising embraces pop songwriting so wonderfully where her earlier work was so much shaggier and harder to access as a result - but in this song I love it. This song is meandering and long and wanders around in circles and I'm here for every second of it.

Listen to this playlist here: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ZraEZOeS6qvVxfnz3AJS9

[thenataliamarseille]

Hitched? | Discord

                                                            DISCORD THREAD

Who?: Natalia Marseille, Devin McGowen ( @deviniant ) When?: August 18th 2020 Where?: Orlando, Florida

Mentions: Nicola Sloane ( @nicolaeisms ), Traci Hendrix ( @traciisms ) Triggers: marriage, alcohol

MAJOR PLOT DEVELOPMENT?: YES. Natalia and Devin get hitched by drunken accident. Devin finally makes her decision on coming back to professional wrestling. 

Natalia

Nat had barely been able to take her eyes off of Devin whilst they were inside the performance centre. Even when people had come over to talk to the new face in the crowd, Nat was only really able to give them half her attention. She wondered whether this was how Devin felt when she saw her performing at the clubs back home in Kingsboro... She wondered what the words were to describe how she felt. Natalia was too proud, too stubborn to even allow anything remotely near that one four letter word to cross her mind and so instead she leaned into the physical attraction. The way Dev glowed up in the ring, the way she held herself like there was fucking no one who could drag her down... It caused fire in Nat's stomach. Anyone who really looked at how Nat was looking at Devin would know exactly the kinds of dirty things running through her mind, and she didn't care in the slightest. Natalia left the ringside a little early, heading out to the changing rooms to meet Dev there once she was done. "You're not kidding when you said the ring is your element," she smirked when the redhead walked in, her eyes practically fucking her as she looked her up and down. "You look good in that.".

Devin

almost four years out of the business and now....devin was back in the ring, not the wrestling ring at the toast, but the ring where she used to train and worked her way up to fame. she was with her people again, and training with the new wrestlers that were recruited. she opened up the session speaking to them and had a little promo class lecture at first before eventually hitting up the mat. these wrestlers were different from the ones she's training, they're already experienced, and she knew some of them years ago. she was in her old gear, too. just to get the feeling of it before she eventually appear on everyone's screens again. what made this different besides being back after such a long time, is that she's got natalia with her. someone who immediately came to mind when she got the call about going to orlando. she couldn't fly there alone, so she didn't hesitate on messaging her about it. she was back at the changing room after that hours long session and conversations with the higher-ups, staring at herself in the mirror when the dancer came in. "this place is kind of like home to me--my other home." she clarifies, looking back at her. "it's been years since the last time i wore this, still fits, by the way."

Natalia

There wasn't a doubt in her mind when Devin asked if she wanted to come down to Florida with her. The two had been spending a lot more time together recently, outside of the gym and Nat's work, and even that sometimes didn't feel like it was enough. She hadn't left the city since she arrived from France all those years ago, hell she had barely left Kingsboro, so the chance to go to one place outside of New York that had a great reputation for stripping other than Vegas... Of course she wanted to. Or, perhaps that was the excuse she told herself to cover up the fact she really just wanted to go because after spending almost every day seeing Devin in one way or another lately, going three days with nothing felt wrong. She smiled when Devin spoke about this being home, she felt that way about the stage. "You look at home here... In a real ring, with these people," Nat hummed as she came up behind Dev and wrapped her arms around her. "It fits you like a glove," she commented, planting a kiss on her shoulder. "You're going to take them all, Devin... Champion again..."

Devin

"it's nice to know that they still haven't forgotten about me." she chuckles lightly, shaking her head. that was one of those things she feared ever since she decided on taking a hiatus after her knee injury. she had to relinquish her title. devin, fortunately, during that time, has been living in kingsboro for months during that period, and it seemed like it was a nice place for her to settle down, recover, and decide on the next steps she was going to take. thus, after two years, the toast was born. it has been something she's clung on for a while, something that still had her committed to wrestling, training aspiring athletes and learning new fighting styles at the same time. "it's really nice, to have ya wit' me, lass." she turns her head to face the other, kissing the side of her head. "i'm goin' to tell them tomorrow, that i'm acceptin' their offer. right now....come celebrate wit' me? i got to catch up with some friends over drinks."

Natalia

"I think anyone would have a hard time forgetting about you," Nat smirks as she runs her hands up her sides. She can't help but notice how different Devin feels now, like this was the real woman. They were both performers, in their own way, and Nat knew that if she had to give up her stage it wouldn't matter what else she found... Nothing would be the same. There was nothing that lived up to the same feeling as the pole. She could tell Devin felt the same about wrestling. They could fight as much as they wanted to, Nat and Nic and Duke could give the redhead a good run for her money, but there was no story behind those matches. There was no limelight, no fans, nothing for Devin to really get her teeth into. It would be like Nat spending the rest of her days doing private dances; they were okay, but... They weren't the real thing. "I'm glad I came..." She chuckled before smiling as their eyes caught. Nat nodded when Dev spoke about accepting the offer. "Good... I would hate for this to be the only time I get to see you in this," she teased with a smirk before raising a brow. "If there is one thing I know how to do it's how to celebrate... Let's get wild," she laughed with a devilish tint to her eyes.

Devin

"most people....they do forget, in this industry.....i just want to make my mark when i first got here. i'm just glad the sentiments they have for me when i left haven't changed." devin gives her a soft smile. she turns to now face the brunette, wrapping her arms around her waist. it just felt natural, to have her there, to have her witness this part of her life. going back to orlando was nice, but she couldn't imagine going through this without her. though....it really did take a lot in her to admit to natalia that she was going to miss her if she didn't come with her. "it wasn't necessary to wear gears today, but i got a little bit too excited." she lets out a light chuckle. "i'm just gonna go get changed, then we'll meet up with them. though....how's....all this for ya, lass? yer okay doin' this with me, yeah?"

Natalia

"It didn't seem like it today... Everyone that spoke to me whilst I was watching you-- they spoke of how they miss you, and how much they want to see you back," Nat admitted, smirking a little as they spent a moment in each others' arms. Oh, the shit she would get for this if Traci or Nicola could see them now... She grinned when Devin said she got too excited, shaking her head a little as she looked down her outfit again before coming back up with a bit of a furrow in her brow at the redhead's question. "I wouldn't have come all this way if I wasn't okay doing this... The thing I would not be okay with is you turning down this opportunity I know you have been thinking about and that you want so badly... I want to see you do everything you want to do, Devin."

Devin

devin smiled hearing those things from natalia, and she could see how proud she is of her. that....somehow matters a lot to her, her support....being here with her. she was the only one she wants to get to see this. nobody else. they've already been teased on that mysterious group chat a lot, and she just doesn't care about it, not right now, at least. she was just happy to have her there. "i wore this gear because it was the one you chose for me the other day, i know ya'd love it." thank the gods they were alone in the changing rooms right now, because devin couldn't just get her hands off natalia. "thanks...for that little talk we had back at home. i really needed that." she admits. "ya wanna take yer lil' peeks while i change, huh?" she smirks at the other, wiggling her eyebrows.

Natalia

"You're beginning to know me too well," she laughed gently before kissing the other for a moment. Nat smiled when she pulled away, shaking her head a little bit. She knew that the decision Devin had made was a big one, life changing actually. But she had no doubts that it was the right one to make. This wouldn't feel as right as it did if it was the wrong decision, surely? "Honestly, I see you in anything black and leather and I lose my shit a little bit," she joked with a laugh before smirking at Dev's comment, trapping her tongue between her teeth and shrugging her shoulders cooly. "If we had enough time, I'd prefer to do it myself-- but I have no doubt we might get to that later in the night," she bit her bottom lip a little before finally pulling away to give Dev the space to change. Nat walked over to the mirror and adjusted her own leather, using the mirror to look back as Devin began to take her gear off.

Devin

"i guess i got to keep wearin' leather on television, then?" she grins at the other's words. "too bad you haven't seen me back at dorian's birthday, i was wearin' that leather other you would've love. but i know you were workin' that time--maybe one of these days...." she did pack a couple of leather outfits with her, knowing that besides the dancer would love it, that she'd be in a couple of interviews for the next few days. her management is really going to make the most out of her time in florida. "ya have me all to yerself tonight, lass. i promise." she kisses natalia's cheek before pulling away, grabbing her clothes from hours ago from her gym bag and quickly changing to it, though...she'd pause for a couple of seconds so that the other could look. once she's fully changed, it was her turn to hug the other from behind, kissing the back of her neck. "let's go?"

Natalia

"For the greater good, of course," Nat laughed before raising an eyebrow when the other spoke of the event she had missed out on. That was the trouble being a performer, the nights where there were parties were also the same nights where all of the money was made at work. "All to myself, hmm?" She hummed and bit down on her lip. "I like the sound of that," Nat mused mostly to herself as she looked over Devin's body. Would she ever get enough of it? She doubted it. Her eyes briefly closed when she kissed her neck, and she nodded. "I'm dying for a good drink now," she said before following Devin out of the changing rooms. "Where are we going?"

Devin

"as promised." devin takes her by her hand, instinctively intertwining their fingers as they've walked out of the changing rooms and of the performance centre with her gym bag slung over her shoulder, meeting up with her coworkers. "just this bar we used to go to a lot when we were still trainin'. there's other chain of clubs around there, too. we might go bar hoppin'." she's introduced natalia, which was a surprise for everyone, since the redhead hasn't really brought anyone to florida with her, until now. she just shakes her head at their reactions. they've agreed to just meet up at the place and everyone went to get their own cars. she tosses her gym bag at the backseat before getting in with natalia. "yer gonna love it there." she smirks at the other excitedly before driving off.

Natalia

Nat greeted all the others warmly, rolling her eyes and laughing along with the jokes that they made about Devin finally bringing someone to the ringside. Weirdly, she didn't mind the teasing, she didn't care about the comments that the others back home kept making in the group chat either. Nat wasn't exactly one for monogamy or being exclusive but, spending all of this time with Devin and coming here with her... It felt like it was where she was supposed to be in this moment. She knew she'd be feeling a bit lost in Kingsboro knowing the other was not there... That felt weird. The two rode across town to the bar, the group of them heading inside and starting the night as they mean to go on; with a few rounds of shots and within a few hours the table they were all sat at was littered with empty glasses. Nat had gone to the toilet, but now was coming back out, adjusting her jacket as she walked back through the now crowded bar to the booth, sliding back in next to Devin and practically straddling her lap. "You having a good time, mon cheri?" She cooed.

Devin

the two had become inseparable the moment they got to the bar, ordering bottles of lager and whiskey for them to have, at least until the night ends. devin caught up with her coworkers about what has happened with all of them for the past few years, her friends eventually getting together, some of them moving to other companies, starting their wrestling schools....her starting her own gym at kingsboro....she's kept her hand on natalia's knee the whole time, also while bragging about how she's one of her greatest students at her fight training classes. they separated for a while when the woman went to use the restroom. "the best time, lass...." she whispers, wrapping an arm around her waist while she downs the rest of her beer. "they've told me there's this new bar that opened while i was away.....want to come there next? s'still early...."

Natalia

Nat had started to get to know some of the other people that they had gone out with, talking to them about what she did and finding that common ground in the fact they all were entertainers and performers even if they had a different stage and rulebook. She was glad that prior to this, she had found some of Dev's older videos, it meant that she understood some of what they all talked about when they began 're-living the glory days', though Nat made an effort to point out she was sure the glory days were still ahead of Devin rather than behind her. Natalia hummed a moan when Dev's arm wrapped around her waist, eyes flicking down to her mouth and then her throat as she watches her down her beer with a smirk. "Me too," she smiled as she used her thumb to catch a little liquid that had escaped the corner of Devin's lips, bringing it to her own mouth and sucking on it just a little with an 'innocent' look. "I want to be wherever you are going to be-- wherever you want, they are all new bars to me," she laughed. "You're right, it is far too early to call it a night and go back to the hotel-- we are celebrating after all... Where is this place? It's close?"

Devin

devin watches as the dancer catches the beer that managed to slip from her lips with her thumb, chuckling when she sucks on it. she didn't mind the fact that people are watching them, that her friends have practically gone quiet and now have their eyes of them. she slides one hand up to the back of natalia's neck and gently pulls her close for a brief kiss. "then let's go to that new bar they've been talking about then--we only have to walk a few blocks from here." she grins, tucking her loose hair behind her ear. she takes the last two shot glasses on the table and hands one to the other to drink.

Natalia

Nat could feel the other eyes in the back of her head, could hear the smirks on their faces. But, she didn't give a fuck. She was never one to hide her intentions, never one to tone herself down in front of other people and tonight was no exception. She hummed a little moan into the kiss, head tilting to one side briefly as Dev's hand brushed down her neck. "Sounds good, baby," she smirked, shaking her head to push her hair back before taking the shot from Devin and raising it in the air. "To fucking Orlando!" She shouted with a laugh, causing a big cheer from everyone before she bent backwards, and took the shot to the applause from the others.

Devin

the redhead downs her shot at the same the as the other did, looking up at her with a smile on her face. natalia never fails to be the life of the party, and it's one of devin's favorite things about her. on stage or off stage, she can just get people around her going. "to orlando, baby." she whispers. not long after the group was out of the bar and now heading to a new one. she was just intrigued why are her friends won't stop talking about the place. well, it must be a really good bar. they entered the place and it was a little bit quiet than their usual type of bar, and there's definitely a mood that she couldn't define it yet, and she might've have a little bit too much to drink already, but she liked the place. more sets of drinks after one person walked up to them and said something that she didn't quite catch, so she just nodded and said "yes."

Natalia

It wasn't until the got outside that Nat realised just how much they had had to drink in the first bar. That realization didn't stop her from continuing on with the night though. The group of them laughing and chanting and joking as they walked the few blocks between bars before eventually getting inside this other one. It was no-where near as busy as the first one, and Nat was sure there were more sober people here than drunk people but fuck it, they were having a good time and that is all that mattered. At least it was to her. Natalia bought a round of drinks for everyone, handing them out and then got the bartender to line up enough shots on the bar for one each. "We go down the line," Nat laughed as she lined everyone up to start. Just as they finished, someone came up to them and honestly at this point Nat couldn't quite understand them, but she was up for anything. "Sure," she said after she heard Dev say yes.

Devin

a drunken chuckle leaves devins lips at her friends cheering, not even understanding what they were happy for in the first place. "i guess....we gotta participate for whatever this is?" she takes another shot of tequila and grabs for natalia's hand to hold as they were lead away from the bar to what looked like....a stage? they booth stood up there front and center, and was handed two rings. two silver flat bands. she shrugged, showing it to the other. "i've had a lot to drink...but lassie...ya look wonderful tonight." she whispers to the other as the man who invited them to whatever this is stood on the other side of the stage. devin mindlessly puts the band on natalia's ring finger, nodding at his word. "yes....mhmm....yes..." she smiles at the other.

Natalia

"We just signed up for something?" Nat laughed as she took Dev's hand and fell against her a little bit. "You know if they're going to make us fight, I'm not going to go easy on you just because your friends are here," she teased with a grin as they were led up to a stage with some other guy that she didn't recognise. Nat blinked a few times as a couple of silver bands were held out in front of them and tried to keep her concentration in the room, but she'd caught Devin's eyes and honestly she was lost in them. She was so fucking beautiful, and powerful, and in every single way Natalia's equal. Nat just kind of assumed that this was some kind of tradition of wrestling, of new partners of fighters. A right of passage maybe-- Devin seemed to know what she was doing as she slid a ring onto her finger and honestly Nat just wanted to grab hold of her and kiss her right now so she quickly did the same thing. "Not as stunning as you, Champion," she smirked, stepping in and bringing their bodies closer together. "Yes, sure-- yes," Nat spoke to the other guy, wondering what the hell he was actually talking about and why everyone was being so loud around them. They all started chanting 'kiss' and well, Nat was always one to please the crowds so she jumped up into Devin's arms and locked their lips.

                                                   TIMESKIP

Devin

all could devin remember throughout the night besides enjoying drinks with her friends is her little moments with natalia. holding her hand, taking shots with her, sharing some laughs....and kisses. the rest has been a put blackout. wait....they've put rings on each other? and kissed? on stage? she doesn't even remember how they've made it back to the hotel. she wakes up with the dancer is her arms, a murderous headache, and her phone blowing off from the bedside table. she carefully slips out of her embrace and picks up the call. "he--" "did you just get fucking married last night?" "did i what?" she looks at the ring on her finger then natalia's. "that was just an act, for sure." "no, that wasn't! that was a legit officiator, dude. oh god--you got shitfaced, didn't you?" she hangs up, not even bothering to answer the question. "nat....lassie...you gotta wake up..."

Natalia

Nat stirred when she felt the arms unwrap from around her, and it was only really then that she noticed the pounding in her head, the way her eyes were fucking stinging. Were they back in the hotel room? She had no fucking idea what happened last night, the only thing she can really remember was walking between on bar and another one. Natalia rolled over and pushed her face into the pillow with a groan as she heard Devin talking on the phone, something about an act. Must have been something to do with work. Then, when she said her name she could tell the tone behind it was nothing to do with work. She groaned again as she rolled back over, pushing another pillow underneath her head and slowly opening her eyes, squinting and moaning as the light hit her green hues. "Good morning--" she sighed out, running her hands down her face. It was then that she felt something on her finger that wasn't usually there; a ring on her wedding finger. She rolled her eyes and shook her head. "I'm married into the world of wrestling now?" Nat asked sleepily before sitting up further and glancing to her nightstand where clearly she'd made one good choice last night and had left out a glass of water which she picked up and downed. "How in the fuck did we get back here in one piece last night?"

Devin

what the hell did they do last night? how the fuck did this all happen? "about that...." devin started pacing around the room, running her fingers through her hair. how is she going to explain this when even she doesn't have the idea of how this all happened? she runs her fingers through her red hair, picking up her phone once more and this time...she goes on her social media. her twitter.....her fans are tweeting her photos of her and natalia last night, putting rings on their fingers...smiling at each other, and a video of them kissing with everyone else cheering. how come her friends hasn't stopped any of this? "i gotta tell ya somethin' lass...." she takes a nervous sigh. "you and i.....we got married last night, apparently. it's.....it's all over social media. and that--that wasn't just any fake officiator. that was.....that was a legitimate one." she puts both hands on her face, feeling another wave of her headache. she doesn't know what to say next or what to do, she was just plainly scared....scared of the other getting so mad at her for this.

Natalia

Nat felt the mood in the room shift to this uncomfortable energy that she just knew something was wrong. "About that?" She questioned, eyebrows raising as she pursed her lips. Her head hurt so much, but she had to concentrate on what was happening. Nat's face was a picture of concern when the other spoke about having to tell her something. "Are you hurt?" She asked, worried that they had done something stupid and she had hurt herself. This was not the time for Devin to get an injury. But, when the redhead continued-- fuck this was so much worse and Nat's face fucking dropped. "What?!" She spat, pushing herself up and out of the bed, it wasn't until she did that that she realised she was completely fucking naked. She groaned and picked up a t-shirt from Dev's suitcase and threw it over her head. "What do you mean it was a legitimate one? We were in a fucking bar, Devin!" She half shouted, not really wanting this conversation to be carried through the walls but then she realised Dev had said something about social media. "The fucking world knows about this?!" Nat pushed her hands through her hair, pulling at it as she began pacing. "What the fuck!" She ranted. "Devin-- what the actual fuck!"

Devin

the wrestler just threw her phone to the solo sofa, a low groan escaping her lips. "i don't know how the fuck all of this has happened, nat..."she sighs. "the bar we fucking went to has a wedding officiator hired. that's what fucking special about it--some people recognized me and the other last night and took photos and videos of the thing, they--it's spread social media like wildfire." she takes the phone from the chair and sits down, reaching for the bottle of water that was on a the table beside it and then hands it to the younger woman, before noticing an unfamiliar folder. "i can't--i can't believe this either." she takes the folder and opens it, seeing a certificate which seemed to have both of their signatures. "i uhm-i'm--i don't remember how the fuck this has happened, nat....fuck...we were supposed to just..." she tugs on her own her, once again groaning. "i'm so sorry...i'm fucking sorry, nat...."

