#and two or three balloons where the tracking is way too wide for some reason

[bigbigtruck]

This weekend

I'm prepping the collected edition of TJ AND AMAL for its third printing. It's a strange feeling. ICC offered me the chance to make any revisions I wanted and while it's tempting to clean up all the old art and things I'd do differently now than 10-15 years ago, that way lies fucking madness. So I'm just making some text and formatting corrections. And friends, I had never done this before but going through that comic ONLY reading the text was goddamn wild

[sirisuorionblack]

Professor Lupin

Professor!Remus Lupin x Professor!Slytherin!Reader

Request: Hey! Could I please request a Professors AU with Remus? I melt over the idea of him reuniting with someone from his school days when they both become professors and potentially a shit ton of pining from our boy Prof. Lupin ☺️ ty lovely!!! Xxx

Warning - none that know of.

A/N I hope you like it @cherrycolakxsses! Had so many doubts to post it but this I finally out. It's quite lengthy and might feel rushed at the end. Sorry!

"(Y/N) (L/N),” Professor McGonagall’s voice tore through the music blasting inside (Y/N)’s office. Does it set a bad example? Definitely. Does she care? Maybe.

“Old habits die hard, Professor,” she said, extinguishing the candlelight on her desk that's been lit since last night when she was going through a few papers. McGonagall chuckled at that.

The two of them walked down the corridor to the great hall for breakfast when Professor McGonagall said something, “Who do you reckon is going to be this year’s Defence Professor?”

“The dementors?” (Y/N) asked, looking genuinely confused.

McGonagall glared at her, “I wish you weren’t a professor, I could have deducted points,”

“Professor Slughorn would have been mad at that,” (Y/N) chuckled.

Professor McGonagall smiled at the fond memories of her past colleague complaining to her about “unfair deduction of house points”.

“But tell me a plausible guess of who might be this year’s Defence professor,” she insisted, a small smile tugging on the corner of her lips.

(Y/N) narrowed her eyes, “What are you planning, Minnie?”

The said person rolled her eyes at the nickname, “Well, I will tell who the Professor is - Its Remus Lupin,”

She could see the young professor straighten, staring at a spot on the ground as her thoughts ran wild, mind flooding with memories of a certain familiar Gryffindor.

“Oh,” was all she could muster.

“He will be joining us tomorrow,” McGonagall said carefully, looking intently at the girl before her.

“What!? Tomorrow?” she said, her eyes blown wide.

“Yes, and I except for him to have a good welcome,”

“You think I would be...mean to him?”

“What are you two still in your fifth year?”

“Oh come on, Minnie! Don't do that!”

“I should give it to the two of you, it was rather hilarious,”

“What is hilarious in watching two fifteen year olds duel!?”

“You will know it,”

That night (Y/N) rolled on the expanse of her bed, wanting nothing but the face of the Gryffindor to just disappear and allow her to sleep but all she could think about was him. She wondered if that same high school crush was turning, she wished not.

“Welcome, Remus,” Professor Dumbledore greeted him with a wide smile as Remus looked around the Headmaster’s office. He had come here only a handful of times and every single instance was just not the best.

“Hello, Professor,” He said, smiling politely.

After the introductory chat, Dumbledore said, “Well, come on, then, let me introduce you to the rest.” Remus smiled awkwardly as the Professor clapped him on the back.

Remus stopped dead in his tracks as Professor McGonagall and another young woman walked in. He immediately identified her, it was (Y/N) (L/N), his once upon a time arch-nemesis. He clearly remembered her 16 year old self, a bright smile on her face as she spoke to him rationally for once, settling everything, that contrasted the taboo of students with green robes having cold look.

(Y/N)'s smile slipped as she saw him, he was extremely thin and malnourished but he did have a smile on his face that compensated for everything else.

“Hey,” she said, mustering the smile back and outstretching her hand.

Remus coughed as he managed to break out of the trail of memories and shook her hand, “Hello,”

“Ms (L/N), can you please accompany Mr Lupin to his office?” Dumbledore asked.

“Yes, professor,” she said without giving it another thought.

“Do you remember this place?” (Y/N) asked with a smile as they reached a deserted corridor.

Remus barked a loud laugh, “Oh, how can I not! Wasn't this the place where we charmed the water balloons to pop right above your head?”

“Yep, it was the very same place where the epic duel happened, the time I had almost won,”

“But you didn't,”

“And neither did you,”

“I think - what was his name? - Liam Holloway! Yes, he ended up in the hospital wing,”

“That's what you get when you try to get in between a duel,”

Remus chuckled, “One of the reasons that was epic because that's when they saw Hogwarts’ most silent people have a fully-fledged duel,”

"Oh, yes! But honestly, to this day I have no idea how it started,"

Remus chuckled, "It was because the water had drenched your potions and charms essay "

"My potions and charms essay? Remus," (Y/N) dissolved in a fit of giggles, "Oh goodness,"

"What?" Remus asked, a smile spreading its way on his face. He waited for her to calm down.

"Professor Slughorn had looked at me pitifully the next class and then said I didn't have to hand in that essay and Flitwick did too. I hadn't done either of their essays that time. And when they told me that I was so confused as to why they did,"

Remus' jaw dropped as he looked at her incredulously, giggles still escaping her lips, "And I being the nice person I was, I wrote that essay for you and had James put it "discreetly" into your bag. Wait, that green bag was yours, wasn't it?"

"That was you!?" She asked, her eyes wide.

"Yes," he said, nodding.

"Oh, Merlin, I thought it was Snape for some odd reason and I was being good to him!”

“Should I be offended?”

“I dunno, I am sorry,” she wiped the tears that formed in the corner of her eyes with the amount of laughter she did within the few minutes.

Remus watched her as she smiled and looked around, the two of them falling into a comfortable silence.

“This will be your office,” (Y/N) said, opening her arms wide open at the entrance, “the terms start in a couple of days and then-” she grinned at him.

Remus was slightly distracted by the tank that stood at the side of the room, perhaps it was a fish tank; it was empty so he had no idea about the use of the tank and the thought of buying a fish for it ran high.

“No, honestly, the kids are great!” she said proudly, misinterpreting his silence.

“Are they?” Remus asked as he looked around his new office.

“Yes! I mean they are so lovely and sweet and just amazing, unlike some,” she said pointedly.

Remus chuckled, “What are you insinuating, (L/N)?”

“You know exactly what I am insinuating, Lupin,” she said, smirking.

(Y/N) squeezed Remus’ arm, watching his eyes turn glossy as he looked at the boy seated at the Gryffindor table laughing with his friends, resembling a lot like Remus’ late best friend.

He sighed and looked away. Soon, Professor McGonagall engaged him in a conversation, as though sensing the situation long ago. He spoke to her, a subtle forced smile on his face though all he could think about was his friends at the age of fifteen running along the corridors hollering and howling with laughter as they did so, and (Y/N).

“Good morning, Professor Lupin,” Remus heard as he walked through the corridors of Hogwarts - his once upon a time home, where he laughed and found friends and people who loved him, people he loved - he turned around to find (Y/N) grinning at him, “You know, I never thought you’d be a Professor,”

“You think I don't have the capability?” Remus asked, his eyebrows scrunched in offence.

“No, I mean you were after all the brain behind those petty pranks,” she said, grinning at him, “Do you think I didn't notice those “secret” whispers?”

“You-how?” Remus asked.

(Y/N) froze, biting her lips to prevent the blush from spilling onto her cheeks, “That doesn't matter. By the way, I must say, that prank on Snape where his hair was neon green for a week-?”

“That was epic and you know it,” he cut in.

“Yes, I know, Lupin, let me finish, will you? The part of the reason why it was because I did something,” she smiled cheekily, looking at him through her lashes and making Remus’ heartbeat cease and he felt as though the air in his lungs were knocked out.

Remus blinked, looked at her and asked, “What?”

(Y/N) chuckled, “Yes. The potion was to turn Snape’s hair a shade of purple, it was quite nice on him I must say but it wasn't - how do I put it, um,” she snapped her fingers in the air trying to find the right word.

“Humiliating?” Remus suggested.

Her eyes widened as she chuckled, “No, more like embarrassing?”

Remus smiled, “Alright,”

“So, I had mixed a neon green solution I had stored for, well...you,”

“For me!?”

“Yes,” she said with a giggle.

Remus blinked, “Why would you do that?”

“Um, good question but remember I hated you at that period of three months,” she said, shrugging.

“Well, now?” Remus asked, tilting his head slightly and staring at her intently.

“What now?” she asked.

Remus looked away from her striking orbs and at the sea of students, “You know, do you still hate me,”

“Nah,” she said and proceeded to mumble incoherently.

“What did you say?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing at all,”

The two of them fell into the depths of awkward silence, struggling to get back. Students who passed the greeted and smiled, giving (Y/N) an opportunity to break the silence.

"What are you planning to do in your first class?" (Y/N) asked.

Remus had brainstormed the past night. He wanted something that would make his first class a good one, an opportunity to teach the students all while taking a place in their heart and getting to know them. Remus believed that a student would like the subject if they liked the teacher.

"I thought of doing some theory part or something like that," Remus shrugged unsurely.

“Theory? On your first day?” She looked at him as though he was an alien, “Wow, Lupin, I thought you were genius,”

Somehow, as she muttered those words Remus felt a blush forming on his face, perhaps because she thought he was a genius (which he was), or it was embarrassment.

"You could do like practical like, I dunno, something cool," she said, waving her hands wildly.

"Um, what is cool?" Remus said, blankly.

(Y/N) stopped, gawked at him and left forward, shaking her head, "Do whatever you want, Lupin!" She yelled.

"Hey, hey, wait! (L/N)! HEY!" He called after her, watching her go without another glance at him, "And there she goes. Great, Remus, scared the girl away,"

"You did a boggart!?" (Y/N) exclaimed, the evening Remus had come into her office uninvited - definitely startling her - and boasting about what he taught that day.

"Yes," Remus chuckled, "Neville's boggart was Snape, you know,"

(Y/N)'s jaw dropped, "Wait, I, oh my goodness, his worst fear is Snape?"

"Yeah," Remus mumbled. (Y/N) fell silent as her eyes connected with his, both of them drawing deep breaths. She got lost into the depth of his eyes, concentrating on trying to find which colour they adorn - green? brown? amber? - it would take her years to find out.

(Y/N) coughed and looked away, breaking herself from...whatever she was put into.

"Um, uh," Remus shifted on his feet, one hand stuffed into his pocket and the other scratching his neck, "Would you - um, perhaps we could, I mean, if you want to-" Remus stopped his stuttering and took a deep breath, "We could take a walk? Like just down the-"

(Y/N) chuckled, standing up and crossing the desk. She grabbed the jacket that hung on a stand in the corner of her office. The coat was an obnoxiously dark colour of green that made Remus scrunch his face.

"What?" She asked, narrowing her eyes, "You don’t wanna come?"

Remus grinned extremely widely, and snatched his coat, stumbling to join her pace.

The two of them walked down the corridor to the black lake, their surroundings cold, the chill air swishing their cloaks yet the two of them felt warmth seeping into every inch of their body.

"You do know that it's way past curfew, don’t you?" Remus tried to joke. The keyword being - tried. He was bad at that, he was bad at flirting, he was absolutely terrible with girls.

But to his utter surprise, (Y/N) threw her head back, laughing, "You do know that we are Professors, don’t you?"

"Well, it’s my first day," Remus shrugged.

"Oh, now about that again - did you really do a boggart with your students? Really? In the first class you wanted them to show their fears?" She said, glaring at him.

Remus shrugged and looked around, his eyes catching the moon, it was waning gibbous, 7 days due to full moon. He was finally back at Hogwarts for the full moon. 16 years later.

"Remus," (Y/N) laid her hand on his arm. He suddenly whipped his head to look at her, the movement adding to their close proximity.

Remus froze. Her eyes. They were captivating to him. They shined under the moonlight, her eye colours modified into bright, shining ones. He fell into the mysterious depth of her eyes that pulled him closer, quite literally.

Both of them did not know when but soon their lips connected in a messy kiss but it was perfect for them. Their hands manoeuvred until hers were buried into his brown curls and his arms wound around her waist, pulling her closer. Remus tilted his head, deepening the kiss.

Kissing under the moonlight, what a cliche, yet, Remus Lupin wouldn't want it any other way.

[bts-hyperfixation]

Soulmates

JJK X Reader soulmate AU

Warnings: Minor character death(car crash, only mentioned nothing graphic), Drinking

I don’t know if this is what you (the requester) were going for? this is somehow where I ended up

Everyone in this world has a soulmate. Someone that is meant to complete them and make them feel whole.

Your other half can be identified by the matching birthmark hidden somewhere on their body. There are also a lot of people whose marks are so close to matching that it almost feels like the real thing… almost. Sadly, many don’t ever get to experience the love of their true soulmate, so they settle for the closest they can get.

Jungkook was convinced he was one of the lucky few. Looking at her made his heart feel like it was going to burst. Every time he saw her the world got brighter, the birds started singing a little louder, and his stress nearly melted away entirely … nearly. But at 17 no one is going to pay attention to nearly.

Their birthmark’s matched so closely, each sporting a small puzzle piece on opposite wrists. You wouldn’t even bat an eyelid at the loved-up pair as they walked together hand in hand. And he loved her so completely, and her him, that they never thought to question it. Madly in love until the day she died.

Jungkook spent weeks almost comatose when the news of her car crash reached him. Couldn’t move, eat, sleep. To lose your soulmate so young was said to be a fate worse than never finding them at all. Even after coming through the other side people could tell he wasn’t the same carefree young boy he had been, most likely never would be again. His eyes’ looked far older than his years now, his soft features much more angular.

Three months after her death he resolve to never fall in love again, happy in the knowledge that he got to know her even for such a short amount of time.

….

You met Jungkook at a party. Someone from Uni decided that 24 was the right age for a big birthday bash. They hired out an entire club and set up a series of activities for people to enjoy. A mechanical ball on the main floor, a ball pit to the side, a BBQ in the smoking area, and a bouncy castle in the downstairs 90’s themed area. It really was an amazing event. You however spent most of your time watching the quiet Korean boy in the corner, every time his eyes met yours you felt compelled to move to him, talk to him, dance with him, anything that would get his attention on you. At the time you put it down to the alcohol. It took you exactly 3 and a half drinks to pick up the courage and interrupt his current conversation.

He was very sweet, really sweet considering he clearly didn’t want to be talking to you. It was evident in the way his eyes shifted and the nervous playing with his sleeves, still you persevered. Something about him wouldn’t let you give up, not yet at least. Your saving grace came when your favourite band came blaring over the speakers. “PRETTYMUCH” aren’t an underrated band per say but it’s difficult to find someone who knows them in your circle, so when Jungkook’s face lit up at the same time as yours you knew you had your in. So with the Phases remix blaring through the club you took your opportunity.

“I love this song!” You took his hand and pulled him on to the dance floor before you really realised that’s what you are doing. To start with he was frozen, a little shocked by your boldness, but as you gave it your all he joined in, loosening up for the first time that entire night. After that it was a lot easier to talk to him, you actually went into the smoking area to talk more about shared music interests.

After you went to get a drink you got caught up with some others and he came to find you. It felt like an electric shock when he’d grabbed your hand to get your attention, but there were a lot of balloons around so that would explain the residual electricity. By the time the party was over, and the club was closing, you didn’t want to leave him, not just now but ever. You found yourselves wandering around aimlessly, talking about nothing until the sun came up. Looking back it was then you decided Jungkook was it for you. You had never really believed in the soulmate tradition until you met him.

Weeks go by of you texting back and forth. You found out the reason he was so into music was because he was a musician himself, he even promised to perform for you sometime. A lot of promises were made in those messages.

‘There’s this amazing Restaurant in the city’ you claimed promising to take him with you next time.

‘I really want to see this movie’ he said promising to pay for tickets when it came out.

‘We should go see this band together’ The number one promise between the two of you, quickly racking up a lot of different acts to see together.

So when one of those bands turned up on the roster for the local you’d bought tickets immediately sending him the confirmation. Your stomach had fluttered thinking about seeing him in person again. And so you counted down the days as they passed. Picked and repicked your outfit. Talked yourself in and out of going. Eventually the day arrived. The doorbell signalling his arrival was deafening, ringing out through your small studio apartment. You took a few deep breaths before opening the door.

He was flawless, your tipsy memory hadn’t done him justice. A broad chest draped in a white long sleeve tee, ripped skinnies straining against his thighs, his hair swept into a James Dean quiff. You might’ve laughed at the way your outfits had accidently matched (a black crop with white skinnies) had you been capable of making a noise.

“Ready to go?” He asked nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. You’d nodded, blushing when you realised you had been staring.

It was a short bus ride into the town centre. Spent in relatively comfortable silence arms brushing against one another in the limited space on the crowded vehicle. The club was packed wall to wall when you got inside, no hope of getting to the front of the crowd, or so you’d thought. Jungkook grabbed your hand winked at you and began heading in the opposite direction of the stage. He led you up some back stairs and on to a balcony you hadn’t ever noticed before.

“I’ve played here before, almost no one knows this is here, but it will give us the perfect view.” He dropped your hand in favour of leaning over the railing. You couldn’t help but feel cold at the loss. The performance was great, you found yourselves screaming lyrics back and forth at one another. Some people had cottoned on to your little hiding spot and soon it became as packed as the rest of the club. Whether he was trying to protect you from the others or he was pushed there you will never know, but Jungkook ended up caging you to the railing, head resting on your shoulder.

After the show you’d decided it was time to ask him how he felt. The club was still busy, but the two of you had been in a quiet corner on your own nursing drinks and chatting aimlessly.

“Do you believe in soulmates?” You asked, broaching the topic carefully. You watched closely for his reaction, but he gave nothing away. Instead he just shrugged.

“I did once.” It was too blunt, you knew you should’ve stopped but you couldn’t, now you’d decided to tell him it was like verbal diarrhoea.

“I didn’t think I did, I mean I’ve never seen any ‘matching birthmarks’ and every couple I know is perfectly happy… but then I met you and I keep thinking about it, and you, and how I feel about you.” You watched as his face goes from pensive to a deer caught in the headlights.

“I… I have to leave now.” He got up and ran into the crowd before you even had a chance to reach for him. He dipped through a back entrance of the club and into the night before you could even push through the first layer of people.

The ride home had seemed a lot longer. Holding back tears had proved extremely difficult. Of all the reactions he could’ve given you that might’ve been the worst one. Somehow you found yourself thinking even him laughing in your face might’ve been better. You left the lights in your studio switched off that night. Made a beeline for your bed and passed out face down.

It would’ve felt like a bad dream when you woke up… if it hadn’t been for the crusty mascara tracking down your cheeks. You’d picked up your phone from where it lay abandoned next to you. Battery on 12%. You’d decided then it’d be best to run damage control, at least save the friendship.

Y/N: I’m sorry about last night…

You hadn’t expected his reply to be quick, so it’d surprised you when the typing bubbles appeared immediately; and furthered your sadness when they disappeared moments later without a message.

For days you spiralled. Going over the moment again and again in your head. Each replay turning the memory into something worse than the original.

Eventually you plucked yourself out of bed, deciding to face the problem head on and talk to the friend that invited you both to their birthday in the first place.

She met you at a café downtown during her lunch break. It was obvious by your red rimed eyes and sniffling nose that you had been crying but she was nice enough to ignore it for the most part. You caught up on her life for a little while until you physically couldn’t hold back anymore.

You told her exactly what had happened between you and JK, watching as her expression got both more understanding and pitying as you got closer to the end. Whatever you thought she was going to tell you was no where close to the story you got. You sat mouth wide open as she told you about the accident, and the way it affected Jungkook. It made you want to cry all over again. You didn’t know what to say once she had finished, stewing in your own thoughts for a while. The main thought that kept coming to the front of your mind was one that made you feel so evil. But you had to get it out

“What if she wasn’t really his soulmate. What if he was never meant for her” Its barely above a whisper but your friend heard it.

“He truly believes that she was” She replied squinting at you. Her break ended shortly after that leaving you alone with your thoughts.

…

It’s almost a month later when you see Jungkook again. Hadn’t heard a single thing from him since the concert but at least you knew why.

This time it was someone pool party. You honestly hadn’t been expecting to see him there. Didn’t even know you had mutual friends past that one girl. You didn’t think twice about your birthmark when you stripped down to your two piece. Why would you? Everyone has one. You were lay out on a sun-lounger with a drink when you spotted him. Tucked away in a corner once again, the only difference this time was his attention was already on you. He looked as good as ever, hair damp and slicked back, Long-sleeved neoprene shit covering his torso but trunks showing off his amazing thighs. You’d forced yourself to look away form him but could still feel the intensity of his gaze on you.

Eventually you couldn’t take it anymore, too hot under the sun and his stare you decided to change out of your swimsuit into a sundress for the evening. Heading inside you found your way into someone’s bedroom to get changed. Perhaps you should’ve checked to see if the door the locked though, because just as you had wiggled out of the bikini top Jungkook burst into the room.

“Ah shit… Sorry… I um.” His hand had flown in front of his eyes as he’d slammed the door shut behind him and you’d immediately reached for the flimsy dress pulling it over you torso so he could reopen his eyes.

“What in the actual fuck Jungkook?” you whisper screamed not wanting to draw attention to the two of you hidden away.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I didn’t think… I just needed to see…”

“See what?! My boobs? I think you managed that one perv. You haven’t spoken to me in weeks and now all of a sudden you can’t wait long enough to knock.” You came across a lot meaner than you had meant, you just hadn’t been prepared for him to want to speak to you again.

“No I’m sorry I’ll go, this was a bad idea, I was probably seeing things anyway.” He mumbled looking sheepishly at the floor/

“No wait it’s okay, I really want to apologise don’t leave.” You took a deep breath and waited for his eyes to meet yours properly. When they did you could see the shock behind them.

“Why do you need to apologise? I’m the one that ran off, I never even told you why and I fucked up and I’m sorry I just…” You reached for him then, wanting nothing more than to comfort him and then realised it wasn’t your place, arm dropping heavily back to your side. “I felt so guilty with you, not because of you, because of me.” You nodded in understanding.

“I found about your soulmate after I confessed to you. I’m so sorry I didn’t know. I never would’ve brought it up if I had known you had already found yours.” You’d broken eye contact with him then unable to watch the sadness in his eyes and not be able to do anything about it.

“That’s why I felt so guilty though because the way I feel about you is so similar to the way I felt about her, how I still feel about her deep down. I was so confused because you’re only supposed to get one soulmate, and if I could feel the same way about you in such a short time… it just feels like I’m betraying her by loving you.” He stepped forward reaching for your chin and forced you to meet his gaze. “The today when I saw your birthmark on your thigh I could’ve cried.” He uses his free hand to unzip the shirt he’d been wearing. He pulled his left arm from the sleeve exposing his birthmark to you. A puzzle piece to fit perfectly into your own.

You’d gasped at the revelation you were right. He was meant to be yours. And yet it didn’t feel right. The anguish on his face was clear, the internal fight he had obviously been having with himself ever since the concert.

“Letting yourself love me now doesn’t mean you loved her any less” you whispered, allowing yourself to move even closer to him, wrapping him in your arms. He’d nuzzled into your neck allowing tears to stream down his cheeks and onto your shoulder. You’d felt every bit of stress leave his body as he cried. Emotions he hadn’t even know he had been holding onto, finally letting himself really breath since he had lost her all those years ago.

You’d lost track of the time, just stood with him, holding him until the final few sniffles came. His cheeks had been puffy by and red when he pulled away, wiping his face on the sleeve still on his right arm.

“Do you want to leave? We can go back to mine” You’d asked carefully, not willing to let him go home alone after feeling like that. He’d nodded weakly, sliding his arm back into the shirt before taking your hand in his. You’d headed for the door only to be brought back by the hand he had on yours. He’d pulled you so close you could see the flecks of gold in his irises, watched your reaction before leaning in and kissing you. It was salty with left over tears, but you wouldn’t change you first kiss for the world. Everything felt like it clicked into place in that moment, the world tilted on its axis. The exchange was short lived, a chaste peck followed by a few smaller pecks before he let you lead him all the way home.

Masterlist

[hotdogct]

blooms in adversity ||| n.jm

pairing: na jaemin x reader genre: angst-ish, fluff. words: 1.8k a/n: you ever get rejected from a job and have a complete meltdown over your future hahahahahhaaa just asking for a friend :) title is an obvious nod to ‘mulan’, i listened to way too much hippo campus while writing this. enjoy!!!

network tags: @czennienet​

At this time we have decided to move forward with other candidates in the hiring process. Thank you for your interest and we wish you the best of luck in the future.

The rejection email might’ve landed in your inbox late in the afternoon, but you had been anticipating its arrival all day long - the thought of it lingering, stagnant, weighing heavily on your brain like a storm cloud that refused to pass. 

Jaemin knew this, anticipated it. It’s why the two of you were outside, taking full advantage of the warmth the sun was providing this late spring day. After noticing the neglected planter on your balcony in the early days of your relationship, Jaemin wouldn’t stop nagging you about his ‘legendary’ green thumb. As soon as winter began to fade to spring he began to wax poetic,  explaining the overwhelming benefits plant ownership has on a person and pretty please can-he-take-you-to-the-nursery and-

It’s not that you didn’t appreciate flowers. Some of your fondest memories of the early stages of your relationship were the bouquets Jaemin would spoil you with at each date - how you used to keep them on display prominently in the kitchen, a silent reminder of his newly blooming affection towards you. Even after they wilted, lost their petals, there was seldom time to mourn. A new bouquet would always take its place, and the absentminded cycle could continue.

Absentminded. That was your whole problem, the reason for the sad remains of dead flowers residing in the neglected planter. You had started off with the brightest of intentions when moving into your first apartment - wanting to establish routine and create the perfect place to unwind at the end of the day.

Nervously you had browsed the outdoor section of the nearest hardware store, shaky hands brushing over begonias and marigolds, before settling on a flat of dusty pink petunias to take home. None of these names meant anything to you, no terms familiar. Equipped with extra gardening tools courtesy of your mother, you spent that afternoon carefully digging into the soil. Gently sitting each starter petunia into place and covering their roots as if tucking in a child for the night. For the next few days, you’d make sure to have your daily nightcap of wine out on the balcony, watch the sunset and water the planter. 

But one day you forgot. The next you were tired. Then you went out of town for the weekend. And at that point, shame left you frozen. Rather than attempting to salvage your petunias, you passively let the entire idea and label of “plant mom” slip from your brain.  A pattern that followed you your entire life - never quite being able to follow through, see something to completion. Sometimes you almost feel as wilted as the abandoned petunias themselves.

This was why Jaemin, with his prince-like features, his romantic gestures and bouquets, swept you off your feet almost instantly. Rather than nagging you about a drawer being left open in the kitchen, a light left on in the living room, the messy dining room table after a night of arts and crafts, he would simply take care of whatever chaos you had left in your wake. You might’ve been a storm, tremendous and unpredictable. Yet Jaemin thought there was nothing more beautiful, and decided he was up for the thrill of the chase. 

So it was only fair to humor him, to try again at the “plant mom” thing. After his consistent nagging reached a crescendo that rivaled only the oncoming cicada brood in terms of volume, you found yourselves strolling through the nearby nursery bright and early on a weekend morning. 

“You’ve put this off all Spring long,” Jaemin lamented, gesturing wildly with his hand at the expanse of greenhouses before the two of you. “And look! Now there’s nothing pretty left!”

“What are you talking about, Na?” You could easily spot at least three to four different flats of colorful starters that had already caught your eye, and started to walk tentatively over in their direction. Before you could get too far, Jaemin’s firm grasp on your wrist prevented you from moving much further, a pout apparent upon his features. Instead he pivoted you both in the opposite direction, towards the more complex greenery and shrubs. You shot Jaemin a confused glance, which only led to a small laugh escaping his lips, followed by words that left your cheeks as crimson as the nearby roses:

“Those flowers weren’t nearly pretty enough for the balcony, let alone pretty enough for you.” 

It had been Jaemin who had pushed you to apply for this job. You were blinded by the familiarity of the stressful retail gig you held long before the two of you even met. The ever changing schedule, along with the grueling work and constant understaffing was your unshifting reality. But you had health benefits and a small, but earnest 401K started - what could you really complain about?

Turns out, quite a bit. It wasn’t until one late night in bed, where Jaemin was massaging your back and shoulders wordlessly after a brutal shift - doing his best to water and tend to you, his most beautiful flower. Silently pressing his hands firmly on, around, all over your shoulder blades in a busy pattern, he tried his best to keep his anger contained to the intensity of his movements. How could they neglect you so? A flower of your caliber needed full sun - and Jaemin didn’t need to feel the tight knots your muscles had twisted themselves into to know that you were wilted. While he was especially gifted at keeping his mouth shut, a brief look at your pained, exhausted expression was all it took for him to slip, speak up.

“You deserve better than this.”

Immediately wide eyed despite how tired you were seconds before, Jaemin realized the vagueness of the previous thought, and clarified, pulling away from your body so that you could roll over, sit up. “N-not like that. This job is going to kill you.” 

Your face softened. While stubborn to a fault, even you could admit Jaemin’s argument was sound. When was enough enough?

And then, doubt. Before you could even begin to imagine the possibilities, the blue sky ideas that could await you. Instead, you immediately hone in on the skills you don’t possess, requirements you don’t meet. The idea of not running on automatic, the thought of having to try, of doing something new. The overwhelming fear of rejection. Pulse racing now, each shallow breath in only made the thorns that had grown around your ego constrict themselves further, pressing in uncomfortably.

Jaemin’s arms find their way around your trembling body seconds later, his added weight bringing you back down to earth. You periodically feel his lips leaving gentle kisses, pressed with the utmost care along the back of your neck, the curve of your shoulder. In between, ghost whispers of comfort land reassuringly in your ear.

“You have so much to offer the world.” 

“You deserve to be somewhere where you can shine.”

“Let's get you blooming again, yeah?”

The smile that graced Jaemin’s face when you told him you had a second interview scheduled was so bright it could probably be seen from outer space. True to his word, over the last month he helped revise your resume, hunt for job listings, prepare for interviews late into the night. There was gradually less and less tension in your muscles when Jaemin would massage almost nightly. Buds slowly began to appear on your stems, where rot had once been. 

The second interview went great - or so you had thought. Then the hours after turned into a day, then two, then the week passed without hearing back. Your expectations had plummeted like a sagging helium balloon, days past its prime. The subject went unmentioned by both you and Jaemin, the silence instead speaking volumes.

The two of you were out on the balcony, music blaring. You’re sitting on an uncomfortable stool watching Jaemin below you, donned in a gardening visor and bright pink gloves. He was planting the flowers you were absolutely frightened to take care of, when the rejection email arrived, unceremoniously. 

You blink once, twice, comprehending the words on your phone screen individually. Move forward - are you now set back? Other candidates - no, that’s you, you feel like the “other”, luck - you’ll need it, alright-

Deep breath. 

You look over and down. Jaemin is so heavily invested in covering a starter daisy just right with soil that he missed your initial reaction, your brief show of raw emotion.  Sensing your eyes on him, he looks up at you, squinting into the sun, smiles bright. If autopilot didn’t fail you now, the small smile on your face would convince him you’re fine, everything was fine. 

But Jaemin was intuitive, he was smart, and he knew better. The speaker was playing some cheerful pop song, the weather was cooperating and tolerable. His nail beds were caked with dirt and soil, a favorite feeling of his from childhood that comes with the satisfaction of gardening. His wide eyes were still studying you. There you were, his radiant flower, sitting in the fullest and brightest of sun, and he had nurtured you back to growth.

So why weren’t you blooming?

“Are you okay?”

A small chuckle leaves your lips, knowing the truth and the inevitability of it all. This time when you blink once, twice, in an attempt to avoid Jaemin’s overwhelming gaze, you can feel hot liquid streaming down your cheeks, taste the saltiness of the tears once they hit your lips. You can hear the clatter of gardening tools being abandoned, plastic flats of flowers being shoved aside, and you can feel Jaemin’s broad frame envelop you seconds later, almost knocking both of you off the stool. 

You lose track of the time, sobbing into Jaemin’s chest. An exaltation of the saddest manner, but necessary when coming from someone as normally stoic as you. His tight grip around you never wavered, the softest of rocking motions to settle you down, his familiar hands massaging at your weary frame. Loving words on loop from his lips.

“This is just a minor setback...it’s alright...”

“They don’t know what they’re missing.”

“We’ll get you back out there tomorrow.”

Eventually your brain stops screaming, though a headache remains. Your breath steadies into a slow rhythm. As quickly as it had arrived, the overwhelming anxiety courtesy of the rejection email disappeared.  The once raging storm had subsided.

And still, Jaemin thought, there was nothing more beautiful.

[razrbladekiss]

Tyrants | Chapter Three - Presage

WORD COUNT: 2.4k

WARNINGS: Brief mentions of Wendy’s drug use. Nothing explicitly *bad* goes on here, just some of the usual SOA shit is hinted at. :) Tig <3

MASTERLIST

Ninety degrees was horrendous. Ninety-six degrees saw Isla spiraling toward a fully-fledged mental breakdown, desperate to climb out of her own fucking flesh and melt into the parking lot outside of St. Thomas.

Seeing the Sons sporting leathers, hoodies, and long-sleeved shirts underneath their cuts made her skin crawl, too.

She'd thrown on the flounciest summer dress she owned, thin and wispy, and she was still roasting to death underneath the Californian sunshine.

It felt like they were living in the fucking ass-crack of hell.

Though, with their current state and Charming's infestation of ATF and other federal agents, hell wasn't too far off the mark.

"Thanks for the ride." Isla expressed her gratitude as she slid off of the back of Tig's bike, pulling the helmet away from loose blonde curls.

"No problem, baby--you good to get home, yeah?"

"Yeah. I'm meeting Gem here, so she'll take me back to T M in time to pick my car up," she confirmed, readjusting herself.

She couldn't risk Tig Trager getting an eyeful of her asscheeks today. Not again, anyway.

"Perfect. See 'ya later, beautiful." Isla leaned in for him to peck her cheek--which was habitual for the pair--and she did the same.

Her smile was wide. She was beaming. "Bye, Tiggy. I love you."

"Love you too, kid." He reciprocated the smile, squeezing her hand as she broke away and padded toward the steps, brushing her fingers through wind-tousled strands.

Things were, for the first time in about a week, finally looking up. Resuming a sense of normality, perhaps.

She and Trager had been on precarious terms since that day, and had been avoiding one another altogether. Which, for them, was strange.

Days went by without even so much as a word being uttered between the pair, no backhanded comments, or even sideways glances.

Usually, they'd be bickering like kids, arguing nonsensically until Clay or Chibs broke them apart--but it was all just their little bit of fun. Because they bounced off of one another.

They lauded the relationship they shared because, really, it was one of the strongest.

He'd been her official favorite since the very day that they met--he and Bobby were the two she liked to talk to whenever she felt that she couldn't confide in her father.

But the last few days were so fucking hard. She was struggling with the weight of all that she did, coupled with the stress of not being able to discern Tig's current feelings on her.

And after she'd lashed out, had bitched at him for no fucking reason, she was pretty certain that Tiggy didn't want to know anymore.

That was thrown out of the window this morning, however, when Isla's clutch blew out, and she needed a ride from the garage to the hospital to see Abel.

Of course Tig was there for her. He always would be.

"Hey." Isla spoke softly as she held the little blue bear close to her chest. "I stopped by the gift shop on the way up here--Jax said he's already got bears and balloons comin' outta his ass, so I thought what's one more?"

Gemma couldn't help but smile, gesturing for the blonde to sit with her opposite Abel's isolette.

"He'll love you for it," she joked, though she knew that she was appreciative. For her company more so the stuffed animal.

With their commitment to the club and the current battle against the ATF, Jax and Clay weren't as hands on as what they usually would've liked.

Of course, Teller was at that baby's side whenever he got the chance to break away from SAMCRO, but he wanted more. He wanted the satisfaction of knowing that his little boy was being provided with the best possible care at St. Thomas.

And he was. He absolutely was. But he needed to know--for his own peace of mind, he needed to see that. So, his mother was there every waking fucking moment, giving him that love he could only get from his Grandma.

"How's he doing?" Her query was braided around a whisper, worried she'd disturb Abel's peaceful rest. "Jax said he should be coming home soon."

Gemma simply affirmed with a nod, gazing affectionately at her grandson.

It was heartwarming to see so much love, so much adoration from a woman who had a reputation for being a fucking cunt--thus proving that Gemma's main priority was her family, and their health and happiness.

That, somehow, made Isla love her even more than what she already did.

It also made her a tad jealous of Jax and the fact that he still had his mother in his life.

"He's gettin' stronger and stronger everyday. Tara said he'll be set to leave Friday--"

"Tara?" Her brow lifted as she put the bear amongst the pile of gifts. "I thought she was a doctor, I didn't think she had anything to do with the babies?"

Gemma's smile faltered a little. "She's a pediatric surgeon. Been takin' care of Abel since the start."

"Oh."

Now, she would've known that if she'd taken the time to visit her best friend's kid since he was born. But she hadn't--she hadn't even considered taking a trip over to St. Thomas to check in on Jax's baby.

And it was for the simple fucking reason that she couldn't bear the thought of facing Wendy and having to be nice to her. Especially after what she fucking did to that poor little boy.

She subsequently landed her own flesh and blood in the hospital after shooting heroin while pregnant? And she wanted Jax to pardon her for it?

Isla wasn't a hateful person, she didn't care about what people did in their spare time because that was their time.

But the moment an innocent person was harmed due to the carelessness of others...That was when she felt a scathing animosity.

"She's good with him." Gemma stated bitterly, snapping Isla from her ire-fueled daydream. "Kills me to say it, but she's a gem. A real fuckin' star."

"I'd bet. She was always good with kids."

"Yeah?" Suddenly interested, the older woman crossed over her arms. "Who's kids?"

Finally, Isla took a seat beside her on top of plush blue leather.

"A few of the girls we were in high school with had kids pretty young and Tara was usually super keen to hold them, or just hang out at their places whenever we weren't at school. Or it could've just been the wannabe doctor in her, now that I think about it."

"She's pretty maternal," Isla hummed in agreement, "but I'm glad she and Jax never had kids when you were teenagers--I don't know how that would've looked for him."

Suddenly, she was staring at Gemma like she had two fucking heads.

"I don't trust her." She elaborated, drawing another confused glance from Isla. "She and Jax would have been a fucking disaster had she stayed--"

"And things worked out so much better with Wendy?" A little more vehemently than intended, the blonde asked.

Now Gemma was the one shooting dirty looks.

"Look, Gem, I'm just saying. Jax and Tara are history now, yeah? You don't have to trust her. Just thank her for what she's doing for your grandson because when he's outta this place, you won't need to worry about her."

"And you're so sure about that, huh?" Skeptically, she asked. Arms folded over. "You know what they're like--like two fucking magnets or something. They always find a way back to one another."

That line gutted her.

It hurt her--it was agonizing--but she wasn't sure why she was so beaten by it. Because it was the truth, wasn't it?

Tara and Jax were, at one point, the strongest couple she'd ever known, and when it fizzled out he was fucking broken. She hadn't seen him so downtrodden since JT had passed, and he was suddenly left without the strength and guidance of his father.

She was his everything. Isla was a fool to think he'd be able to see her back in Charming and not feel something for her. His first love.

"I think we should throw Abel a homecoming party on Friday--if he's coming home then, that is." Gemma shifted the topic of conversation, getting to her feet.

"Absolutely. I'll help."

"Yeah?" She asked a little doubtingly, reaching over to pick Abel up. "You don't have to--I know you work Friday's."

Isla waved her off, standing beside the brunette. "I do, but it's no bother. If everyone's gonna be there, then I wanna show my face too. Offer a helping hand of some sort."

"Alright, perfect," Gem stated softly, holding the baby close to her chest. "When we get back to T M, we can figure out what we need to get."

"Sounds like a plan--" Isla was cut off by a soft knocking at the door, irritating her a little bit because she'd only just gotten there and hated the idea of having to leave already.

She made a mental note to stop by a little earlier tomorrow.

"Hey, sorry to bother you--" Tara stopped herself when she needed her estranged friend, almost dropping the clipboard she was holding against her chest.

Isla Telford was the last fucking person she expected to see today.

"Hey," with a fake smile, she greeted.

The tension was palpable.

Gemma felt the irritation washing over her favorite of the duo, urging her to turn her attention back toward her grandson before she said anything to worsen the situation.

Because she would've.

"Uh, I've gotta run a few tests on Abel before we determine that he'll be ready to leave this week, if that's alright?" Tara gestured to Gemma, ignoring Isla's presence.

That stung a little bit.

"Yeah. It's fine." The response was blunt. Terse, to a point.

"Great."

Isla realized that she wasn't wanted in that space any longer. She grabbed her purse, turning toward the door. "I'll meet you outside."

"Yeah, alright," Gemma put the baby back into his crib, smiling at Isla. "You want my keys?"

"I'll wait on the steps--I'm gonna smoke--"

"Before you go," Tara cut in. She cleared her throat, trying to smile--but she just couldn't.

Telford sensed where it was going, however. There wasn't a reason for her to stop Isla in her tracks, in front of Gemma no less.

She wondered how long it'd take for it to be brought up.

"Thanks."

Gratitude genuinely swept over the doctor, letting Isla know she was truthful in her acknowledgment--or, was it more like a form of praise? Because Jax definitely told Tara what they both did for her, and she was astounded that the woman would even float the idea of helping out.

It was a strange notion. To know what she did--when she looked and acted like that--was fucking weird. And nobody would've believed her if she said that Isla helped to dispose of a dead body, which did make her laugh a little.

She knew how to hold, load, and fire a pistol, but she wasn't capable of committing the unspeakable the same way that Jax, or Chibs, or Clay were capable of it.

But she was slowly earning her title as 'Daughter of Sgt. At Arms/ Man of Mayhem.' And she wasn't sure how she liked that.

"You're welcome," she spoke plainly. "Hope everything is alright now, Tara."

"It is."

"Good." Her retort was immediate, laced with that same genuineness the other woman expressed. "You free this coming friday?"

Hesitantly, she nodded.

"If all goes to plan--and Abel is good to come home--we're gonna throw a little party for the boy," Gemma confirmed with a nod. "You wanna swing by? Everyone'll be there--Donna, Ope, their kids, Wendy, the rest of the Sons. You should come. It'll be nice for everyone to see 'ya again."

Wendy's name falling from those pink lips, in such a positive light, maimed Isla. She and Jax were starting to get along a little bit better now, but she was still wary of that woman.

"Yeah. It'll be great," the older woman added.

Tara felt cornered. She knew that she wasn't really wanted, and she also knew that was a way for Isla and her menopausal best friend--old enough to be her fuckin' mom--to keep the doctor as close as possible without explicitly saying that they wanted to keep an eye on her.

"Sure. I'll stop by."

"Brilliant." Gemma conceded, slipping past the pair. "Address hasn't changed, sweetheart."

It was passive aggressive, sickly-sweet, and it was Gemma to a fucking T. The woman was loathing every second she had to spend with Tara Knowles and she wasn't even trying to hide it.

But it didn't have to be for very long, she thought.

"What was that all about? Why'd she thank you?" Gem queried as they got outside, passing the lighter to her left.

"For not breaking her fucking neck when I had the chance to all those years ago, probably."

Isla sparked her cigarette, pacing alongside her as they headed toward the car.

"That's bullshit."

"How so?"

"Just is." She could read Chibs's little girl like a fucking book. "But I won't press--if it's something between you and Tara, I don't care to hear. Just lemme know if it goes south. I can put a bullet in her for you, baby."

Isla would've laughed had she not known that Gemma was deadly fucking serious about blowing Tara's brains out.

But it was a relief. For her to give it up just like that--uncharacteristically so--was a kind of relief that she never thought she'd feel from Gemma Teller.

She was used to being protected. Used to being viewed as the one that needed to be shielded from the horrors that shrouded the Sons. But Isla wasn't innocent, nor was she fucking stupid.

The security was appreciated, however. Because, lately, things just didn't seem to be going too great for her.

And, if she'd learned anything, they'd only worsen from here on out.

"You don't have to go full mama bear mode, Gem. I'm a big girl."

She laughed, turning to face Isla.

"I know," smoke blew from her nose, "but you've gotta protect the ones you wanna keep close, y'know? The ones you love."

The tip of Gemma's boot pulverized her cigarette into the sidewalk as she fished for the car keys, avoiding eye contact all together.

"I haven't been able to protect everyone I've wanted to from the shit that goes on in this town, honey, but I'm really tryin'. And I couldn't live with myself if anything happened to you or my boy."

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Keeping Vigil || Morgan & Eddie

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @specterchasing & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: When Morgan can’t carry her hope, Eddie is there to help. 

CONTAINS: body horror, discussions of death, mortality, decay

After reaching another dead end in her search for answers, Morgan broke down and took an extra long shower to get rid of her smell and wash the rough parts on her body that had been hurt or picked at by bugs. The water pattered on her just right, steadier and softer than rain. When she let it fall into her ear and make the room feel like underwater, she could hold onto the water and nothing else and the aches and cramps faded, and everything was fine. She savored the change in water temperature as it faded from hot to cool as much as the change in the sky from light to dark.

A little later, as she picked at cold fried rice and brains, the waistband on her sweats started to feel a little tight, and when Morgan looked down her coloring had gone another shade of wrong and when she touched her stomach (first in the middle, then all around) she got the sinking feeling she used to once a month: bloating. Maybe it was water damage, maybe it was just that time in the un-life cycle. It didn’t fucking matter, did it?

“Great. First I’m dead, then I’m falling apart and ripped up like a rag doll, and now I’m a dead ripped up balloon doll waiting to pop.” She thought about how she’d announce this latest development to Deirdre when she got home and decided she didn’t want to. So she made some tea, remembered all the chamomile in the world wouldn’t actually calm her and threw it against her studio. 

The mug bounced off the wall. Tea splattered the yard.

Morgan picked it up and holed herself up inside the four little walls where she was supposed to be alone. Maybe if she disappeared in a book or a playlist she could forget about what was happening to her body. Funny how she’d dreamed of feeling the world again every day for the last fourteen months; now she’d try just about anything to go numb and float off again.

As Eddie approached the front door of Morgan’s home, an unexpected sound from the backyard caught his attention. He took a few steps back and looked over the fence in time to see the studio door close. If that’s where Morgan was, it would be pointless to try getting into the main house. Admittedly, tracking her down would be a nonissue if she knew he planned to drop by, but Eddie had a sneaking suspicion she didn’t want visitors in her current condition. Be that as it may, he needed to see her. For all he knew, this might be his last chance.

Eddie reached over the fence’s gate and unlocked it from the other side, immediately re-locking it once inside. Even in his haste, he didn’t want to be the reason something unwanted took an open door as an invitation. Eddie quickly bypassed the garden that usually imbued him with a sense of calmness. Today, all it did was put more space between him and Morgan.

At the studio door, Eddie knocked only to enter without waiting for a response. The second he saw her, his heart fell into his stomach. Morgan, for the first time since meeting her, looked dead.

“I heard about what happened,” Eddie announced. He figured wasting time on small talk would be insulting at this point. “I wish you would’ve told me yourself, but I guess it doesn’t matter now.” As he spoke, he walked further into the studio. “I’m sure you’ve got plenty of people in your corner right now. Is there room for me to throw my hat in the ring?”

Morgan only managed a few minutes of stillness before she heard a knock. She flinched, dreading what she would have to explain to Deirdre, but before she could work up the nerve to answer, Eddie came in. She was so startled she forgot to cover her face. Her blue-purple pallor was growing new colors, black in some places, yellow in others. Somehow, her skin was peeling and shriveled and swollen at once. Her eyes, now clouded like frost on a window, looked smaller than they should and her lids sagged around the empty space. For a woman who would never age, she sure looked like she had outlived her time.

In the brief instant Eddie held the door open, three flies flew in and circled lazily toward her. They knew a good thing when they saw it. She should probably have been more grateful that maggots and fungi hadn’t found her yet, but the only thought she had room for was, Eddie shouldn’t be here.

“W--what? I--” It didn’t really matter how he found out, did it? “I don’t want to be one of those people that puts their bullshit on kids and makes them carry it,” she sighed. “And I don’t...know what I’m going to do about any of this. If I can do anything about this. I went through the books I had, I tried looking through some others and--” Nothing. She slumped back in her corner on the day bed and covered her face with a pillow. Then, feeling ridiculous, tossed it away and settled for pulling her legs up and hiding that way. “You should probably grab some air freshener from the kitchenette,” she mumbled.

Eddie had never seen Morgan look so small before. In the past, her petite frame always seemed like an act of misdirection. When she spoke, the weight of her words commanded attention. Her laugh charmed a sigh of relief from the world around her. Out of everyone Eddie knew, he couldn’t think of a single person he respected more than Morgan Beck. Seeing her this way didn’t change that, it only proved the severity of the situation. It was time for him to start repaying her for everything she’d done.