Natalia

Nat's head was spinning. Her entire fucking world felt like it had just been turned upside down and she had no idea how to react because... No, she wasn't even going to think of it like that. "Oh, right, so your 'friends'," she did some airquotes, "took us there because they know this? That there is a wedding man there? What the fuck is he even doing in a bar?" Nat asked before taking the phone from Devin, probably a little too aggressively and scrolling through the Twitter feed. It was fucking everywhere, it was trending. Nat's hands were shaking as they gripped around the phone and she almost gave into the urge to throw it against the fucking wall as it continued to buzz in her hands with notifications for Devin. Then she saw the certificate and the phone just dropped to the floor. This wasn't a joke. This was-- this was real. Natalia began ranting under her breath in French as she paced around the room, walking over to the mini bar and grabbing a glass before pouring some whiskey into it. She didn't give a fuck how hungover she was, she needed a drink.

Devin

"i didn't know, alright?! i haven't been here for four years..... i'm sorry--i...i'll deal with this." devin doesn't even know how to deal with this in the first place. how come her friends didn't stop them last night? how come that everyone just went with it? god....she could remember her face, though....natalia's drunken, but beautiful smile. she remembers them putting on rings....kissing in celebration....that seemed to be a nice memory to have, especially with the dancer. but this just....she couldn't explain it. she can feel how angry she is. how she gripped on her phone, how she reacted seeing the certificate, and now the rambling in french. she couldn't blame her. "nat..." she stands up and walks over to her, taking the glass and bottle of whiskey away. "let's just--let's talk....about this. see what we could do....i can call my publicist right now and have the posts and the articles dealt with--and see what we can do next--what do you want to do next...."

Natalia

“A publicist can’t fix this!” Nat protested, breathing out sharply and groaning when Devin took the drink from her. It was probably a wise decision from the gym owner but, Nat just had no idea what to do or what to think. “It’s the internet, people don’t let anything get erased anymore...” For years, Nat had stayed clear of social media, not wanting to give her Mother the satisfaction of knowing what she was up to and where she was. It was only last year she even got a Twitter, to be able to help the club grow. She took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I just— I never wanted to be fucking married, Devin... I hate it. The whole concept of it is just... Old. Pointless. It’s an expensive bit of fucking paper and silver,” she pointed to the ring which she had no idea why she was still wearing. It felt wrong to take it off though. “I don’t agree with anything it fucking stands for— I don’t need a big, expensive diamond, or a signature on a piece of paper, or witnesses and vows to fucking prove to you that I love you—“ Wait... Had she just... Did she just say that? She froze, and swallowed thickly, eyes quickly dropping to the ground.

Devin

"we can at least--at least let this shit die down, my publicist can do that." natalia was right. even though they could have every picture or video of their....of their wedding posted online, the people already know what's happened, it's all over the news, her management probably has known this right now. she never wanted to be married either, she doesn't imagine herself with the ring and all that shenanigans involved....i don't do those kind of stuff, natalia. not this i--" she wanted a drink herself, but she knew that's probably the worst thing that she could do to herself right now. she was about to speak again when the other continued and said the word she never thought she'll ever hear from her. love.....love? "you....you....what....lassie?" she closes a little bit of distance between them and cups her cheek with her hand, pleadingly looking into her eyes.

Natalia

She had no idea what to do, she had no idea if saying it again would make everything a hundred times worse or better. This was a fucking shit show, and she wanted to start running and never look back but she also just couldn't turn her back on this. On Devin. "I--" She swallowed and shrugged her shoulders a little. If anything, Nat was not a liar, she couldn't say that she hadn't meant those three words because that would be just that; a lie. "Don't make me say it again," she utterly quietly as her eyes slowly came up to meet Dev's. "Does that make this even worse?"

Devin

she could see the worry on the woman's face.....how lost she was for moment...she takes her hand and kisses her back of her palm. devin was....she was a bit surprised that she isn't the only one feeling this, this thing for natalia. she's dismissed it a lot the moment she realized how closer and closer they've gotten for the past couple of months. "i...i heard it loud and clear.....i just wanted to make sure." the wrestler then shakes her head at her question. "no....not at all....i..." she rests their foreheads together. "i could say i feel the same, a mhuirnín..." she stares into those eyes. "i...i love you, too."

Natalia

What was happening? How did they get here? From training partner and client to... Wives? They'd known each other for a few years but all of this really had happened in less than six months... What was next? What should they do now? Then their eyes caught again and this time it was different, there was something else there and it was infectious. Then Devin said those words too and... "Don't," Nat closed her eyes tightly, her hand coming up between them and she loosely placed it over her lips. "Don't say those words to me unless-- you really mean them..." She asked quietly before she felt that lump in her throat swell again and the pain behind her eyes push into them as they watered. "I don't know how to do this..."

Devin

devin had this sad smile on her face. she understood natalia's reaction to this right now. "i mean it...." she quickly reassures the other. "we don't....we don't have to say it, but just know that it's true." she pulls the woman close for a hug, resting her chin on her shoulder. "i don't know how to do this either....but we....we have to do this, together, nat." she slowly back them to to their bed, sitting down and pulling the other to her lap. "we can just....we'll figure this out together. what we need first is to.....to make this shitty hangover go away...."

Natalia

For some reason, what Devin was saying, what had happened last night... It made her heart hurt, and she couldn't figure out it was a good or a bad pain. Nat had never wanted to fall like this for anyone, she had never wanted to question her ways, or change a part of who she was. Though, she knew Devin would never ask her to or even *allow *her to change anything about her, or her job, or the way she was with others. But, at the same time she... Didn't mind it. She knew that Dev was right, that they would figure this out and they'd do it together. She nodded as she let the redhead pull her into her lap. "You have never said anything more right..." She groaned when Dev brought up the hangover again. There was so much more they needed to talk about about this but-- not now, not when they were both so fragile. Nat glanced to the alarm clock on the bedside table. "And fairly quickly, don't you have an interview at 12? It's 8 already..."

Devin

"i uh....right now, you just have to rest. i'll call room service, then take care of us--i can fit everything in four hours. do you want to stay in the hotel for the day, or do you want to come with me at the performance center?" she had so much to do today, and probably have a lot of people to answer anything. her management is going to want answers. she needs to call her publicist, but right now, taking care of natalia is her very priority. she nuzzles her face on the dancer's neck. "i just....i'm still sorry....for ruining your experience. i wanted you to have a good time here in orlando, with me. you can rest, i'll get something for you hangover and do whatever you want. then....my team's probably going to be here."

Natalia

"You need to take some pain killers for your head too, some electrolytes too..." Nat replied quietly as she practically collapsed into Devin's arms. She was tired. Emotionally, and physically from last night. There was a lot she had to think about, a lot that they both needed to think about separately and then come back together and talk about. This was going to be fucking long, and probably messy at points... But, right now, Devin was right, they just needed to clear the hangover. Get through today. This was going to be the hardest one. "I think if we-- if we are seen together today after that... Everyone is going to be looking for it, it's going to make that worse," she pointed to Dev's phone that just was basically non-stop buzzing on the solo couch. "If you need me to come, I will but... I-- I don't think it's a good idea personally, not until you speak to your management..." Nat sighed softly before leaning back, and gently bringing Devin's head up so they could look at each other. "We are still here... We can still have a good time... This is just--" she shook her head, there weren't really any words for it. "Don't carry this blame all on your shoulders, I clearly had to say all those things too... This isn't your fault... Okay?"

Devin

"i'll be alright, nat....i promise." devin has to probably talk about his with her team and then her management when she comes there today, because this is a lot to handle right now. she needs her people to help her and natalia figure out what to do next. and yes--seeing them together in public wouldn't be a great idea. though....it's a good thing that the performance center isn't somehow a public place, it's only a place exclusive to employees and them wrestlers. she wouldn't want her to be away, but at the same time, it's still natalia's decision that devin wants to go with. she reaches her phone from the floor and basically uninstalls her social media applications. and then sends a message to her team to come a little bit later, before putting it back on top of the bedside drawer. "alright....alright." she leans closer and plants a soft kiss on her lips. "if i ever need to come to the PC alone with my team today...i'll just come back here, to you, early. they won't be here in an hour or two." she cups her cheeks, staring deeply into her eyes. "we're going to deal with this, together, a ghrá."

[pynkhues]

7 ( beth and rio )

#7 - “I can’t do this without you.”

Set in The Centre and Circumference / Domestic Fic universe

(Set a few years down the line. This one gets a little racy in the second scene, just FYI ;-) )

-

There had been a time, one that sometimes Beth forgets ever was, when Annie and Ruby had both been mothers, and Beth had been - -

Well.

She’s not entirely sure what she’d been. Still Annie’s guardian, she supposes, but Annie had just had Sadie, had moved in with Greg and his parents, who doted on the baby and struggled with Annie, and of course she was still Ruby’s best friend, but Ruby was so in love with Stan and together they were so in love with new baby Sara, and so Beth had meandered between both of their lives, offering help, knitting blankets and booties and swaddles, making dinners, looking over cribs while Annie and Ruby napped or showered.

And she knew she was needed, knew that Annie and Ruby both wanted her around, but everything was different, with these two new little humans in the world. Annie and Ruby were different.

Annie and Ruby shed any recklessness or selfishness (at least temporarily in Annie’s case), and became the sorts of patron saints Beth was used to hearing about in school. Doting figures hunched over cribs and cradles, the same words on their tongues like a prayer:

“I could watch her all day.”

They’d both said it, Annie and Ruby, separately and together, over and over again like something they were well-versed in, often glassy eyed, soft smiled, the exhaustion on their faces somehow only making them sweeter, and it wasn’t long before Beth felt it urgently.

Or rather – that she felt the need to feel it.

Besides, it’s not like Dean would ever say no to sex and he was open about thinking a baby would be good for her (even said it once, a little drunk, feeling her up in the backseat of his car – “I mean, it would give you something to do all a day, huh?”) but it had taken longer than she’d expected, and the pregnancy had been harder, and by the time the midwife had put Kenny in her arms, she hadn’t felt a thing.

So she’d waited.

Waited for that urge to hit to watch him, cling to him, to look at him the same way Annie and Ruby looked at Sadie and Sara, and the less she’d felt the more desperately she’d wanted it, the more furiously her failure had rooted in her, and she couldn’t tell Annie and Ruby, and she couldn’t tell Dean, and so she’d hidden all the nothing she felt as deeply as she could and weathered it alone.

Weathered it until one night Kenny had wriggled up her chest, his breath soft and wet against her neck, his little nose snuffling as her body ached below him, as her nipples had been chafed raw from his demanding mouth, the smell of dirty diapers thick in her nose, and he’d just - - yawned, and the feeling had been so perfect and god, she’d made him, her, not anybody else, not really, and she hadn’t realised she’d been crying until the tears had soaked into the back of his romper.

After that, she’d felt it too much, felt it raw, like a livewire in her, her eldest son, bright eyed and sweet and hers and the point is, moments like now?

Beth could watch him forever right now.

Watch him from the doorway to his room, sitting on the edge of his bed in his pyjamas, sneakers kicked off and upturned on the floor, his back hunched as his fingers work too quickly over the cell phone she really hadn’t wanted to buy him (it had been Rio in the end who’d talked her round – albeit barely – “Shit, ma, he’s almost fifteen. Besides, I can get one of my boys to put a tracker on it.”), the light from the screen glowing at his chin.

“Who’re you texting?” she asks quietly, breaking the silence, and Kenny instantly drops his cell, face down, into his bed. He shrugs, not even looking back at her, and she has only a few moments to worry that he’s not going to reply at all, when he caves.

“Just Sadie,” he says. “He gets it. That’s all.”

Beth makes a noise of agreement, because it’s good, she thinks. Sadie would get it. Just - - she’s also not entirely sure what Sadie’s opinion of Dean is. He’s about as restrained with his opinion as Annie is open with hers, even more so now he’s knocking on the door of seventeen, and really Beth has no idea where he’s learnt that from (after all – it isn’t like Greg hasn’t always been transparent, even if he’s a little quieter about it than Annie).

“I’m glad you can talk to him,” Beth says, and Kenny does look back at her then, properly this time, and she can’t quite contain her relief when Kenny smiles softly back at her.

“Me too,” he tells her, and Beth smiles in reply. “You can come in if you want.”

It’s more than she expected, but Beth hides her surprise, taking the invitation for what it is (she just wants to be respectful of his space, now that he’s getting older) and stepping into Kenny’s bedroom. She glances around for somewhere to sit, but then, that’s only more upsetting, when she sees Kenny’s freshly empty suitcase on the floor by his desk, and god, he must’ve unpacked the second Judith had dropped them back here. Then again, it’s not like he hasn’t had the time. Beth’s spent most of the night trying to calm Danny and Emma down, who were both weepy with frustration and hurt, while Rio let Jane pummel his chest with her fists before taking her outside to try and run off some of her tantrum-throwing energy with Buddy.

“It wasn’t all bad,” Kenny says, and Beth looks over at him, watching as he grabs his phone off the bed beside him, sliding it into his lap. It takes her a moment to realise that he’s making room for her, and she quickly takes him up on it, sitting on the bed beside him. “There was like, this festival on, and we had corndogs and Dad won Emma this huge pink teddy bear at this like, strong man machine. It was pretty cool.”

It had sounded pretty cool when Dean had told her about it on the phone too when he’d been regaling her with the plans for the week (a fix-it after last month, when he’d left the kids at his mom’s for a week because he’d forgotten about a boat show in Seattle he just couldn’t miss now that he owned the boat rental place in South Haven). Of course, he’d neglected to mention that his new girlfriend would be going with them – Katie Elm – who from Annie’s thorough social media search was a pageant mom and a waxing technician with a bad nose job but a picture-perfect smile.

Beth sighs, twisting her fingers a little at her thighs, before turning around to look at Kenny. To take in the imperfect slope of his nose, his messy hair, his long, gangly legs, and god, he’s going to be as tall as Dean before his birthday at this rate. Mostly though she just takes in the tug at his lips and the glassiness of his eyes.

“It was unfair of him,” she says quietly. “To spring his new girlfriend on you like that.”

“They’re getting married,” Kenny replies promptly, and Beth blinks in surprise at that, her own eyes widening before she tries to stimmy her shock, because - - well, that part of it is news to her. “The others don’t know. Dad only told me because he asked me to be his best man.”

And of course he did, Beth thinks, resisting the urge to get to her feet and drive all the way out to South Haven and murder him, because he must’ve known it - - that it’d be the fastest way to get Kenny on board. For the other kids to fall in line behind him.

“What did you say?”

“Yes,” Kenny says miserably, looking away. “I didn’t want to upset him. He was really happy.”

And that’s enough to make Beth exhale sharply. She can practically see Ruby and Annie on her shoulders, angel and devil – it’s between Kenny and Dean – it’s between Dean and whatever blunt object Beth can get her hands on. Still, she forcibly smooths her hands down over her thighs.

“I’m sure your dad will get you a nice suit,” she tries, and Kenny only looks more miserable.  

“They’ve already decided it’s going to be tropical themed. We’re wearing shorts and those seashell necklaces we got in Hawaii.”  

And just - -

Well.

The mental image alone might fuel Annie until the end of time itself.

Beth shakes her head in resignation.

“Well then I’ve got nothing.”

It’s enough to make Kenny burst out laughing, surprised, and Beth starts giggling too, before she can help it, because god, trust Dean to make life just this absurdity and she really needs to dial it back, because the last thing she wants is to upset Kenny more, when suddenly he adds:  

“He doesn’t want us around anymore.”

The words hang heavy in the air between them, thick with intent, even as Kenny had sort of half-laughed them, and Beth just sighs, her own laughter dead on her tongue, because she can’t exactly say that he’s wrong. Their custody schedule’s been all over the place for the better part of a year – their original plan of two weeks with one parent, two weeks with the other, has rapidly turned into more and more time at Beth and Rio’s, because Dean has work, a date, is going on holiday, and honestly it wouldn’t bother her – she’d have the kids always if she could – but Dean doesn’t seem to want to tell her until the last possible minute. Like he wants to pretend that his ‘bro’s trip’ with his brother to Vegas was something they thought up on the fly – not something she knows he would’ve had to book months out.

“Your dad is - - simple,” Beth says, and at Kenny’s look, Beth laughs. “Not like that. What I mean is he’s a - - a meat and potatoes kind of guy. And life isn’t always meat and potatoes. Sometimes it’s a special sort of curry, with lots of different ingredients, and he just…doesn’t always understand how to eat that, so he tries to make it meat and potatoes, and when that doesn’t work, he just sort of - -”

She flails briefly, trying to find the words, when Kenny fills in for her.

“Throws all the other ingredients out that’s not meat and potatoes.”

“I was gonna say flip the table,” Beth says a little dryly, and it’s enough to make Kenny laugh, but it’s a little sad, and Beth looks back at him, taking in his big blue eyes, his mussed hair, and just - - god, he really does look like Dean. “He loves you. He really does. He’s just - - rearranging his plate at the moment, and he doesn’t realise the potatoes are falling off it. But he will. And then he’ll - - he’ll fix it. I know he will.”

And she imbues it with as much belief as she can because just - - she has to believe it. She doesn’t know what the alternative is, or maybe she does. Maybe she looks at Dean and the kids and sees the same cycle of affection and fun and betrayal and crushing disappointment that was her marriage but then - - no, she thinks. The kids have got each other, and her, and now they’ve got Rio too, and that was more than she had in those twenty years.

“Thanks, mom.”

Beth smiles softly, leans in to kiss his forehead, and is happier than she can say when he squirms away, making a retching sound in the back of his throat, because at least it means he’s feeling better. She slips easily up off the bed, tossing his sheets down and gesturing him in with a flick of her head, and he rolls his eyes at her, but slides in anyway, letting her tuck him in, letting her pluck his phone out of his grip and plug it into the charger. Even lets her give him another kiss.

She’s at the door, just about ready to flick the light off, when Kenny’s voice sounds behind her.

“Hey, mom? I know I’m not supposed to be here, and it’s not our usual Sunday, but would Rio be okay if we played tennis at the club tomorrow?”

Beth blinks, surprised, although she shouldn’t be. She knows how much Kenny loves playing tennis with Rio, how much Rio likes it too, how much he’d taken to teaching Kenny how to do it (“At least I know there’s one good student in your gene pool, mama,” he’d told her once when Beth had managed somehow to hit herself in the head with a racket.

“I’m yet to be sure there’s a good teacher in yours,” she’d replied snidely, snatching the ice pack out of his hands when he’d offered it.)

“I don’t see why he wouldn’t be,” she tells Kenny now, and she can see his smile even after she turns out the light.

*

“Don’t say it,” Beth says with a groan the second she gets to their room to find Rio still awake in their bed. She toes off her slippers by the bedroom door and shrugs out of her cardigan while Rio makes a production out of not looking up from his book, sprawled out in their bed, shirtless (because god forbid he wear anything even with a houseful of kids and the temperature plummeting in the evenings). She refuses to look too closely at him though because she’s not sure how she’d react to seeing tiny, Jane-fist-sized bruises there, or really even just his smooth, toned chest, which frankly might be worse right now.

Beth’s not sure. It’s been a long night.

“Oh, I ain’t sayin’ nothin’,” Rio replies from the bed, his voice deep, flipping the page on his book, and Beth squints at him as she walks past the bed into the en suite. She really should just shower, she thinks, peel herself out of her clothes which are crumpled from hugs and a little spotty with children’s tears, and slide herself into bed, but the bath is calling her and before she can stop herself, she drops in the plug, a generous squeeze of bubbles and runs it.

Thing is, none of this is a surprise.

Annie and Ruby (and Stan, although he’d deny it) have more or less been betting on how soon Dean would re-marry since Beth signed the divorce papers, and the fact that he’s lasted this long has been a feat in itself. Still, it’s disappointing, she thinks, pulling off her blouse before unhooking her bra. Stepping out of her jeans.

He’d really seemed like he’d grown up. That he wanted to focus on the kids and rebuilding his life after the divorce, and even more so after seeing her so settled with Rio. He’d taken the school hunt seriously, and the holidays, had made an effort at every step along the way, but this backslide had been a slow crawl, she thinks, and now they were in the thick of it before she even realised. Dean the Boat Guy with his pageant-mom-trophy-wife and his Tropicana wedding and his seeing his kids once in a blue moon and just - -

Beth exhales, rubbing at her face, pulling off her panties and stepping into the bath.

At least she can always trust this to make her feel better, she thinks, easing down into the water. It’s almost too perfect. She’d always liked lavender soaks, but her and Rio had ended up in a geranium bath while staying at a hotel in New York for meetings, and to say she’d fallen in love with the scent was probably an understatement. Rio had seemed to like it too – or rather, liked the memories of that New York hotel tub that the smell of geraniums now sparked (hell, the tub was big, and it had these massage jets that they somehow managed to get just right against her clit while he fucked her and just - - Beth clenches her thighs together, because now is really not the time).

The hot water laps over her legs, belly, breasts, the bubbles parting around her, and Beth wriggles down until she’s comfortable, flicking off the water and resting her head on the back of the tub. Letting her eyes slip shut, she tries to push all thoughts of Dean out of her head, which would be easier if she didn’t feel Rio wanting to say something from their bedroom, or - -

Not their bedroom, Beth realises, opening her eyes, spotting him propped against the en suite doorframe, leaning sideways, watching her, or rather, watching her breasts bob above the water. She looks at him, squints, before moving the bubbles to better cover herself, because she’d rather not be totally exposed when he inevitably starts his lecture.

“You gotta lay down new rules, mami,” he says, like he knew she knew, and Beth rolls her eyes, (badly) suppressing a groan. Rio powers through regardless, waving an arm out at her. “Because, see, you ain’t enforcin’ the old ones, so he’s just gonna keep doin’ whatever the fuck he wants, and those kids of yours are gonna be feelin’ the effect of that.”

“Thought you ain’t sayin’ nothin’,” Beth says, imitating his voice, and Rio exhales sharply, squinting down at her in that irritated way that he does whenever she imitates him.

“I ain’t,” he says, gritting his teeth, and Beth arches an eyebrow up at him. “But that dumbass ex o’ yours - - ”

“Is getting married,” Beth replies, refocusing her gaze on the ceiling, and at least that’s enough to make Rio be quiet. It was a dirty trick, and she thinks they both know it, but still - - she just didn’t have it in her for Rio to tell her what she already knew, to have to justify (again) her inaction when it came to Dean.

Rio sighs above her, and she can feel him trying to catch her gaze, but she keeps it fixed steadily on the ceiling, briefly wishing for cracks or cobwebs or anything beyond the pristine surface there to distract herself, only something must distract her, because she doesn’t realise Rio’s undressed or even moved at all until he’s nudging her forwards and slipping into the bath behind her. He pulls her gently back against his chest.

“You’re surprised,” she tells him softly, letting her head loll back onto Rio’s shoulder, her eyes slip shut, feeling his hands stroke down her arms, one coming back up to cup her breast.

“Surprised he managed to trick another woman into gettin’ saddled with his ass, sure,” he replies easily, and Beth huffs out a laugh, beyond the point of being offended by anything Rio says about her and Dean’s marriage.

“You wanna beat him down the aisle?”

And just - - what?

Beth’s eyes snap back open, and she spins a little in the water to look at him, and it’s unfair, the mirth in his eyes, but also the - - something. She can’t quite read it, god, still can’t quite ever know him fluently, so she just squints at him.  

“If that was a proposal, it was really lacking,” she tells him dryly, and Rio just laughs, leaning in to kiss her, before spinning her back around, pulling her back against his chest. One of his hands squeezes firmly at her breast while the other sinks lower, slipping between her folds so quickly, so easily, it’s enough to make her breath hitch.

“Better up my game then,” he hums against her ear, and Beth rolls her eyes, squirming back against him when his practiced fingers find her clit, circling, and Beth’s leg flails briefly out of the water, enough to make Rio laugh, roughening his touch on her, and god, it’s almost embarrassing, she thinks, heat bursting between her legs, her back arching against his chest, even as his fingers roughly twist her nipple, how quickly he can show her the edge and push her over it.

She gasps, tumbling over her orgasm, struggling to catch her breath, and it takes her a minute to finally flail a hand back and slap him half-heartedly in the face.

“Rude,” she tells him, and Rio just laughs again, hand promptly moving back to her clit, and she has to grab him by the wrist because she could go again (god, could she), but that’s not what this is. She sits back, feeling him half-hard behind her, and - - later, she thinks, sitting back just enough he can grind a little against her if he wants, but not enough to necessarily invite it. Not that he seems to ever really take anything she does as not an invitation.

“These last few months have been really messy,” she says instead, before she can let the lust wriggle back into her brain, and it’s enough to stop him shifting closer behind her. He sighs, slipping his wrist out of her grip, turning up his hand, entwining their fingers instead. “I never even asked if you were okay with it. With my kids staying here more, I mean.”

Rio doesn’t reply to that, and Beth’s not entirely sure she was expecting him to. Still, it makes her frown, makes her forehead furrow even as she disentangles their hands, pushing his to rest just on top of the water surface, her fingers tracing patterns into his broad palm.

“That you askin’?” his voice is laden with amusement, and Beth huffs, but feels her toes curl a little against the porcelain of the tub beneath her, because they’ve been together for years now, and this bit - - she’s still - -

“’Course,” he tells her, cutting off her thoughts like he knew she was about to get too into them. “Love the noise, love the kids, you know that. What I don’t like is that dumbass ex of yours actin’ like he’s doin’ us a favour every time he gets his mom to pick ‘em up and drive ‘em down to Lake Shithole for him, and what I especially don’t like is watchin’ you have to turn around when he dumps ‘em here early again, after not even botherin’ to tell us that he was gonna be introducin’ ‘em to the flavour of the month.”

“Forever flavour now,” Beth says, tapping at his pulse point, and Rio shifts behind her.

“Yeah? Somethin’ tells me forever don’t keep its flavour long in his mouth.”  

And well, isn’t that the truth. Beth bites the inside of her cheek, smoothing her hand over his, until they fit almost neatly together, or not neatly, Beth thinks. His is big beneath hers, dark and steady and so familiar now Beth can feel it on every inch of her.

“I’ll talk to him,” she tells his hand, and Rio promptly entwines their fingers again.

“Want to take Demon to scare the shit outta him?”

It’s enough to startle a laugh out of Beth, suddenly struck with the memory of Dean at Emma’s birthday party last year, watching Demon with all his tattoos and piercings and thug energy give Emma piggy back rides across the yard, careful not to mess up the sparkly white tulle of her Cinderella dress.  

“No, it’s okay, I’ll call him tomorrow,” she says, and then sits up a little straighter, the thought of tomorrow sparking the reminder. “Oh! Before I forget, Kenny was wondering if you’d be up for tennis tomorrow.”

Rio just hums easily in affirmation.

“Already booked us, ma. Figured the kid mighta needed it.”

And it just hits her – so suddenly, so hard in the chest, just like it did all those years ago, Kenny yawning at her chest. The overwhelming feeling of love only - - more than love, she thinks, because she knew she loved Rio, only this, it’s - - a new sort of wholeness, of completeness, and it strikes her suddenly, how little she’d felt at the thought of Dean getting married.

How much she feels here, like this, talking about her son’s tennis lessons, with him.

Beth’s fingers are tightening on his before she can help it, her breaths suddenly feeling heavy, and she just - - she doesn’t know how to get him any closer.

Doesn’t know how she can ever let him away from her.

“How’d I do any of this without you?” she asks him, before she can overthink it, and Rio presses his lips to the skin where her jaw hinges.

“Same way you done everythin’ else,” he tells her easily. “You woulda gotten it done. Just with not as much style.”

Beth just laughs thickly at that, everything in her softening, and she sinks her free hand behind her in the water, running up his thigh. She thinks of saying it – that she thinks maybe she would’ve – could’ve – done all of this without him – the new house, leaving Dean, the new life, just - - she’s not sure if she’d have their messy history any other way, not sure if she can even stomach the thought of any sort of future without him anymore. That she likes him beside her (even when he’s technically behind her), likes all the ways he reminds her that they’re partners without even meaning to, just - - likes him.

She slides her hand up, just enough to brush his cock with the tips of her fingers, when suddenly she finds herself practically propelled out of the water, pulled up out of it so rapidly that she flails forwards and he has to grab her to stop her from keeling over, spinning her around and lifting her out of the tub.

“Nup,” he says. “Remember last time? Rather fuck you properly, mami.”

And okay, last time had been a total disaster, but that was only because she’d managed to simultaneously overflow the tub and basically give them third degree burns by accidentally flipping on the tap mid-thrust. It was the geranium bubble bath. She was convinced of it. It made them both insane.

“We are getting old,” she allows. “Remember how you complained about your knees for a week.”

“Rather feel my knees than hear you bitch about your neck,” he tells her, walking them out of the en suite and depositing her gracelessly onto the bed, and god, the sheets are going to be so wet, but then again, she thinks with a grin as Rio grabs her by the thighs and pushes them up around her ears, so is she.

[nicblanchet]

heels - nic&david

( discord thread )

Where: construction site

@thedavidreyes

italics: nicolette bold: david

Nicolette’s heels clicked up the sidewalk, the sound of construction going on ahead making her confident she was going the right direction. She had a paper bag in one hand and a drink caddy in the other, the woman performing a balancing act to get food to David smoothly. She knew she stuck out like a sore thumb in the area, cautiously walking up to the construction barriers and taking a glance around the job she was at least 80% sure David was at. Like any stereotypical construction site she began to hear the occasional whistle, a man or two calling out to the hot blonde paying them a visit. They couldn’t see her eyes rolling through her Ray Ban shades.

David was revising some last minute adjustments on the plan in his office when he heard the crew outside started to make noise. It didn’t mind noise, and chatter, he may not have been much of a talker himself but it did seem to make the day go quicker for everyone. But when he heard a whistle and some comments he stood up, enough is enough. He walked out of his office, door swinging open as he called out, “would you lot shut the fuck up? No ones impressed you can work a drill bit you apes.”  Some guy to just left he think his name is Andrew just pointed to his left. He let his gaze follow and his eyes landed on Nicolette and his mouth dropped open. Flowing blonde hair,red lipstick, legs for days and god those heels. He swallowed and closed his mouth. “You know.” He said taking a few steps closer to her, “you don’t really meet PPE standards here.” He stood up straighter and crossed his arms, keeping a stern face. Despite the tips of his ears starting to turn red, fuck she was gorgeous.

Nicolette had completely tuned the men out by now, tapping her heel on the concrete while she waited for David to hopefully show up. How embarrassing would it be for her if he didn’t? She thought of ruining the surprise and texting him to come out of wherever the hell he was when she heard that all too familiar voice. It was a lot more stern than what she was used to, David obviously a lot softer when he was around her. That warmed her heart a little, a grin forming on her red lips when she finally spotted her grumpy guy. “Sorry, I didn’t know food delivery required PPE standards. I could go if you want.” A brow rose from behind her dark tinted shades, smirk forming on her lips. “Sir.”

He raised his brows back, not quite able to do the one like she had, his mouth turning into a smirk as he stepped closer again. “Food delivery? In that outfit?” He made a show of looking her up and down before shaking his head. “We’ll have to get you a hard hat, ma’am.” Everyone around them was forgotten as he was now standing directly in front of her. “Hi babe.”

“A hard hat? In this outfit?” she questioned, mocking his tone. “If that’s what it takes, I guess.” Nicolette playfully scoffed then visibly brightened when she heard the pet name. “Hi handsome. Surprised to see me?” Her smile widened. “Didn’t want you getting sick from bad lunch. I had a feeling you’d actually eat it.” She lowered her glasses, gazing up at him. “Can I have a kiss, or is that too much in front of all of...them...” Nicolette looked around, eyes still focused on her. “Have they ever seen a woman in their lives?”

He chuckled at her tone, and nodded. “ A  little surprised, but definitely in a good way. I-I probably would’ve eaten the sandwich.” He confessed with a sheepish grin. He reached out and grabbed her waist, pulling her closer. “Oh they’ve seen women, just never seen Nicolette Blanchet.” He leaned in and kissed her on the red painted lips that were driving him crazy. At first there was an almost stunned silence, and then hollering and whistling. He turned away from face setting and voice becoming sterner instantly, “this place isn’t going to build itself, get back to work!” It was affective as most of the men quickly went back to work. “Want to come see my office?”

“See? I might’ve just saved your life.” Most likely not, but she definitely saved him from a stomach ache later in the day. “Nicolette Blanchet isn’t anything special,” Nic said, but lord did she feel special when David pulled her in and killed her firmly on the lips. She would have wrapped her arms around him on the spot if it wasn’t for her full hands or the shouts from the men on site. “I think I like you being authoritative.” Nicolette laughed. “Of course I do.”

“Thank you.” He smiled as he turned back to her placing his hands on her waist, and then it faltered as he shook his head. “Nicolette Blanchet is amazing. Even if she can’t see it.” He stepped back and offered an arm out to her, it seemed like she liked to hold onto it when they walked. He gestured towards the demountable he had been in and said with a smile, “Is that so? this way princess.”

It wasn’t much and he was immediately worried that she want to leave. It was small, maybe cozy was a better word. With a big desk in the centre, a rolling chair on his side and a plain wooden on the others a water cooler and mini fridge in one of the corners. And light was coming in from a sky light, but the two side walls, but their windows were tiny rectangular slots above eye level. Made for light not viewing. “So, you know you didn’t have to do this right? But what did you bring me?”

“Maybe David Reyes has rose colored glasses on when it comes to Nicolette,” the blonde teased. “But I like them. You’re cute when you’re drooling over me.” She toyed with him, tugging at the corner of his lips with her thumb, then took his arm to follow him to his office.

Nicolette hadn’t expected much from an on-site office at a construction site. In fact, the small building was exactly what she expected. Nicolette stretches over to the desk and set the bag and drinks down, happy to be rid of them and have her hands free. “I know I didn’t have to, but you deserve something nice for your tummy, baby.” Nicolette closed the gap between herself and David and let her fingers trace from his stomach to his chest. “Us! I’m eating with you, if that’s allowed.” The blonde pecked David’s lips, the man’s mouth easier to reach in the height of her heels. “Come here,” she said, pulling him to the desk. “I went to my favorite sandwich shop. Cubans were the special of the day, thank god. They’re my favorite sandwich if you ever wondered. But I got two of those, a chicken salad on a croissant, an Italian sub, and a couple of sides because they all sounded good and I couldn’t help myself. But I want the pasta salad. Okay? Whatever you don’t want I could take home or you could keep here for another day.”

He watched her walk across the room and couldn’t help but let his eyes wander down her body. The dark fabric one her light skin, her small back, then her ass which he loved even if she didn’t necessarily, he loved that he could fit it in his hand, the legs that stretched on, and down to her high heels. His tongue darted out to lick his lips.   He blinked hard as she turned around and gave her a grin, still not fully believing she’d be there for him.  He raised his eyebrows and nodded, “of course, I just wasn’t sure you’d want to eat here. But I’m glad you do.” He smiled into the kids and let her pull him to the desk. He nodded taking in all the information and storing away the fact that they’re her favourite for later. The fact that she’s brought him lunch and so much lunch was touching and a nicety he still was adjusting too. “A Cuban sounds great. Could I also have an Italian sub?”

“Of course you can!” Nicolette set aside two of the sandwiches and pushed them closer to David then smiled up at him. “I didn’t think you would want the chicken salad but if you did we might have had to fight for it.” She scrunched her nose and hip bumped him. Nicolette looked at the area, thinking about where she should sit. She didn’t want to take his place on the rolling chair but the wooden ones didn’t exactly look comfortable. There was just enough space on the desk, so she grabbed her food and walked over to it then hopped up to sit on the desk top, crossing her cream colored legs. “I didn’t think you would want a sweet tea either, if you could hand me that, honey. Come sit. Have lunch with me!”

He smiled as he picked up the two sandwiches. She playfully bumped against him and he laughed, “don’t worry. Your salad is safe.” Emphasising it almost the same way someone would a dirty word they didn’t want to say. He watched as she crossed the room and sat one his desk, and dropped his sandwiches when he saw her cross one leg over the other, making her pant leg move up even higher. He flushed and bent down to pick them up. “Okay.” He managed to get out walking over and sitting in his chair. His heart fluttered a little when she used a pet name for him. He sat down and tried staring at the sandwiches rather than her long legs with pale skin and red heels and focus. “Thanks for this. I really appreciate it.”

“Have you ever had chicken salad? There’s no lettuce in this, you know.” She rolled her eyes at him and unwrapped the croissant, licking her red stained lips before she took a bite. “You’re really missing out on this one.” Of course she knew it didn’t bother him at all. “Well, considering you were going to eat gross ham I assumed you could use someone to take care of you a little bit. It’s a bonus that I get to see you.” She smirked and sipped her tea. “Do you always call your guys apes? Or is that a term of endearment?”

“You said salad so I just assumed it’d have lettuce and other vegetables. Maybe even kale.” He pulled a slight grimace as he said the last word. He blushed slightly at her words. He wasn’t use to the idea of someone taking care of him. “I’ve done alright so far haven’t I? I like that I get to see you too.” He took a bite of one of the sandwiches, “not always, but when they’re all hanging around and calling out they sound like a group of apes. I like to remind them. Besides the fact they think that would ever work is ridiculous.”

“No, no vegetables here today. Maybe some other time though.” Nicolette ate everything he rattled off, and boy, she couldn’t wait to make homemade kale chips in her apartment while he was there now. “Should I be the one to break it to them that it doesn’t work? I don’t know a woman out there that likes being yelled at like an animal in a zoo. Actually, people don’t even treat zoo animals that way. Hm.” Nicolette stayed quiet for a minute and focused on eating, downing a good portion of her sandwich so that she could pay more attention to David instead. “So, what all do you do in here?” Nicolette was honestly clueless about the demands of David’s job, most of what she knew being the basics of an average construction worker.

He smiled as she said no vegetables but it quickly dropped as she said some other time. Stupid vegetables, but then it was back because he realised that meant she was planning on doing this against. “I would pay to see you tell them off.” He laughed at the thought of little Nic telling off a group of construction workers. He finished off both sandwiches, letting out a happy sigh. He’d always been a fast eater. He looked around as she questioned him and scratched his head. “Well not too much. I’m the supervisor so it’s my job to organise everything. Construction crews, who’s on what section with who. Organising any changes that need to take place, monitoring weight bearing walls. I draw up the calculations to make sure the angles on builds are right to ensure a solid foundation.” He stood up and grabbed some papers that were next to Nic on the desk he held them out for her to see. “When I do it I want to ensure we do the best job so it will last.” The pages were covered in drawings of what the building would look like, calculations of angles, cement quantities, power fitting quantise and other numbers that weren’t labelled but clearly had been worked out. “Look it’s not much, it’s nothing fancy. But it’s what I do.” He was standing directly in front of her with a small sheepish smile on his face, “sorry for rambling.”

Nicolette kept nibbling at her sandwich, taking her time alternating small bites that she savored with sips of her tea. “Oh yeah?” She set her croissant down on its wrapper, her eyes widening when she realized David had scarfed down two sandwiches already. “What would you pay me with?” She was that much more tempted now to march out there in her stilettos and give them a piece of her mind, even if she’d probably look like a squeaky toy standing up to a group of pit bulls. Nic wrapped the rest of the sandwich up and stuck it back into the paper bag so she could focus on David. She truthfully hadn’t been that hungry when he texted her but she wouldn’t let him know that she decided to eat just to have an excuse to be with him a little longer. No matter how hard she listened and looked over the papers David showed her Nicolette couldn’t grasp a thing he was saying. He was responsible for making sure his crews did a good job, and apparently he was incredibly smart as well. The numbers looked like another language to Nicolette - math had never been her favorite. “No, I don’t mind. This is more than I could ever do. If you left me in charge of this then they’d be building a death trap. This is nice, David. Really nice.” She turned and looked up at him. She’d only known him for a few short weeks and she didn’t know how significant any of this really was, but she was proud of her guy. “So when were you going to tell me that you’re a secret genius?” Nic stepped close to David and reached up to toy with the hair at the nape of his neck. “What’s next? Are you secretly Superman too?”

“Anything you want” he chuckled. “Anything at all.” He saw her putting her food away but he didn’t think much of it too caught up in his own world of numbers. He’d always liked numbers and math. It was either correct or incorrect. Wrong or right. No grey area or open to interpretation. It was something he was good at and felt in control of, and that’s why he loved it so much. He let out a nervous chuckle, “I’m sure it wouldn’t be that bad.” He blushed a bit as she spoke, “I’m not a genius. I just know the right formulas.” He tried to down play, and then noticed that one of the equations wasn’t finished.  “Oh actually.” He quickly looked at the equation and jotted down the answer. “I might just check that, pretty sure it’s right though.” He pulled a calculator out of his desk and smiled when he found out he was correct. He continued smiling as he looked down at her and put the calculator on the desk behind her before wrapping his arms around her waist. “I’m not super man, not even close. Besides, I’d be more of a Batman.”