“Well, this kid would rather help carry your bullshit than let it bury you,” Eddie replied as he took her advice and walked over to the kitchenette. He wanted to tell her he didn’t mind the smell but lying wouldn’t make the situation any better. Eddie pulled the trigger and a clean-linen scented mist mingled with the smell of decay. It would have to do.

“So,” he continued, moving closer to her before taking a seat beside her on the day bed. “Catch me up to speed, I only know the bare minimum.” Eddie didn’t think being told the details would lead them to a solution but that wasn’t why he came here. Other, more capable people would help Morgan in that area. What he wanted to accomplish was simply to make sure she knew she wasn’t alone. Maybe it wasn’t as glamorous of a purpose as finding a cure but believed it to be important all the same. “You woke up and, out of nowhere, you were alive again?”

Morgan grimaced at the hiss of the air freshener. She had suggested it, but smelling it and knowing how little good it would do was another matter. “You might wanna go a little heavier on that,” she deadpanned. “I’m almost a week into this, and whatever is fucking with me the slow, painful way, has a year’s worth of decay to catch up on.” She let her head rest against the wall and closed her eyes. All her physical senses back, and she still had to endure this latest cosmic ‘fuck you’ in complete sobriety. No rest. No relief.

She curled up a little tighter as he sat by her, as if her death-sickness was contagious. “Uh, if you haven’t noticed, I apparently don’t need to be buried. I can decompose all by myself.” She worked his question thoughtfully, trying to find the right words for it. How stupidly excited she was for so little, and how suddenly it was a little too much.

“I wasn’t alive,” she said at last, face still buried in her knees. “No heartbeat. No warmth. I could just...feel again. The bedsheets were cold. And soft. Weirdly soft. And my girlfriend was soft and cold but different, and the carpet was...coarse and thick and plushy...it was like I’d never been on this planet before. Everything was new. The words I had weren’t enough to describe it. I spent a whole two days convincing myself that whatever was happening it wouldn’t be so bad. Some weird town thing we’d have to reverse. But then I got hurt and it took me forever to heal. And then I didn’t heal at all. And I ate, I had so many brains, but my body was shriveling up, turning color, smelling, all that gross stuff that’s not supposed to happen to me if I do everything I’m supposed to. And do you know how it feels, literally feels, to have your body dry up? Or to--” One of the flies landed on her cheek and began exploring the new terrain. Morgan raised her hand and let it, waiting til it reached her hairline where she wasn’t so sensitive. She slapped it dead and left the goo where it was. “Be food for the bugs? Because that’s something I know now. Can’t wait for everything else to go, or for whatever’s keeping me wide awake for the whole horror science show to...decide what comes next.” She didn’t want to die. She wouldn’t be this frustrated if she did. But being nothing but wobbling bones and leather and dust frightened her just as much as oblivion. She didn’t know which she was really supposed to hope for.

Eddie listened as Morgan described the past few days. At first, her condition sounded like a gift. He remembered when she told him how badly she missed being able to experience the world as a living participant. No heartbeat or warmth meant certain sensations were still off limits but, other than that, he imagined those first two days felt pretty damn good. A false sense of security, obviously. He hated this.

Morgan swatted the fly and Eddie’s lips pursed in response. “Hold on,” he announced, standing up to make his second trip to the kitchenette. Facing the counter, he tore a few paper towels from the roll and wetted them in the sink. After wringing out the extra moisture, he carried them back to the daybed and took his seat again. Eddie tentatively reached out and, as gently as he could, washed away the insect’s remains. When his hand lowered, he kept the damp wad of paper in his hand in case another decided to land on her.

“Morgan, do you remember what you said to me about hope, that it’s a choice?” Eddie asked. Of all people, he knew how unqualified he was to preach the importance of hope but he wanted to try. “You also said that to stop believing in the future is to stop believing in existing.” Even if he lacked the experience to explain the importance of looking for good, he knew Morgan didn’t. He could use her own words to help him navigate the situation.

“This isn’t the first time life’s given you its worst,” he said. “Obviously, you can roll over and accept hopelessness. Or, you can do what you do best and tell death to go fuck itself.”

“Yeah, this is an anomaly—so are you. Nothing is written, right? Don’t give up. Not yet.”

There were a lot of words Morgan had spoken in the past that haunted her now. Magic is going to save my life. All I need is to break the curse. Hope is a fucking choice. What was there to hope for when the only thing on the horizon was another shade of suffering? How could she continue believing in existence, when existence seemed to be shutting her down at both ends? Was she supposed to bone-jangle her way downstairs to breakfast every morning? Or be carried on a stretcher in so many pieces, to and fro? Or would the magic take away her mind too, and this was simply a farewell tour she didn’t have a say in? Morgan didn’t see much hope in that. What had all her suffering been for? A year of half a life, and then this?

Morgan scrubbed her eyes with the back of her hand and said nothing for a while. Then, just peeking over her knees with dead, swollen eyes, she said, “Death comes for everyone, Eddie. That’s what gives life balance. We end. We go...somewhere. Home. Even if it’s not until this planet implodes or gets struck by the right meteor. Everything is change. To stay stuck one way, that’s the biggest waste of what we have.” She shrugged. “But...stars in the fucking sky above…” Her voice drowned with held-in tears. “I couldn’t find anything about this, Eddie. I haven’t figured it out. And I don’t know what I’m supposed to imagine to hope for. And I’m so tired...I am so tired of climbing back up, of fighting the universe for one scrap of good. And right now...I almost wish I could give up. But I don’t even know what to give up on. All of it looks like giving up something right now.”

Eddie knew death came for everyone. Until recently, he clung to that fact with everything he had. Even now, his grip was only a little looser than before. Death, to him, sounded like a release. Morgan was tired, it made sense for her to want rest. A few months ago, Eddie might not have argued that it wasn’t the answer, but now he knew what loss felt like. If Morgan died, a piece of him would too. Ironically enough, the more he cared about someone, the more selfish he became.

“Lots of things that happen in this town don’t have books written about them. That doesn’t make them impossible to handle,” Eddie insisted before adopting a softer tone. “I know you’re tired. If anyone deserves rest, it’s you, and you’ll get it.” Eddie reached out with his free-hand and took hold of Morgan’s. “Like you said, death’s inevitable but it doesn’t have you yet. As long as you’re here, there’s a chance for things to get better. And—and, no, I don’t know what your pain feels like, but I know my own. Most days, getting out of bed is a fucking triumph, but I still do it; for you. For Alfie, for Bex, and Kyle, and everyone else who’s been kind to me. I don’t know what I’m hoping for exactly. Maybe I’m just hoping for hope.” Eddie paused before speaking again. “Think about that scrap of good, are you ready to let it go?” He meant the question genuinely and without pretense. “If you do, there’s no getting it back. No more garden, no more Deirdre, no more laughter, no more anything. Is there really nothing left worth fighting for?”

Morgan hid her face again as it crumpled with grief. But she let Eddie take her hand, and though her fingers were stiff, she squeezed his back. Mina had told her once that life was a curse of its own; Morgan had brushed it off as a flash of witty irony. But it came to her again now: was this living? Was crawling out of one hole only to fall into another what life looked like from the inside? She couldn’t think of a person she knew who wasn’t crawling out of something right now. The difference was only in terms of degree. When she was alive, human-alive, she had coached herself into accepting happiness as a stolen gift, a thing she would be caught red handed with and have to surrender. It would all be okay, because when the curse was over, she could have as much as she wanted and more. She could chase down every bright thing and know that however it turned out, it was fair as anything on earth could be, and she had given her best. It made her dry organs shrivel just a little more to suppose this was the way of all things, not just a thirty-nine-year blip of existence.

And yet there was no better choice before her. It was just like Eddie said. If she tried to will this bullshit to the end, she would be releasing everything she’d fought so hard to hold. And if she surrendered to the thought of an eternity of true living death, it would be much the same. The world struck no natural balance in the course of a life, and in White Crest it arched toward cruelty, and yet there had to be another horizon. These scraps of good had to be enough because they were all she had. And maybe In another week, a month, in a decade, things would be different. Magic always had a key to unlock itself. What was done might someday be undone. (Might, and with so little evidence to make it feel like anything at all.) She tried to imagine it, coming out of a stupor like sleeping beauty, kissing her own skin for holding its shape and keeping her here just enough to try and make a better balance in the world, kissing Deirdre, and the cats, and having every fresh memory from those early days to guide her toward contentment. She couldn’t hold the image very long. It burnt in flashes. Somehow, it hurt worse than either path of doom she saw. Morgan nodded and let hope in and sobbed, breaking with the weight of it.

She tried to muffle her cries with her other hand, but it was no good. She shook and soaked her sweatpants with her tears and turned Eddie’s fingers red with her grip. At last she noticed the change in the feel of his hand and let go. “Sorry. I’m...s-sorry. Um.” She wiped her face on her sleeve and tried to look at the boy. “You know you’re...a really kind, brave kid, right? And that’s why we all want you to be more careful? Because we need more of that around. We need you. And I wish you could be there for yourself like you are for me right now.” She heaved another dry sob and scrubbed her face again fighting for composure. It was always harder to show up for yourself, especially when you were alone.

“I’m not--uh, this isn’t because--” She gestured vaguely at the mess of herself. “I mean, you’re right. You’re right and I know you’re right and it’s just--” Kind of wish you weren’t. It would be so much easier if you weren’t. She shook her head, abandoning words in favor of meeting his gaze. What she didn’t know how to say was this: it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done, holding out for hope and hoping for its own sake. But Eddie knew dark almost as well as she did; maybe he would know this just by looking at her, too.

When Morgan broke down, Eddie knew he’d struck a chord. He could only hope that meant something good and that he hadn’t made things worse. Her grip on his hand tightened exponentially but the pain barely registered. All he could focus on were her anguished sobs—he wondered how long she’d been trying to swallow them. Despair like that didn’t come to term in an instant. It laid in wait, brewing and accumulating more grievances both big and small until it could no longer be contained. If he had managed to help her rethink the release of death, maybe a release like this one would suffice for now.

“No, no, it’s—” Eddie’s dismissal of Morgan’s apology cut off when she spoke again. His expression slowly relaxed, brows raising in gentle surprise. A few people had called him brave now but he never seemed to get used to it. After spending so much of his life in hiding, he didn’t think he deserved that kind of praise. At the same time, he wanted to believe he was wrong. Eddie smiled sadly at Morgan. “One day, maybe. It’s a work in progress.” He didn’t know what to say about being needed but he tucked the compliment away somewhere he could find it when he lost sight of what mattered.

What she said—or, more accurately, didn’t say next resonated exactly as she expected it to. “It feels impossible, doesn’t it?” Eddie asked before his smile returned. “Kind of like when you’ve been in the dark for so long your eyes adjust to it and suddenly a light comes on and blinds you.” He gingerly rubbed the back of her with his thumb. “We’ll adjust to the light the same as we did the dark, just gotta give ourselves some time.”

Morgan nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Slowly, she unfolded her legs. There wasn’t much of her left to hide, and the second fly was already crawling along her skull. She thought about what Eddie said when it came to the light and the dark, and wondered how long it would take for her vision to get screwed up from so much back and forth that everything hurt. It would have to be a long time from now, wouldn’t it? She would have to make it that way.

After what seemed like a long time she said, “You know, for someone who lumped in hope with the evils of the world, you’re getting pretty good at being hope’s cheerleader.” Then after another silence, “You don’t have to stay with me though, okay? I’m not gonna go off the deep end, or do anything I shouldn’t. Deirdre will probably be home soon anyway.” Time had a way of moving funny when you were miserable, something Eddie was probably familiar with too, but the last thing she wanted him to carry was more worry about her. She nearly reached over to pat his arm, reassure him in a performance of her good ol’ self, but she remembered how she looked and let it fall empty instead. “Thank you though,” she said quietly.

Since Eddie last gave Morgan his opinion on hope, a lot had changed—was still changing. He didn’t find comfort in misery as much as he used to. Now, he understood happiness took a little elbow grease and that brains need to be re-wired every now and then. Some days were harder than others, he didn’t always believe his positive affirmations, but he was trying. For himself and everyone he loved, he was trying.

“When you’re wrong, you’re wrong,” he said with a shrug. “I thought I might as well give your outlook a shot. It’s going pretty okay so far.”

When Morgan next spoke, Eddie considered her carefully. He didn’t want to linger if she needed time to decompress but he also didn’t want to risk leaving too soon. Finally, he said, “Okay, if you’re sure.” Eddie stood up and took a deep breath before turning to face her. “If you need anything, anything at all, call me. I don’t care what time it is. I know it sucks to feel like you’re weighing people down but I love you, Morgan. I like helping you.” He leaned down to wrap his arms loosely around her. “Don’t ever feel like a burden.”

“I love you too, Eddie,” Morgan whispered. “Go on now. Be good and I’ll see you soon.”

Eddie straightened up and walked over to the kitchenette to toss the wadded up paper towels in the trash. Afterwards, he headed for the door. “See you soon,” he said, glancing back at Morgan before taking his leave.

[thefactsofthematter]

spravey office romance but like... they're not cops and theyre nice to each other

ask and you shall recieve!! (two months after you asked... oops)

here is some good ol spavey, vaguely inspired by the office, where they are in fact nice to each other!!! its like 2.8k, modern au, and fuck it disabled!spot rights he’s in a wheelchair because i said so. here you go anon!!

-

"David... Davey. My office, now. Get in here."

Davey can't roll his eyes quite hard enough to express just how annoyed he is in this moment. Race shoots him a sympathetic look from across the office.

"Coming, Mr. Wiesel!" He's thankful his desk faces away from his boss's office, so he has time to school his expression into something happier before he turns around. "Can I help you with something?"

Now... Mr. Wiesel isn't the worst boss in the world. He really isn't. But he most certainly isn't the best either, despite what his favourite mug (that he probably bought for himself) might tell you. He's nice enough most of the time, and he seems to try his best... but god is he ever incompetent.

Like right now, he's probably going to task Davey with something that could've been handled by literally anyone else. Davey has actual work to do— he's not sure what Wiesel even does all day in that office of his, because he seems to delegate everything off to his unfortunate employees. He's a regional manager, in charge of sales and finances for the Manhattan branch of a major New York City newspaper, and yet he seems to have the brain of an actual goldfish.

"Secret meeting," Wiesel says, as Davey walks in. "Close the door behind you and sit down."

"It's not exactly a secret, sir," Davey replies, though he does as he's told anyways, settling into a chair once the door is closed. "You yelled across the office to tell me about it."

Also, he's immediately going to disclose every detail of the meeting to Race and Jack as soon as they're done in here, but Wiesel doesn't need to know that.

"Details, shmetails," scoffs Wiesel. "I have an important job for you."

This can't possibly be good.

"I have a lot of other work to do," Davey sighs. He truly does— he's the head of accounting for their office, and they're in the middle of a company audit. "Jack didn't look that busy, I'm sure you could give him something to entertain himself with."

Jack works in sales— which basically just means he has to convince distributors that newspapers totally aren't a dying medium, and they should definitely keep buying their copies to sell. He's remarkably good at selling newspapers, but he's also easily distracted and seems to have far too much time to plan stupid office pranks.

"I don't trust Jack. Salesmen... they're too charming. You never know what they're up to."

Okay, so Wiesel is batshit fucking insane. This is, unfortunately, par for the course that is trying to hold any kind of conversation with him.

"What is it you need me to do, sir?" Davey is beyond exasperated. Why he of all people had to become Wiesel's favourite employee, he'll never understand. "Again, I'm already very busy."

"It won't take long, don't worry." Wiesel smiles wide. "I want you to be our official welcoming committee. We're getting a new employee."

Davey can't physically stop his eyebrows from shooting up, practically to his hairline. What?

"Look, boss, the audit isn't finished yet, but I can tell you that it makes absolutely no financial sense to hire someone new right now." He knows he's talking to a stubborn brick wall, but he continues anyways. "We're barely turning a profit, and some of our numbers don't make any sense. Why do we have two janitors?"

"I wanted to give my nephews a head start in the industry!"

"The... custodian industry?"

"Morris and Oscar are smart boys, they'll make something out of it." Wiesel shakes his head. "Anyways, we're just getting a transfer from the Brooklyn office. He won't even be on our payroll. Corporate is sending him in because they think our office is... unproductive."

It's like it physically pains him to say that last word, though Davey knows it to be true. He wouldn't be surprised if they get downsized in the near future.

"Okay..." Davey sighs. "You just want me to say hi to him, then?"

"More than that, David. Show him around. Give him the good ol' World Welcome."

"Is that a thing? Am I hazing him?"

"Oh my god, yeah—"

"No." Davey cuts him off before that idea can escalate, regretting that he even brought it up. "Okay, I'm going back to work. I'll say hi to him when he gets here."

-

Rather than go back to his own corner of the office, Davey makes a beeline for Race's desk.

"Did you know we're getting a new guy?"

Race, being the receptionist and all, generally keeps track of anyone who comes and goes from the office. However, he's either hungover or high a good fifty percent of the time, so he's not the most reliable source.

"I think I was probably supposed to know that," Race says, frowning at his computer. "I skip the emails that don't look important. Lemme go check."

"A new guy, huh?" Jack asks, sauntering over from his desk, which is only like ten feet away. "I need to start planning a welcome prank."

"No, you absolutely do not."

Before Jack can go off on some prank-related tangent, Race interrupts.

"Found it! Weasel emailed me this morning. He said: New guy is called Sean Conlon. Transferring in from Brooklyn for a week. I heard a rumour that he doesn't have legs."

The three of them share a moment of confused silence.

"Maybe he'll get along with Crutchie," Jack offers. "You know... since he only has one leg, and this guy has no legs. They could, like, bond."

Davey chokes on a laugh— he definitely feels like he shouldn't be laughing, but he can never help it when Jack says shit like that.

"Okay, I'm glad you got that out now. You know how badly Weasel handles sensitivity training, so let's avoid it if we can."

Their last round of sensitivity training was due to Wiesel's running gag of only speaking to Jack in broken Spanish. Jack is originally from New Mexico, he's Navajo, and he doesn't even speak Spanish. Jack thought it was hilarious (while ridiculously offensive), but it was making the entire office uncomfortable, so someone must have anonymously called it in to corporate.

"You mean we can spend a whole day listening to Weasel tell us he's not racist again? Sounds like a party." Jack laughs. "But yeah, I'm not stupid. I'm not gonna make fun of a guy with no legs."

"We don't even know that he doesn't have legs," Race interjects. "At this point I don't believe anything Weasel says, especially if he's willing to admit it's a rumour. Where did he even hear that?"

Davey shrugs.

"Who knows. Legs or not, we're gonna be nice to the new guy. Weasel made me the designated welcoming committee, so I'm officially adding you two to my team."

"Extra work?" asks Race. "Not happening."

"You've been playing the Sims all morning. You haven't been doing any work," Jack points out. "Can we go on a donut run at lunch and have a staff party for him?"

Davey can do nothing more than sigh. There's no reasoning with Jack when it comes to his obsession with throwing pointless staff parties.

"Sure. Whatever. No balloons, though."

And that's that— they head back to their own desks and wait for the new guy to show up.

-

The elevator dings about twenty minutes later.

The guy does, in fact, have legs— though he's using a wheelchair, so they must not work very well. That's probably where Wiesel got the rumour from. He's got a grumpy look on his face, like he's not particularly thrilled to be here, and a messenger bag on his lap. Above all, Davey notices, the new guy is really fucking hot.

He makes his way over to Race's desk to check in, and Davey decides to wait a moment before going over to introduce himself, so as to seem like he hasn't been obsessively watching the elevator for his arrival. He needs to compose himself— his tie is feeling a little too tight. Holy shit, that man is so beautiful.

Race, ever the professional, pulls out one AirPod to greet the new guy, and they have a short conversation that Davey can't quite overhear. It ends with Race shouting Davey, come here! because apparently no one in this office knows how to use the paging system built into the phones on everyone's desks.

"You called?" Davey sighs, as he approaches the reception desk. "I don't sit that far away, you really don't need to yell."

"Yelling gets things done," says Race with a shrug. He gestures to the new guy. "This is Sean, he's the assistant manager from the Brooklyn branch. Sean, this is Davey. He's the manager's assistant at our branch."

"I'm not Weasel's assistant," hisses Davey, glaring at Race. "I'm just bad at saying no to him." He turns to Sean and extends a hand to shake. "David Jacobs, head of accounting. Sorry about Anthony— I swear we're not all like this."

Race scoffs.

"Please, I'm hilarious and everyone loves me."

Davey and Sean both pointedly ignore him.

"It's nice to meet you," Sean says, with a handshake so firm that Davey nearly goes weak in the knees. "I'm looking forward to getting to know this location."

God, he's a sucker for a professional. This is either going to be the best or the worst week ever, and Davey has no clue which way it'll go.

-

He shows Sean to his desk, manages to stop Jack and Crutchie from setting off a party popper behind his head as a welcome prank, and then finally tries to get back to what's he's actually supposed to be doing.

It doesn't last long— he gets a text from Race just a few minutes after sitting down.

Racer: new guy is fiiiiine as hell ain't he Racer: i mean just look at that smoulder while he works

Davey: he's too old for you, don't even think about it.

Racer: heyyy i'm 19 now >:(

Davey: and he's gotta be at least 25 Davey: not happening, kiddo

Racer: look at me

Davey looks up from his phone, only to see Race flipping him off. Okay then.

Race somehow got hired here straight out of high school, while everyone else in the office has at least some college education— making him the baby of the bunch. While hilariously incompetent at his job, he is fun to be around, so Wiesel has kept him on. He's become Davey and Jack's pseudo-little-brother, much to his annoyance.

Anyways... back to the audit. Davey can hardly focus. Sean is sitting right across from him, and he feels like a stupid teenager with a crush on someone in his class because he just can't draw his eyes away. The morning goes smoothly, though, apart from Davey's heart fluttering a little every time he looks at Sean. In fact, it almost feels too good to be true... until Wiesel finally emerges from his office.

"A wheelchair!" is the first thing he shouts, which makes Davey want to smash his head through his computer screen and then throw himself out the window. So much for his hopes of avoiding sensitivity training. "Isn't that neat! You must be our new friend from Brooklyn."

Sean looks almost stunned, which is the most emotion he's shown since he got here.

"Sean Conlon," he says, slowly and confused, definitely offended, but still sticking out a hand to shake. "Um... I take it you're the branch manager. Is the wheelchair going to be a problem?"

"Oh, god no!" Wiesel replies, shaking Sean's hand far too enthusiastically. "We love disabled people here. I mean, hell, David over here is gay!"

Davey very nearly spontaneously combusts with the heat that immediately rises to his cheeks. He ducks his head a little to hide the blush and avoid eye contact with anyone. He's certainly not the only queer in the office, but he's somehow the only one Wiesel has picked up on, and he loves to make stupid comments about it. Davey is simply far too awkward to stand up for himself when it happens.

"That's... not a disability." When Davey looks up, Sean is staring Wiesel down with a look that screams you're getting fired if there's anything I can do about it. "Frankly, that's incredibly rude to both David and myself. Is this the standard of conduct you set for your employees?"

"Woah," Wiesel immediately starts to backpedal. "Calm down Mr. Professional! It's just a joke between friends."

Sean's expression doesn't change.

"Jokes are supposed to be funny."

From a few desks away, Jack and Crutchie burst into silent, muffled laughter, while Davey shoots them a desperate look. What the fuck does he say? The entire office has gone quiet, watching the standoff go down.

"Davey!" Wiesel says, frantically. "You thought it was funny, right?"

Davey swallows nervously.

"Actually, it's really hurtful when you say stuff like that." He's shaking a little— standing up for himself is not something he typically does. "My identity isn't a joke. It's part of who I am."

Wiesel doesn't seem to know what to say, and Davey can do nothing but wait for some kind of response. His face is burning and his palms are sweaty— it's humiliating.

"Period! You tell him, Davey!" Jack shouts, from his desk, which instantly breaks some of the tension. "Get his ass!"

"I think I'll be taking this up with HR," Sean says, once Wiesel has been quiet a little too long. He's so smooth with it that Davey's heart flutters a little. "I'm getting a sense that this is a running issue— I'd like them to have a look into your position here at the company. It was nice to meet you, though."

And then he turns back to his computer to work on whatever he was doing. Holy shit. There's a general rustling of papers and clicking of mouses around the room as everyone follows his lead, and Davey has to bite back a smile. It felt kind of good to stick it to Weasel.