“Anything? Oh, there’s a lot of things that I want. How could I possibly pick just one?” She grinned, green eyes exploring his brown. “It would be bad. Very bad. Might even knock down everything else around it, actually. I couldn’t even make LEGO buildings with my brother when we were kids. That’s how bad it would be.” Nicolette turned her head and watched him correct whatever numbers were unfinished on the paper, the woman impressed with him no matter how much he downplayed his smarts. “Oh, I’m sorry Bruce Wayne. That is Batman, right?” She genuinely didn’t know a lot about superheroes at all, but she could see David’s point. “If you’re Batman then who am I? I do think I’d look kind of good in a catsuit.”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something.” He grinned, and couldn’t help but smile at her LEGO comment. He’d played with some at school but never at home. He wished he had more memories like that. “Leave the building to me then.” He laughed and gave a soft smile. “Yes Bruce Wayne is Batman. And I got one think you would look amazing in a catsuit.”

“Hmmm.” She pursed her lips in thought. “I might have a few things in mind.” Nicolette grinned. Twirling one of David’s curls around her fingers. She loved his hair, adored it really. Nicolette would be content sitting and playing with his head of thick curls all day long. “Trust me, I am. I’ll stick to making things pretty.” For a moment she pictured him in a Batman suit. Hit for sure, but she’d still prefer her normal David over him in bulked up super hero gear. Something told her he thought she’d look more than kind of good in a catsuit though. “Only kind of? You know, I have a few connections that might be able to get me into one. How’s that make you feel? Kind of good?” She blushed, but she couldn’t help giving him a little tease now and then even if it brought a feeling of guilt to the pit of her stomach as well. Was it wrong to toy with him about something she couldn’t fully give to him yet? The corners of her lips started to tilt into a frown but she stopped them quickly. 

He smiled and subconsciously leaned his head back into her hands, loving the feeling of her playing with his hair. He smirked as she talked about the cat suit and his ears burned red. “I think that would be kind of good. Then again.” He paused and shrugged his shoulders, “I think you’d look even better without the suit on. Or anything really.” He winked at her and then chuckled, he knew she wasn’t ready but if she was happy to joke about it then so was he. “So should I start hitting the gym more? Try to get Batman fit for you?” It was a joke, mostly. But he also was self conscious about his body and being older than her he was genuinely curious if maybe he’d need to start working out to try and keep her happy. He knew that wasn’t the best mind set but he didn’t want to give her any reason to be unhappy with him.

“I had a feeling you might say that.” Nicolette pulled gently on David, closing what was left of their gap in height so she could kiss him. It was soft, sweet, but lingered long enough to leave him wanting more. “Batman fit?” Nic’s brows furrowed while she thought it over - a hard, defined Batman suit type of body versus David’s. “No. You shouldn’t.” Her hands dropped from his head to run slowly down his chest. “I think you’re sexy the way you are.”

He kissed her back fighting the urge to hum against her lips. “Batman fit, with abs.” He explained, he wasn’t expecting that response. But he was very grateful it’s what she said. He closed his eyes for a moment as she ran a hand on his chest and him sexy he cleared his throat and stepped back one large step. He needed to put some distance before he tried doing something that he’d regret and she wouldn’t be ready for. “I’m going to grab a water. Do you want one?” He asked as he moved to the mini fridge.

“You know, I’m really not that concerned with abs.” Nicolette shrugged. The blonde chewed on her bottom lip when David stepped back. She knew she had an effect on him but couldn’t quite wrap her mind around how intense it really was. “Sure,” was all she responded with, then stepped back to take David’s rolling chair seat. She watched him, doing her best to read how body language and the look on his face. He was tense but not uncomfortable like he’d been the first night at her place. She wondered if he wanted her now. “David?” She asked, gaining his attention. “What’s your favorite thing about me?” Unwittingly, Nicolette stretched her legs, propping them up on desk in front of her.

He was a bit surprised when she said abs don’t matter. Surprised and a little relieved if he was being honest. He grabbed two bottles from the fridge and turned back around to face her as she called out his name. He paused in his tracks as he saw the way her long exposed legs and high heels were propped up on his desk. “My favourite thing?” He thought about it and there was a lot of things he really liked. Like her legs, and when she wore the colour red, or when she’d make kind of cheesy jokes. He took a second to think before simply saying “your smile.” He paused, wanting to get the wording right, “The big, proper one. It makes me forget about all the bad things in the world. Gives me hope.” He handed her the water and grabbed her hand, pulling her up and out of the chair. “But, that doesn’t mean you get to steal my chair.” He slid behind her and into the chair. “No one sits in this chair but me, but my lap isn’t the chair.” He smirked, wondering if she’d do it.

Nicolette had to do all she could to not squirm around like a delighted little girl at David's answer. Her smile. It was such a simple and genuine answer, nothing that she would have ever gotten out of her previous relationship. "Gee, thanks," she said, a little breathless as she stared across the room at David. Her face was hot, the woman perfectly aware of how red her cheeks probably were - maybe even enough to compete with the shade of her lipstic - that smile that David mentioned beginning to involuntarily stretch across her lips. "I think that's the nicest thing anyone's said to me in a really long time." Nicolette held her hand out for David to take, confused at first, standing sheepishly to the side and ready to apologize for being in a place that she shouldn't have been. "Oh," she muttered, ready to shrink herself down to nothing or potentially leave for being an inconvenience - that is, until she realized his real intentions. "Ah, I see," Nic said and nodded, then wrapped her arms around David's neck as she took a seat on his lap and crossed her legs. "A little lumpy, but comfy nonetheless."

He fake gasped and held a hand to his chest, “ouch. I’m not lumpy.” He put on a dead pan face and shook his head. “I knew my body would never be good enough for you.” It was meant to be a joke, but there was an element of truth behind it he couldn’t quite shake off. He furrowed his brows as if he was only really just registering her words, “I guess I’ll have to say nice things more often then. Because you definitely deserve it.” His arms wrapped and her waist and he gave a small smile.

“I mean, I guess I could get used to this.” Her small nose scrunched up, but it was hard to act displeased by sitting in his lap at all. She enjoyed it a lot, actually, even more so when his arms wrapped around her waist. David made her feel warm, safe and secure. “Do you really think I do?” No matter how many times Nicolette told herself that she deserved kindness she was too scarred by her ex to entirely believe it. “You wanna know what my favorite part about you is?”

He thought her nose scrunching was adorable and couldn’t help but smile. He nodded and gave a small smile, “of course I do. I think you deserve the world.” You don’t have one, what’s there to like? “Sure.” He forced a smile. “Lay it on me.”

“What makes you think that?” She smiled at him still, the woman enjoying hearing someone speak to her in such a way. One of her hands unhooked from around his neck and traveled to his face, cupping it gently to raise his gaze to meet hers. “Your eyes. They’re deep and warm, kind but tired.” Her smile turned sympathetic. Even if David said that he didn’t need sympathy she couldn’t help but feel it for him. “But, my favorite thing about them is how they look at me like no one has ever, ever looked at me before.” Her voice cracked, Nicolette astonished by how pleasantly overwhelmed David made her feel.

He smiled and gave her an incredulous look. “How could I not? I mean you’re pretty amazing.” His face dropped slightly as she cupped his face, he wasn’t use to such a gently touch he couldn’t help but lean into her hand a little, and give a gentle smile. His eyes started to sting a little as he blinked back tears, if he was being honest with himself he didn’t think he’d ever been complimented like that. Forty-one years of existence and no one had ever made him feel as important as Nic has in the short time of knowing her. This should testify him, but it doesn’t, it’s strangely calming in a way he never knew knew he needed. He cleared his throat slightly before saying, “thank you.” His one voice cracking slightly, he looked away still trying to blink away the tears that were threatening to spill, “I’m sorry, I - fuck, sorry.”

Nicolette let his face go, letting him react in the way that he needed to. She wondered how bad things really were for David but she wouldn’t ask. In his own time he might tell her. He was a broken man, that was obvious, but she wanted to do all she could to try and mend what she was able to. “Don’t be sorry,” her soft voice whispered, gentle hands reaching for his face, ready to wipe away any tears that threatened to stain his cheeks. “You know, someone told me not long ago that it’s okay to cry. It’s what makes us human.” Nicolette smiled at him, then leaned in to press angelic kisses across the man’s cheek. “He’s a pretty smart guy, so I think he knows what he’s talking about. Pretty cute too.”

A few tears actually feel at her words and he nodded numbly. Using his own words on him, he’d have to remember that. He gave a soft smile as she kissed his cheek and took a deep breath. “Sounds like a cool guy.” He tried to joke but his voice was weak. He was about to look away, not liking the feeling of being vulnerable. But looking into her eyes he couldn’t help but get lost, and feel safe. “You know, I think you’re the first person whose ever said something nice about my eyes. Thank you. I - well - it just means a lot.” He wanted to explain, to have her know how much it truly meant, for him to finally have someone not only see the good in him but be vocal about it.

“He really is. And he’s pretty important to me.” Nic felt her own eyes beginning to burn and tried her best to practice what she just preached, keeping her gaze locked on his. “That’s a shame, because I think they’re my favorite eyes I’ve ever seen. Besides Janis,” she laughed. Nicolette swiped her thumbs underneath David’s eyes, wiping away the wetness that fought its way through. “You have a good heart too, David. You deserve all the kindness in the world.”

He laughed and sniffed, “that’s fair enough. Janis does have amazing eyes.” He said with a nod and a watery smile. He brought one hand up to softly cup her face and lent in, capturing her lips in his. The kids was long and gentle, but it held a promise of so much more as he tried to convey everything he was feeling. He pulled back and wrapped that arm around her back the other one still on her waist pulling her into him for a hug as he buried his head in the crook of her kneel. Leaving a ghost of a kiss there.

“She really does,” Nicolette laughed, the sound fading quickly with his lips on hers. She smiled into the kiss, that gentle touch meaning so much to the woman - more than she could ever convey. They scared her, the intense feelings that overcame her when she was near David, but she welcomed them all the same. The hug surprised her, but she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and squeezed him tight. “I’m really happy that we met, David.”

He smiled as she hugged him back. He’d never really been a hugger, not really a fan of contact with his upbringing, but he wanted her as close to him as possible. He loved the way it felt natural, like she was meant to be in his arms. He could very easily get use to this and that scared him. He didn’t like relying on others, but he had a feeling Nicolette was going to be addictive. “I am too, Nicolette. I’m glad I couldn’t take a hint to leave you alone.” He added with a cheeky snicker.

“I guess persistence really can pay off.” She thought back to that first night and how nasty she’d been to him, or at least tried to be, and how guilty she felt when she realized he really didn’t have the same intentions as any other man that approached her in public. “I’ve never been so glad that someone blew their cigarette smoke on me,” she joked. “Not that I want you to do that again. Or at all...” There was always a small hint of smoke on him, never enough to be obnoxious or overpowering, but just a small reminder of the bad habit.

“I guess so” he smiled as he thought back to how annoying he’d been. He remembered thinking his father had been right but all thoughts of his father were gone as she smiled and joked with him. “I’ve never been so glad to have someone try to be mean so hard.” It took him a second to realise she was hinting that needed to stop smoking, his smile dropped slightly. And he did his very best to fight off the voice saying that he wasn’t good enough, could never be good enough. Instead he focussed on her smile and how her eyes shine a little and lent forward slightly resting his forehead against hers, “I promise I won’t blow smoke in your face.” He said with his voice just barely above a whisper.

“Try to be mean? I was being mean, you take that back!” Nicolette playfully nudged the man, her hand rubbing his chest softly afterwards and proving David’s point. She didn’t have a mean bone in her body. A few clever quips, sure, but she couldn’t be nasty to anyone. “I guess I could just keep you at my place more often since you can’t smoke in there,” she pondered out loud. “Then I get to kiss you,” she punctuated the statement with a kiss to his lips, “and snuggle you more.” She kissed him again, her lips barely brushing over his before fluttering to his nose, then his forehead.

He held his hand to his chest pretending to be hurt, “fun I take it back.” But his tone was pretty clear that he didn’t take it back slightly. “Kisses are good” he hummed. “And snuggles with you.” He kissed moved to kiss her back but her lips were quickly glittering around his face. He groaned but his smile was bright. He brought his hands up one on each side of her face and kissed her deeply before pulling back, “that’s better.”

“That’s right. I’m the baddest bitch in town you know,” she joked, unable to keep from laughing at herself. “I like snuggles with you.” She nestled herself against him on cue. This was fine enough but she couldn’t want to wrap herself around him for a whole night. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone here how much you’d like to spoon me and play footsies in bed, or how you let me kiss your nose.” She would have done it again but she was pulled into another kiss by David, this one much deeper than hers had been, the woman feeling his affection for her pouring through the way his lips pressed to hers. “I like when you kiss me like that,” the blonde sighed. She leaned back in and let her lips properly kiss him again, lingering against his mouth.

He laughed along with her before smiling softly at her words. He wanted everything he was saying, but he want sure. Is she just teasing him? Should be ask for it? Is it now assumed? His thoughts faded away as she was issuing him again, one hand in her lower back the other cupping her face he returned the kiss. The was long and lingering with a hint of something more. After a few moment  she pulled back and rested his forehead on hers, “I like when I get to kiss you like that.”

“Good,” Nicolette whispered back, one hand in David’s curls and the other resting on his chest. “Cause I’m kind of getting addicted to it.” She smirked, her fingers tracing where David’s collar met his brown skin lightly. “I like the way you hold me and make me feel safe. I like sitting in your lap,” she confessed, simply sitting next to him was hardly enough. “I like how warm you are, right here, on the couch, in bed...and how you don’t mind me laying all over you at night.” She sat up more, getting a better view of the man. “I like your curly hair, and this one that always falls in your face. Want me to go on?”

He blushed a little as she listed the things she liked. He found her sitting in her lap and playing with his hair to be a massive turn on, as well as her voice. That combined with her complimenting him was all a little overwhelming, but at the same time thrilling. He couldn’t find any words so he nodded slowly. Waiting for her to keep talking before he started trailing kisses up her neck. He got to her ear and was about to whisper when he the door opened and a very red face man could be seen. He quickly lent back, putting a bit of space between him and Nic as he cleared his throat. “Yes Alex?” The man spluttered a little before waving some papers and saying he’d wait out side. David closed his eyes and groaned. “I better go. But, thank you for today. I really appreciated it.”

Nicolette could list a million more things about David that both drove her crazy and melted her to a puddle. She sighed when she felt his lips on her neck, her grip in his curls tightening slightly. She was about to go on when the door swung open and Nicolette’s bright green gaze was met with one of David’s crew’s. Nic looked down, only slightly embarrassed, then glanced over to David. “You probably should,” the blonde laughed. “I’m glad, babe. You uh, are you okay if I do it again sometime?” Nic found joy in giving to David, taking care of him, nurturing him, so she hoped it wouldn’t be a problem if she stopped by more often with whatever the day’s special was in tow. As they both got to the door Nic looked up at David, her small hand grabbing gently at his. “Can I see you tonight?” she asked, giving his hand a squeeze.

[yuexuan]

Fiction Recommendation 17

I can’t believe it’s already half a year since the last fiction recommendation, so I guess its high-time for another round! Still Xicheng-centric and as with previous recommendations, the fictions are recommended based on my personal liking and not listed in any particular order other than when I read them. I also apologize for the crude summaries… 

Canon/semi-canon

1. 再晨 by  说快板的鸣筝

Post-mdzs - in which the foreign golden core in Jiang Cheng’s body finally consumed his spiritual energy, leading to the sect leader’s untimely death. Cue a year later, Lan Xichen returns to Gusu after his travels with a kid that is the identical image of Jiang Cheng. They say he is the former sect leader’s reincarnation, but what if he is more than that? Still-updating. 

2. 错  by  沐

Post-mdzs abo-universe. Rumor has it that Lan Xichen lost his omega Jin Guangyao at the Guanyin temple. One night, after drinking, Lan Xichen was helped by a mysterious Samaritan with a lotus fragrance. Jiang Cheng promised his assistance in seeking out the person. But other things come up first, involving the remaining cultivators in the Su sect and Jiang Cheng’s close brush with death. 

4. 水龙吟 by  桃蛋白

Lan Xichen is summoned by Jin Ling’s distressed cries, only to see Jiang Cheng’s body and memory return to his teenage years. Now that Jiang Cheng has forgotten the past, relationship between him and Wei Wuxian seems to be mending again. Only later do they learn that this is part of Jiang Cheng’s plan, to return what he owes to Wei Wuxian. *Warning for somewhat girly/childish Jiang Cheng when he returns to his teenage years.

5.  The Beginner's Guide To Moving On by messenger18

“Jiang Cheng is jaded, bitter and miserable. Lan Xichen isn't sure he can ever trust anyone again. They've always been at the periphery of each other's lives, perpetually visible but never touching, and it seems it's going to stay that way. Then Jin Ling and Lan Sizhui fall in love, and everything changes.

Thrown together as the only single men in a family full of couples, neither is exactly happy about their situation. But when two lonely people find each other, sometimes they can be a little less lonely together.”

6. 天下第一美男子 by  呦呦鹿鸣

One-shot fluff. They all say Zewu-Jun is no.1 on the cultivator rank. But for the sake of finding a missing silver bell, he is willing to drop from rank.

7. 浮生缘 by  路卡卡

Post-mdzs. A story of how Jiang Cheng and Lan Xichen come together: from casual drinking to teaching the Lan sect leader how to swim, to saving one another during night hunt.

8. 相逢一笑 by  云中雁

The lanterns which travel on the river will capsize right around the bend. That was what Jiang Yanli said after Jin Zixuan rejected her yet again. Many years later, one lone lantern makes it past the bend with Lan Xichen’s help. A fiction about how Jiang Cheng overcomes his emotions about his golden core.

9. 绾青丝 by  清歌晚吟

One-shot. Long hair, short hair - Lan Xichen seems to have difficulty choosing between them.

10. 万万没想到 之 真假美泽芜 by  戊己壬癸

The secret of Lan SiZui’s bloodline is out! But that comes after he is seriously wounded and needs a special herb to cure it. The only known herb location? Lotus Pier. 

Or: a story in which Wei Wuxian tries to steal the herb and in the course of doing so realize something between the Jiang and Lan sect leaders.

11. 论如何强行打破江宗主的“相亲必吹”魔咒 by  我想吃八宝粥

When it comes to matchmaking, our dear Sect leader Jiang has had no luck. But he doesn’t give up yet! With the help of Zewu-Jun to guide him, he’ll certainly find his soulmate, right? 

12. 原来你也是断袖 by  老蚌怀珠

Headless livestock that can move about? Our Jiang and Lan sect leaders are on the case! 

The story starts off with Jiang Cheng noticing the more-than-comfy relationship between Jin Ling and Sizhui. But perhaps he needs to worry more about himself than the juniors. A couple of directed remarks from others and the incessant ringing of the Jiang sect bell later, Jiang Cheng realizes that he might’ve fallen for Lan Xichen. **Warning for R18 content in one of the chapters. 

13. 岁月穿堂 by  采风写歌

Semi-canon abo-verse. In a bet to see who could obtain the blood jade and become the head of cultivators, Jiang Cheng and Lan Xichen head out towards the Yu family mountain. There they learn more about each other’s past and grievances.

14. 五次泽芜君试图把江宗主哄上床，一次他成功了 by  松���雅韵

Jiang Cheng has a tendency to not rest, whether it was during his teenage years where he stayed up practicing his sword, or when he is older and tasked with running the whole sect. Lan Xichen takes it upon himself to coax the other to rest. One-shot.

15. 板栗 by  江家兔紫

Everyone knows that Jiang Cheng hates to eat chestnuts, partly due to painful memories of happier times. Lan Xichen convinced him that it is not that bad. 

16.  Upon Our Silver Bridge by  TheWanderingHeart

“Lan Xichen's sorrows have caught the attention of something. Unlike the adventures and foes they have faced before, there is no obvious enemy here to defeat. If this is the same thing they thought had taken Nie MingJue's life, then he believes it is fated for him to die as well. Nothing can stop the black fire when it wants to burn.

Jiang Cheng is sure his part in this is over. Wei Wuxian is back, his grand adventure concluded, and he'd never been at the centre of it anyway. So what does it matter what happens to him in the end?