-

The work day is pretty much over, Davey is packing up, and he really wants to figure out a way to make conversation with Sean.

He's so cool. He's so damn cool, and he's hot, and he's well-spoken and professional... Davey is desperate to at least be his friend. It's a Monday, not typically a night he'd go out for happy hour after work, but he's considering making plans anyways. He is the welcoming committee after all.

He shoots off a group text to Race, Jack and Crutchie, suggesting a little welcoming party at their usual bar down the block, and everyone drops a like on it within moments. Perfect.

"Hey," he leans over the little gap between their desks and can't stop himself from smiling. "A few of us are gonna go for drinks once we clock out, and you're more than welcome to join us."

Sean finally cracks a real smile, and Davey nearly passes out. He's gorgeous.

"Really?" He looks so happy just to be included. "That sounds fun, I'd love to."

-

"I'm really sorry about earlier."

Davey and Sean sit at a table, while Jack and Race play pool, and Crutchie tries his best to make a move on the bartender that he's been crushing on for ages. It never quite goes his way, but his commitment to the cause is admirable.

"What?" Davey asks. "Why? It was so nice of you to stick up for me!"

"I just feel bad that you got dragged into it," Sean sighs. "I mean, um... I'm gay too. So I kinda know how it feels when people say stuff like that, and sometimes it really is easier to brush it off. I didn't mean for you to get put on the spot like that."

Davey shrugs, trying to play off the way his heart has begun to flutter with the knowledge that he might have a chance— Sean is gay! This is too good to be true.

"It felt good to finally say something," Davey chuckles. "It was about time someone put him in his place. He's old and out-of-touch."

"And an asshole."

Davey laughs, loud and abruptly.

"Yeah, you're right. He's an asshole." He pauses, unable to stop smiling. "I'm gonna go grab another beer, can I buy you one?"

Sean, once again, looks surprised that Davey is being so nice to him, and his face breaks into that incredible grin from before.

"Sure, yeah! That'd be nice! Thank you so much."

And if the evening ends with a folded up napkin with a messily scribbled phone number and a note about the stupid nickname all my friends usually call me being casually slipped into Davey's back pocket... well, that's no one's business but Davey and Spot's.

[spones-in-my-bones]

Spones Amusement Park Date

OK SO I’ve had this in my WIPs for YEARS, and it’s an outline for a fic, so not fully written out fyi. The idea is basically: McCoy and his 5 y/o daughter Joanna going to an amusement park and on the way they meet Spock who is studying human culture and due to Reasons they invite him along. And then Romance happens ???

(The things they do (rides, games, etc) in the park in the fic are based upon going to Knott’s Berry Farm and Disneyland with my family as a kid, and what traditions we had when we went! It was a fun way to put that personal touch into a story, imo. Anyways, I hope you enjoy! (Also it’s like 4,600 words, full of run-on sentences bc rambling, and gets more fleshed out as it goes)

Let's just take a second to imagine Spock on Earth studying Terrans and their culture, and he bumps into McCoy, someone he met at the academy a week before. Let's just say, they did not get off on the right foot, and now are avoiding each other a bit. McCoy is with Joanna, and Joanna asks who Spock is, and McCoy introduces him.

Later on that same morning, Joanna wanders off and Spock saves her from nearly getting hit by a car (kinda dramatic but ok), and McCoy decides to give his impression of Spock another chance by inviting him to the amusement park with them. Spock declines at first, but then McCoy asks what his other plans are, and Spock say study Earth ways, to which McCoy says that an amusement park is a vital part of terran society and culture, thus convincing Spock to join them. 

The first thing Joanna does is take out her small camera and take pictures of everything, especially her father and new friend. The next, of course, is to get some cotton candy. Spock and McCoy both dislike the pure sugariness of the cotton candy, and Joanna doesn't mind since she gets it all to herself. 

Then the first ride they go on is sure to be the spinning teacups, which Spock remarks that it is illogical to sit in something designed for drinking out of, but McCoy simply rolls his eyes and pulls him into the cup before they start moving. when they get off, McCoy is a bit dizzy and thus stumbles, Spock catching his arms and straightening him. McCoy thanks him as Joanna rushes ahead and snaps another photo of the two. Then it's off to the log ride, where McCoy and Joanna get on, but Spock declines, instead going to observe the shops nearby in the meantime.

McCoy calls Spock a party pooper and Joanna does as well and they both go off to the log ride when they return, Joanna and McCoy are drenched, and thus walk around in the sun to dry off as they look for Spock, who's looking curiously at one of the many VERY old-fashioned holographic games in which you attempt to knock down stacks of bottles with a ball. Joanna sees a large stuffed Shelat (just for fun, it's a sehlat) that she wants, and McCoy says he'll give it a shot and gets four balls. He throws the first one and utterly misses, just saying that he was warming up. The second one misses as well, and Joanna says that her dad isn't very good at this. Spock then inquires if he might make an attempt, and McCoy says go for it. Spock nails it on the first try, winning the bear for joanna. Still having one more ball left, the guy behind the counter makes a wager that if Spock can hit a very difficult target, he'll get two bears, the sehalt and teddy bear instead of just one. 

McCoy asks Joanna and Joanna accepts, telling Spock that she believes in him. Spock picks up the ball, calculates as necessary, and nails the hit, winning a total of two stuffed bears for joanna. Joanna places them in her bag, the two bears sticking out of the top from just under their arms. 

After then, the three ventured into the kid's zone of the amusement park, where a lot of Joanna's favorite rides were. There was a miniature racetrack, where Joanna picked her favorite car, number 3(like the three of them!), and raced around the small, safe track as Spock and McCoy watched, McCoy taking pictures for his daughter. Then it was off to the the large spinning swings. Joanna loved them because they made her feel like she was flying. McCoy noticed that Spock was looking around the balloon animals at the time, which were still a big hit. McCoy explains them and then asks for a balloon hat for Joanna in the shape of a starship. Spock is impressed at the craftsmanship, and needless to say Joanna is elated at the sight of the hat.

Finally, it was time for the roller coaster. Joanna was tall for her age, which was 8 years old, and thus she was now able to ride the roller coaster she had been waiting literally all her life for. The Gallelio Thunder. Spock inquired about it's odd name, and McCoy explained that it was an indoor, underground rollercoaster that projected stars everywhere, so it was as if you were actually travelling through space. Though he supposed Spock had already seen space on his trip from Vulcan, so it's probably nothing like the real thing. 

Spock was going to wait outside as Joanna and McCoy went inside, but Joanna asked if Mr. Spock would please come with them. She said that the ride was three seats across, and so they had to have three people or else it wouldn't work. When Spock asks what wouldn't work, McCoy comments that Joanna is afraid she'll fall off of the coaster if there isn't a person on each side of her. But not to worry, since these are really safe. Spock says that he will join them for Joanna's sake, and follows them into the ride. 

In the long line there, Joanna gets really nervous, and thus holds her dad's hand. When they get to the front, she becomes even more nervous, and grabs Mr. Spock's sleeve, to which Spock and McCoy look at her and McCoy apologizes. Spock says that there is no need for apology, and McCoy smiles a bit. It's their turn, finally, and, after Joanna's height is checked and confirmed, they walk over, McCoy leading the way into the car and taking the farthest of the three seats. Joanna is shaking with anticipation as McCoy buckles her seatbelt and pulls the restraint over her head to her chest. Spock follows suit and then finally McCoy does his own. 

Time for liftoff. 

The roller coaster starts off slow, climbing up a great hill as panels on the walls mirror the reflections of the passengers in the car. McCoy appears very unsettled, Joanna is grinning widely, and Spock is looking around curiously at their surroundings. As they reach the top, the lights dim more and more until they are surrounded by darkness. Joanna instinctively reaches for her father's hand, squeezing much tighter than an eight year old should be able to. Then they stop as the car climaxes the peak. Surrounding them is a true work of art that is nature's universe around them. The stars twinkle in a variety of colors, and you can practically feel the heat coming off of the sun to their left. It was beautiful sight to behold. "Get ready, now." McCoy warned as the car jolted a little bit. The brakes released and the car went plummeting downwards into a multi-colored nebula. The stars stretched and flickered in their sight as the car sped by, fast as a shuttlecraft. A moment later they swirled with the track's loops and then flicked across their vision as they made sharp turns. Then, the car climbed one final hill, taller than the first, and at the peak was a view of the entire underground galaxy, all of the stars, planets, asteroids, meteors and nebulae the eyes can see. Right before you. As if you could reach out to it. But no one dared to as the gravity of the final drop was all too sudden to do so. The car raced to a slow crawl into the station, each of the passengers speechless. McCoy considered himself lucky that scared silence ran in his family rather than scared screaming. After that ride, he and Spock both surely would have lost their hearing. 

The three exited the ride, McCoy more slowly than the rest as he stomach tried to catch up with him. Joanna was jumping around saying that it was so awesome and amazing and she wanted to go again, but McCoy protested, saying that he didn't think he could handle another ride. Joanna made a sad face as she 'awwww'd, walking up the incline that led to the exit of the ride's building. Spock then suggested that he could take her on the ride, and Joanna said "yes, yes, yes! Pleeeeeease daddy, let Mr. Spock take me!" He then asked if Joanna was afraid of falling out if she wasn't surrounded, and she said that Mr. Spock would protect her, just like earlier today. How could McCoy argue with that?

(he could, but listen)

McCoy said very well and Joanna jumped around happily and gave Mr. Spock a hug around his waist, which she could just reach. McCoy and Spock are both shocked at this unexpected behavior, but McCoy just smiles as Spock stands there awkwardly. McCoy walks with them to the ride, but instead of getting on, passes through, taking joanna's bag and balloon hat for her, and says that he'll be at the restaurant at the exit when they're done. Joanna nods and says thank you to both him and Mr. Spock before the ride starts and McCoy steps back, watching them take off into the galaxy together. 

Almost fully exhausted from their energetic day, the first thing McCoy does is go into the restaurant and sit down. He notices the virtual pinball machines against one wall, and takes out a few coins for Joanna when she gets back. He sat back in the fully metal, yet oddly comfortable chair that was one of four at the table, and shut his eyes with a content sigh. Joanna and him had always had fun when they did this twice a year, but this year he felt much more, well, relaxed. What had changed? Well, sure Joanna was older, but it had to be more than that. Could it have been Spock? McCoy opened his eyes and looked to Joanna's small blue backpack that held the two plush bears Spock had won for her earlier. He noticed that one was falling out, and thus adjusted it in the bag so that the two were side by side comfortably. 

Maybe it was Spock. 

"Daddy!" The excited sounds of his daughter call out to McCoy, who set the bag holding the bears down and hugged his daughter as she ran up to him. He asked her if she enjoyed herself, and she said yes and that Mr. Spock said he did too. McCoy grinned at Spock. “Is that so?” Spock nodded. “It was a competent source of entertainment.” Bascially meaning that he had fun in Vulcan. McCoy asked Joanna if she wa hungry, which he gets a hearty reply. McCoy asks Spock if he is hungry as well, and Spock says that he is “indeed in need of nourishment”. McCoy chuckles and rolls his eyes at the Vulcan’s phrasing. 

He tells Joanna to order at the screen beside their table and then gives her the coins so she can play pinball. If he had something odd to be proud of in his daughter, it would be her skills at a pinball machine. He taught her so well that she nearly beats /him/, and she's only eight. "Dr. McCoy," Spock begins as he takes as seat across from McCoy. "Look, Spock, we're at an amusement park, not the academy. You can call me Leonard." Spock is hesitant for a moment. "Very well, Leonard." McCoy smiles at his name and orders his food, giving Spock some recommendations. He looks back over at Spock and bites his lips together in an effort to hold back a laugh.

“Well, I’ll be. You’ve got uh-” he motioned to the top of his own head-the place the hair was standing askew on Spock’s own. 

Spock piqued a brow before reaching his hand up and in one smooth motion, flattened his hair.

“I didn’t know that it could do that.”

Spock gave him a confused look.

“It’s just-you appear to be so...” McCoy gestured in the air. “Meticulous? That I didn’t think it was possible for a single hair to be out of place.”

“I assure you, the hair of Vulcans reacts very similarly to human’s. Perhaps you have mistaken me instead for a statue?”

McCoy laughed at that. “Maybe, but good to know that you’re just like the rest of us. In all the good ways, of course.” He winked at Spock, causing the Vulcan’s brow to soar higher and make McCoy let out another laugh. This time, he caught Spock eyeing him with a sort of... fondness? Maybe he’s starting to relax, finally.

Just as McCoy was about to speak, Joanna came over, exclaiming that she had gotten the third highest score on the game. McCoy says 'atta girl' and moves her bag so she can sit down beside him.

Their food arrives moments later, McCoy having a nice thin slice of meat on his plate surrounded by vegetables, Spock ordering a full fruit and vegetable plate, and Joanna ordering the kid version of what her father has."If memory serves, most Vulcans are Vegetarians. Is that right, Spock?" McCoy asks and he peeks down at Spock's salad plate. 

"Your memory is correct, doctor." 

"Leonard, please," McCoy grins up at Spock, "You are eating dinner with us, after all. So, how important would you say vegetables are?" 

Spock raises a brow at the question, but before he can say anything, he sees the doc-...Leonard motion to Joanna, who is currently picking at her vegetables. "They are incredibly important, as they are my main source of nourishment." 

Leonard makes an expression of faux surprise, turning to his daughter. "You hear that. Jo? Fruits and vegetables are /very/ important to eat. Even Mr. Spock thinks so." 

“But that's /all/ he eats," Jo whimpers, picking at her broccoli. "And Mr. Spock's not a human, so it's different.” “That may be true, but-” 

“I am half human,” Spock offers. McCoy raises both his brows at the information. “My mother is human, and it is true that a balanced diet, containing vegetables, is crucial to maintaining one's health. This applies to both you and Leonard as well.” 

McCoy smiles, mentally stumbling at the sound of his first name in Spock's voice for a second before turning back to Jo. “See? Spock may not be a doctor, but he knows his stuff.” 

Joanna frowns, simply picking at her vegetables before eating them with disdain. McCoy chuckles a bit, tilting his head towards Spock in thanks. 

When they had finished eating, it was already nighttime, meaning the park was closing soon. Spock was saying that he must be going, but Joanna protested, saying that they only had one more thing to do before they left. McCoy agreed with his daughter and said that it wouldn't be much longer. After some thought, Spock agreed and they walked down towards a giant fountain that stood in the center of the park. McCoy then left saying the he's going to a stand that they had just passed and would be back in a minute, leaving Joanna with Spock just 20 feet away. 

Joanna looked up at the stars, saying that she loved the night because she could see other worlds then. She then asked if Mr. Spock that if he was an alien, that meant he was from another planet, right? which he said he was. She followed up by asking which star was his planet in the sky. Spock said you cannot see it from here, bug pointed out the orion's belt, and said that it was the far left star there, the one that shined a bit dimmer than the rest, is where his galaxy was, and his planet was in that galaxy. Joanna spotted it and commented that she wanted to go there someday and meet more people like the kind Mr. Spock.

McCoy returned a split second later with three fresh churros, handing one to Joanna and one to Spock. Spock tried to deny the food, but McCoy insisted, saying that it was a dessert on Earth that was meant to be eaten on such an occasion as visiting an amusement park. And that he knew Vulcans well enough to ensure it didn't have any sugar. Spock then accepted the treat and Joanna said that he cannot eat it yet, and that he had to wait. Spock inquired as to why, and McCoy said that it's tradition with the two of them. 

McCoy then led the way to what appeared to be an old wooden house in the middle of the amusement park. When they walked around the side of it, a train was revealed to be hidden behind the old house, and Joanna immediately ran to it. Not having seen this before, Spock asked what this was, and McCoy explained that it was an antique steam-powered train that the park ran once per night. They followed Joanna to the third of the eight passenger cars and sat down across from one another. Not too many people were on the train that night, so they ended up getting that open-air car to themselves. McCoy told Spock that the side they were sitting on was better, and asked him to come over. Spock asked as to why it was better, and McCoy said that he would see soon. Spock moved and sat next to McCoy, Joanna on the Doctor's other side near the head of the car, eagerly looking out of the side waiting for the train to go. Moments later, the train jolted to start, McCoy bumping into Spock with it's force, however Spock caught him. McCoy apologized, feeling a hear rise to his cheeks, and Spock said there was no need. The train chugged steadily as it made its way around the park, passing by the teacup ride, log plunge, kid's zone, and finally the building for Gallileo's Thunder before halting to a stop at the back of the park. Spock asked why they had stopped and McCoy said to wait a minute and he'll see. Joanna said that they could eat their churros now, and the three of them unwrapped it and took a bite at the same time, all together enjoying the still warm, sugary bliss they held in their hands.

All of a sudden, just about every single light in the park went out at once, leaving a sole light from the large fountain to illuminate the center of the park. The light changed from green to yellow to red and made its way through the entire rainbow before halting on a bright, watery blue

Tiny white orbs of light flew up from the fountain, making a set formation above it.

White lines connected the orbs to one another, creating a very familiar pattern; that of Ursa Minor. As soon as they all were connected, the constellation sprung to life, dancing in an elegant manner. More white orbs floated up, creating another constellation that was known as Cassiopeia. It joined in the dance with Ursa Minor, flowing around the fountain as if they could walk on air. Soon enough, more and more constellations joined them, sharing the dance of the stars before everyone's eyes.

McCoy laid his head on his arm that was resting on the top of the bench he sat on. His eyes were calm, and his face aglow. This had to be his favorite part of the entire day. Curious, he looked over at Spock, who seemed to be fully engaged in the light show. McCoy couldn't blame him. Holograms or not, it was still a beautiful show. 

There... was something about Spock's eyes. Something that captivated McCoy as a whole. No matter how much he wished to look away, he couldn't. After today, he had a hard time believing that the stubborn Vulcan he had met before was the same one he had spent nearly the whole day with. But he was. Both of them were, he chuckled. Spock was both of these men, both stubborn and kind, blunt and gentle. And McCoy liked it. 

He liked... him. 

Spock.

After the light show had ended in an explosion of glittering stars, all of the lights slowly came back on in the park, and McCoy found himself still staring at Spock's eyes. When Spock looked to him however, he found the energy to look away and over at Joanna. She was sitting a few feet away from him on his other side, clapping for the amazing show they had just witnessed. "Mr. Spock, Mr. Spock! Did you see the lights? Did you like it?" Joanna asked, practically jumping up and down in her seat. McCoy knew that he should not have given her that sugar so late. "I did see it. It was quite... Interesting." Spock stated, unable to hide the sliver of fascination in his voice.

The train jolted to a start again, McCoy being pushed into Spock again by the force, his hand landing on top of the Vulcan's. McCoy immediately withdrew his hand and cleared his throat, apologizing for the sudden bump. Spock said there was no need to apologize and McCoy could feel his face redden.

After they got off the train, they headed straight towards the exit of the park, Joanna snapping a few more pictures along the way. Joanna halted the two of them before they could leave and walked up to a member of the park's staff, asking if she could take a picture for them. The woman accepted and set them up for a photo. Spock attempted to leave and let just McCoy and Joanna get a picture, but they pulled him back in, saying that he was with them the whole day, so he has to suffer through one last picture with them. McCoy held up Joanna on his right side so she was in the center of the two adults. Joanna smiled widely at her dad and new friend as the camera flashed with a couple of pictures. This day had been perfect for her, and she was happy to have photos to look at later on so she could remember this day.

About halfway through the parking lot, Joanna began to walk slowly and yawn. McCoy, noticing this, asked her if she was tired, to which she replied that she wasn't. She yawned again. Okay, maybe a little. McCoy picked her up and carried her, her head resting on his right shoulder. He asked Spock if he was taking the bus back to the academy's living area, and Spock said yes. McCoy commented that he is as well, though he gets off just before then in an apartment complex. The two arrive just in time to catch the bus back to where they are staying, though they are a few of the only ones on the bus. When McCoy sits down, Spock across from him, Joanna is fast asleep already. McCoy adjusts his hold on her and yawns himself. Moments later, he is asleep as well. 

About a half an hour later, McCoy is awoken by Spock, who was sitting beside him, shaking him awake with one hand. The first instinct is to ask where he is, and Spock comments that he is on the bus, and they are nearly at McCoy's stop. McCoy blinks himself awake and looks around at the bus' bright interior. He thanks Spock and looks out the window. Indeed, they are very close to his stop. He reaches up and pulls the cord, telling the bus that he wants to get off at the next stop and then wipes his face with his hand. "Thanks, Spock." He says with a slight yawn. He looks down at Joanna, who is still asleep, and thinks it best not to wake her right now. McCoy took Joanna's bag off of her back and opened it, taking the camera out. He turned it on and pressed a few buttons before a small chip came out of the side. He handed it to Spock. "Here, it's a copy of all of the pictures from today. I thought it might help your research." Spock accepted it with a nod and placed it in his pocket. 

When the bus pulls to a stop, McCoy stood up with the help of the bar beside him, and then turns to Spock. "Hey, uh, Thank you. For today. Just... well, everything today." Spock simply looks up at him and replies "It was no trouble." McCoy smirked at that. He opened his mouth to say something, but stopped himself. “So... I'll uh, see you around, then.” Spock nodded and McCoy hesitantly exited the bus, watching as the bus ride away. 

Opening the door to the apartment, McCoy quickly walks in, as it had started raining as they were walking, and takes off both his and Joanna's shoes and places her bag on the sofa. He carries her to her room, helps her change into her pajamas, and puts her to bed. Today had been great. Joanna had been great. Spock had been great. McCoy, he... He really liked Spock. Not in the way one friend liked another, either. Was that selfish of him? After all, they had only really talked with one another today. But when he thought about him... 

McCoy pulled Joanna's camera out of her bag and scrolled through the pictures, noticing a pattern. Most of the pictures were of him and Spock, next to each other. In the teacup, at the bottle game, eating, and on the train. In all of them, McCoy is smiling. He looks to Spock, and Spock is smiling too, with his eyes. He let out a quiet sigh. He was never going to have a chance with Spock as perfect as the one he had today. 

A sudden knock on the door startled McCoy from his thoughts. Would could it be at this hour? McCoy opened the door to see Spock standing there, drenched from the rain. "Spock!" McCoy exclaimed, ushering the man inside. "It's pouring out there, why don’t you have an umbrella?" McCoy shut the door behind him and grabbed a towel from the closet. "Seriously, what are you doing here? Weren't you going back to your apartment at the Academy?" 

Spock accepted the towel and wiped the water from his slick hair. "Indeed, I had planned to return to my apartment." He stated, now drying off his arms and shoulders. "However a situation came up that required my presence here." 

McCoy was confused. "What? What situation?" Spock opened his bag and pulled out a small brown teddy bear. McCoy looked to Joanna's bag that was on the couch beside them and saw only the one teddy bear was present. "Oh... thank you." McCoy said, taking the bear and placing it beside the other. "Joanna would have been sad if she had lost either of these guys," McCoy admitted. "But you could have given them to me later. You didn’t have to come out in the pouring rain, you know." 

Spock stopped drying himself off and handed the towel to McCoy, touching his hand. Spock met McCoy's eyes. "Leonard," Spock stated, serious. "Are you aware the Vulcans are touch telepaths?" 

McCoy blinked. "No, I wasn't." He replied, confused as to where this was going. 

"I see. I noticed that, whenever we touched today, you were harboring romantic feelings towards myself, that grew more and more prominent as the day passed." Spock looked down at their hands that were still touching. "I can sense that they are currently at their strongest now." 

McCoy looked down at their hands and his face reddened. "So,” he hesitated, “what are you saying?" 

"I wanted to tell you that I reciprocate those very feelings." 

"W-what?"

Spock took the towel from McCoy and intertwined the fingers of their left hands. "I wish to attempt a relationship with you." 

McCoy couldn't speak. He really liked the guy, and Joanna liked him as well, and he felt as though he could trust him, so what was holding him back? Nothing. 

"Uh, I... I mean, I’m definitely interested but, how about we go on a few more dates first? get to know one another better." 

“Very well. Would you be interested in meeting me for lunch tomorrow?”

“Yes-well, I mean, I have Joanna with me-”

“Joanna is welcome of course. I have found myself... fond, of both of you.”

McCoy grinned at that. “That’s good, because we’re a package deal.”

“I would not have it another way, Leonard.” Spock raised up the man’s hand, and in a motion he’d seen a few times before, he placed his lips to the back of the man’s palm. “Until tomorrow, then.”

McCoy stammered at the gesture, face flushed both at how cheesy it was and how much he utterly loved it.

“Until tomorrow, Spock.”