Slowly, he will come to realise that there will always be a battle to fight, a story to tell, a choice to make, and there is no such thing as an end to anything.”

AU

1. 爱情的智齿 by  奔跑的毛毛

Modern one-shot AU. Four years ago, Jiang Cheng went overseas to train as a dentist, breaking off his relationship with Lan Xichen. Four years later, Lan Xichen is suffering from a wisdom tooth ache. His secretary recommends him to a newly opened clinic, and the dentist? None other than his ex-boyfriend who ran away four years ago.

2. 针锋相对 by  奔跑的毛毛

Modern AU - Dr. Jiang and CEO Lan. Being a maternity specialist, Jiang Cheng has seen it all, including men who are not willing to take responsibility for their partner’s pregnancy. Then he meets CEO Lan, whom he mistook for ‘one of those’ men again, only to be proven wrong. 

3. 飞鸟 by  我和我的邻二氮菲

Modern ABO-verse. Have you fall in love with a person who is like a bird? Someone who seems to escape through your fingers?

Or: the story where Lan Xichen thinks that Jiang Cheng doesn’t care about him anymore. One-shot.

4. 君到姑苏见 by  Jessica卡卡

Mermaid AU. Many years ago, Lan Xichen disappeared. Jiang Cheng goes out to find him. One-shot.

5. 情迷维也纳 by  Jessica卡卡

A car accident temporarily robs Jiang Cheng of his eyesight. During his recovery, Jiang Cheng goes to Vienna for a visit, and meets his romance there. One-shot.

6. 财神到 by  蘅蘅

Every new year the gods come down from Heaven to carry out the errand of the God of Prosperity: delivering money to the designated One. Jiang Cheng seems to always end up helping the special needs, until he meets a blind pianist. After that he doesn’t want to return to Heaven anymore. One-shot. 

7. 大侠也要过年啊 by  说快板的鸣筝

To help those in need is one of the tasks of being a hero. Jiang Cheng helps a scholar in need and is trailed by said scholar under the pretense of giving thanks. Turns out that the ‘scholar’ might be someone he admires. One-shot.

8. 相思无解 by  江挽月

Jiang Cheng’s profession is to restore valuable old paintings. One day he chances upon an old painting drawn by an unknown artist. Despite this, something in Jiang Cheng tells him to restore the painting, along with the memories and illusion that are kept within. Warning for angst.

9. 表面上针锋相对，实际上根本就是在调情 by  江挽月

One-shot fluff. Every since they were young Lan Xichen has bested Jiang Cheng at everything: at school and even at work. But who is to say that enemies on the surface aren’t secret lovers?

10. 家长里短 by 发条薇

One-shot. Yu Ziyuan finally decides that she has had enough of her unhappy marriage and files a divorce. Her unborn baby signals the start of a new life. There to support her are the wives of the Jin and Lan families, along with Cangse. This is a story about XiCheng growing up together.

11. 秋水误平生 by  是星辰啊

Lan Huan is a mountain god, protecting all living things on the mountain until one day, a youth soaked in blood crashed onto his mountain. The youth is chased by the notorious black dragon tribe, but is saved by Lan Huan, who adopted him as his disciple. Years went by, the two’s relationship develop, to the point where they are willing to sacrifice for one another. A story of reincarnation and continued searching across lives.

And one more non-XiCheng but Jiang Cheng-centric fic rec because I love that character so much: murky waters by  newamsterdam

Convinced Jiang Cheng and Wei WuXian will never reconcile of their own accord, Jin Ling takes matters into his own hands by trapping both of his uncles alone, together, without their cultivation.

[hunterswearingplaid]

Family Of Blood - Part 2

Summary: After running into John yet again, the reader is troubled when she is invited to join him and Sam and Dean for a meal.

Pairing: Sam x daughter!Reader

Word Count: Approximately 2K

Warnings: none that I can think of... angst?

Author’s Note: Uh-oh, things are not going as per plan. 

Masterlist

Part 1

“I wanted to ask you after lunch.”

You were sitting in a motel room once again, photo in hand, tears in eyes. But this time, your father was in the room with you, sitting across from you.

“Why didn't you?” He asked, his voice a little soft.

“How do you feel, knowing you have a daughter? Be honest.” You asked, ignoring his question.

“Freaked out, if I’m being honest. I had no idea that that thing I had with Rose led to this. Really.” Sam’s voice was wavering. “I don’t know what to do. I have a daughter.” He stood up, running one hand over his face before beginning to pace the length of the room.

“This is exactly why I didn't tell you.” You said. “Pretty sure you had forgotten about my mom. Right? Right after your little fling, you got back together with Jess. My mother, forgotten.”

“There wasn’t - How do you know about Jess?” Sam asked suddenly, stopping in his tracks.

There was silence in the room for a few minutes, before you answered, “The Winchesters Gospel.” You heard Sam sigh, before continuing, “Funny, that Edlund dude did not mention anything about mom. Wow.”

Sam had his lip between his teeth, he was thinking hard. Just as he opened his mouth to say something, the door to the room opened to reveal Dean.

“Sammy. We’re ready to leave. We’re waiting in the car, please make it quick.” Dean said, leaving as quickly as he came, leaving you and Sam alone in the room again.

You began to make your way out of the room, when Sam began to speak. “Do you want to exchange numbers? Catch a cup of coffee someday?” There was something in his voice that made you want to say yes.

You turned your head over your shoulder, giving him a look with your steely-eyes. “No,” you said sharply before walking out of the room, slamming the door shut on the way.

Two months later.

“Thank you so much.” You said, shooting the cashier a smile as you paid her.

“Y/L/N?” Someone asked from behind you. You spun around, smiling when you saw who it was.

“Winchester!” It was your favourite Winchester. John. Eh, you weren’t as fond of the other two. “What are you doing around?” You asked, giving him a quick hug.

It had been two months since your terrifying ordeal with your father (you didn't even like saying that word), and you had kept your safe distance from him. John, though, you had worked four cases with in the two months you had known each other. He was a good egg, you thought. You two had gotten pretty close within those two months.

“I live here. You? Case?” He said, patting you on your shoulder as he pulled away from the hug.

“You live here?” You asked, smiling. “You, a hunter, has a place to live?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled lightly, “My Dad and Uncle are Men of Letters. Well, Legacies at the least. So they’ve got this bunker they - we live in.”

“That’s nice.” You nodded your head, a smile on your face. “No, I’m not working a case. I was passing through town and decided to stop for a bite.”

“Oh. You headin’ towards a case?” John asked.

“No, why?” You replied.

“If you haven’t grabbed that bite yet,” he smiled, “You could come to the bunker and eat with us. I��m pretty sure Dad and Uncle Sam will be delighted to see you again! Especially Dad, he thinks you’re super cool.” He grinned, hopeful.

Oh, no. How do you say no to an offer like that? Especially when it’s coming from someone you’re pretty close to. You don’t.

“That would be great!” You said as cheerfully as you could manage.

“Great!” John said. He lowered his voice. “How about you follow me there in your car? We don’t generally tell people its location. But I’m sure my Dad or Uncle won’t have a problem with you.”

“Sounds great.”

“Dad, I’m back! Look who’s here with me!” John shouted into the empty bunker.

You let your eyes wander around the bunker, and you had to admit, it was cool. Your eyes went wide as you took in the beautiful illuminated map of the world on a table in the centre of the room.

“This is the War Room.” John said, smiling when you replied with a wow. “Wait till you see the library. You will flip.” He said excitedly, walking towards an archway out of the War Room.

You followed him to enter the room where he was now standing, and you were sure there were tears in your eyes. “Is this a - Is this a library?” You asked, you voice high-pitched.

“Yes, it is!” That wasn’t John. You turned your head to the direction of the sound. It was the older Winchester. “Hello, kid!” Dean took a few steps towards you and patted your arm a few times, gripping it tightly before letting it go. He turned his attention to John. “Son, I don’t think you understand what I mean when I say no one is allowed to the bunker without telling either Me or Sam first. But since it’s only Y/N, I’ll let it slide.” He grinned, just the way John did, before John began to speak.

“Yeah, I know. I ran into her on my supply run. But let’s be honest, you’ve been waiting to meet her again.” John narrowed his eyes. “Y/N, you want to tell Dad about your heroic rescue of that little girl back in Killdeer?” He said dramatically, rolling his eyes.

“It wasn’t such a big deal!” You said shyly, rubbing the back of your neck.

“It’s not the rescue that’s the big deal, it’s how you plan things before it. It’s genius!” Dean said. “It’s like something Sammy would plan.”

Yeah. Of course.

John took a seat at the table, propping his legs up on it. “Hey, Uncle Sam.” He said as his Uncle - your father - walked into the library.

“Hey, J. Did you - Y/N.” Sam said slowly. “Hi,” he began, walking to where you three were standing. “What’s up?” There was a nervous bounce to the tone of his voice.

“She was in town, John called her for lunch.” Dean cut in before you could say anything. Good, because you didn't trust your voice. “Can we eat now, I’m kinda hungry.”

“Ya know, John tells us every time he’s back from working a case with you.” Dean said, poking at his salad. “If I would have known you were coming, I would have whipped something nice up. Now even you’re stuck eating this rabbit food.” He said glumly.

“She likes this rabbit food, dad.” John replied for you.

It had been fifteen minutes into your meal with the Winchesters, and you hadn’t said a word since you had sat down. Only smiles and nods here and there. Sam, too, had not said much. He only ate in silence, listening to John and Dean carry the conversation.

“Why didn't you call?” Dean asked. “You’re pretty cool, hunting with you would’ve been nice.”

“Oh, you know, I was… busy.” You hated making excuses.

After a few minutes of silence, Sam spoke up. “Why didn't you call?” He dropped his fork into his plate and put both of his hands on the table, palms down.

You let go of your fork as well. “I told you why I didn't call. I was busy.”

“No, no you weren’t.” Sam said, shaking his head.

“What do you mean I wasn’t busy?” You asked.

“I mean, you weren’t busy. You didn't want to call. Am I right?” Sam asked, raising his voice just slightly.

You couldn’t say anything. He was right. You didn't want to. And you damn right had a reason for it.

“Why didn't you want to call? Was it something we did?”

Dean and John had both stopped eating and were looking between the both of you, shocked at the exchange of words.

“Or was it something I did?” Sam asked, his voice sharp.

With Dean and John sitting right there, you didn't want to say anything. You didn't want to say anything anyway, but you knew Sam wasn’t going to give you a choice. “I’d like some water.” You said, staring right at Sam.

John stood up immediately, “I’ll get that for you.” He walked out of the room quickly.

Dean followed suit right after, saying, “I’ll go help John.”

Even once they were out of the room, you and Sam continued to stare at each other, venom in your eyes.

“Did you want me to call?” You began, your voice shaking. “Did you want me to call, walking in to your life and turn it upside down? Huh?”

“I never got the chance to -”

You didn't let Sam finish. “You have a thing going for you. Family. Did you want me to come tear that apart?”

Sam didn't say anything this time.

“My mother had been possessed by a demon all the years I knew her, laying dormant in her body. Affecting her thoughts, affecting her actions and her behaviours.” You spat. “I grew up without parents all my life, and I grew up just fine. I don’t need one right now.”

“Y/N, -”

“Don’t you dare say that you had no idea. Don’t you dare. Because you knew. I know you knew.” You went on, tears clouding your vision.

“How do you know?”

“Mom wrote about you. All the damn time. She wrote about how you reacted when she told you she was pregnant with your child. How you ran away.”

“I didn't run aw-”

“You dropped out of college!”

“Will you let me finish my goddamn sentence!?”

You stood up from the table, the sound of the chair scraping against the floor loud in the room filled with tense silence. “What do you want to say?”

“I did not run away. Y/N, my father was on a hunting trip. He hadn’t been home in a while. I had to go.” He closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he was looking at you with a hardened look. “And it’s rich, isn’t it? Things about running away coming from someone who’s been running from her father ever since she found out he exists.”

You winced at Sam’s words, tears spilling down your cheeks. You didn't want to be around him any longer. “Thanks for the meal,” you managed to choke out, before you were running up the stairs of the bunker.

Once you were in your car, you put your face in your hands, hot tears of anger pooling in them. You had begun to scream, when someone knocked on the window.

Sam.

You gave him one quick look before averting your attention to your radio, playing something nice and loud. You were bobbing your head to the loud music when there was another strong knock on your window.

You snapped your head towards the window, anger and unhappiness written all over your features. Sam’s eyes had tears in them too. He held up your backpack in his left hand slowly.

You rolled down your window, snatching the bag out of his grip.

The moment your window was open, Sam said, “Y/N, I’m sorry. I know I crossed -”

“I’m sorry, too. I was rude to you.” You muttered loud enough for him to hear, turning the music down as you did.

With that, you rolled up your window again, starting the car and beginning to drive away from the bunker. You know what you were going to do today.

You were going to get drunk.

Tag List:

@hobby27

@thirdwheelchurchill

@curly-haired-disaster

[lalast0ne]

Kitchen Antics

Layla

*Holiday blues had set in deep. Our first vacation since our honeymoon had been blissful but was quickly becoming a distant memory that I wanted to relive all over again. Much like Santorini, I could have stayed in Capri forever. The small island had impacted me in a big way, igniting a love for Italy and a desire to return at some point. 

Since the moment the wheels of our plane had touched down on American soil we’d been non stop, settling back in to the routine that is daily life immediately. Four dogs, 2 cats and one child were back under the same roof, the club was still standing and, unfortunately, so was The Skids.  

While I’d been spending a lot more time at The Steele Cage, Wilder had been in meetings with Kingston to get exact details on what had been happening in our absence. Given the amount of meetings and length of time he was gone during the day, I’m assuming a lot has been happening but I had too much going on at work to even have the chance to ask for details; all I knew was Carlos wasn’t afraid to make his presence in Blacksoul known now that we knew about him and his ‘business’.  

But today we had to forget all of that .. because today we were faced with the biggest challenge I think either of us have ever faced. Jake was turning twelve and we were hosting a birthday for far too many children .. and a sleepover for 6 of them*

Wilder

*Long days turned into long nights since we got back home. Between business and business, I had almost forgotten it was Jake’s birthday, even with all his subtle hints for shit he wanted as gifts. 

That dickhead Carlos was becoming a thorn in my side. I was seconds away from putting my knife through his eye and cutting off his tongue. Leaving him for the buzzards to tear apart. He was wandering the streets of my fucking town, attempting to make friends. I was about to show him what kind of “friend” I could be.* Fucking pain in my ass. *I grumbled and stomped my boots on the front porch, shoving through the front door with enough bags of snacks to feed an army.* Little Ball of Fire, get your ass front and centre right now and explain this idea to me.....again?

Layla

*I emerge from the kitchen, mixing bowl underarm as I beat the contents with a wooden spoon. My clothes look like I’ve had a fight with a flour bag and lost, and my hair is probably looking a little crazy from the amount of times I’ve nearly pulled it out. This is cake attempt number 3! The first was burnt, the second was raw in the middle .. this one, on the law of averages, should be juuuuust right. I stop beating the batter and eye the bags you’re currently holding* It’s simple really. Jake has his first ever birthday party - best time ever! Then, when the excessive amount of kids have left, a select few stay. Burn of energy with the nerf guns and million bullets I stocked up on them disappear downstairs never to be seen again ... until tomorrow morning. Jake promised they wouldn’t emerge from his room if we supplied food, drink and movies. *Moves in to kiss your lips before eyeing in the bags* Did you get everything? Chips, soda, candy .. all the stuff that’ll rot their teeth and keep them awake for hours?

Wilder

*I take in your appearance, laughing under my breathe.* You know Delores could have made the cake. She offered many many times. *Growls against your lips.* I think you hurt her feelings when you insisted you had it under control. Which by everything I see and smell, you are well on your way to your own cooking show. Good thing Delores made a standby cake just in case. *Smirks, following your sexy ass into the kitchen where I set the bags on the counter.* I bought everything on the list you made me, along with some other snacks for you and me. *Reaching into the bag, I pull out a bottle of sleeping pills.* Backup insurance. *Eyes the nerf guns on the table.* I’m going to kick all their asses in that game.

Layla

I know she did but this is something I wanted to do ... *I stand at the counter, pouring the mixture evenly between the two tins then pop them in the oven and saying a little prayer that this batch behaves* Although, we might well be using that back up cake .. *I turn to look as you empty the contents of the bags; Mounds of unhealthy treats littering the surface just as requested, before shaking the pot of pills at me with an evil grin on your face.* PERFECT! You thought of everything. Although, we might be needing those rather than feeding them to the kids. And as for the nerf game ... we’ve both got our own weapons. Just for protection *Winks* can’t be letting the kids have all the fun now, can we.

Wilder

I have a much better way to make sure you sleep soundly. *Smirks, reaching over with my knife to cut a slice of the back up cake.* So the plan is games, gifts, food and then they go hide out and watch movies? *Eyes Jake when he comes up from the basement, sleeping his day away now that school is out for summer.* Boy, I’m going to put you to work so you have a productive summer. *Watches him ignore me, the back of his head looking for food in the fridge.* What did we buy him for his birthday? Maybe we can send it back.

Layla

*I stare at you open mouthed when you cut into the cake that I was hoping to pass off as my own creation of need be* You’ll have to tell me more about these ideas of yours a little later, when ears aren’t around *I smile at Jake who rolls his eyes, clearly having heard what I just said.* Yep, that’s the plan. Food, movies .. sleep! *A laugh comes from the fridge and I watch as Jakes entire body shakes in amusement.* We won’t send it back. Like you just said, you can just make him earn it over the summer. My dad already has some jobs lined up for him too if we fall short of ideas. But .. I have a feeling you’ll find plenty for him *I speak as though Jake isn’t here, watching as he freezes and turns to look at me* You’re a teenager now, Kid. It doesn’t count as cruelty to children *laughs*

Wilder

*I hook my arm around Jake’s neck, chomping down on my slice of cake.* I promise you will love the work I have lined up. Have you seen how dirty some of the sidewalks are around town? The windows at home need cleaning. *Jake growns as I rattle off more of my list.* I do know you enjoy going to the club. Maybe when you finish those tasks, you can help Salem. *Laughs when his eyes light up at the mention of her name.* Tell me about these kids who I’m allowing in the house. Do I need to worry if any are thugs? *Already completed a background check on all the kids, I wait to see if Jake coughs up any additional information.*

Layla

*I can’t help laughing at Jakes reaction first to the job list and then at the prospect of spending time with Salem. They’ve developed a bond since Jake came to live with us and I even think he’s developed a little crush on our neighbour.* Salem would enjoy the help, for sure. There’s going to be some changes at the club soon enough so there’ll be plenty of work for you. *Pulling bowls from the cupboards, I busy myself while listening to you and Jake taking note of the names he reels off. A couple I know from town but there’s some I don’t recognise.* You just got to make sure your office door is locked baby. I don’t want any .. accidents .. happening unless it involves a nerf bullet. *I look between you both* Clear?

Wilder

*Leans over and bites the tip of your finger when you point it at me.* You have my word Little Ball of Fire. What kind of changes is the club having? This is the first I have heard about changes. *Eyes you up and down, stopping before I reach your neck, a smirk curling my lips.* People are starting to take liberties here in my town. I’m about to lay down a new set of rules. Starting first with my wife.

Layla

Thank you, husband *i pull my finger from between your teeth, laughing softly* Well, I was going to speak to you about it when the opportunity arose but we’ve both been really busy. *I smile at Jake who excuses himself from “business talk” then turn to look at you* Just changing up the drinks menu, and I’m pricing up the possibility of putting in a kitchen .. for food. To make it more appealing to people during the day too. Just ideas at the moment. *I move toward you, an angelic smile tugging at the corners of my lips* More rules? But I have so many to live by already .. it’s hard to remember them all. That’s why they’re so often broken.

Wilder

Do you hear that sound? It’s money crying not wanting to be spent. *Snakes my arms around your waist, lifting you up to eye level.* I think a kitchen is a good idea but does mean we need to hire a chef? I know you will not be cooking. *I cock my brow in challenge.* What time does this party get started? Maybe I have enough time to go over a rule or two. *I bring my hand down on your ass while you are trapped in my arms, a smirk on my face.*

[alloverthegaf]

I WROTE TODAY

can I get a hallelujah!

I’ve written some more of my mob boss AU - it’s not enough to actually add it to the story on AO3 but damnit I WROTE TODAY so I am SHARING IT. On here.

Part 1 is here

they’ve mostly been drabbles so far on here. This one is decidedly not.

The bike works good as new.

“Thank god,” Steve breathes, relishing the vibrations under him.

“I’m honestly offended by your lack of faith in me.”

Steve switches the engine off and looks up at Tony from where he sits on the bike. “Seriously, Tony, thank you. This bike…”

“It means a lot,” Tony finishes with a quirk of his lips, “I’m getting that.”

Steve clears his throat, suddenly self-conscious, and says “how much do I owe you?” Whatever it is, Steve’s pretty sure he’ll be doubling it. How much of that is because he’s happy to have his bike back, and how much is because of how Tony looks in a sweaty wife-beater, he’d rather not examine too closely.

What he doesn’t expect is for Tony to shift nervously from foot to foot, rub the back of his neck, and say “I was thinking coffee?”

Steve stares. “What?”

Tony shrugs, then says in a rush, “it’s just you’re so sentimental about your damn bike and you keep making me laugh with your dumb jokes, and Bucky won’t shut up about what a stand-up guy you are, whatever the hell that means, and – look at you!” Steve, dumbly, looks down at himself. He’s just sitting on his bike. Honestly he feels kind of stupid, having not gotten off yet. “You look like a fucking poster!”

“Um.” Steve looks back up at Tony, and is amazed to see that yes, the other man can blush. “Thank you?”

Tony sighs. “It’s – whatever, it was just an idea, a pretty dumb one really, one coffee won’t kept me fed for the week, I actually do need the cash, so we can just – “

“I’d love to,” Steve interrupts nervously. He’s already internally kicking himself for not responding faster. “Get coffee. With you.” He winces. “Uh. If you want.”

“Oh.”

“And pay you,” he adds quickly. “Can I… Can I do both?”

Tony laughs, and finally seems to relax back to his normal self. “Sure. Both sounds good.”

Tony has no other jobs for the day, and Steve doesn’t exactly have a 9 to 5 job to get back to, so they leave the bike in the garage and Tony leads them to a small nondescript place a few blocks away.

It's quiet inside, the radio playing old rock that Steve doesn't recognise and two middle aged women leaning behind the counter happily chatting away. They look up and smile when Tony leads Steve into the store.

"Tony! Is it that time already?"

"Took an early lunch break today," Tony replied with a smile. "How are you, Linda?"

"Old and underappreciated," Linda sighs, "as always."

"I'll always appreciate you," Tony says with a grin, leaning against the counter and batting his eyelashes.

Linda, apparently used to Tony's charm, only snorts and bats at him a cloth. "You appreciate my food, you flirt." She walks into the back and calls out behind her, "and don't think I didn't notice you ignoring the comment about my age!"

"Your beauty will always defy your years!" Tony calls back dutifully.

Steve watches all of this from the sidelines, unable to push back the stupid smile on his face. The other lady, a petite woman with bright red hair, smiles warmly at Tony, glances at Steve, then does a double take. Steve tenses just slightly.

"You've brought a friend?"

Tony's smile grows warmer and he puts a hand on Steve's arm, dragging him to the front and centre of the woman's scrutiny. "Helen, this is Steve. Steve, Helen."

Steve waves awkwardly and immediately chastises himself for the dorky move. It seems to please Helen though, who smiles in amusement, "He's cute."

"Cute?" Tony almost sounds scandalised. "The man's a beauty Helen! A vision!" He waves his hand at a furiously blushing Steve to apparently encompass said vision, and Helen laughs.

"Yes, Tony, you've done very well, I'm proud of you. Hello Steve, how are you?"

Steve startles a little at actually being included in the conversation, but recovers quickly. "I'm fine, thank you ma'am." Helen raises her eyebrows at the last word but doesn't comment. Bucky's always laughed at his 'old-fashioned' manners. "I take it Tony comes in here a lot?"

"Almost every day," says Helen, "we can't seem to get rid of him."

Tony nods seriously. "I'm like a cockroach that way."

"Tony Edwards, are you suggesting we would allow a single cockroach to hang around our kitchen?"

Tony backs away, his hands held up in surrender, at the disapproval on Helen's face. "Absolutely not, I would never. Cockroaches all over Brooklyn quiver in fear of you, Helen, they wouldn't dare come near this place." Tony grabs Steve's arm and drags him with him. "We're just going to go sit down and wait for lunch now, thank you, oh light of my life."

The two settle down at a table near the door. "Shouldn't we order?" Steve asks, but Tony waves his concern away.

"Linda started preparing us something the moment she was out of sight, don't worry about it. It'll be good."

"Fair enough." Steve glances to the counter, where Helen is humming as she wipes it down, apparently having already forgotten all about Tony's misstep. "They seem nice."

Tony nods. His smile is soft. "When I first… moved here, I was… a bit of an asshole. Too busy feeling sorry for myself to bother being nice to anyone else." Before Steve can ask why, he continues, "I brought my special brand of assholery here for lunch one day and neither of them were having it for a second. Linda straight up told me to pull my head out of my ass." Steve's eyes go wide as he tries to imagine that sweet old woman cussing anyone out. Tony laughs. "Yeah. I know, right? It was incredible. I've been coming back ever since."

Linda bustles out and up to them, balancing two mugs and a plate with the ease of a trained professional. "Here you go," she says cheerily, placing all of it on their little table. She's brought them coffee and a foccacia, covered in olives and herbs and cheese. It smells amazing. They thank Helen, who gives them another smile and Tony an affectionate pat on the cheek and leaves them to it.

They share the foccacia by unceremoniously tearing chunks out of it as they talk. Tony has all kinds of stories from his days in the garage, hilarious little accidents and outrageous customer demands, and there are a couple of times Steve catches himself holding a forgotten piece of the bread halfway to his mouth. Steve ends up telling Tony about growing up with Bucky, the many fights he started that he could never finish, the way Bucky would drag him out of danger and rant and rave and then be ready to do it all over again the next time.

He does his best to stay away from the topic of what he does now, but he'd known it would only be a matter of time. Tony ends up watching him with narrowed eyes, and Steve trails off, finally swallowing and saying, "what?"

Tony stares for a moment longer, with Steve getting more and more uncomfortable and trying not to squirm in his chair, when Tony throws his hands up in the air.

"Okay! I give up. You win."

"I… do?"

"I've spent this whole time trying to figure out what it is you do for a living, and I've got nothing." Steve winces, but Tony's too invested in his tirade to notice. "You don't seem to have anywhere to be in the middle of a Thursday, you drive a motorbike, you went from an apparently scrawny runt of a kid to Hercules the body builder, and you'll fight anyone who so much as swears at an old lady. That's all I've got!" Despite the shaky ground Steve's on right now, Tony's theatrics have him laughing behind his hand. He can't help it. "What am I supposed to conclude from tha - oh my god." Tony leans forward, looks Steve in the eyes, and Steve does his best not to look shifty. Surely Tony hasn't figured out Steve's a criminal, of all things. The bully stories, at least, have to have prevented that.

"Steve," Tony says in apparent seriousness. He raises his eyebrows. "Are you a cage fighter?"

The ridiculousness of the suggestion coupled with Steve's immediate relief has him laughing perhaps more than the question warrants, but it's okay because when Steve looks at Tony through his watering eyes, the guy's grinning with satisfaction.

Finally, as Steve gets himself under control, Tony leans back. There's no suspicion when he asks, "no but seriously, what do you do?"

Steve's been preparing for this question since he convinced himself he was going to ask Tony out, so he has an answer ready, but he knows he's never been a great liar. It's not generally a skill he needs on the job; he has other people for that. Still, the path he'd chosen all those years ago has taught him a few things along the way.

So he while he can't quite look Tony in the eye, when he says "I manage a bar, actually," his voice stays firm, doesn't waver.

It's about the most convenient lie he'd been able to think of. The Howlies conduct most of their business through the Redwing, so generally if he's not on a job he's hanging out there, and technically Sam works for him. Plus, it gives him free reign to have delicious lunches with handsome mechanics whenever he wants.

Tony's response, however, has Steve questioning himself. "Ah," is all he says.

Steve's eyebrows furrow. "Is that… a problem?"

"No! No, sorry," Tony is quick to reassure. "Just, uh. I wouldn't count on any visits from me. You know. If we…" Tony blushes, coughs. "I'm trying to avoid alcohol, that's all."

Understanding blooms and Steve feels guilty for thinking that only makes the lie work better for him. "Oh, sorry. I didn't realise."

Tony shakes his head and tries to brush it off. "It's fine, it's just, you know. A thing I'm trying. Not a big deal."

Steve nods and lets it go. "I guess I'll just have to visit you at work twice as much, then."

He's already learning that Tony has all kinds of smiles in his repertoire, but the shy, pleased one currently curling his lips up is possibly one of the most beautiful things he's ever seen.

He has no idea where this thing with Tony is going. He doesn't even know if promising to visit Tony so often was a good idea. He doesn't know how long it's all going to last before he has to slip out of Tony's life, or it all just blows up in his face. He doesn't know how any of this is going to go, and he's nervous. The kind of nervous you feel when you're in middle school and you're asking your crush to go to the dance with you. It's very likely Steve and Tony won't last long, and there's a large part of Steve who's convinced it can only end badly.

But he sees Tony's smile, and it's all he needs to know he's going to try.

[restlessmaknae]

Heartbreak Hotel; Wonpil

Take an aspiring song writer, a rebellious high schooler, a sassy English teacher, a passionate painter and an adventurous tour guide. What’s the same in all of them? They’ve all just had their heart broken.

Heartbreak Hotel is a DAY6 angst one-shot collection with 5 members & 5 songs & 5 stories.

Sungjin | Dowoon | Young K | Wonpil | Jae

IV. Wonpil + Colours

Painter!Wonpil x OC’s story in 2288 words. Angst & drama. Triggers: depression. Colours is a beautiful and heart-wrenching song and it deserves more recognition.

Living was pitch-black for me.

Every day was the same; every day was like a repetition, a never-ending cycle. Every day was of that unfathomable and hollow darkness. It wrapped its blanket around me yet I couldn’t see it, nor could I touch it. Nonetheless, it was all I could feel and that feeling was anything but comfortable. Instead of starry nights, I only looked at starless skies. Instead of giggling kids, I only heard cries of babies. Instead of the beautiful pureness of the freshly fallen snow, I only saw the bare trees without all their colourful leaves. Instead of the winter tranquillity, I could only feel its loneliness.

My paintings were all the same. They portrayed different symbols, different seasons and different scenarios yet all of them represented that tremendous darkness that I knew of. I couldn’t bring myself to use any other colour, except pitch-black. The colour of my heart.

 Seeing you for the first time was mahogany-red.

It was still close to black but it was more of that colour that you could see at the break of dawn when it wasn’t night but it wasn’t even day yet. You sat down at that old bench in front of my house, the one that I stared at when I looked for inspiration. Considering that it was always abandoned and I haven’t seen anyone using it since I had been living there, I was quite taken aback when you appeared. You wore an elegant buttermilk-like coat with Persian-blue jeans and pecan-brown boots. You were a striking painting amidst the dull city centre, stealing everyone’s attention who passed by, including mine.

The painting that I had been working on for hours suddenly seemed so neutral compared to your colourful appearance. The sudden idea of adding more shades crossed my mind but I shrugged it off. I liked the dark misery on the canvas, it was my life after all. It showed the deepest parts of my soul, the one that I wanted to hide yet it wanted so hard to be seen.

 Meeting you for the first time was raisin-like.

I didn’t even know when was the last time that I stepped out of my house before I stormed out of my room to help you get up from the ground. While I was working on a new painting, I saw from the corner of my eyes that someone tried to approach the bench in front of my house. No one wanted to sit down there, except you. Yet, I also noticed that you were reluctant to sit down and it finally dawned on me that you were afraid because the road was slippery and as you were reaching the end of the bench, you suddenly slipped and fell down.

No one was there to help you, everyone was busy in their own greyish worlds, living their own black and white lives, minding their own business. Something in my guts motioned me to assist you because who would if I didn’t? I couldn’t even be bothered to put on a jacket when I went outside – for the first time since God knows how long. It felt like forever.

It must have been one of the most peculiar sights; a man coming out of the house in black sweatpants, black house shoes and a black knitted jumper to help a young lady to get up from the ground. There was a time when I cared about things like reputation but that time was long forgotten, so I couldn’t care less, neither could you.

 Holding your hand was crimson-red.

It was alarming yet reassuring at the same time. It was only an innocent brush, you holding onto my hand while I helped you to regain your composure but it lit up a fire inside of me. It wasn’t a life-threating flame, it was more like one that was about to grow stronger and stronger.

You looked at me with your carob eyes, a colour that I had long forgotten existed. I’ve never seen such eyes or I was merely too blind to notice that particular shade before. I wasn’t always this insensitive to the colours of the world but the loss of my brother painted my skies all black and you were the first who seemed to change the scenery.

“Thank you so much,” you directed a genuine smile at me, one that was like watching the sunrise above the rooftops. “I’m so clumsy these days, so thank you for being there for me!” you chatted beamingly, the radiant smile never leaving your face.

I wondered how strangers looked at our scene, how could they see us – the definition of darkness and  the epitome of all the colours in the world. Because that’s what we were; two sides of the same coin, the opposites of a magnet and the two poles.

I couldn’t muster a single word, my mouth was dry and it had been so long since I talked to someone, it was a challenge – similar to riding a bike after years of not sitting on it.

“Oh my gosh, you must be freezing!” your eyes widened in fear as you caught sight of my light clothing. You didn’t know that the cold could never bother me anymore. I was freezing no matter the temperature, the weather or the season. My heart was kept in ice and you were the first who started melting it, even without making an attempt to do so. “Please, hurry back into your house before you catch a cold! I’m so sorry, you shouldn’t have come out in such clothes,” you pointed at my knitted jumper which must have been convenient during autumn but not during winter.

“You shouldn’t be sorry. It was my choice,” I heard the words coming from my mouth, sounding raspy and brittle.

Unbeknownst to you, my words hid the most dreadful parts of my life. I had been living like I wasn’t the one in control and I wasn’t the one who made choices because life chose instead of me. I merely got my cards but after that, I had no choice but to play with them. I didn’t deserve a say in the rules. I was standing in the desert, waiting for the hurricane to come and spin me around until there was nothing left of me. Yet, you came and the hurricane suddenly stopped coming closer. The disaster was still far away.

The painting that I started that day was a mess. I wanted to experiment with crimson but the outcome turned out to be pretty disturbing. I couldn’t bear the sight, the sudden change was odd, even for me. I tore the painting apart as soon as I saw the result.

 Talking with you was navy-blue.

You showed up at my door the day after and brought a cup of latte macchiato as a thank you gift. I was never more dumbfounded my whole life. I assumed that my mother would be the one who shows up because she wants to barge in and reprimand me for not moving out for months, filling my empty fridge with food, so I was more than surprised to see you there.

“Hey!” your face lit up like a candle on the Christmas tree as soon as I opened the door, still in the same clothes that I wore the day before. “Sorry for disturbing you but I saw yesterday that you came back here and I wanted to thank you for helping me, so I brought you something!” you handed me the cup which was as hot as the fire that you lit up in my heart.

“Ah, you shouldn’t have,” I let out a weary sigh, staring at the cup in my hands. I couldn’t care about the hot content since I was still as cold as ice. Yet, deep inside the ice slowly started melting away and I couldn’t help but let it melt away. After all, no one can control their hearts, can they?

“You deserve it,” you shrugged as a loving smile was forming on your lips. “I know it sounds crazy but would you like to drink something together? I know it’s totally out of the blue but you seem like you would need some company,” you admitted a bit coyly, looking down at your intertwined fingers. If anyone else had told me the same, I would have left on the spot after snorting at them because they exactly knew what I had been through.

However, it was different with you. It was always different with you.

So I stayed silent and stood still like a stone. Not until you started babbling about nonsense again, did I actually give in. I had no idea what I was doing but the words had already left my mouth when I realised what was ahead of me.

As soon as you left and I went back to my paintings, my current canvas seemed so dull and boring. I gave some colour to it and my heart suddenly skipped a beat.

It was beautiful; that kind of new sensation that you get when you experience something for the first time. Seeing blue on my canvas after a long time was just like that. And maybe I was actually experiencing something else for the first time.

 Getting to know you was sandstone-orange.

The thought that I was meeting you somehow forced me to get back on track. Even though I couldn’t bring myself to have a haircut, I still shaved, washed my hair and even wore decent clothes to our first café rendezvous. I opted for a sky blue shirt with an obsidian-black coat, coal-black jeans and midnight-blue boots, not caring much about fashion but you still complimented me. You stated that you liked my baby blue shirt and that’s how we started arguing about colours and that’s how you got to know that I was a painter. At least, I used to be. After my brother’s death, I wasn’t able to finish any of my paintings. I lacked inspiration as much as I lacked life.

We started getting to know each other and the more we met, the less nervous I felt. I had to admit that I was very reluctant at first but the angelic smile on your face always set me at ease. You didn’t force me to do anything, you didn’t broach up sensitive topics, you were as patient as ever. You let me open up like a blossoming flower and eventually I started trusting you. And with trust comes care and with care comes love and with love comes pain.

You showed me all the colours of the world. You made me realise how blind I was and how many times I passed by state-of-the-art places, missed vulnerable moments and forgot to see the beauty in everything. You were an art enthusiast, so you dragged me from one exhibition to another, one park to another and one bench to another.

I started to see the real colours of the morning sunrise, hear the cheerful screaming at the playgrounds and feel the warmth of spring. You didn’t do anything extraordinary, except staying beside me and showing me the world. You didn’t blame me for my brother’s death – unlike all my relatives and friends −, therefore you didn’t abandon me.

My house was cleaned weekly, my fridge was always full and my paintings were livelier than ever. I used all the colours you showed me and the inspiration hit me so many times that I began to wake up in the middle of the night, feeling completely restless and finished a painting within mere hours.

I felt like I found myself again and I set myself free from all that self-hatred and guilt that accompanied since that accident with my brother – when I was driving my brother home from work and a drunk driver crashed into our car. My brother and the driver died and I was the only one who survived.

Thanks to you, I was finally living again, living with all the colours.

 Losing you was grey like ash.

As I’ve said, we were two sides of the same coin. However, the distance between us was growing too wide. You didn’t understand why I wouldn’t like to get myself a decent job or at least sell my paintings and I didn’t understand why you were still beside me when you were promoted and you had an opportunity to move to Incheon. The arguments were more and more intense and we just didn’t seem to come to a halt. We always found another reason to fight, even though we hadn’t even confessed anything. I started to get depressed again and you didn’t notice the symptoms – because I never told you −, so you assumed that I pushed you away on purpose.

I had no choice. You were too special to this world and I was lucky to see all the colours once again but you didn’t deserve to be chained to me all your life. You said that you wouldn’t like me to become that wreck that I used to be but that’s exactly where we were heading to. I had to push you away and ask you to go and move to Incheon because you deserved it.

I wasn’t honest at all, I told you silly fibs and I knew that you knew that I was making them up but I couldn’t help. I wanted you to be happy and if that meant that you weren’t beside me, I had to let you go.

So I did and with you, all my colourful paintings vanished again.

 Living was pitch-black for me. Again.

[groundbreaking-science]

1.2 Life, the World, and Genki

After the initial handwaving and poetry in my descriptions, I’ll now demonstrate the world through the sense of ki. Ki has an intensity (a brightness) and a “ki-signature.” As you may guess given the term, a ki-signature is the unique pattern a particular life form’s ki possesses. A ki-senser can use this to distinguish between individuals. Life forms of the same species will have an underlying common pattern to their ki, although life forms with greater sentience like humans will have that reflected in a greater signature complexity. Therefore plants as a whole will appear more similar in signature than individual humans.

The river valley near Central City in optical light and ki.

To illustrate my point I have provided some imagery of a landscape, both in the visual and as understood through ki. 

Disappointingly this is a mere approximation to what is experienced. The sense of ki extends beyond a visual understanding and impacts all the conscious senses, memory retrieval and beyond. A fair number of non-ki-users may experience something like this already; synaesthesia. In this condition one sensory experience triggers another in a predicable fashion. This could be the hearing of music accompanied by dancing colours, or names causing the synaesthete to taste strong flavours. It is thought to be caused by cross-wiring between sensory-processing regions in the brain. As I have been a ki-user since a young age my brain developed its own understanding of ki as an explicit internal sense, with minor contributions of the other senses that I can approximate as a synaesthetic experience. For ki-users coming into the ability later in life the experience will very much truly overlap with the other senses as the brain attempts to process the new information. Despite those caveats I have done my best to put the world on paper.