[phoenotopia]

2020 March Update

Happy New Year! Well, I guess it's a bit late for that...

Much of what transpired in the past few months will fall under polish and bug-fixing. Will and I have a mutual friend who got married, so I had the occasion to visit Will to attend the wedding as well as have Will playtest the game in its most complete form yet. He logged 24 hours of playtime and just reached the entrance of the final dungeon. Then we had to call in for the night since it was 5 AM, and I had a flight to catch in the morning.

His completion rate where we stopped was 42% of Heart Pieces, 33% of Energy Gems, and 44% of Moonstones. So... I think we have a pretty lengthy game!

This will take a while to playtest & polish... Will's daytime profession is QA Engineer so he's pretty great at catching bugs. From his playtest, we jotted down 200+ items to fix/adjust. Some as small as a simple misspelling, and some more significant (like Gail being unable to jump when standing at the edge of a steep slope). I'm about half-way through fixing that list...

(Will’s living room where much playtesting was done)

Here are some other things we've accomplished in the past few months. A lot of it falls under polish and bug-fixing, which won't sound outwardly impressive, so I'll dive in a bit under the hood.

-------------------------- Item Balancing --------------------------

There are over 200 items in the game. Of which, 90+ are healing items. While much of their flavor text was already written, their stats weren't yet finally decided. So a large effort was spent to balance them as well as possible. Initially, I balanced items by observation (ex: "The player is relying on this item a lot, so I will nerf it...") Now, I've moved to a more systematic way of doing things. I made an equation that takes in all of an item's parameters, and spits out a score. The higher an item heals, the higher the score. The longer an item takes to consume, the lower the score. And so forth.

As usual, I used google spreadsheets, since they support equations. I could tweak the values of a healing item, and immediately see how its final score was affected. I also made use of automatic color formatting, so a field becomes highlighted red, if it's particularly bad, or green, if it's particularly good. Of course, the sheet is just a guideline. The aim wasn't to make all items have the same final score, but that they made sense for what they were and when you could get them. Late-game items tend to have higher overall scores versus early-game items. Some items, like doggy biscuits, have notoriously low scores across the board - as a joke!

-------------------------- Cooking Systems --------------------------

Another thing that had to be done with the healing items was finally determine their cooking sequences. 38 healing items could be cooked and will transform into something else. The way I specified that an item could be cooked was to add a a little snippet to an item's "meta data". An example would look something like, "COOK,57,62,ABXY,10,1.5,1".

In order, this specified the item_ID that would result on success (57), the item_ID that would result on failure (62), the button sequence (ABXY), the time you had to complete the sequence (10 seconds), how quickly the cursor should move (1.5x speed), and if the item multiplied on success (1). The system appears simple enough - but it was actually extremely inefficient!

For one, this system didn't allow random button sequences - all "berry fruits", when cooked would have the same button prompts and in the same order every time (ABXY). Initially, I thought having set button sequences would be a feature, but in practice, it was less fun. 

Two, this system wasn't human-readable at all. I'd see a sequence of numbers, forget what they were, and have to look them up over and over.

But the biggest problem was that you couldn't evaluate an item's cooking difficulty from these numbers without manual testing. At 1.5 cursor speed, how many times does the cursor pass the center panel in 10 seconds? Maybe that's 15 times... for a 4 button sequence, the player has 11 opportunities to miss - that's too wide a berth for failure. The system also had variable penalties - if you misspressed a button prompt you loss time on the cooking meter. If you didn't press anything, you missed the opportunity, but not the time - but the clock was still ticking, so you did lose time, just not as much. In the end, the difficulty of cooking each item was all over the place. It was also possible to create "unwinnable" scenarios if I made the button sequence too long, the time too short, or the cursor speed too slow. Testing each item manually to ensure doability was too tedious and unreliable - it was a mess!

Which is why, the underlying cooking system was revamped. The new meta data looks like : "COOK,57,62,seq_length,5,spd,1.5,ease_add,2". This is a lot more readable. Beyond the first 3 entries, the arguments could be specified in any order. And their meanings were easy to understand.

"seq_length,5" means a random button sequence of 5 will be generated (no need for me to personally generate it)

"spd,1.5" means the cursor moves at 1.5x speed. I could also leave this field out to get a default value of 1x cursor speed.

"ease_add,2" - the biggest improvement to the system is how we now approach difficulty. We streamlined a miss-press and a missed opportunity as the same level of "mistake", and difficulty is framed as, "how many mistakes is the player allowed to make and still have a successful result?" By default, the player is afforded the ability to make 2 mistakes, and "ease_add,2" bumps the number of allowable mistakes to 4. We then automatically calculate how much "time" the player should have to cook something based on its cursor speed, how long the button sequence is, and how many mistakes the player is allowed to make. This was a more sensible and efficient system that let me knock out all 38 healing item cook sequences in one sitting!

-------------------------- Badges Nearly Done --------------------------

As you may recall from the last update, I was working on implementing the badges.

Thinking up the badge and having its graphic drawn is just the first half. Underneath, the code also needs to be made to track all the relevant player stats - how many times the player fished, ate, got money, used a certain move, etc. Some badges require extra guards, because they can be spoofed. For instance, the "Treasure Hunter" badge is obtained when the player has collected XXXX RIN through the course of your journey. However, there is something like a "gold exchange" in the game, where you could circularly trade gold and RIN to boost this number artificially. It's important to guard against cases like those.

So far, 30 of 33 badges are implemented. The last three have to do with late-game things that have inter-dependencies that we're still figuring out. The Speed running badge for instance is still dependent on two things. One, I need to speed run the game a few times to see how fast it's possible to beat the game and decide finally what's a reasonable time-limit. Two, there's actually a time-keeping bug which can inflate the game time if the system is left in sleep mode. I don't expect either things will be too hard to figure out - just gotta find the time for it.

-------------------------- Script Extra Polished --------------------------

We continued to polish the script, which I thought was basically done before. We added some extra NPCs here and there, and fleshed out the world with lore text where it seemed appropriate. In the end, the game's script ballooned to over 100,000 words! Hah... It's definitely DONE now however!

Some interesting things I noted as I was polishing old text - there were quite a few instances where Gail talks. I began the game's development with the idea that Gail should definitely talk since I wanted her to be a more active participant in what she chose to do. But I discovered later that if Gail talks, but only talked a little, she comes off as a very reticent person. There's no middle lane here - you're either all in or all out.

If Gail was a silent protagonist, she still talked symbolically. She is understood to be talking based on how people react to her - kinda like Link. So that's the direction I went with in the end (again). When Gail has occasion to talk, it comes in the form of a player dialogue choice. She also has an inner voice when she needs to remind the player to do something.

Another reason I went with this direction, is for brevity. Take this exchange for instance: QUEST GIVER : Can you help me find this super rare ingredient? GAIL : Maybe. I can't make any promises...

If Gail is silent, I can reduce those 2 lines to 1. QUEST GIVER : Can you help me find this super rare ingredient? GAIL : ...

-------------------------- Business Taxes --------------------------

Not too exciting, but new year means I gotta do taxes for the business. They're a lot more complicated than personal taxes, and more expensive! Since the game hasn't sold anything, you would think there'd be nothing to file. Hah! If only... The business is there so we can act as a legal entity and record expenses for when we do start selling. I really want to focus on making games, but there’s a small percentage of it that is sometimes boring and dreadful (-_-) ... still it needs to be done.

------------- Why no Public Beta Testing? -------------

As you may have noticed, I haven't put out any public calls for testing help despite being at that stage. Some have offered to help, which I appreciate! But sadly, I cannot accept. Here's the story for that.

Two and a half years ago, I got my hands on a console dev kit - that's very exciting, so I hurriedly took the steps to convert my dev station to be console-capable. After about two weeks, I had the console version working and integrated into my workflow, so all appeared good...

4 Months later, an artist needed an updated PC build to test some new art assets, so I went to build a new PC version. We use Unity, so generally you just need to click your desired build target, and hit "build". However, I now discovered that by attaching the console "hooks" into my work environment, I could no longer build to PC... It was possible, from my end, to test the game from the dev station in dev mode, which was why it went undiscovered for so long.

I did try to excise the hooks, but proved unsuccessful after a day of work. I decided to take this as an opportunity to focus exclusively on the console version first, which afforded me some niceties. Knowing that there's a standardized control scheme meant I could make full use of the control stick for the fishing mini-game. I also didn't need to create a rebindable keys menu - which is a MUST for PC versions... Most importantly, it lets me focus on making the one version as good as possible before moving onto the next. I have NO idea how those other guys release on all platforms at once...

Chalk it up to inexperience. In my defense, this will be my first commercial release, so bear with me. Don't worry, I still plan to make the PC version! It's a bit unconventional, but we're just going to go in the reverse direction of the usual. Console first, then PC, then other consoles. Wherever it makes financial sense, there we will be. (Sorry Ouya!)

Back to the original question - that's why I haven't sent out any public calls for playtesting. Current playable builds of the game are locked to my console dev kit. So actual playtesting unfolds in a very closed setting. Like what I did with Will, I literally sit behind the playtester, breathe down their neck, and watch them play, taking notes all the while.

But since I'm observing the player directly, even just one playthrough nets me a TON of bugs and adjustment tasks. So it evens out I think.

-------------------------- Trailers, Release Dates, etc. --------------------------

Alright, get your frowns ready...

We finished two trailers, and they're raring to go. BUT! We can't show them yet... We're sort of at an awkward spot where we're waiting on some conversational threads to conclude. Say we win a slot in a show - that'd be a HUGE plus for us - but that may also be contingent on us having NOT shown anything substantial yet. The game in its unrevealed state is a negotiating chip. So we're trying to leverage that... and you can only do the reveal once...

We also want to have some "actionable" items in the trailer - a launch date you could mark on your calendar, a wishlist, a website you can visit, etc. So since those things aren't entirely lined up yet, we can't let the trailers rip just yet...

Right now, I can only say we're *aiming* for a late Q2/early Q3 launch. But I can't commit to anything concrete yet. As soon as we know, we'll happily sing it from the rooftops. I hope I can update this blog sooner with good news, but if things move slowly again, I'll send out the next "we're alive" update 2 months from now (end of April).

I know it's frustrating to have nothing major after so long still, so I captured some gameplay footage... May it sate your hungers!

-------------------------- Footage 1 : Fishing --------------------------

You've seen pictures of the fishing, but never video of it in action. Well, here it is!

(And right after I uploaded the video, I noticed there actually was a video of fishing before. D’oh)

The idea is simple. First, get the lure in front of a fish, and assuming the fish isn't scared, it will soon bite. Then begins a fight sequence, where your energy meter is pitted against the fish's energy meter. Whoever's energy outlasts the other's wins.

The fish's resistance is represented by a red moving circular subsection. You fight the fish by pushing the control stick and keeping it on the subsection, which will dart around and try to escape you. Bigger and tougher variants of fish will do a "shake" which will reverse the wheel. When the wheel is reversed, so too are the controls, so it gets extra tricky!

While fishing, your energy meter doesn't recover, so one of the ways you level up your fishing ability is by finding energy gems to increase your max energy. There's another way - but we'll keep that a secret.

-------------- Footage 2 : Kobold Boss Fight --------------

You can actually skip the next section if you'd prefer to be surprised and you find your hunger for info sated. That's how I prefer to consume the games that I know I'm going to get. If you're still hungering for info, and you don't mind the slight spoilers, then feel free to proceed!

The next video shows the new Kobold Boss fight. Let's take a moment to reflect on the old game's visuals and how far it's come...

(we've come a long way since the time of the flash game)

You'll notice the Kobold boss has a name now - Katash! He's a significant enough character that he's earned it. The second thing you'll notice is that he looks better!

Some people have humorously pointed out that the old boss looks like Wolf O'Donnel from Star Fox. There's a funny story behind that. Basically I asked an artist to draw me a space wolf. And the artist, whom I'm assuming wasn't familiar with Wolf O'Donnel, drew that - all of it - all the animations and everything. The first time I laid eyes on it, it was already done, so it was too late to ask for edits. So I just ran with it.

That was seven years ago. Nowadays, I know to involve myself more in the process. I ask for just the design first, and we don't move forward with animations until we're happy with the design. Life lessons!

By the way, if you like Katash’s personal boss theme, give it a lesson on Will's Sound cloud (LINK)

-------------------------- Fan Arts -------------------------- Lots of fan art came in over the past 3 months!

This one is a pixel animation made by Pimez, and shows Gail singing a Christmas carol in various parts of the game. So cute! Years ago, I too was making little animated gifs for my favorite games, so it really brings me back!

This one was made by cARTographer (twitter link) after a request by Deli_mage, so thank you both. Gail rocking stylish boots with a pose that shows confidence in her batting skills. Very anime - Love it!

Another submission of laptekosz of the Last Song of Earth area. Whereas the last picture depicted the night sky, now the orange trees are lit by a rising sun. Artfully done! Kinda makes me want to eat eggs. I hope you'll like the new Last Song of Earth area just as much :D

A new artist to the scene, Not_Quin, submitted two pictures, one of Gail and one of the Sand Drake re-imagined as a centipede. I'm always a fan of these re-imaginings! I like how it's spiky all over and appears to be wearing a skull mask. The Sand Drake is often pointed out to be too similar to Zelda's Dodongos, so maybe a long slithery body would have indeed served better. Fun fact, long ago, when we were working on Phoenotopia 2 in earnest, we actually had a giant man-eating worm planned - WIP animation depicted below. One day... one day...

Negativus Core made two cool new arts! I'm really impressed by their use of unique perspective! Having characters run towards the screen or reaching close to the screen from afar is tricky since the proportions get all distorted - but not an issue for Negativus Core! Love the blur on Gail to show speed, with 66 in focus - really skillfully done! And the cube. Amazing!

--------------------------

I'm really honored by the huge fan art community. Thank you all! 

[psalloacappella]

Sirens - CH 5

Title: Sirens Pairing: SasuSaku Chapter: Ao3 | FF Rating:  M

Additional Notes:  new cast alert, enter Ino!; spicy; sad; Sasuke kind of a SIMP; make some noise; some parts nsfw .

.

.

And so again, he finds himself on some surreal plane of existence where there’s another unfamiliar pretty girl in his kitchen, hailing from fuck knows where, tossed onto earth in a momentary absurdity — arriving on a magic carpet or hot air balloon. Often a silent observer to conversations weighty with importance, he has the talent of existing in a room and giving the impression he’s somehow hearing everything and nothing in the same moment.

Introductions dispensed. Coffee and food, he’s learned, always serve as a sufficient social lubricant and functions as the perfect excuse to give them time together to untangle a conversation that sounds like an argument they’ve been having for several years of their lives, the type of historical artifacts that define the best relationships; they’re familiar echoes of the bond of a brother long broken and a best friend that he’s sure has extended much more grace than he’s deserved.

Fingers linger on the handles of mugs, grasp them and set them down, pantomiming and gesturing and weaving stories about people he doesn’t know and passing tokens of lives lived in a separate dimension than his. It’s odd, how the histories of others intertwine and as people share pieces of themselves they fill in the empty questions to create bonds anew, the pasts and presents overlapping, echoing and transforming in layers and rings as carbon dating. The details that follow in the tracks of family lines and secrets.

If he listens, he’ll be able to glean the things this girl has such a difficult time telling him.

“You know it’s hard for your friends when you do this,” Ino chides, reaching forward to flick a lock of her pink hair. A cherished gesture, the type only people so close will tolerate. “Disappear and resurface hundreds of miles away, always moving, never checking in.”

“You should be used to it by now.” Sakura takes a sip of coffee to hide the slight waver in her voice. It gives Sasuke pause and he glances at her over his shoulder from his sentinel role at the stove.

The tint of her drink reminds him of a specific shade of paint, a desultory memory of his home — Saint Martin Sand.

“And every time we come together again, I tell you, stop punishing yourself for no reason. At least this time you’ve made some friends. Cute ones.” Ino watches him watch Sakura and their eyes meet — he breaks it with the slightest blush.

The glitter in her eyes is so knowing, so like Naruto’s, he wonders if he should have taken a long walk instead.

“So let’s just lay this on the table,” Ino continues, setting down her mug with a sharp sound. “You two are a thing, and judging by that ridiculous soap opera outside, you’ve been staying here with him?”

“We’re not together— ”

“Yes, yes, you don’t date, I know.” Ino waves a hand, sweeping away her fruitless protestations. Lifting her chin, she says to Sasuke, “I didn’t mean to join in, it’s just, I finally find her and she’s getting chased by some guy, you can see how I could’ve had the wrong idea.”

“I understand,” Sasuke responds, not turning around. “You two are very close.”

“A man of many words.” Ino refocuses on Sakura, who’s running her fingernail on the lip of the mug, staring into coffee the shade of tropical sand. “As long as he’s kind to you, I suppose I can’t show up and start analyzing it.”

“But you will,” Sakura says, grinning.

“Of course I have a million questions; you’re terrible at keeping in touch. For starters, why is your ankle busted?”

With a bleak groan, Sakura lets her face fall into her hands, fingers sinking into her hair. Ino laughs in a weary way, the love of years so lush and apparent throughout, and their feet tap one another under the table. Both pass the heel of a hand underneath their eyes, a quick swipe, gestures in a mirror.

“Are you going to come sit with us or what?” Ino snarks, fearless in her insistence. A similar frankness that Sakura has in her best moments which take peeled layers to surface. Sasuke wonders just where and when their paths forked, and how those laden with cracks in the soul are lucky enough to find supports like these. Adjusting breakfast to a simmer, he brings his own coffee to take up a seat on an adjacent table side, between them.

“So — how did you two meet?” she asks, tapping the table with each word. Eyes hungry for details, she sways left and right, waiting for one of them to indulge her.

“Ah—”

“Well—”

“He’s a fan of my radio show,” Sakura finally articulates. “He and Naruto — his friend, own a bar and they called in, and honestly I was so curious so I ended up coming in a few days later. And the rest is history.”

Ino smiles. “So how long is that history, two, three weeks?”

Sasuke busies himself with copious coffee drinking, aware he’ll run out before being able to leave the table.

“That’s so cute, it’s nauseating,” Ino adds, grinning at Sasuke. Amused by his embarrassment and baffled that a guy so handsome is sitting here being twisted into knots by a little gossip and interest. She must drive him crazy.

As she watches both of them glance away, askance, eyes on anything but one another, knowing Sakura as well as she does means this dynamic and situation for her is a new foray, an unusual wrinkle and snag in her usual routine of cut and run.

She likes him too. And this, out of all of it, is the most unusual development for her friend that routinely rips up her roots or rarely stays long enough to grow them; the girl that’s been afraid to breathe the same air for one too many heartbeats in fear of making mistakes, taking what she deserves.

And the longer Ino sees Sasuke’s handsome face up close — messy dark hair, charcoal, sharp eyes, the patrician slope of his nose — there’s thoughts sifting in that slippery layer of the unconscious, shifting as sand in soft winds. A sense she’s missing a crucial detail in a larger game.

“You definitely had a good first night with this one. I know, I can tell.” Refusing pretense, Ino drops this on the table and sips with a satisfied smile.

“Pig, please!” Sakura sounds annoyed, but it still marries a soft, scolding tone to what must be a childhood, agreed-upon name.

Scrunching up her face, Ino taps her forehead twice. Children making faces on glass windows or at one another on a playground, a reference to simpler times. They grew up together bonded by dirty knees and whispered secrets. Not unlike the way Sasuke and his brother were so long ago, before they were groomed, primed for their inescapable roles: A reprieve from destiny is not the pardon.

All three startle at the sound of jangling keys; Sasuke, with his back to the door, turns in his seat and throws a careless arm over the back of the chair. Glancing back to Sakura, they exchange a small ghost of a smile, a hidden and intimate reference to experiences only privy to them.

“‘Kay, Sasuke, I know you told me not to just walk into your apartment, ‘specially now that you’ve had this super cute girl around, but this is definitely, totally—”

When he sees Ino at the end of the table, Sasuke gracing him with the woebegone, tired expression that he always receives when intruding, and Sakura smiling at his arrival, he stops in his tracks over the threshold.

Naruto’s mouth falls open with impunity. Sakura waves at him.

“ — important,” Naruto finishes, closing the door with his foot behind him. Shoulders sagging, he tosses his keys on the counter and whines. “Unreal, man. You found another one. An impossibly attractive girl and now they’re both in your damn kitchen!”

Ino points at him, palm facing up, in a lazy gesture. “Who’s this dork?”

“That’s his best friend,” Sakura says, nodding at Sasuke.

“Seriously? This guy?”

“Naruto,” Sasuke begins, running a hand through his messy hair, “the fuck did I tell you about walking in like this? Just knock. Or as you remind me, we have phones.”

“Well maybe you should start putting up a sign or something, or a sock on the door or some shit, because I can’t keep up with your life.” Without invitation, Naruto helps himself to coffee and continues rambling while lifting the lid to inspect the simmering food. “Or better yet you could let me know when you’re just befriending beautiful women and where exactly you find them, because you have zero interest in the ones at the bar.”

“Listen, uh, what’s your name? Naruto, you said? Sasuke and I haven’t had the pleasure of—” Ino breaks off, hissing ow! under her breath from a well-placed kick. “It’s not like that. I’m Sakura’s friend — I’m like the you to him,” she says, pointing to each of them respectively to illustrate her point. “So relax, because I’m assuming you’re joining us.”

Sakura starts laughing while Naruto drops the lid back onto the pan and stares, mouth in a perfect, round “O.”

Smiling wide, Ino preens in the manner of an exotic species so very cognizant of its worth.

“So, go back to the part where I’m impossibly attractive.”

.

.

.

Sasuke’s second breakfast consisting of people other than Naruto and himself sails by in the way time well-spent feels warm and sublime. The buoyancy of laughter and a tentative kindling, the way it proceeds through a fated narrative as each piece settles into its destined groove. Naruto, unstoppable from the glow of caffeine, breakfast he didn’t make, and an attractive blonde, narrates the dramatic and fated meeting of his best friend and this radio girl of the night in sordid detail, to Ino’s delight. Sakura interjects to correct notions along the way, and Sasuke abandons fantasies of pitching him off the balcony or dropping him down the fire escape, instead settling for heavy sighs and staring at her while she speaks, as she augments the conversation with slender hands and pointed fingers.

“So then last night he rushed off to save her from the police station. I mean, I was worried too obviously. And . . . I don’t know what all happened after that. You never called.”

Both of them with widened eyes, a clear giveaway as any of all the details that sound ludicrous in the light of day. This time, it’s Sasuke who speaks.

“All I did was pick her up. She was helping someone out and the police needed to speak with her to confirm things.” Taking a quiet sip of coffee, he adds, “She didn’t need saving.”

Sakura’s eyes soften, and she drops her eyes to the remnants of her breakfast.

Ino sighs, setting her fork on her empty plate with a clink. “Knowing her, she beat ‘em up herself.”

“Come on, Ino, why don’t you just tell him all of my embarrassing stories?” Sakura pouts, a joke laced with the tiniest warning, a rough string tightening. “More importantly, I need your help with something.”

“Name it,” Ino says. “I have all the time in the world! I’m staying at a hotel, trying to get a real feel for the city. Never been here, you know, and I’d like to stay a while before—” She breaks off, glancing at Sasuke, and changes tack. “I haven’t seen you in a long time, that’s all.”

“Work is having an event, and I think it’s fancy, very high-class, you know. Those things make me so uncomfortable.”

“I always tell you, everyone’s faking it at those events. You’re sweet enough to muddle your way through one night.” Ino looks Sasuke directly in the eyes; he has the distinct feeling she’s untangling him, and this, and that she has the tenacity to see it through.

“These are rich people, Ino. I’m a girl from the wrong side of the tracks, and I don’t belong there.”

The comment piques Naruto’s interest momentarily and he tilts his head; Sasuke watches her closely.

“Don’t start that,” Ino warns, again waving away her concerns easily.

“Apparently it’s not the radio subsidiary itself, but the parent company. The night I was working I think the man I spoke with was the owner, the CEO."

Eyes alight, Ino reaches for her bag slung over the back of the chair and pulls out a thin, light laptop. Pushing aside her empty dishes, she boots it up in half a second and waits for details, eager fingers poised over the keys. “Tell me details.”

“Tall, pale eyes. A stoic sort of guy. Brunette, very long hair. Like yours,” Sakura says to her, “and just as cared for.”

“So very pretty, your usual type, heh,” Ino teases. Her fingers fly over the keys. “I might have an idea . . .”

“Ino has a well-known family,” Sakura explains to Sasuke. Touches his arm in a soft gesture to hold his attention, not that he’s ever able to be distracted away from her. “The Yamanakas?”

Waving blithely, Ino rejects the notion. “We aren’t that regal, please. We’re in a totally different universe than, say, the Uzumaki’s.”

A full ten seconds passes before what she says registers on Naruto’s face. The typing continues at a lively pace. Sakura’s looking at him with a strange expression, an impassiveness that seems to be a projection, a mask, hiding twisting questions beneath. Naruto looks at Sasuke and opens his mouth —

— and all that comes is an ow! and tears forming at the corners of his eyes.

“Here we go,” Ino says, pulling back the attention of the group. Turning the laptop around for them to see, she points. “Neji Hyuuga, one of the youngest media moguls and owner of blah blah enterprises, took over when his dad passed away, the usual way it goes in families like these.”

The pale eyes remind her of the girl from the police station, and she looks to Sasuke as if for confirmation. Confirms it to her with an imperceptible nod.

“I assume there’s a press release,” Sakura says, intrigued.

“Of course. They probably control whoever writes about them anyway. Talk about a conflict of interest.” A relentless cadence of tapping keys, and her ocean eyes are just visible over the lid of the laptop. “‘Annual event, mighty and generous’, blah blah, ‘held at the historic but well-loved — wow, look at this place. It’s beautiful in that old money sort of way.

Chair legs scrape against the floor as they gather in a semicircle to read along, emitting whistles and comments here and there as they take in the grandiose venue and the Hyuuga family’s credentials. Sasuke, though, is quiet. Sakura’s eyes are wide, dazzled and intimidated by the prospect of all of it.

“Oh god, I can’t go to something like this,” she groans. “I’m going to look so stupid and out of place.”

“Sakura!” Ino pushes her chair back, startling the other two as they back out of her way. Taking her shoulders, she shakes her a little. “You have to go to an event like this. People bend over backwards maintaining relationships with this family and donate money just to potentially go to this! I know why you need me — to dress you, of course! This is supposed to happen; I know it.”

Sasuke takes Ino’s empty seat, eyes darting over the screen.

“Ino, you’re such a romantic. What am I even going to talk about with these people?”

“It doesn’t matter. These are basically playgrounds for the rich and famous. If you want to give your career a leg up, you have to do this.”

“My career?” Sakura snorts, shoulders sagging. Closing in on herself, an instinctual fear. “Ino, I failed out of pre-med and change leases as often as clothes. Now I do a radio show in the dead of night speaking with lonely people.”

“All the more reason to get out there and find people who can help you. Maybe it’s time to stop leaving with the wind and start trusting yourself. Besides,” she says, hands on her hips, daring her to disagree, “isn’t it time you let yourself have some fun?”

Sakura doesn’t answer, lips slightly parted and seeking a rebuke she doesn’t have. Whirling around, Ino demands of her new friends, “Back me up here!”

“Ah well, Sakura,” Naruto says, sheepish and red, “I’m with Ino, here on this one. And this is totally my own opinion because you’re really cool, and we’re friends now, I think. All these families know each other. It’s a ‘who’s who’ of important people in a lot of industries. And,” here he grins, eyes bright, “you can do and find whatever you want at an event like this.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sakura asks.

“It means,” Ino says, cutting across his response, “that you will not be taking a walk of shame in a princess dress on a dingy train or in the back of a cab. You can stay in my hotel room downtown — it’s not far from the venue. You will arrive and leave from this event in style. If you come home, of course.” She winks with gusto.

“I’m borrowing this,” Sasuke says abruptly, picking up the laptop and taking his phone out of his pocket with his other hand. Ino shrugs, go for it. Taking up a seat in his own living room, he connects with someone on the phone and speaks to them in a tone relatively terse, his rich voice commanding as opposed to conciliatory.

The sound of his voice tips a smile onto Sakura’s face. Ino glances between the two and the understanding is a jolt of electricity, a hundred tiny neurons firing to complete the picture in the spark of a moment.

“You asked him already.”

“I’ve vetted him,” Sakura teases, and now it’s impossible to hide. The way the thought of him snatches the air out of her throat, the heavy swallow to recoup; green eyes consuming and caught in a mimeo of the past and Ino knows that it’s not him who has her, but he who has stumbled and tripped into her orbit. And Ino’s only ever seen her look at one other man this way; the nascent and feverish meeting of chance, the genesis of an endless chain reaction, atoms in a runaway chemical tryst. Ino had been present for it but somehow failed to notice everything that was wrong. All of it colliding in this moment as she sees the shadow of its consequence in her gaze.

“Thank you,” Sasuke says. With the slightest incline of his head, he returns the closed laptop to Ino and pockets his phone. Unable to tear her gaze away now, Ino struggles to form words as his fingers take Sakura’s elbow and he murmurs to her in an undertone. A talent of omitting others from his space if he chooses, even as they scrabble on the outside, a manipulation, or closer to a bewitchment, of reality.

Sakura looks down at her wrapped ankle, giving it a flex and wiggle. Ino knows he’s already doomed by the damned, and all she can do is give her futile warning and watch it play. Sasuke speaks again, but the chaotic buzzing in her ears drowns it all out.

Sakura folds her arms, resolute. “That’s so expensive, Sasuke. I’ve . . . never been anywhere that nice.”

And he tucks pink strands behind her ear in the crackling and kindling of the atmosphere difficult to breathe in.

“And a suite? What could we possibly do with all that space?”

But there’s a smile seeping into the corner of her lips, and his suggestive silence leaves myriad answers.

“You have a balcony.” Ino raises her voice, pulling them back to reality. “Show me it?”

Sasuke shrugs in genuine indifference; Sakura narrows her eyes. “You just want to interrogate him. Please don’t scare him away — I’ll do it soon enough.”

Ino brushes past them and throws aside the sliding glass door, styled French, reflecting that this isn’t the type of man many likely manage to forcibly do much of anything. It may be curiosity or out of deference to the woman he’s entangled with, but he follows without complaint.

The door is barely closed before she bursts.

“Do you even know her, Sasuke?”

Furrows his eyebrows as if she’s a mildly interesting painting, but doesn’t respond to her immediately. Dark eyes glimmer with a suspicion that makes her shiver a little as they're turned on her, unflinching, a shadow in them she wasn’t expecting — likely the very thing that’s brought Sakura to it, a frenzied moth to light. Or perhaps it’s the other way around, the alluring visions in her eyes drowning him in an ocean similar to the stories, the schizophrenic and duplicitous nature of open family secrets.

“Do you even know who I am?”

“Please,” she snorts, surveying him. “Messy dark hair, that attitude of yours. Handsome nose. Those eyes.” At this, her gaze flits away to the horizon. “You’re an Uchiha.”

Though he doesn’t confirm, the way his gaze stays steady, level, and intense is enough.

“Granted,” she continues, “there are a lot of you, and you all have quite the strong genes, looking so much alike. You’re one of the most famous families in the country. And I think she has an idea, but it’s different when you don’t grow up hearing the stories; when you’re not in the same circles. She’s not like you.”

“If you have something to ask,” he says, “I’d rather we not dance around it.” The bite, the press of assertion.

Ino knows it’s everything Sakura has a taste for, a history of — a craving that’s always worth tearing apart at the tendons and roots.

“If I thought you’d be straightforward about it, I’d ask. I think you have no idea of the type of person you’re obsessed with.”

“I’m not—”

“Don’t bother with denying it. You think I haven’t seen this before? Look . . . we do this all the time, run in circles. After she left town, and her parents died, I tried to keep up with her. She’s my best friend. She’s not ever out to ruin anyone but that’s what she usually does. Guys, just, they get wrapped up in her and then when it’s too serious for her, she leaves. She thinks she’s hard to love, like she’s cursed or blessed or something that ends up more like a sickness than something functional.”

The accuracy and plain verity of her words feels like a sharp jab to the chest.

“And I don’t know much about you as a person, but I do know what I’ve read and what I’ve heard.”

“You’re right,” Sasuke says. “You don’t know anything about me. And I don’t give time to gossip and rumors.”

“You don’t get it. She didn’t even have my number in her new phone, and she never keeps any. You know why? She expects people in her life to disappear, so she just leaves them first.”

Sasuke remembers the call to the bar, the number that would have been fresh in her mind or the one on file with the city, as opposed to his personal phone.

“She can’t stay away from certain types of people. Certain men. Everyone has a weakness, right? And that’s hers. The more I’m talking to you, seeing you around each other, I have the feeling your problem is the same.”

He’s certainly not in the mood for another woman too sharp for her own good. Avoiding her assessment, he deflects. “How did you even find her, then?”

“Trade secrets,” she says in a sardonic tone. “My father’s a, what do you call it, ‘analyst’ for the government.” She adds air quotes to make her point clear. “Sure that’s what he does. I can tell by the types of friends we had, all families who understood the culture. You only have gatherings like we did when your family’s, A, in the government or B, organized crime.” Tilting her head, she smirks. “You’d know.”

“So, family resources?”

“But really,” she laughs, “I just used the internet. It’s not so hard to do if you know enough about someone. We are best friends, after all.”

Like Sakura, it can be difficult to tell how close she is to sarcasm. A similar brand of mordancy. He takes Ino at her word with a nod.

“She’s smart. She probably has an idea of who you might be, maybe she’s trying not to know. And she’s never been one for gossip or celebrity news — she reads a lot, but always nerdy subjects. Well, that’s why she was going to be a doctor, I suppose.”

A silence. When he deigns to speak, Ino isn’t able to hide her surprise.

“She’s told me a bit about herself, but not much. I don’t think her and I are people who open up easily.”

“She used to be different,” Ino says wistfully. “But there are things in this life that are difficult to shake off; they hurt you so deeply you don’t heal. Or at least, you don’t heal correctly.”

“I’m guessing you won’t tell me what those things were?”

When she raises her sapphire eyes to his, she’s torn between spilling it all and knowing that a betrayal so significant would ruin a relationship with the only person she can still trust. Still, she’s terrified thinking about the prospects of either outcome with this man, knowing that he is madly, stupidly in love with a harbinger of chaos, and most don’t make it out of that web in one piece. Perhaps no one does, with her.

“That’s not my place,” she finally says. “Go with her and have fun. You strike me as someone who could use some, too. But I mean this in the kindest possible way — one day she’ll run, and she will leave. She can’t help herself. She . . . can’t stay away from the mess.”

Sasuke continues watching her in mild amusement. His smirk causes a nervous flutter in her stomach; Ino puzzles over his underreaction to her words.

Opening the door and gesturing her back inside, signaling the end of their conversation, he simply says, “I know.”

They rejoin the other two:  Sakura with her ankle propped up on a cushion and Naruto next to her babbling about what sounds like his childhood, tales of adventures and boring classes in private institutions, uniforms and study prep and a flush of love for parents long gone. Sasuke suspects now that the place and life she comes from is a world he’s not familiar with; when she nods and makes careful comments here and there, trying to carefully step around the gaps in her knowledge, that emotion swells again. That urge to drape her in finery and act as the constant indulgence she can use over and over, to absolutely and unequivocally hand her the keys to a kingdom. A compulsion to fulfill a need unspoken.

“Hey you, Naruto.” His babbling screeches to a halt, and he automatically catches the phone Ino tosses to him with a smile. “Let me get your number.”

The way his expression flips in an instant, confusion to an incandescent brightness, causes another fluttering. “Sure!”

Ino exchanges with each of them, and she notices as she wanders around their contacts in her surreptitious way that neither of them have Sakura’s last name in their phone. Filing that detail away for herself, her thumb hovers over the screen as she finishes her entry in Naruto’s phone and returns it.

When she looks at his contact card and sees the name Uzumaki, she taps to edit and adds a sunshine, grinning.

“By the way, if you’re planning to stay for a long time and don’t want to be in a hotel for all of that, I mean, I live across the hall. Just saying. That way you’re close to Sakura and people you know in a new city!”

Hand on her hip, Ino tries to keep her ego tamped down, if even just a little. “You’re so transparent.”

Horrified, he holds up his hands with palms out, shaking his head. “No, no, I have a guest bedroom, no one stays in it, really. I’m not trying anything funny.” Indicating Sakura, he laughs. “She’s punched two people in a month, and I’m one of them. If you’re her friend, I know what I’m up against.”

.

.

.

Growing up Sasuke was in his fair share of fights and scraps on the playground, and then older, in bars and with drunk friends — after his mother dies he will participate in and be the progenitor of so many more. Her scolding reverberates in his ear about all the reasons he shouldn’t mar his handsome, regal face, and he hears his father in these same memories dismissing her concerns, sneering that it’s good he toughens up in any way he can.

If his mother was still alive she wouldn’t know what to say to this behavior, these mistakes he’s making: Writhing beneath the burning touch of a tiny nymph with pink hair, splayed beneath her as if blown apart and pinned up by the limbs, lepidoptera, as she straddles him in a hitched-up navy skirt with the heels of her sandals etching divots into his skin that will soften and fade to beautiful bruises.

Two fingers in his mouth and her other hand working in a heated, rhythmic pace on his cock, he’s sure there would be a distinct lack of approval of being roughhoused by this girl with no name who seems to have the desire to leave him a shaking, gasping excuse for his family name.

He’s sure he would agree to let her kill him if she wanted; there’s almost nothing at this point that’s beyond the realm of reasonable requests. Especially with her pinning him without mercy, soaked and dripping between her thighs, a red and mottled flush surfacing through the skin of her chest and collarbones as she presses him into small submissions, the ways that men with faces like his don’t often experience.

(Returning from shopping with a large bag swinging from her hand, eyes bright despite her little limp. Volunteering information before he’s even apt to ask:  She loves it, and no he can’t see it yet, and she has work in a while but not quite yet. Ino’s out exploring the city accompanied by Naruto.)

And it’s what she doesn’t say but he hears in her voice, in the come-hithers and low tones and the space between them always feeling like an ache, an endless expanse that yearns for nothing but to be restitched and torn over again in repetitious revolutions, the drowning and resuscitation an addiction in itself. Coming together to pull apart and wound with another million fibers each time in a dazed and deadly isochronism.

Small and light like feathers and lips like morphine:  With her legs around his hips and fingers in his dark hair yanking him to expose the apple of his neck, she hisses

I want to hear you

Down the hallway and he does as she bids, gritting his teeth while her lips tour his neck and linger in his ears

I want your noise

And he tries to take her with him but she places her fingers on his chest and bounces him into the soft bedspread, straddling him, clawing at his shirt and maneuvering it over his head to toss it aside. Bites her lip as she raises her chin to gaze down on him, jade eyes and parted lips and rolling her hips in an agonizing move that tears a moan from his throat —

Good boy she says, good boy

And when she says it his pulse beats in a stilted cadence and his hips press up against her, desperate, unable to touch enough of her like this and how did he fucking end up here, with her still clothed and him barely so while coaxing the full beautiful, colorful continuum of human sounds from his throat, sounds he’s stymied to know or possess and why when she calls him this his breath hitches, a choke, a reaction he’s unable to hide, not the least when her slim fingers reach for him, the scrape of her nails on his belt

Hips jerking and shuddering again as she takes him into her hand

It’s unfair how attractive you are, Sasuke

Like before he reaches for her, the calluses of his fingers dragging across her canvas of skin on fire and

she slaps them away, clicking her tongue in admonishment, he doesn’t learn

I meant what I said; that’s no way to get me to help you

Swallows down the pathetic word that sits as a lump in his throat, the one she’s aiming for and he doesn’t know how she knows it’s there but she’ll tear it from him no matter how many minutes a breakdown takes, and great fucking god he’s about to give it to her under duress of those soft silk fingers, the same ones that hold coffee mugs and command his attention and tell stories but now they feel like they’re where they belong, pumping him with the practiced and smooth movements of one who wields control so precise

Fuck, Sa-Sakura, fuck

Oh sweetheart, that’s not what quite I’m looking for

The first time a finger finds its way past his lips and into his mouth, open and panting and wanting already, the jolt and shudder and full roiling of his lean, fit body forces a breathy gasp from her own; the dangerous rock of her own hips she indulges in leaves her eyelashes fluttering shut in glimmering repose.

The tang, it bursts on his tongue

Unable to process the taste — salt, sweat, musk, the liminal zest between his and hers impossible to sift between

Then another long, slim finger in his mouth and here she persists again, ruthless and divine in and inhuman and the unceasing rhythm as she works him stays just a single syncopated note from release, as if she knows the precise rhythm and flow in which they could collide

Please

I want to hear you, Sasuke

Incoherent, torn him from him as skin from fruit, the feathering of plumage

Please — !

That laugh, spreading and coating as viscid honey, dense and lush and soaking him down

You’re so good, you know. I know men like you hate this

— the buckles of her heeled sandals patterning friction on the skin of thighs and the repetitive sticky scrapes of well-worn athletic tape as she holds him, cages him—

but you just look so good like this, I love you like this

So precious, she reflects for a moment, taking him in, wasted and dashed and black pupils blown as his eyes lose focus for a moment. Removes her fingers from his mouth with a wet hollowing sound that brings with it a guttural groan, throaty and incoherent

And the absolutely desperate pitch at the close

undoes her and she yanks him up by the hair, scrabbling at the bare skin of his shoulders with her fingernails and kisses him, when he lifts her so easily and they fumble with flimsy and frustrating fabrics until she settles on him again with a moan, filled to the brim and lost in brilliance

stuttering out his name in his ear in ways that make her forget she doesn’t plan for forevers.

.

.

.

“Dude.”

Naruto snaps his fingers in front of Sasuke’s twice, thrice. A flicker of recognition and reality surfaces and he blinks, swatting away his friend’s hand.

“Don’t.”

“Oh I’m sorry, you’ve just been spaced the fuck out for ten minutes.”

“I doubt that,” Sasuke says tartly, plucking a piece of paper from the office desk and pretending to consider it. Careful ignorance seems preferable to enduring the endless taunting and ribbing from Naruto, and lately that’s been nothing less than a guarantee.

“Okay, a minute or so, but you look blown out. Wasted. I can’t put my finger on it. Do you feel sick?”

“Shut up, will you? I’m—”

“Sad?”

“Working,” he finishes firmly.

“Nah, yer not.”

Naruto folds his arms and squints at Sasuke, then takes a meandering lap around the back office, hemming and hawing.

Though he’s not concentrating on any numbers in front of him, he loses focus again, flatlines, lost in a dream. Contented.

Naruto punches his fist into his hand opposite, shaking his head with a laugh. “I’m an idiot.”

“Now you’ve got it.”

“She laid you out, didn’t she? Sent you on a ride. What obscenely tight part of you did she get into?”

Sasuke leans back in the office chair, folding his arms. Avoiding his eyes and the flickering heat in his face that threatens to give him away, like he’s a little boy. “Fuck off.”

“I’m definitely going to ask her what she did to you. You’re like, bright. Glowing? I’ve heard that word. It’s coming off you in, like, waves.”

“If you ever say that word around me again,” Sasuke says, snatching up a stapler, “They won’t find your body.”

Raising it, Sasuke pretends to throw it — Naruto flinches. Relaxes.

Sasuke whips it at him anyway.

“Ow! Temper, tsk tsk,” Naruto teases, rubbing his arm where it hit.

Shikamaru strolls in with his hand in his pockets, sighing. “Ah, Sasuke, there’s someone asking about you at the bar. He’s been hanging around for a while and I don’t think he’s leaving. I figured if he knew you, he’d contact you directly, but—”

“Hey, hey Shikamaru,” Naruto interrupts. “Look at him. He’s too busy being lost in—”

“Who is he?” Sasuke asks. “What does he look like?”

“Eh, honestly, he looks a lot like you. Older, maybe? Same eyes, spiky hair.”

A lurching, a twisting in the gut. The expression on his face foreboding enough that both of them move swiftly out of his path as he heads for the front, adrenaline pouring into his limbs, readying for a brawl.

When he arrives, however, nothing’s left but the wrinkled napkin, weathered and worn from dallying fingers and the perspiring empty glass, drunk to its dregs.

For a moment Sasuke gazes across the bar — a slower night with lingering groups in booths and a few scattered and two-top tables. No one remains that looks like him, not even close.

After all, he can always feel them in a crowd. As if bonded by invisible strings, always forced into the productions and whims of the family, it being a force so much darker and greater than himself. The portraits in the old house halls with a multitude of photographs in varying time periods and shades, an illustration of consolidated privilege and sovereignty. Far from the old ways things used to be done but nevertheless woven into the fabric of societal institutions in a manner so deft and desecrating.

The things his brother had always hated, railing against it in quiet dissent.

And in the end he had made his point, violent and vehement in a final way.

It rises, a pain in his chest and an unbidden, murky memory of the way his father slammed his hands on the table, again and again in an unceasing rhythm and his finger so close to his brother’s face he was sure it wouldn’t make it through the argument. As the years aged them all, he had begun to reject the authoritarian notion and the name. Perhaps it had broken him more than Sasuke had been able to understand.

When he remembers it again and he’s unable to breathe, he hates how he grasps the counter and gropes for the nearest bottle, and he would lunge for paint thinner if it made it all stop — the echoes of potent rage rising to a crushing din

You don’t bring people like that around — !

Never again — !

You

don’t bring

her here — !

[wordssplatteredoncement]

The World Is On Fire (and So Am I)

There are times in your life where you experience things that you know will become a memory that lasts a lifetime. Several of those moments have been pleasant in my experience. A shared moment with a friend where you realized you both inched your bond towards something more. Various parties thrown where you watched the weeks worth of thought, time, and effort payoff in a night that will be talked about for ages. A concert where the band’s connection with the crowd transcends the usual “musician/ audience” role play, and a melding of minds makes the show something unforgettable. This year has been one most won’t soon forget, but for all of the wrong reasons. 

“FUCK 2020!!” A sentiment uttered by many, and one I’ve said more than my share. The reality... 2020 isn’t the problem. The issues that have arisen have occurred due to years of neglect. The change of a calendar isn’t going to bring back the lives of hundreds of people of color who have died at the hands of those pledged to “protect and serve”. The turn of a year won’t suddenly erase a pandemic that has killed a half a million people worldwide, and shows no sign of slowing it’s destruction on any semblance of normalcy we’re yearning for. And, on a personal level, 2021 brings no promise that my body will stop feeling as though it’s trying to burn from the inside-out. Instead of leaning hard into this notion that the turn of the next 365 will somehow cure our sorrows, why don’t we take some responsibility for the moment and do our part today to ensure tomorrow is aimed in a direction of correction and healing?

I’m going to start by reflecting inward. The last time I touched this blog was nearly a year ago. I wrote about the horrible pain I’m experiencing on a daily basis. My asshole feels like Satan decided to relocate Hell inside of it. I truly feel as though like I’m on fire from the inside out. Today marks the 2 year anniversary of this pain that has completely upended up my life. Earlier this week, I had my 4th procedure in hopes of finding some reprieve from this pain and, for 2 days, I thought maybe I was healed to a level I could cope with. The pain had largely subsided... and then yesterday happened. I didn’t really see any fireworks on the 4th, but I felt them. My body ignited from beyond my balloon knot and the pain has lingered to this very moment. I spent a good portion of the day on my couch, partially in hopes of reprieve, but mostly in wallowing over another disappointment. I peeled myself off of the couch and decided to splatter a few more words in hopes that I could inspire those who give the blog a gander, but also to help myself out of a seemingly hopeless situation. 

8 minutes and 46 seconds. My 2 years of asshole-aflame don’t hold a candle to the suffering the neglect, hurt, and tyranny 5 dickheads wearing a badge made to an entire race in our country. In those near-9 minutes, we all witnessed a man completely prone and in constraints, cry out for his mother as he suffocated in cold murder. Immediate responses from cop-defenders shot out with “All Lives Matter”, “Blue Lives Matter”, and “not all cops are bad people”... Here’s the problem with all of those statements, this isn’t a one-off occurrence. This isn’t a singular police officer who went rogue. In this very instance, 4 other cops watched, with hands in pocket, as this man, George Floyd, had his life taken from him. The uprising that came in the wake of this atrocity was a natural response to the oppression of a culture long held down by those in authority. Peaceful protests over the mistreatment of African Americans have existed for years, each met with hostility in the way of thinly veiled racism and clearly falling upon deaf ears, all while more instances of death at the hands of oppressors pile up. Breonna Taylor, a 26 year old black woman, was shot in her sleep when three police officers, in plain clothes mind you, broke into her home with a no-knock warrant... erroneously... AS THEY WERE IN THE WRONG HOUSE. In both of these instances (two of hundreds, I must add), the police were not arrested until met with the pressure of the public in the form of protesting. Sure, some protests have been met with opportunists. Buildings have been burned. Statues brought down by force (and I stand that these statues dedicated to slave-owning southern leaders should have never been erected in the first place), but PEOPLE ARE DYING AT THE HANDS OF THOSE IN AUTHORITY. And yet, I hear more about these buildings and statues from our “leader” on down to people I come in contact with, than the human lives taken. White privilege at its finest, folks. I’d love to hear an “All Lives Matter”-crier, shout “All Cancer Matters” at a breast cancer awareness event to experience the absolute ignorance of that statement. Everyone matters, you dumb fucks, but there are times that call attention to a specific group... this isn’t your time. “Blue Lives Matter!!”.. you aren’t born blue.. you choose that life. You don’t choose to be a person of color. Let’s take a fucking second to recognize that there is a disparity in this world in how we are treated and figure out how we can correct our ways. 