The scene depicted above is one of my own scribbles of the river valleys to the east of the Central Steppes. My vantage point is known to us as “The Spot”. Many children have secret hideaways from their parents and this is the view from my daughter Pan’s and her close friend Bra’s. For most families the clubhouse is in the woods out-back or the park nearby, not six timezones away. That sounds like an alarming lapse of parenting I know, but our families have a different definition of keeping safe. No cell phone was necessary to check on them; they promised to never conceal their ki-signatures so we could find them should we need to. Honestly, I was more worried for the wildlife than the girls. I’ve labelled various ki-signatures in the image to help explain the world as seen by myself and my friends and family.

1) Where there are plants there is ki. The ki of a plant, like all life forms, exists within and extends faintly around the plant. This external extension of ki is known as an aura. Meadows then, like those pictured, are picturesque seas to walk through; the higher the grass the more misty the glow. The ki isn’t bright enough to obscure a person by any means - one would not be invisible in ki in a corn field - but the ki adds a fun hum to the scene. My memories of picnics include a faint, lively glow around my family from the grass and trees surrounding us.

You’ll notice the heather, purple in the first image, is a similar colour in ki to the grass. Whilst grass and heather are different species and have a distinguishable ki-signature, it is individuality and sentience-induced complexity that “colour” ki further. In ki then these plants are, compared to animals and people, very similar. Sadly, flowers themselves are part of the same plant so do not have a different ki-signature; your other senses then will have to help you experience the beauty in a flower. There are no trees in the image (the trees all secluding The Spot and mountains behind me) but their ki works in a similar fashion, with a glow in the tree and an aura around the trunk and leaves. Ki is not impacted by the wind by any great deal, and so a tree swaying in a breeze leaves a very faint after-image of ki behind it. As you can imagine, willow trees in summer are hypnotic.

The ki signature of a willow tree. The curtain of branches exists in ki, too.

2) Looking down, the ribbon of water through the landscape is strikingly bright. One can see why bodies of water were thought to have a life of their own. Rivers are full of life themselves, but even after removing the fish and other animals the water itself glows faintly still with ki. Rivers have their own ki signatures that changes throughout the year. With familiarity one can even identify a river by the water’s signature. 

Older teachings say bubbles in the water create the ki as a type of breath. This seemingly logical idea developed before the invention of microscopes introduced an alternate explanation. The truth is yes, ki is generated in the river, but by small, simple protozoa, algae and bacteria instead of bubbles. Conversely, bubbly but clean tap water has no ki signature. The old masters did note that boiled water was indeed without ki, but they explained this as either the fire itself overwhelming and killing the ki, or the metal of the boiling pot destroying it. To support their theory, ki-users sought out water made hot without fire or metal to see if it contained ki. Surprisingly, you can find examples. The volcanic hot springs on Bunbuku Island contain life in water that fits this description, seemingly supporting the old masters’ argument. We now know the creatures in these waters are extremophiles, a fascinating group of organisms that are able to survive in high temperatures, extremes of acidity or alkalinity, and possibly the harsh environment of space itself.

Here’s another unbelievable story - I’d have to cover the events at some point so may as well start here, and I apologise for the exposition. When I was four I was kidnapped and forced to fend for myself in the Break Wastelands for six months. It was there I learnt to read ki as a survival skill to find food, avoid predators and crucially, to find clean water.

For those with long memories they may remember the brief overthrowing of King Furry some fifty years ago by a man named Piccolo. My father (Son Goku) and his friends thankfully prevented the destruction of West City, but Piccolo’s defeat was not forgotten by his son of the same name. The son became a self-appointed rival to my father, and the final of the 23rd Tenkaichi Budokai became a battle of one-sided vengeance. Much to the younger Piccolo’s irritation my father won that fight, too. Piccolo didn’t fulfil his wish of revenge until a number of years later when my then estranged uncle kidnapped me. Seizing the fortuitous situation and my father’s willingness to sacrifice his life to overpower my then stronger uncle, Piccolo killed them both and became my new kidnapper. His eventual goal was a convoluted act of dramatic irony, I suppose, attempting to train me to eventually kill my father on his eventual resurrection a year later. …I’m guessing claiming people can come back to life will lose me a few readers, even with official records of it happening across cities in the past decades. I implore the sceptical, then, to take this as a fantastical story and concentrate on my point. But be warned, my stories do get stranger.

I don’t remember much from this jaunt to the Wastelands, being so young. I do know it took a few weeks for me to get used to sleeping outside and catching my own food. Whilst an Earthling through birth, Piccolo’s ancestors are from the planet Namek. He taught me how to find clean water through ki-sense - water being the only sustenance he required and thus skilled in finding. Drinking contaminated water can mean life or death in or out of the wild, and it is an ability I’ve passed on to all the kids. They’ve known how to find and purify their own water since they were small. Detecting the glow of bacteria in the water and what’s tolerable is a fun exercise that I hope wouldn’t take you too much trial and error to learn. Although, maybe my definition of fun is a little warped.

(I didn’t take to the ways of evil life, by the way. It didn’t much suit our Piccolo in the end either, and our family has kidnapped him in return. To this day Pan often uses her childhood name for him, Uncle Piccoyo.)

3) The visual sky is a beautiful display of colour - not just the blues but the warm palette of dusk and dawn to that peaceful black of night. The sky has huge personality. In ki however, it seems all but nothing. The air itself does contain bacterial life, and there are fluctuations by time of day and in clouds, or subtle differences over land and sea, but nothing as easily discernible and enthralling as the sunset. Or so it would appear.

I didn’t notice the ki of the air around us until I left Earth as a child for the first time, travelling to planet Namek with family friends. Leaving the atmosphere was the strangest sensation, a strong sense of solitude rushing towards me and a cacophony retreating behind. 

There’s a fitting story back from when the world was thought to be at the centre of the Universe. The Moon, planets, Sun and other stars circled the Earth, embedded on rotating spheres. Philosophers said these spheres made the most beautiful, heavenly music as they danced. Tragically though we would never know the melody; having been on the Earth our entire lives and listening to the song constantly, we would believe the song to be silence. I wouldn’t learn the ‘music of the spheres’ story for a number of years but, as we left the planet and I felt that envelope of ki fall behind me, that was the first time I could appreciate the song of the sphere I lived on. Needless to say planet Namek’s song was completely different, the ki in the air feeling like a soup in its unfamiliarity. With that in mind I can understand why the highest masters thought the Earth itself was imbued with ki, even if they had not experienced looking back at the Earth from space themselves.

4) The faint sky is punctuated by bird life. Sometimes invisible above low clouds or due to their height, their movement across the sky is detectable either way in ki. Concentrating on birds is an education in ki. A bird before song, swells with ki in anticipation and sparkles in time with its warbles. This is very much guidance we should take on the importance of breath in encouraging ki to flow around the body.

A murmuration of starlings with ki. Arrows indicate direction of movement. The ki appears like that from one organism rather than a flock.

Flocks of thousands of birds like starlings are called murmurations and are a beautiful sight late-winter, dancing in unison and creating mesmerising shapes across the sky. The same beauty exists in their ki. The birds have an aura like all life, and it’s easy to see in a murmuration why aura are useful. The shifts in direction of the birds are preceded moments before by waves of ki across the flock. Subtle nudges in ki are created as the birds attempt to maintain distance from each other and this influences the transient shapes created, allowing the murmuration to appear as a connected whole. Aura between people can work in a similar fashion, and I will delve into the details within a future section.

5) In the real image a herd of animals were not visible, well-hidden in the tall meadow grass. You could probably walk straight past them, none-the-wiser. But in ki they stand out as though they weren’t camouflaged at all. Hiding from a ki-senser is extremely difficult, although we shall cover a technique developed on Earth makes this possible. In my time in the wilderness I had to learn how to hunt to eat. Sensing the ki of animals who thought they were safely hidden from predators gave me the element of surprise in my hunts. It does feel like cheating and I did feel guilty, but hunger wins out.

Those who are able to suppress their ki completely can hide fully amongst grasses such as these. I’ve had to do this myself in many a life-or-death situation. At least, in those scrapes I was more aware of the predator’s capabilities than the hares I caught ever were. Whilst when painting I could not see the creatures with this ki signature, we do know aura typically reflect the size of the life form and the aura’s intensity falls away faster than an inverse-square from the body. Therefore it was possible for me to tell from miles away, without even recognising the ki signature of the animals, that the individuals of the herd were the size of large dogs. They were indeed small deer and, so Bra told me, the same herd that has roamed the valley for over a decade.

part two/two previous first contents

[thelastswallow]

What Tears Us Apart, Ties Us Together

Chapter 9

John - Legwork

In which there is home made spaghetti - Alan Tracy learns the origin of a nickname - Lieutenant Cooper Waverly pines after an imaginary woman - Virgil Tracy has an assignation with a real one - a young man crosses the border into Turkey and it is a long way to Illinois

There’s something about deserts that has always appealed to John.

Something about the horizon. The towers of empty space and the flat, lunar surface. It makes him feel calm and clean.

Like a moth to a bug zapper, Grandma used to say, as she attacked him with the tube of sunscreen when he was a kid, or painted the tip of his nose with aloe Vera when he came home pink and peeling. He’s not built for the desert. Only Gordon’s sallow skinned and quick to tan, buy of the five of them John burns the quickest, roasts the colour of poached salmon in the time it takes to boil an egg; some unfortunate throwback to the Scotch-Irish roots of the Tracy clan. But Man wasn’t made for space either, yet his Dad stood on the face of Mars. So maybe it’s natural that John wants to explore the places he doesn’t belong.

When he was 11, the six of them had spent one February Fourth in a specially built capsule in the Mojave Desert that mimicked the lunar simulation modules the SETI Institute had used in the early 2000s, when NASA had been prepping to go back to the moon. John doesn’t remember a time when he’d been happier than he was staring out the porthole of that cramped little module, imagining himself among the company of the great men and women who had walked on the moon.  

Sometimes, when he needs to gather himself, John imagines himself curled up in the porthole window, watching the lunar landscape of the Mojave.

Yet But when he imagines the desert, this isn’t what he pictures. It looks all wrong as it hurtles past the window, in blocks of olive and grey under a forget-me-not sky. This desert doesn’t make him feel calm, just sweaty and anxious and itchy all at once. It looks yellow and scrubby and full of rattlesnakes; scar tissue on the landscape. It hurtles past and he wishes he were somewhere else.

A good first test.

There’s a chime above his head that signals the magnet train is slowing down and he breaks his fixed gaze on the winding landscape. His tablet has gone unattended for long enough that it’s gone dark. He’s too easily distracted all of a sudden.

He gathers his bag and tablet and rises. A few people make note of his movement, but nobody else in the carriage makes a move to disembark.

The magtrain glides to a halt and there’s a whoosh of hot, dry air as the door unseals itself. He steps out onto the raised platform. Along the train’s length passengers, most in uniform, diffuse in and out of the train. No one pays him any attention as they hurry towards the stairs and the exit, swiping their passes through the scanner. He follows.

There are convoy trucks waiting to pick up officers in the parking lot, and a dusty town taxi idling out in front of the red brick building, looking for business. He ignores it and makes the short walk into town.

By the time he gets there, there are dark patches of sweat beneath his armpits.  He wipes his brow and stops at a dispenser to by a soda.

Avalon is a small, neat little place that mainly serves to support Rainshadow Airbase. There’s a county hospital and a couple of mom and pop stores, though most of the business has drained out of the centre of town. School kids wander around in packs. An elderly woman walking a tiny poodle smiles at him as he sips his pop. He finds McGruck’s, a sports’ bar, in a big lot off the main street.

The bartender is quick to ID him, but only shows real interest in his birthdate and not the person attached and after he’s been satisfied, leaves him nursing his beer and his tablet at the bar. Off duty airmen come in in dribs and drabs, and he earns a couple of curious looks, but nobody bothers him.

A little before seven there’s a tap on his shoulder, “Tracy?”

A rangy man in captain’s stripes has come up behind him. There’s a stir from the peanut gallery. This is not, John guesses, habitually a bar where officers come to drink. “John Tracy, right? I’m Skip Guerra.”

They’ve met before, though Skip probably doesn’t remember and John doesn’t remind him. Skip and Scott had been at school together and though Skip had been some years older, they had made friends running varsity track together. Scott had dragged John round to the dressing room to meet Skip the night he led the school football team to state. He had been gracious as he accepted John’s congratulations, though obviously wired to the moon and unlikely to remember. Skip had left for the Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs the same year Scott had gone off to Yale. Now they serve in the same unit.

Skip is big in every dimension, has inches even on Scott. A small moustache makes him look older than his 26 years, and he is, John can tell, despite his bluff handshake, nervous.

“Thanks for coming.”

A tight nod. “I’ve got a car outside.”

They drive out of town, talking around the subject in question. Skip talks about the weather, their old school, Williams’ Prep and the differences between the GDF and the space programme. They reach Skip’s house, which is off base, where Skip’s wife Lisa and home-cooked spaghetti are waiting to ambush them.

John’s impatient to get on with the task at hand, but it’s rude to say no, particularly when he’s asking such a big favour, so he accepts as graciously as he can manage.

Skp and Lisa have got an 18-month-old son, Jake, and from the size of Lisa’s belly, another one on the way. Jake is fascinated by John’s red hair, and John – for whom babies have always been a separate country he is not planning on visiting – puts up with his interest. Lisa asks interested if routine questions about WWSA and Skip tells anecdotes about air force life. If it’s all designed to make John feel guilty, he thinks, as he passes around the basket of garlic bread, it’s working.

But when dinner is over and the plates are cleared Skip rises. “Time for John to be going,” he says. “I’ll be back later.” He kisses Lisa’s cheek.

As John closes the car door he says, “You don’t have to do this.”

“Sure, I do.” Skip starts the engine and puts the car into gear.

They drive. Within minutes they’re approaching Rainshadow Base and John feels his throat constrict.

Dad is Dad so of course he heard through channels first.

Scott is AWOL.

Or, to be precise, he is only guilty of Failure to Repair; but at 0900 hours yesterday Lieutenant Scott Tracy did not report to base after leave, and by 1700 hours he still has not reported to his commanding officer.

He’s not the only officer ever to fail to report in after leave. Maybe he missed his flight. Maybe he got the dates wrong. Maybe his mates, in high spirits, duct taped him to a pole and have forgotten where they left him. This sort of thing happens all the time.

Just not to Scott.

From the expression on Skip’s face he thinks so too.

Dad had called just as John was out for his morning run, having spent most of the night bailing Gordon out of a premature court marshalling at the WASP gala. “I’m telling you this,” Dad had said once he had broken the news, “Only because there’s a reasonable chance where you’re working that you might hear through other channels.”

John had never thought of himself as someone to be gossiped about or at. Maybe it was different with Scott. There was enough cross-over between the WWSA and the GDF that there was a possibility he would hear from some other source.

“You haven’t told the others?” he had asked.

“I don’t think there will be a need to.”

“When was the last time you heard from him?”

“The morning he left the island he called me a selfish, conceited son of a bitch. So at least we know he wasn’t acting out of character.” The attempt at a joke had fallen flat.

“He’s been missing a week?” He had been bundled up against the arctic cold. Suddenly his brain had felt as numb and clumsy as his hands.

“Absent. Not missing. Your brother’s always been good at letting me know he’s upset. Torching his career is certainly a potent signal fire.”

“Dad…”

“Kyrano’s already on his trail. And we’ll find him. I want you to stay where you are. Attend to your studies. If he contacts you, of course, let me know. Otherwise, I’ll update you periodically.”

“Dad, can I…”

“This is a good first test for you.”

A good first test. A test that he’s failing.

John Tracy is hacker like no other. John Tracy writes code the way Paul McCartney wrote pop hits. John Tracy has never met a digital door he did not want to open.

John Tracy cannot find his stupid, ignorant luddite of an older brother.

It should have been easy. Scott’s financial records, his flight history, his passage in and out of the security net that encircles the globe, it should have led John to him like a luminous contrail.

But Scott had landed in Algeria, withdrawn 2,000 dollars’ cash at the airport foreign exchange, disappeared into the city and…

Nothing.

No Scott. No trail. Nothing but white noise. Not even a starting point.

John spent half his time in MIT thinking and writing about search heuristics; for search and rescue; for stars; for prime numbers. Even the most basic search needs a node to start from.

And so now, here, with Skip, smiling politely in the passenger seat as they were waved through gate at Rainshadow Airbase, looking for somewhere to begin.

Scott had been the one to ruin their trip to the Mojave, hadn’t he? For three days all six of them had lived in close quarters, in the lunar simulation module, mimicking the lives of the first settlers on the moon, and how Dad had lived with Captains Taylor and Tsang when they had been building Shadow Alpha One. But on the morning of the fourth day, Scott had stumbled out of bed, and out the airlock, to relieve himself against the side of the capsule, decompressing the pod and killing his father and four brothers in the process.

Scott had been apologetic but unconcerned. Said it was an accident and that he had forgotten where they were. He had been nearly 14, unhappy about Dad’s decision to leapfrog him two years ahead into ninth grade, and ready for a little kickback. John, on the other hand, had been distraught, not ready for the adventure to end. He had begged Dad that they be allowed a do over, but Dad had said no. There were no second chances in space.

He doesn’t know why he’s thinking about that now.

Scott lives in unaccompanied officers’ quarters. Skip pulls up to the squat block of condos and parks. “This is it.”

“Thank you, Skip.”

Skip shrugs, nods. “Do you know what you’re looking for?”

Not really. Some clue or hint. Some trace of where Scott’s going or where he might be going, or what he might be thinking. An impression. A scent. “I’ll know it when I see it,” he says.

“John, I hope you find what you’re looking for, but you should know, I don’t think you’re going to find your brother in there.”

What a strange thing to say.

“You and Scott fly together, don’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“And you’re friends?” He’s got a sudden overwhelming feeling that this was a bad idea.

But Skip gives him a cryptic smile. “I’m not doing this because you asked politely. He does talk about you.”

“He does?”

“And I get the distinct impression that if anyone can find that squirrelly motherfucker and get him back where he belongs then it’s you. Yeah, we’re friends, John.”

A good first test.

“Okay.”

They get out of the car. Skip’s swipe key gets them into the building and up the stairs to Scott’s condo.

The first thing he notices is how clean it is. It’s at odds with the Scott he knows, who leaves dirty dishes in the sink and a breadcrumb trail of his clothes from the bathroom to his bed every night when getting undressed. Any habit can be learned, he supposes and somewhere along the way, someone has beaten neatness into Scott.

The kitchen-living room is sparse, impersonal. He rifles through the kitchen, but the cupboards are bare of anything more exciting than protein powder and cereal. The fridge holds nothing but ketchup and mustard.

He tries the bedroom. Skip follows.

In here too is neat and orderly, the corners of the bed are squared off. There’s a Light Type interface built into the desk that would have connected to Scott’s personal drive. When Skip isn’t looking, John takes a HUB from his pocket and sets it down, activating pre-set commands to clone everything that the interface has processed over the last two months.

He doesn’t linger by the desk and crosses to the other side of the room. The closet contains only neatly pressed uniforms, a couple of casual shirts in blue and cream, and rows of folded white t-shirts. There’s a small safe in the bottom of the closet, but it hangs open and any valuables have been cleared out.

There’s a digital picture frame on the windowsill that clicks to life when it detects motion, but the photos it cycles through are curiously blank of personality. A group picture of Scott’s squadron, a formal photograph of him smiling starkly at the camera at the receipt of his bronze star and a family portrait, the same one that goes out to the press when they’re looking to write about “Billionaire industrialist Jeff Tracy and his five fine boys”.

John feels a creep up his spine, like razor scraping bone. None of this feels genuine. It’s like he’s walked into an exhibition showcasing the life of one, ‘Lieutenant Scott Tracy’ rather into a place where anyone actually lives.

Angry again suddenly, he yanks open the drawer of the nightstand.

Inside the drawer are a flotsam of personal effects; a string of condoms; a blue inhaler, 11 months out of date, because Scott always forgets to resupply his prescription unless he’s having one of his infrequent asthma attacks; a Rubik’s cube, half-solved and then forgotten; a slim book.