So that brings us to the last bit of “2020″, the year is “cursed and doomed”. COVID-19, aka coronavirus. A pandemic that was written off as nothing more to be worried about than a flu by our “genius” leader. Trump compared this pandemic to the number of lives that are taken yearly by the common flu and thus created the great divide in America. Half of our country decided that everything was cool.. our president said “we’re good”. The other half, listening to the CDC, and other health experts, whose literal job is to track and control the spread and containment of disease, followed advice from those who have dedicated their life to the education of well-being. Trump slowly had to cater to those health experts when it became very clear this was something far more serious than a “flu”, and we were ordered to stay indoors. People went into bat-shit-crazy-survival mode. Toilet paper, hand sanitizer, and canned goods became the new gold as the masses flocked to stores in droves to ensure their asses were wiped, hands were.. sanitized.. and goods had a shelf life of several months. Hospital ICUs were strained as the number of people needing to be treated met new highs. We were asked to wear masks in public and keep 6 feet away from those we don’t live with. And the response from a wide number of Trump’s supporters.. “THIS IS CRAZY.. YOU’RE INFRINGING ON MY FREEDOMS.. THE ECONOMY!!!!”. As stated earlier in this blog.. human lives > businesses and the economy. Due to this outcry, backed by the moron-in-chief and his plethora of tweets (seriously.. what job have you ever had where you can sit around and call people names through social media all day long??.. certainly not mine..), the shelter-in-place orders were lifted, just as we were starting to see a leveling out in the number of cases our country was dealing with. And Americans, being as stubborn as they’ve proven to be over the years, went out en masse. With this, the number of cases has risen to absurd levels. The president, always one to find a way to suck his own cock, daily gives praise to this being accredited to the great testing he has imposed. Even taking it so far as to say we might be testing “too well” and that if we just test less.. the numbers will go down.... I’ll take a minute to let the absurdity of that statement, which he has doubled down on, sink in. I work in health care. This isn’t a joke. This isn’t a farce. This isn’t the flu. This isn’t a conspiracy. 533,000+ deaths isn’t a joke. Wear a fucking mask. Stop going out for the sake of killing boredom. Start thinking and do your part. Your parents, grandparents, and neighbors count on it.

So there you have it. 2020 hasn’t been kind but, as I’ve stated, this isn’t the problem of a singular year. This is years of neglect and a current state of ignorance. January 1st will come and go. It changes nothing. The only thing that will cure the issues we’re facing is recognizing there is indeed an issue and taking action to improve our current state. Nothing is solved if we don’t accept reality and inflect on how we can do our part to make a change. Stating “Make America Great Again” is a stupid way of saying we’ll revert to a past laced in hatred. Instead of looking over our shoulder the days that we’ve progressed from, let’s focus on a future that provides equality for all. Instead of crying about our freedoms being removed over having to stay indoors or wear a mask, let’s think about those we might be saving by stopping the spread of disease. As for my butthole.. I got off the couch to write this, all while in a fair amount of pain. I can reflect on a time I didn’t feel this, or I can accept what this is and do my part to seek improvemnt. I opt for the latter.

[grownups-are-the-real-monsters]

Alone Again (Naturally)

Summary: Bill pursed his lips. “I think-...yes. Yes I did.” He didn’t sound too sure about it which she found odd but decided to let that pass until he brought that up for himself, if ever. “I ran with a group. I can’t give names but I can feel it sometimes. Those summer days and shit.” He chuckled. “Jesus, they must have been my best friends in this shitty world...-Pardon my French if you’re a religious man.” He laughed in an eerie way that time.

Word Count: 2,702

Ships: Bill/Audra, mentions of Reddie 

{October, 1964. Still-shot of large suburban home. A pile of dry orange leaves marks the lawn. There is a concave dent in the right side which caused an autumn invasion in the grass, suggesting the playfulness of children in the home-}

Bill Denbrough sniffled to choke back a nervous nose-bleed and set aside the movie script. 

His coffee table was glass plated so he could see the mound of crumpled papers that were burrowed into the maroon carpet. He tried hard not to think about the mix of faded words typed across those folds because they’d cost him a social life to write but they’d been seen & rejected. 

He was the leading man in this shit-show he called a life and he so desperately craved a cigarette. He’d never been that much of a smokin’ kind of guy but it was just that kind of night.   

The body of the lonesome drip he was being was thrown over the bar counter in the Hotel’s finest drink station. That’s where he was physically. Mentally? He was on the porch on that fake October 1964 autumn day. It was much better than admitting to himself that at least six or seven people had already walked past him with expressions of concern and pity. He’d much rather be inside his own story like being trapped an oil painting. 

Rather, just the beginning of his story. He’d not want to even touch the ending which had somehow become inexplicably horrifying in the process of writing. It was something he absolutely adored on paper but didn’t want to live for himself...though something about it spoke to him in a familiar voice.

“Howdy partner.” Came an irritably cute voice from over his shoulder. 

Sure enough, bathed in the flickering gold lights was the tallest drink of water. Audra Phillips was sporting a criminally cute smirk and bouncing on her toes. There was a lovely painting of a sunset behind her head that framed her well. It was the picture of whatever cowboy western movie Bill couldn’t think of where the lead woman sparks fire in the cowboy’s interest...or whatever. 

She strolled on over and leaned her crossed forearms atop his legs which laid across the bar. “I tease, sorry.” She gleamed. He knew she’d done the southern accent to simply bounce off his past jokes about the ghost of a British accent she had now yet didn’t come with at birth. 

“Hey, hey, hey Audra. You come for a drinking buddy?” He flicked his empty glass and she let her long honey hair fall a bit into his lap when she twisted to look up at him. 

“Not tonight, Bill.” She winked. “Just wanted to see how you were....” Her voice faded as she pinched some loose jean fabric that hovered above his knee. “I just that part in the screen-play where-...” The woman begins to mime stabbing her right eye “The man accidentally stabs himself with those kids craft scissors when he trips, you know...?” 

Bill nodded with an amused smirk. 

Audra begins to giggle. “Do we, in the film, have the artistic license to change the color of the scissors from blue to purple?” She could barely ask without starting to giggle again and Bill wondered if she’d started to drink before him. 

He raised a brow and crossed his arms in a funny way. “No. You see, the blue symbolizes the sorrow that character had been feeling, Audraaaaa.” He pinched her. “Why do you ask?”

She ceased her giggling. “I wanted to see if authors really do hide deep, meaningful symbols in...the simplest of places.” She shrugged and Bill found her presence incredibly endearing. 

“They do...but not with that. You could change that. I was lying.” He laughed and heaved his body around to hang his legs over the side of the bar while Audra leaned against it to his right. She giggled again. 

“Why do you write such...horrifying stories?” her voice went velvet soft. 

Bill considered her question and hummed. “I don’t know. Quite honestly, it does seem pointless, huh?” He took on a minor British accent for some odd reason. “Where do I get off scaring all these people.” He laughed. 

“I’m concerned about where it comes from...is all.” She glanced into his eyes and shrugged. 

“You think I’m...messed up, Audra?” He laughed though it was astoundingly not funny. His favorite gal just shrugged again. 

“There just stories. They scare ya for a minute or two before you forget em’. This is just my time to be...spitting blood into the wind...” He gestured out in the open. “It’s all pointless but...I love it.” His hand fell back into his lap. 

“More than a minute or two...those craft scissors might as well be stabbed through my eye right now with how often the image pops up in my mind.” She shook at the thought. 

“Pop it goes, huh?.” Bill mocked in her accent again. “Like a balloon...only the balloon is your swelled eye tied to no string but your spindly nerves.” He chuckled, wiping his chin. 

Audra gagged. “Disgusting. Keep going, Billy and I might revisit my dinner.” The gag choked into another round of giggles but Bill had danced off in side-tracked thoughts. 

“My brother called me Billy.” Was all he said and he figured he’d been silent far too long because his girl glanced up with minor shock and concern. 

“George?”

Bill nodded and swung his legs back and forth slowly. The two of them exchanged looks and fell silent again. Outside the hotel, snow was hurling towards the grounds of New York and burying itself between the cracks of the side-walk. There was a particularly nasty crack just outside and around the block. Many ‘walk-arounders’ would trip on it the next morning. Including a man that Bill Denbrough might have once recognized as Eddie Kaspbrak. It’d be a freezing night and an even brisker morning by the look of it. 

Audra could’ve asked about the screenplay many crew-members were intensely curious about but upon seeing her friend sitting there, perched on the bar, she decided it was far from a good time. There’d been something so...off about him lately. She batted her eyelashes and turned again to face the bar, slapping her hands in a playful tune to which Bill responded by ruffling her hair. 

“It seems to me...-” He started and hooked his gal instantly only to fade his voice out once again. But with the soft look of concern painted across Audra’s young and wonderful face, he decided to suck it up. “I cried for three days straight when my father died, you know that?” 

That stopped Audra’s heart for a solid minute or two and he couldn’t blame that wide-eyed deer expression because what a sentence twist. 

“That third day...I think a lot of those tears came from the fact that I knew it would soon be my turn to be that tired old man.” Bill shrugged. “I miss when the turn from Summer to Fall was dreaded because of ‘back-to-school’ and not because the threat of seasonal depression was very real for me, y’know Audra?” He thumped his palms against his jeans and was grinning kind of wickedly. 

The ‘back-to-school’ girl that had once been in Audra was also long gone because she was approaching thirty-two. So she nodded with understanding. 

“I didn’t want to admit that some of the tears might have also been genuine fear to return home for preparations.” 

Audra raised a gentle brow and rubbed his thigh for comfort. 

“I was scared to go home...to that town, Audra.” He met her eyes and something ignited a frightening flame. “I don’t know why...but I could have thrown up thinking about having to go home just for my fathers funeral...I didn’t want to go at all. Does that make me a bad person?” His speech was starting to frighten his company but it felt uniquely euphoric to get this shit out of him. “Didn’t end up mattering anyway. My parents had moved up to Castle Rock just some months before and didn’t bother telling me. They could be a little...neglectful with me sometimes. I don’t consciously hold it against them.” 

Audra reached for his folded hand and rubbed something circles against his skin with her thumb. 

“My mother...” Bill leaned back on the beam and sighed. “Bless her but she...” he raised his hand and let it fall back into his lap. “Has just been having such a difficult time accepting that the only man she loved is gone and when you pair that with the long-lost littlest son from years ago...she’s a wreck. I try to encourage...to get her to keep going but...” He spared the phone hanging on the wall nearby a quick glance and scratched under his chin. 

“A big brother without a little brother...well he’s lost the years of practice with encouraging talks that he could’ve had with him. So, this thing with my mother is...bigger than me, Audra.” Bill downcast his eyes and Audra could see that small-town living behind them.

She breathed in deeply and gave him the softest smile that she could manage. “Bill, my friend...” She squeezed his hand. “That’s a lot to take in so I can’t imagine how it felt to have that living in your chest. Thank you for sharing it with me. I think of us as...good friends...best friends even?” 

Bill nodded his head. It wasn’t quite like the friendships of his childhood which had long since slipped his mind of true clarity but his thing with Audra was it’s own special kind. 

“Good.” She nodded back, cheeks blushed. “So let’s take a step back, yeah? Instead of sitting at this bar like a couple of...” 

“Sad sacks?” 

Audra giggled and thumped his leg. “Yes, Sad sacks. Let’s take a walk in this Christmas snow. Forget the film...” She gestured back towards the halls of hotel room doors. “And let’s go buy those batteries I need from Walgreen's or something.” She shrugged and helped Bill hop off the bar. 

“You still haven’t bought those damn things? What has your remote been dead for two weeks now, Audra?” He chuckled, taking her arm in arm as they strolled out of the fancy building. 

“I haven’t watched television since! I keep forgetting.” 

They laughed into the night. Audra’s warm giggle was enough to blanket the freezing air for a little while. 

                    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The convenience store was littered with glittering Christmas bulbs, string-lights and wonderfully home-made crafted wooden Santas. 

Audra waited patiently for Bill’s return and flirted with purchasing a particularly adorable blushing Santa Claus while the hot chocolate in her hands kept her warm. 

Elvis was singing of those classic Silver Bells that she ached to hear over the loudspeaker. It was enough to make the girl want to move on over to stand right under it which she did...only there was a minor bump on the way who ended up being a man. 

She chuckled nervously. “I’m so sorry...I should watch where I’m going, shouldn’t I? Oh my, I got this all over you!?” Audra barely made eye-contact and hovered her hand close to where her hot chocolate had become stains on the guys shirt. 

His hand came to block her view and she first noticed the little pinky ring he sported and then she finally picked her head up to find his face. “It’s fine-don’t worry about it. A little hot, is all. But no big deal.” The man sounded a little frustrated as he fanned his shirt away from his chest a little but Audra could tell he wasn’t about to have a fit over it. “If I wore that sweater like my girlfriend had begged me, the cable-knit might’ve soaked up all the chocolate before it even got to touch me, huh?” He was kind of mumbling that more to himself but Audra giggled anyway. 

“Maybe so. A free drink for those knitted Reindeer...” She chuckled awkwardly at the sad attempt for a joke but the man genuinely giggled. 

“Actually, no deer. Just some snow-flakes...she knitted it herself. Took a class every Tuesday & Thursday’s for a while before she got homesick.” He laughed again and his smile was handsome and kinda dopey but in the cutest way. Audra tilted her head and got a picture of that Norman Bates fellow from that ‘Psycho’ film. She hummed. 

“You sure-?” 

“Yeah-yes. You’re totally fine. It’s just a shirt.” The man pulled his jacket over the shirt and zipped it tightly as if to display this opinion. Audra nodded with a kind grin before turning back and finding Bill standing at the counter without the new prize of candy bars she’d collected. 

“I’ll be off then, thanks for the kindness.” She patted his arm and with his nod of understanding, she took off for Bill once again. 

                    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“In that small-town of yours...?” Audra started, standing in scary waters as Bill took on a curious eye. “Do you remember having any friends? Or was it...that bad?” She blinked, not sure why she was asking but she didn’t like to think her good friend was just so lonely in a place that reduced him to tears just some time ago.

Bill pursed his lips. “I think-...yes. Yes I did.” He didn’t sound too sure about it which she found odd but decided to let that pass until he brought that up for himself, if ever. “I ran with a group. I can’t give names but I can feel it sometimes. Those summer days and shit.” He chuckled. “Jesus, they must have been my best friends in this shitty world...-Pardon my French if you’re a religious man.” He laughed in an eerie way that time. 

“Can you miss people you barely remember?” 

“I should think so.” Audra rubbed up and down his arm. “If they were as amazing as you make it sound...then of course. Life passes us by and takes some of our memories but not our feelings.” Audra didn’t want to glance up...in fear that small-town was back in Bill’s stare. 

“Eddie....” Bill mumbled, kicking a pebble down the street like it would be their map. Wherever it rolled, whichever street, the two of them would follow it. “I remember-...him. A bit. 

Audra nodded, letting him have his map. 

“We were gonna build a dam or....I dunno.” Bill sniffled, letting the memory go. “I remember a bike ride where I could barely see through a film of tears...-” He broke to laugh though it wasn’t very funny. “But that might’ve been Richie...? Seemed to me that he might’ve looked at Ed’s the way I look at you.” He shook his head with a grin and kicked his little Eddie memory pebble. They took the next street in which it had rolled.

                        ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Audra and Bill were giggling messes as they took on the Hotel’s stairs and flung themselves through the revolving doors. It was the most euphoric sense of relief either of them had experienced in a long time. 

Her fingernails picked at the wrapper hanging over her fist which was curled around half a chocolate bar. They went back to silence as they strolled back to the bar and listened to the distant cries of Christmas tunes. 

“You gonna be alright to sleep? Or are you going to stay up writing?” Audra poked his arm and Bill shrugged. It didn’t seem to be the confident answer of ‘sleeping sounds good’ that she wanted so Bill poked her back gently. 

“I’ll be fine, Audra. Thank you...you know for...” He gestured and his gal nodded to her man. 

“No thanks needed.” She leaned against his arm briefly, kissed his cheek and started on her way back to her room. Both of them felt the gentle idea of asking the other to their room but neither had the courage to ask. Instead, Bill watched her walk off with a blushing wave and Audra stole quick glances of him as she left him in that lobby. 

[ireddeadredemption2pc-blog]

Red Dead Redemption 2 PC

Red Dead Redemption2 PC

The old west feels brand new again.

Oh Jesus Christ, what have you done? “Thomaschen 978 wants to know why a dozen carcasses and a couple of horse corpses are placed on rail tracks bordering the early industrial city and are the New Orleans stand-in St. Denis.” You killed half. village.” PC Games For Free

We are on round two of the recurring corpse pile. My poses got the idea to jump in front of the train after a few rounds of Lose Your Friends and Toss Them in the Sea in the Couple Friendly Strangers. Like GTA 5, Red Dead Redemption 2 has its own bowling minima, we explain to Chen in a roundabout way that provokes his fear. Die in the shared open world of Red Dead Redemption 2 and you’ll react fast enough to move your corpse around. Best RPGs games pc

The boy is in line with us. We should make it bigger. As the train comes around again, another pose tries to take us out. The chain defends us but does not bring it back to the tracks. He goes away screaming. Death of a true warrior.

Red Dead Redemption 2 could be the biggest, most humble videogame ball pit for an annoying story about impulsive children, the forced disintegration of the community, or simply a quiet and reflective hiking simulator. It’s just about what you need it to be, and it’s good at it.

Just hours before the corpse-bowling, I was alone through the icy forests, stepping into the long shadow cast across the snow by the rising moon. I heard a gunshot from a distance. The tracks of some wolves marked snow in the same direction. I saw them who won. Anytime I pay attention and look closely, RDR2 is the result of my curiosity. Best Racing games on pc

The mind-numbing expanse that makes up the vast world of RDR2 speaks to the creative force of a development team with an intense, obsessive dedication to realism (and all the money and time needed to do so). Like how my friends’ characters flare up when I fire a gun at them, how animal carcasses disintegrate over time, how NPCs react according to a sloppy or bloody outfit, how to stir through a doorway. Scares everyone everywhere.

It is hard to believe that RDR2 is so deep and wide and is also a harmonious, playable thing. I was already playing it for days worth the console version. This is why I am particularly disappointed that it ended up on the PC to some extent.

For every non-taught multiplayer adventure, disconnect or crash on the desktop, desktop. The rock star’s best storyline and character so far has been filmed through Frame Hutches’ slideshow and addressed over the launch weekend.

RDR2, one of the best Western games and one of the best open-world games I have ever released with enough stability issues, is recommended for the hard way until everything is completely smooth.

Morgan trail

EVERY PRETTY VISTA IS SOMETHING TO LOSE THROUGH ARTHUR’S EYES.

The story genre of Red Dead Redemption 2 follows the dying days of the Wild West. The sprawling industrial world faced the bandits and social downtrodden of Arthur Morgan’s small band, an imperfect but loyal, loving and self-reliant community.

Capitalism is reducing its value as resources to humans. Indigenous USA America is driven from the plains to make way for ‘civilization’ and commerce. The forests are brought down for timber, the hills are cut down for coal, and Morgan’s chosen family is caught in the middle, forced to flee, assimilate, or respond with violent protests is done. They do all three.

This is Rockstar’s most serious drama, and it’s really, really long. If you are running, the story ends after 40 to 50 hours and then continues for 10 to 15. The main story missions of Red Dead 2 feature distinctly rockstar fare: ride to a destination that is talking to everyone, tightly scripting though, entertaining things, riding, and chatting to the final destination.

Missions are often thrilling action sequences or artificially mundane pictures of wrench labor and trade, full of long-winded Bespoke animations, and outstanding performances. They are only hopelessly harsh, to the point where it feels like I am following the stage directions rather than playing the role of a vagabond in the Old West.

Step out of line in these campaigns and this is a failed situation. As opposed to Red Dead Online, there are very few of them that encourage players to think for themselves, each designed to advance the story. The RDR2 show is at least a spectacle of the slow pace of life in the Old West.

This is not the death and theatricality of a lifetime; My favorite missions include shoveling, drinking wine with a friend, proposing an old romance and riding a hot air balloon. Working through a greater rut, stricter tasks are considered meaningful in the end anyway, inspired by extraordinary, ambient world-building and characterization.

Side missions, minigames, small activities, and random world events — whether they hunt great guns, capture a play, or stumble upon a woman trapped under a horse — all set Arthur’s character and setting in subtle, rich ways. Please inform.

Nested in the third act of a fully animated and voice theatrical performance, something like 10 minutes, it is possible that the response button is pressed after an artist has included a telephone. Arthur would shout, “Hell with the telephone!” It is an optional activity, a long one, and an option is to react in that short window. I think most players will remember this, but this is Canad Response 1 through 3 because this is something Arthur would say, a rageless goofy set his way in the right way.

He would write complete, real diary entries about the 50-hour campaign, sketching memorable scenes and depicting the state of affairs of his chosen family, which people once knew changed their fortunes between hope and despair. It is meant to be a completely alternative reading, but a refreshingly intimate take on a masculine figure that unsettles many doubts and hopes as to the next person.

He sings himself on a lonely ride and lowers his old body in the mirror. He will have an exciting conversation with the horseshoe woman as he gives her a ride into town, both commenting on the troubles of working for wealthy, ungrateful men as a growing necessity. I feel it all. Best horror games on pc free

Hillbillies can capture him after making the camp, a couple may try to rob him after inviting him to dinner, a man with snakebite can come out of the forest by stumbling and tell him to suck venom is. These haphazard encounters portray brutal life on the fading frontier, as nature pushes back against inner poppers who want to change it. Arthur is the perfect vessel to see it

This is because Arthur Morgan is one of the darkest human characters I have played during a great turning point in American history, playing a playful, cruel and compassionate role according to differing theories.

The game world, beautiful as it is, is made more beautiful and tragic by how it is ready to play it on every occasion. Every beautiful vista has something to lose through Arthur’s eyes, power lines and train tracks, cut through the skies, and the rest of his life is slowly filling with factory smoke. Just about everyone sees a sad end in RDR2, too. This is a story that I might not sustain every moment, but I will not forget its brutal arc or the man in the middle of it all. God damn is it sad? An apocalypse that led to this.

Ren Der Reflection

Assuming that you are able to run it at high settings, the biggest strength of RDR2 is how it exquisitely renders the Old West setting on PC, drawing more attention to the nuanced details that make it. This is one of the best looking games I’ve seen and a rare experience that justifies a new GPU or CPU.

Better draw distance and a greater range of vegetation detail were added, making some vistas look photographic. Long shadows vary from walking or roaming between places to rides, to cute nature tours. Due to animal attacks, bullet holes, rain, mud, or rapid flow of blood, the markings on the clothes are caused by very high-resolution textures, which tell a very little story about your friends.

A new photo mode makes it easy to share those moments of amazement. The way the player rides on RDR2 for just sightseeing and sounds is an important feature. I am desperately trying to get an artistic portrait of my horse’s silhouette to sit against the moon, yet another self-proclaimed goal was tolerated by this ridiculously large complex game.

With 2080, i9-9900K and 32GB of RAM, I can run RDR2 mostly on ultra settings with some resource-intensive settings completely off or switched off. But some hardware combinations are proving troublesome for RDR2, leading to random crashes in some APIs and, more recently, to a hotfix, leading to hitching problems for some 4-core CPUs.

During the first weekend, I couldn’t spend more than an hour without crashing on the desktop, though Vulcan switched from DX12 (which gives me better framerates) back to static stuff. Sometimes the UI malfunctions and I cannot select a select or purchase option, the map fails to appear, or I get paged unexpectedly from game servers.

The graphics settings are almost too much as well, and probably confusing. In our test, only a handful of settings affected performance by more than 1-2 percent. Large residuals, the mapping between MSAA, volumetric lighting, and parallax occlusion, affect performance by 5 to 25 percent. Most of them don’t make a big visual difference anyway and are best left out.