He takes the book out of the drawer, turns it over, recognising it. It’s a copy of Slaughterhouse Five. The red and yellow dust jacket and leaves are real precious paper and the publisher’s seal says the volume was published in 1972. John had sourced it himself, from a small antique book dealer in San Francisco. It had been a rather pointed Christmas gift to Dad and he remembers noting now, how it hadn’t been on Dad’s book shelf the last time he was in his office.

It looks well-thumbed. There are greasy finger marks along its spine and its pages are dog-eared, like it’s been read and read again. He doesn’t remember it ever being a favourite of Scott’s

He’s about to open his mouth to ask Skip if he knows anything about it when Skip puts a finger to his lips. Outside there comes the murmur of soft voices and the bleepclick of the latch unhooking.

John puts the book back and slides the drawer closed.  Skip quickly crosses the room and switches off the light. He motions for both of them to step into the bathroom. There are footsteps in the outer room, the jangle of keys and then nothing.

Through the crack in bathroom the door John peers out into the bedroom. The light in the outer room comes on, throwing a slim rectangle of white light against the bedroom wall.

He glances at his watch. It’s 9:45. There’s no reason for anyone else to be here.

“Are they looking for us?”

Skip gives the slightest shake of his head.

If I’m caught, he thinks, I’ll just step out. No one needs to know Skip was here. His pulse is hammering in his ears.

A rhomboid of white light slides across the floor as the door swings open. Whoever is outside, they are coming in.

“This is it. Be quick, okay?” says a woman’s voice in a whisper. “I’m deep in the shit if they find you here.”

“Okay.”

John’s still trying to figure out what’s going on when Skip surges forward. “Goddamn it to hell, Stubbs, what exactly do you think you’re doing?”

The electric light comes on and the light box vanishes from the floor. He hears the woman falter at the sudden appearance of Skip. “Captain!”

“Airman, what the hell do you think you’re doing? Sneaking civilians onto the base? Breaking and entering. Do you know how many charges you’re risking?”

“Please, it wasn’t her fault. I asked her to,” says a voice, a familiar voice, a very familiar voice.

“Virgil?”

“John?”

He steps out of the shelter of the bathroom and sees Virgil standing in the doorway. His younger brother practically looms over the young Airwoman with dark hair standing in front of him. Skip looms over them both, but flinches when John sticks his head around the door.

“What are you doing here?” Virgil gapes at him.

“What am I doing here? What are you doing here?”

“I…uh…”

“Well, isn’t this a clusterfuck?” says Skip, placing his hands on his hips. “Stubbs, I oughta write you up.”

The airwoman fidgets. She’s tiny, with black hair looped in a tight braid and anxious sloe black eyes. “I know. I’m sorry, Cap. Really I am. But they’ve been talking shit about… There’s been inappropriate talk about Lieutenant Tracy in the mess, Captain and why he hasn’t reported to duty. And he,” She taps Virgil on the shoulder “Was so determined to find him. I wanted to help him, you know?” She gives John the side eye and the flash of a smile. “I guess you do know. Which one do you got?”

“The astronaut. Who’s that?” Skip glares at Virgil. “The Olympian?”

“The artist. Except he says he’s a pilot now.”

He says he’s a what?

But Skip just rolls his eyes. “Go figure.”

“We have names, you know,” says Virgil, peevishly. “We’re not a collectable set of breakfast cereal toys.”

“Of course not, kid,” says Skip, placating but patronising. “What’s your youngest brother again? The congressman?”

“He’s in middle school!” both John and Virgil snap, simultaneously.

Joh scowls and Virgil digs his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

“What are you doing here, Virgil?” John asks.

“Same as you. Looking for Scott.”

“You’re supposed to be at school.”

“Yeah, well. You’ve got better places to be too, right?” Virgil raises his chin so he’s looking at John and not the floor. There’s a stubborn jut to it, at once familiar and out of place on Virgil. Something seems different about him and for a moment John can’t place just what it is. Then he realises. Virgil’s always run to stocky, ungenerously even to chubby. At thirteen it had made him self-conscious enough to start to camouflage his weight with layers of shirts and t-shirts. Somewhere in the last week he’s shed those extraneous layers. In just a pair of faded jeans and a v-neck grey t-shirt it’s immediately clear what should have been obvious last week. The puppy fat is gone. Virgil’s tanned and fit and for the first time in his life, probably in better shape than John.

He’s still got that stupid moustache though.

“Hey, Stubbs,” Skip says, a little louder than is necessary. “Come out here for a sec, I got something real important to show you in the kitchen.”

“Yes, Captain.” Stubbs winks at Virgil and they both step out of the room, pull the door shut behind her.

John eases himself away from the bathroom door and Virgil pushes off from the wall. They shuffle a little closer to each other.

“I didn’t think you knew he was missing.” John says. “Did Dad tell you?”

“Sort of.” Virgil’s fingers brush the tucked in corner of the bed. “I was with him when he got the news.”

“He came to see you in Chicago?”

“Something like that,” Virgil murmurs. “I’m surprised he told you.”

“There’s a lot of air force personnel with the space agency. I suppose he was afraid the news would get to me anyway.”

“And did it?”

“No. Why would it?”

“I dunno. It seems like Stubbs was saying there’s a lot of talk about him.”

“Maybe I just don’t’ pay attention to that sort of stuff.”

Virgil looks around. “Does he really live here?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Did you find anything?”

“No.”

Virgil jostles past him, as if he doesn’t trust John to look, or as if maybe Scott’s hiding in the bathroom too.  He looks inside, brushes the shower curtain back, and then pulls the wardrobe door open. His fingers grope right to the back of the empty safe.

John lets him at it, goes to retrieve his hard-drive where a one-two-three blink tells him it has finished its work. He pockets it and picks up the digital photo-frame. It cycles to the family portrait, the five of them smiling blandly on the balcony of the New York penthouse. Teeth immaculately white, hair immaculately brushed, each of them arranged so that John’s red hair won’t clash with Alan’s blonde and Scott’s height wouldn’t look comical among his smaller brothers. Dad’s wearing a black bomber jacket, like he’s just leapt off the gantry of Artemis 5. Heroic astronaut and family man. They look perfect.

The reality was that they had been miserable. None of them had wanted to give the first day of school holidays over to the dreary photoshoot. Virgil had crashed through arpeggios on the baby grand piano between set ups and Alan, who had been only seven, had thrown a DEFCON One tantrum because he was jet-lagged and out of sync with the time zone and it was way past his bedtime. Every time John found a quiet place to read he was disturbed by a stylist trying to stick yet more safety pins into his hated grey and green sweater vest.

Scott had turned up at quarter to six, fresh from his first year at college and with Miss Rhode Island in tow. He’d showered, thrown on the white shirt and slate grey trousers selected for him, thoroughly charmed the stylists and posed for the photos without ever alerting anyone from the press that he and Dad weren’t even speaking to each other.

That had been the same article in which Dad had said, “the future of space exploration is the property of the capitalist” John remembers, with a wince.

He wonders what it is about that photo that makes Scott want to keep it around, want to display it here people can see it. Why he wants this reminder of their wax figure selves, so artificial that if you tapped them hard enough they might shatter. John can never believe just how dreamy and dim he himself looks in those photos, or how Gordon looks butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-my-mouth angelic.

And the louche Scott in the picture looks nothing like the immaculate model soldier who fades up as the balcony photo fades out. The buttons on his uniform and the medal pinned to his chest sparkle. He gleams.

Virgil is peering over his shoulder now, his brows knotted together. “Hey, Scott,” he says to the photograph and then to John, “There’s nothing here,” Virgil says.

“No.”

“I thought there’d be something.” He sounds disappointed.

“What are you doing here, Virgil? Were you expecting to find him hiding out in the bathtub?” It comes out more harshly than he mean.

But Virgil just seems amused. “You’re going to give me grief about being here? What are you doing here? Guilty conscience?”

“Of course not. Why would I have a guilty conscience?”

Virgil gives him a look. “Gee, I don’t know, Johnny. Maybe something to do with the shouting match you had just outside my door last week.”

“You heard that.”

“Grandpa Grant heard that.” Virgil pulls one of Scott’s hoodies over his head and puts his hands into the pockets. “And I’m here because I thought this would be as good a place as any to start. Figure out where he’s been, so I know where he’s going. Talk to his friends. I’m going to find Scott,” he says, almost as an afterthought. “Drag him home kicking and screaming if I have to. You can help. Since you’re here.”

“Gosh. Thanks.” But suddenly he does feel guilty. Not about Scott, but for Virgil. Poor Virgil. Of course, he wants to help. Of course, he wants to be seen to be doing something useful for once. It seems petty to point out if Kyrano can’t find Scott, if not a single digital rock John’s turned over has offered up one lead there’s precious little Virgil’s going to be able to do in the situation.

“It’s not like he just disappeared. People don’t just van – ” Virgil breaks off, colours suddenly. “I didn’t mean. Sorry, John.”

“What? Oh. That.”

When he was nine years old John had been kidnapped. He had been walking home from school one day when Scott had stayed late for basketball practice. An arm had gone around his waist and another over his nose and he had been picked up and tossed into the back of a van. One of his kidnappers had brandished a knife at him in the van, told him that good little boys were well treated but bad little boys had their fingers cut off one by one.

After that they had been civil to him, fed him cold spaghetti hoops and given him a gamegle to play with.

He wishes he could say he had been brave or plucky or clever, that he had outwitted his captors and escaped on his own, but the reality is that he had spent a long weekend playing Tetris Masters in a cramped duplex in downtown Portland. At the end of the third day there had been terrifying sounds outside and he had buried his head beneath his blanket. But when the door creaked open it had been Kyrano who had been outside, ready to scoop him up and take him home.

When he looks back on it now it seems like something that happened to someone else.  The worst part had been when, firmly held in Dad’s arms, he had had to wade through the sea of flashing cameras and shouting reporters from the steps of the hospital to the car.

In the aftermath, Dad had insisted on subcutaneous GPS transmitters for each of them. Before leaving Algiers, Scott had cut his out and flushed it. John’s seen the records It had transmitted for three days from the bottom of a reservoir outside Algeria before blinking out.

John feels a sudden creep along his spine. Had it been flushed? Had Dad sent divers to retrieve it? Had they checked the rest of Scott wasn’t down there with it? And why hadn’t that occurred to John before now? He’d just assumed that Scott had taken himself off to sulk, to lick his wounds in private, to throw his disapproval in Dad’s face by torpedoing his career. Before now he’d never considered other possibilities. He had thought Scott understandable, quantifiable, a problem he had already solved.

But who is this Scott who can make himself vanish without leaving a digital trace? And who is this person living a carefully studied half-life in place of his dreams?

John’s legs give out from under him and he sits down on the bed.

“John.” Virgil’s hand grips his shoulder. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“I’m fine.”

A good first test.

But Dad hadn’t meant that finding Scott was his first test. He had meant:

When you’re 200,000 miles above the Earth’s surface, dropping everything and coming home is not going to be an option available to you.

He had meant: You’re going to have to learn what it costs to be able to do nothing when people you care about are in trouble.

He had meant: I need someone cool, collected, dispassionate. Someone who can be rational even when people they care about are in danger; especially when people they care about are in danger.

So, John’s already failed this test, because he’s here, chasing his tail in the desert, imagining worst case scenarios and achieving nothing as the possibility of finding Scott gets more and more remote.

Fuck you, Scott.

Because even in his absence Scott’s deconstructing him, making him doubt himself, pointing out he’s not the man he thought he was.

“Come on, John.” Virgil takes him by the arm. “We should go. He’s not here, okay.”

“Yeah, okay.”

He’s quiet as Virgil says goodbye to Stubbs and as Skip drives them back off the base. They pull in in the parking lot of a 7eleven. Beneath a no loitering sign a beat-up jalopy stands parked. “This is me,” says Virgil.

The car looks like it runs on rust and prayer. Skip raises an eyebrow as he pulls in. “Is this what the Tracy boys are driving nowadays?”

Virgil scratches his head, embarrassed. “It belongs to Dave, my neighbour. He loaned it to me in exchange for a painting and my bike. I don’t think he ever thought I could get it to run.”

“Can’t imagine why.”

“Wait a second.” John allows this to sink in for a moment. “Your neighbour? In Chicago?! You didn’t drive clean across the country in that?”

Virgil nods, shrugs. “Had to. Dad grounded me.”

“Virgil, you’re nearly nineteen. He can’t ground you.”

Virgil shrugs. “Froze my assets then. Revoked my clearance to my bank accounts, even the ones he wasn’t supposed to know about.” John doesn’t miss the way Skip’s eyebrows go up. “Gave me sixty dollars a day to live on and five days to clear out my apartment and hand my notice in at my job.”

“Why?”

Virgil shrugs, sanguine. “Maybe he was afraid I’d take off to New Mexico to look for Scott.” He opens the door of Skip’s car to let himself out. “Thank you very much, Captain Guerra.”

“Nice to meet you, Virgil. And nice moustache.”

John jumps out of the car after him. “You’re not going to drive back in that death trap?”

“Sure. Wanna ride? Where you going?”

“I’ve got a 7am flight,” he says stiffly. To LAX with no connecting flight. It had seemed a good international hub to start from. He had figured by then he would know where he was going. “I’m booked into an airport hotel in Albuquerque.”

“Yeah. That’s on my way. I can take you.” He reads John’s expression. “Or I can drop you back to town and you can get the train.”

“Come back with me.” John rolls his eyes. “I’ll pay for your flight.”

“I don’t need your money, John.”

“No, you need a miracle to keep that thing running.”

“Anyway, I promised Dave I’d have the car back.”

Dave, John decides at once, is clearly a frustrated serial killer.

“Virgil, I… I’m pulling rank. I can’t let you drive that thing across the country.”

This is the part where Virgil folds. It’s where he always folds. If it were Gordon or Alan it might be different, but Virgil can be relied upon to be sensible and obedient. Except this Virgil is grinning a most un-Virgil like grin, and folding his arms on the roof of the car. “Then I guess you have until Albuquerque to convince me not to.”

*

There was a time, when gasoline was cheaper and more readily available, that freeways were the arteries of America, but that was before economies of scale in fusion tech made public transport the faster, cheaper option. Nowadays, automobiles are mainly used for short distances. Driving is a dying art. The freeways are half-empty and poorly maintained, populated mainly by the huge 26 and 48-wheeler transport wagons, itinerant nu-gypsies and the occasional motoring hobbyist.

They speed along in silence that stops just short of companionable. The night is squid ink black and full of stars. The head beams of the transport wagons dazzle him as they harrumph out of the darkness and rattle past. There’s music playing softly over the speakers. It’s neither unpleasant nor identifiable. Virgil’s always been an early adopter when it comes to new music.

The jalopy doesn’t even have an autodrive function so Virgil has to steer, but they’re making good time. John can’t shake the sensation that he should be saying something, but he’s just not sure as to what it is. Every time he tries it gets turned into a clearing of his throat or a groan.

But a sign tells him that Albuqueque is only a hundred miles away so he clears his throat once more and asks, “Did you know about any of this? Did he confide in you?”

Virgil keeps his eyes on the road as he says, “Johnny, Scott doesn’t really talk to me at all, except to say, ‘Uh, how’s the art thing going, Virg?’ like I’m seven.”

“Oh… uh, how is the art thing going?”

“I quit.” Virgil’s expression doesn’t change. “I’m going to Stanford in the fall, on Dad’s dime. Engineering.”

“Oh.”

He wants to ask more but something in Virgil’s manner strongly discourages it and a minute later he pulls into one of the roadside gas stations and stops. “I’m starving. Getcha anything?”

John shrugs. “Sure. Whatever you’re having.”

“I’ll get two of everything then.”

A second later John remembers the danger. “No granola bars, Virgil.” He calls at his brother’s retreating back. “And I don’t want a kale smoothie!” John’s got an astronaut’s general outlook on health but a computer programmer’s compulsive need for E numbers.

“Sure thing, John. Just caffeine, cocaine and gin.” He waves a hand and keeps walking.

He gets out of the car to stretch his legs and goes for a short prowl around the tiny outdoor seating area. Just as he’s stretching out his quads, his phone rings.

“Hey there, polar bear.”

Rest, and a day of forced routine attending lectures, have obviously done Gordon some good. He’s evened out a little, lost that manic gleam. Last night – or rather in the early hours of this morning – it had been all John had been able to do to coninvce him to get some sleep. He had spent most of the evening stuck between gears, trapped between being furious at this Lady Penelope and being utterly besotted. One minute John had been talking him down from turning her and himself in to the Admiralty, and the next he seemed about ready to start carving “GCT hearts PCW” into bulkhead walls. He had paced back and forth, bouncing up onto his hammock and back down again, peeling off one item of clothing at a time until he was down to his t-shirt and boxer-briefs, repeating things that had been said to him or about him, collapsing with a sigh in his chair and then leaping up to say, “And another thing!”

This evening at least he seems calmer, though the first words out of his mouth are still, “I’ve been thinking about that Lady Penelope chick.”

“Oh? Really?”

“Yeah, really,” says Gordon, who is maybe not as oblivious to sarcasm on the subject as John had thought. He’s tipped back precariously on his chair, slurping kelp noodles with a pair of ceramic chop sticks. “Do you think you could track her down?”

In fact, there’s already a burgeoning file about the Lady Penelope Creighton Ward in John’s personal vault, locked behind every digital protection John can come up with, but he’s not going to tell Gordon that. “I’m not sure.”

“Oh, come on, Johnnycakes. You can find anybody.”

John winces. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to cancel tonight’s session. Something’s come up.”

“No prob. Everything okay? John?” Gordon’s looking hard at him now and the edges of his smile are starting to droop. He looks unsettled.

“Everything’s fine,” John says and to change the subject he says, “What would you say if I told you Virgil wanted to go to Stanford to study engineering.”

Gordon nods. “Makes sense. Good school.”

“It is a good school. Don’t you think it might be too good a school? Virgil’s always been more focused on the arts then academics.”

“That’s… true.”

“Some of the guys I work with studied engineering at Stanford. They said that was excellent but intense. Might it not be too much for Virgil? He barely scraped through high school math.”

Suddenly Gordon cracks a broad smile. “Oh no. Are we about to have the birds and the bees talk? We are! Oh, no. Johnny!” He throws back his head and laughs.

“Gor… Cooper!”

“Sorry. Sorry. So. When a mommy and a daddy love each other very much and the mommy and the daddy both have IQs pushing 160…”

“Cooper, be serious.”

Gordon slurps a kelp noodle back into his skull. “What I mean is… John, you know Virgil’s good at math, right?”

“Of course, he’s fine, sure. But there are standards–”

“John, you know that Virgil is smart, right?”

“Of course, but multiple intelligences are -”

“No. Not multiple intelligences. Not everyone is special in their own special way. Not everyone get out your crayons and form a circlejerk because we are all about to be blowtorched by the fiery intellect by John Glenn Tracy… I’m losing the run of this metaphor. To rephrase: You know Virgil is smart, like smart smart. Like, you smart.”

There is a moment’s silence, then Gordon groans. “Oh man, you didn’t. Oh, no. I was counting on you to tell Scott. Does this mean I’m going to have to tell Scott? I’m not telling Scott. Why do you think his ‘math tutor’ was an emeritus professor of mathematics instead of the usual broke post-grad?”

“I thought… I thought that was just Dad being Dad.”

“Well, yeah, sure, little bit. Also, no! C’mon, Dude, he got 1007 on his SAT scores the year the mean score was 1006. He nearly failed basic trig yet somehow managed to get by in all those AP calc courses. John, he actually read your dissertation.”

For just a moment John goggles. “Oh, shit.”

Gordon’s noodles nearly come back down his nose. “Johnny, you said a bad word!”

“I’ve got to go. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Don’t forget to keep up with your reading.”

“Yes, teach. Say hi to Virgil for me.”

By the time Virgil returns with supplies John’s already got their route to Chicago planned out along with appropriate rest stops and gas stations for re-supplies. “It’s a 26.2-hour drive to Chicago traveling at 60 miles per hour. We’ll each take two six hour shifts, with fifteen minute breaks every two hours. Why don’t you take first shift, while I work out our rest stops.”

“Okay, Johnny.”

Virgil takes the first six hours and John the second. By the time he finishes his shift he’s been awake for 39 hours, so while Virgil drives he dozes in the back seat.

When he wakes up, they’re already in Kansas.