The way the settings are presented is made to feel underdeveloped: a huge list with unclear presets that require tinkering to make RDR2 run in a satisfactory framerate. It is hard. The PC should be the best place to play, not the best place to play, after all, after a few patches. It’s a shame for a game to look good. upcoming pc games

Cowboy poetry Red Dead Redemption 2 PC

Like in singleplayer mode, in Red Dead Online I can make my goals reasonable and watch them. The problem is, it is basically hamstrung by a frustrating multiplayer leveling system that locks basic equipment and cosmetics behind long XP requirements that can meet hours, perhaps days,

The option is spending gold, premium currency, items and clothing to unlock them immediately. A fishing pole is not available until level 14. A damn fishing pole in an outdoor recreation game. This is not spectacular and is a terrible way to invest players.

out a basic suite of tools (fishing rod, bow, varmint rifle, nice hat, etc.), Red Dead Online opened up widely. I have largely ignored traditional matchmaking modes such as gunfights and horse races, cheap thrills, I will play much better versions in different games, to have fun. It led to the most inventive, serene, real, and sometimes buzzing echo I’ve ever had.

I once walked into the middle of a fire in Blackwater and took the player corpses one by one to the church cemetery. Some were captured and participated in the ‘burial’ of their friends. A corpse thanked me for the gesture. Later, in an extended streak of criminal activity, my pose and I caught another player and instead of killing them on the spot, we rode into the swamp and threw them into the garter infected waters. I got the idea to act like a friend. Best pc games 2017

On a less absurd note, I set myself a constant goal of earning strictly enough money from hunting to buy cool-weather gear and a fine rifle. I am going to hike in the mountains and find the best way to hide there, a wild mountain man adorned with animal skins, which almost touches the floor.

In the meantime, I’m stopping gunmen across the city by running through the streets and calling for a parley. I am participating in an eight-player ballroom. I am living the life of a normal cowboy in the best shepherd game. I hope it clears up soon.

RDR2 PC System Requirements

OS : Windows 7 SP1 64bit

Graphics   Nvidia GeForce GTX 770 2GB / AMD Radeon R9 280

Processor:   Intel Core i5-2500K / AMD FX-6300

Memory:    8 GB RAM

DirectX:   Version 11 Or 12 Support

Storage: 150 GB

[tiny-cloud-dragon]

Random Bits: FF7 04

Chapter 1

[Setting - Zack is having a bothersome tooth pulled, and Cloud has been elected the lucky man to pick him up from the appointment.]

[Location - The Infirmary - Dental Surgeon's Office waiting room - Just past noon. ]

The office door opened and a nurse poked her head into the waiting room. "General Strife? He's awake and just about ready to go," she said.

Cloud paused the cat video he had been watching and stuffed the phone into his pocket. How many videos had he watched in the last forty minutes? He'd lost track after the tenth one, not that it mattered. What else was the internet for, if not for watching cat videos and looking at memes?

Besides, there wasn't a doctor's or dentist's office on the planet that had anything actually interesting to do while you waited, unless you enjoyed reading informational pamphlets on embarrassing diseases (you know which ones I mean), reading ratty, out of date magazines which always seemed to be missing pages, or had the one interesting article cut out, or watching the informational programming which always seemed to have a segment about bodily functions like 'Everybody Pees'. If you were feeling particularly bored, you could always have a go at the ever present Bead Rollercoaster, or if you were really lucky, the 6-in-1 playcube activity center (with counting gears, abacus, tic-tack-toe, and three different bead play options!)

Cloud had actually been considering giving the activity center a go, but a toddler had already laid claim to it, and had obviously not been taught that sharing is caring.

"The extraction went well," the nurse informed Cloud as she led him to one of the many exam rooms lining the hallway, "Er, after we got him sedated."

"Ah, yeah..." Cloud mumbled awkwardly.

Getting Zack to agree to have his festering molar pulled had required a great deal of convincing, which involved Cloud Angeal, and three 1st Class ELITEs physically manhandling him from the training field all the way to the exam chair.

One of the new 3rd Class ELITEs had been attempting his first Shift, when the abscess around Zack's rotting tooth had finally ruptured. One minute Zack had been standing there normally (aside from the swollen lump on his left cheek), and the next minute he was projectile vomiting like a geyser.

The smell had been horrific. A Smell Connoisseur, had such a thing existed, would have described the stench as a full-bodied, toothsome malodor that had not so subtle overtones of fleshy putrefaction with smoother hints of vegetable decay and, for some reason, brimstone. The Average Joe would have described it as akin to a stew of week old corpses simmering gently over a burning trash heap.

Cloud and Angeal had each grabbed Zack by an arm and started dragging him to the Infirmary. Zack had Shifted and dug all four paws into the ground, screeching and twisting, spraying puss and rot-stink like a busted water main.

All the frantic movement had only served to stir up the smell to an intensity that caused it to physically manifest itself as a cloud of fog in distinctive color of Baby Poop Green. It had swirled around the three struggling figures, trying to choke them with greasy, fetid tendrils that went straight for the gag reflex.

Three 2nd Class ELITEs had jumped in to help, demonstrating great constitutional fortitude and earning themselves two days of no drills. Between the five of them, they had dragged Zack along, escorted (and slightly obscured) by the sinister green cloud. Their progress was marked by the caustic effects of the The Smell. Paint had peeled, plants had withered, metal had tarnished, wood had blackened, carpets had curled, and two plastic chairs had gone runny by the time Zack had finally been deposited in the exam chair. The Smell had been banished to the waiting room, where it had lingered only briefly before meeting an untimely end at the hands of a nurse armed with a can of air freshener.

Cloud entered the room and found Zack slouching in the the exam chair, grinning widely at a point several hundred yards away. If his eyes had been anymore unfocused, they would have been looking in opposite directions.

"Hey, Zack," Cloud called, with a slow, exaggerated wave.

Glassy eyes slowly floated into positions suggesting reasonable focus, and the light of recognition flicked on.

"Heeeeeeyy...look a' this!" Zack slurred proudly as he waved his arms around over his head.

"Er, that's great, Zack,"

"Innit tha' cool?"

"Uhh, yeah. Good job. Are you feeling okay? You look a little out of it." Cloud remarked in an amused tone.

Zack just gave him a pumpkin grin in reply and blinked, which would have been completely ordinary, had both of his eyes actually blinked in unison.

Wondering just how doped up Zack was, Cloud leaned close and very deliberately said "Knob."

Zack's goofy grin faltered for a split second as a look of vague unease flitted very briefly across his features.

"Wow! You really are out of it!" Cloud chuckled with an amused smile.

Zack watched through a drug-induced haze as Cloud turned to speak with the dental surgeon. He giggled to himself as Cloud's head turned away, but his mouth stayed where it was, continuing to speak while hanging in mid-air. Every time the mouth spoke the word 'and', a tiny wooden bird on a stick sprang in and out of the mouth like a Cuckoo clock, but instead making of the classic cuckoo! sound, the melodic whistle had been replaced by the voice of Samuel L. Jackson shouting 'Cuckoo, Mother(censored)!'

Cloud had turned back to Zack, and was asking him something, but Zack wasn't really paying much attention. He was too busy watching Cloud's facial features shuffle themselves randomly around his face. Both eyebrows and one eye charged at the nose trying to invade their territory. For a moment, it looked as if the nose was going to win, but then the other eye and the mouth swooped in and drove it back to its proper place. There was a moment of peace, before the nose twitched and then everything started warping and sagging like a Salvador Dali painting.

Zack laughed as Cloud's last remaining facial feature, his left eye, slid down his face like a raindrop, gathered at his chin, then finally dripped on to his shirt front to join its brothers. The other 'facey' parts cheered and wiggled around before beginning the climb back up.

Zack completely lost it when Cloud's mouth flapped up into the air, stuck itself to the face of the exam room wall clock like a Colorform sticker (80's babies, you know what I'm talking about), and started making rude noises.

"You should probably monitor him for the next twenty four hours, since he seems to be having trouble with both the sedative and the anesthesia." the surgeon instructed while Zack whooped with laughter and went Thhpppbbbttt! at the wall clock.

"Obviously," Cloud remarked wryly as he pulled one of Zack's arms across his shoulders and heaved him out of the chair. Zack snickered, mumbling something about balloons as he was led unsteadily out the door.

Cloud sighed and shook his head. It was going to be a long afternoon.

[satire-please]

Take a Sad Song and Make it Better - Final Part

Day 7 - Your Idea of Choice = What tropes or things would you like to see?

Bed sharing. I love bed sharing. Whether it’s platonic or romantic, get my favorite characters in the same bed.

If an Alfred knows you’re not sleeping, then you better leave the country.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

Tim wants so little. Really.

He just wants to makes his plans, follow his plans, and have no wrenches thrown at his plan.

Is that too much to ask?

Example, when he makes a plan to help with his sleep debt, okay when he’s forced to. Yesterday Alfred cornered him, loomed over him listing every medical study on how the efficiency of the human mind decreases without adequate rest.

It ends up being a pathetic exchange.

Something like, “Master Tim, do you even know the last time you have had six hours of sleep?”

Tim had opened his mouth to argue, he’s got this, finger raised and ready–

“In a row?”

Tim’s mouth snapped closed, his body deflating faster than a balloon.

“Why, it’s been weeks. How completely unacceptable.” Then Alfred patted his hand, gave him that patient, expectant look and helpfully rearranged his schedule.

Deleting everything on his itinerary.

Tattle-telling him to Tam. Informing the Teen Titans of Red Robin’s condition and need. Coercing him to hand over his case files, all of them, to be locked down for the next 24 hours. It’s not fair.

It leaves him no options but to concede. So he makes a plan. A sleep plan.

Get at least seven hours, ugh dammit Alfred, nine hours of sleep this Saturday. Therefore appeasing the demon butler of Gotham so he can get back to his vigilante, crime-fighting ways.

He’s graciously allowed to choose his sleeping arrangements, even though when he picks the Perch, a furrow appears on the older man’s forehead. But there he has the best mattress a rich CEO can buy. Tam ordered it for him because every now and again she likes to remind him to get some sleep before she kills him.

There’s a reason she and Alfred get along so well.

It’s a giant thing. A California King that he can starfish out in any direction with a foot or two of extra space to spare. It’s the most seductive siren Tim has ever encountered. It’s allure stronger than the deluxe coffee shop in downtown Gotham that refuses to sell their company to Tim Drake Wayne. No matter how much Tim begs. Honestly, Tim feels like he’s having an torrid affair on the things he loves when he sits down on the mattress and sinks.

So the Perch is ideal because of one, the perfect bed. Two, he’s isolated from distractions that could hinder his ‘rest.’ And lastly, he’s blessedly alone.

It’s perfect conditions for a nap.

Until Dick Grayson taps twice on his bedroom window at three o’clock in the morning.

It wakes him up immediately.

Boom, a wrench in his plan.

Groggily, Tim crawls across the bed to the window. He cracks it open an itch. “What do you want, Dick?” Maybe he can convince Dick that this is not the time and to go away.   

“Can I sleep with you tonight?” Is murmured softly in the dark. He can’t see his face, but whatever sharp retort Tim was going to say melts away. That’s not Dick’s regular voice.

“I’m sorry...Please?”

It’s a voice that needs. A voice that pleads. Where the word cracks a smidge in the middle and Tim has never said no to that voice before...he doesn’t plan to start now.

So instead of reminding Dick that he’s a grown-ass man, he sighs, cracks the window large enough for Dick to slide his gloves under and pull. The older vigilante oozes through the opening to slump on the bed with Tim.

“You’re not wearing the suit to bed. No boots on the covers, Dick.” It’s the only demand Tim gives that night. Hurriedly Nightwing strips down to the undersuit, kicking off the boots and tossing the gauntlets to finish the messy pile on the floor.

“Thanks, Timmy,” Dick whispers getting under the covers. He’s shaking. Tim doesn’t bother to ask. He’s a detective. They all have demons of their own, shadows they jump at and bad nights.

If this is how he can help Dick through one of his?

He’ll do it.

“Just go to sleep.”

Dick hums and throws an arm over Tim’s shoulders to pull him in. Dick’s addicted to being the big spoon. Tim grumbles but allows it. He’s forgetting something. What is he forgetting? Yet, the heat pressing on his back is nice, his head finds a new pillow on his brother’s arm and Dick’s breathing gets low and even. It puts Tim straight back to sleep.

They forgot the window.

It is a mistake.

At 5:00 am, Tim hears a new noise.

Weighted footsteps that pace towards his bed. He jerks, his arm sliding under the pillow to grab the shuriken there. Steady….steady

“Drake, do you perhaps know of Grayson’s location? Father has been looking everywhere for him, ah–There he is.”

“No.”

“What do you mean no? He is obviously right behind you, do you think my eyes are dysfunctional?”

“Your face is dysfunctional,” Tim says under his breath. He’s tired. The weight of his eyelids are angry with him. “No, I mean no as in I want to deny your existence in my room, in my Perch. Like now, when I’m trying to sleep. What’s next? Jason kicking down my door? Cass taking my couch?”

“Cassandra is already on your couch.”

Tim jerks up, but Dick’s arm is solid around his waist so he’s unable to get up and check.

“Cass?” He calls. “Are you there?”

Muffled through the door, barely heard is, “Sleep now, talk later.”

“Figures. Just figures.” Tim fumes but when Dick whines at him in his asleep, he slumps back into the bedding and glares at a smug Damian.

“I need to move to another safe house.”

“We know the locations of all your safe houses.”

“Then I will make a new one.”

“Try your hand, but Grayson is very talented at tracking down those that do not wish to be found.”

Tim scrunches up his face, eyeing Dick out of the corner of his eye. He knows that fact already.

“I see I have no other choice.” Damian presses a hand to his com, “Batman, Nightwing is here as you expected.”

“Expected?” Tim can feel one of his red eyes twitch.

“He is apparently enforcing Agent A’s desire to reduce the sleep deprivation of one of our other members.”

“Yeah, which none of you are helping with by the way.” Tim hisses, poking at Dick’s arm, Dick throws his leg over his in retaliation.

“Yes, Batman. I know.” Damian bites his lip, listening to the response over the com, “Yes, I shall take measures to rest as well. We will report to you in the morning.”

“We?”

Damian clicks the com off and pulls it out of his ear.

“Damian. Damian, what is this ‘we’ you speak of?”

But the younger boy ignores him, just sits on the bed and unlaces his boots. It’s when Damian has shrugged out of the tunic that Tim finally gets the memo.

“Oh come on! Really? No.”

Damian sets a neatly folded pile of gear next to Dick’s haphazard spread.

“Something...affected Grayson poorly tonight.” He says before Tim can argue more. “Perhaps in the abuse case, we stopped tonight. The male victim...had been roughly traumatized by his partner. At the end of patrol, he sent me ahead towards the manor...yet I do not wish to be far from him. Besides, taking watch ensures the livelihood of one’s allies.”

“You are so weird.” Just say you’re worried and that you care gremlin.

“Likewise,” something shifts in his expression, going carefully blank. “Therefore can you agree to stay on your side of Grayson?”

“Oh. My. Gosh. On my side of—are you serious? I can’t believe—“ Tim stops and inhaled slowly through his nose, counting to ten, to fifteen. You know what? Screw it. He could argue more, but every second spend bickering is another second not sleeping which is the point of his Saturday, sleeping. And no one is going to take that away from him, especially not one ninja troll.

“I suppose however...if the proximity bothers you, perhaps Cassandra may be willing to share the sofa…”

“Fine. Just fine. Get in bed. If you kick me in your sleep know that I’ll kick you right back.”

Damian sniffs haughtily, any tentativeness leaving his figure. “Very well. Now continue your guard on Grayson’s front–”

“Guard, Damian? I’ve been reduced to a bony stuffed animal. Dick is crushing me so hard that I can’t move.”

“–While I protect his back.” He climbs over their entangled limbs to flop behind Dick. The covers rustle as the boy gets comfortable. “Now be silent, Drake. Or my report to Father and Pennyworth will not be in your favor.”

“...Brat.”

“Idiot.”

Surprisingly, even when he’s in bed with the would-be-assassin child, you know the one that almost killed him, it’s only moments before Tim is–

Out.

There’s an irritating clicking noise. Tim wrinkles his nose. Maybe it will stop? Click. Click. His closed eyelids tell him it’s less dark than it used to be. Still, if he can just squeeze them shut and–

Click.

It takes a minute to place it, his brain not all functional, but it’s definitely the shutter of a phone camera. Tim squeezes whatever is in his arms and buries his face in spikes of soft hair. Wait.

“Oh my gosh, you guys are so cute. I need a hundred of these, no a thousand! Alfred is going to love seeing this. I can’t wait to show him!”

“Dick? Dick wha–” Tim blearily groans. He lets one eye slit open a sliver, there’s Dick kneeling next to the bed. His eyes sparkling as he holds his phone up for another angle. There’s a weak murmur as someone nuzzles his collarbone. Tim’s whole body freezes immediately. Eyes now wide open, brain completely on, panic is the best wake up alarm after all.

Tim gulps and slowly turns his head to the bedside clock. Do not make any sudden movements. He realizes he’s gotten not nine, but twelve hours of sleep.

“Oh, I wish you guys were always like this!”

He winces when Damian’s arms become a vice around his waist at the volume Dick’s voice. Squeezing, then relaxing. Tight, release. Asleep for now, but Tim begs with his eyes for Dick to shut up before the demon wakes.

“Stop taking pictures Dick, and help me. This is serious.”

He hopes Alfred is satisfied with the overall outcome. Sure he’s gotten his rest, but now Tim’s in mortal peril. It’s the most dangerous situation he’s ever been in his life.

Being in Damian’s arms like this.

Alfred better be happy.

He better be.

[bestmemechild]

Prinxiety at Kings Island - Part Two

Now Roman and Virgil were towards the back of the amusement park. The two of them got into the short line for the Windseeker. It was a tall swing ride that went hundreds of feet up into the air. Virgil found it terrifying every time he rode it because he always imagined himself falling from that height. He somehow always ended up riding it despite his fears.

The Windseeker may be a scary attraction, but cool music always played on the way up and down. It somewhat calmed people’s nerves, but it never helped Virgil. He saw past the fake charade that they were putting up. The park was trying to make it seem less horrifying, and he didn’t find it working.

Once they were back on the ground, Virgil found himself feeling a bit dizzy. Trying to jump out of the seat didn’t help because the bottom of his feet now stung. When he took a step forward, he stumbled a little bit. Roman chuckled as he gently grabbed Virgil’s arm and helped guide him out of the ride and to a bench to sit down.

“Are you alright?” Roman asked.

“I’ll be fine,” Virgil said, “The Windseeker always makes me dizzy. I think it’s because of how high it is. It causes me a lot of anxiety, but I still like to ride it.”

“Are you afraid of heights?”

“Not that much. I can do all of the roller coasters and go to the top floor of tall buildings, but the Windseeker is different. There’s nothing I can do if it breaks and there are cases of some Windseeker rides getting stuck at the top. I could also die if I fell from that height.”

“Yeah, I can understand why you would be nervous.”

Virgil soon got over his dizziness and stood up to signal that he was ready to continue. Roman was glad that Virgil felt better. He had immediately felt worried when he saw Virgil stumble around. He was having a lot of fun and didn’t want it to be ruined for Virgil if he felt sick. He knew that Virgil would feel bad about it, even though he wouldn’t have been able to help it. Smiling, Roman walked alongside Virgil as they went to the next ride.

The Vortex was another roller coaster that they skipped. Neither of them liked it that much since it made them very uncomfortable. It was okay to ride once in a while, but not every trip. Their heads always got banged around on the restraints by their heads, giving them bad headaches sometimes. There were a lot of loops, but they were annoying.

Instead, they made their way to their favorite ride at Kings Island: The Beast. When it opened in 1979, it was the tallest, fastest, and longest wooden roller coaster. While it wasn’t the tallest anymore (having been beat out by Goliath at Six Flags Great America) or the fastest (which was now Lightning Rod at Dollywood), it was still the longest. The Beast was very intense. When they first built it and had it tested by a few people, they were absolutely spooked when going through the end tunnels because there were no breaks used during the swift turns. They added them in and that part of the ride was still the most intense. The coaster zoomed through the woods at a very high speed, and it was the best at night since it seemed to be spookier and faster. It was by far the best thing to happen to the amusement park.

“The Beast really is a beauty,” Virgil commented.

“You could say that the story is wrong, it’s actually called Beauty is the Beast,” Roman joked.

“Shut up.”

Next, they rode the Backlot Stunt Coaster. Before, it was called Italian Job: Stunt Track, but it was obviously renamed. It was a smaller coaster, but it was still fast and exciting. The cars turned rapidly, passing the different road signs and cop cars. In the middle, the cars stopped and waited as helicopter sounds were played and fire lights around them. Then, they were plunged into darkness and then exited the wall to the outside world as if they crashed through it.

Virgil and Roman decided to take a small break from the thrill rides and head towards Kiddie Land. They wanted to ride a few of the more childish attractions, such as Boo Blasters on Boo Hill, Surf Dog, and the Woodstock Express.

“I miss this being Nickelodeon and not Snoopy,” Virgil mentioned. “That was my childhood in this place and, frankly, it was a lot better. I remember being really sad when my mom told me that Cedar Fair had bought out this place. Don’t get me wrong, I love Cedar Fair parks too, but I preferred Kings Island being owned by Paramount.”

“I know!” Roman exclaimed. “Boo Blasters used to be Scooby Doo themed and the Woodstock Express featured the Fairly Odd Parents. The trains were even painted as Cosmo and Wanda! I also loved running through that Spongebob splash pad.”

“Yeah, and that yellow roller coaster over there, I think it’s called Flying Ace Aerial Chase, was the Rugrats and the log ride was the Wild Thornberrys. I also miss the one where you lay on your stomach being Danny Phantom. My favorite one was what Surf Dog used to be, though. It was Avatar the Last Airbender before!”

Obviously they were bitter about Cedar Fair buying Kings Island from Paramount. Who could blame them? Everything was changed to Snoopy this and Snoopy that! There was nothing wrong with The Peanuts, and they still loved Charlie Brown and his lovable dog, but those characters were already used at Cedar Point, which was another amusement park in Ohio. They liked how there was a more variety in characters and themes going on before, but now that was missing.

As they were in Kiddie Land, Virgil ended up beating Roman at the shooting game in Boo Blasters on Boo Hill. Roman claimed that his blaster was broken and that was why he didn’t get at many points, but they both knew that that was not the case. Roman was just really bad at it.

They also rode the other two rides that they had come there for, but nothing significant really happened while they were doing so. They mainly just teased one another the entire time. They did see a few of the kids from Sanders Summer Camp, but most of them were too busy running around and having fun to stop and talk to them.

When they were tired of the lamer rides, they went to ride Mystic Timbers. The line was a tiny bit longer because it was the newest roller coaster in the park, but it still didn’t take much time at all. The crowds had stayed away that day like they hoped, so the lines weren’t too bad.

Mystic Timbers was wooden, but it was not nearly as long as The Beast. There were lots of twists and turns that led to a fun ride, but the ending was pretty weird. The train slowly entered and stopped inside of a shed. A voice recording warned them not to go in, but they did anyway. After a few seconds, some music started playing on its own. Everyone focused on a large screen on the wall in front of them, wondering what would happen. They waited there for what seemed like forever before they started to move forward again. As they did, a giant tree creature popped up on the screen. The monster was supposed to be frightening, but Virgil and Roman thought that it was lame. The tree was one of three things the screen could have showed. The other two could have been snakes or bats, possibly representing the Diamondback and The Bat. The tree represented Mystic Timbers.

The only roller coaster that they hadn’t ridden yet but wanted to was the Diamondback. Since it was after dinner time, they grabbed some chicken tenders and fries from a nearby food stand and ate while waiting in line. When they were in the front, they threw away their trash and got on. The seats were very different than on other roller coasters. Each car on the train had two seats close together in the front and two spread apart on the back. The last pair of seats had a long line, so Virgil and Roman sat in the second to last pair of seats.

Diamondback was a tall coaster that made one’s stomach drop. It smoothly ran over the tracks, moving through a lot of wide turns. At the end, it plummeted towards the water and almost seemed to glide across the water. As the train passed, water shot into the air due to the last car on the train having a piece that went into the water and caused it to spray up.

Finally, once they got off, they found that they only had an hour and a half left. They rode The Beast one more time before settling with walking around some. Roman really wanted to play some games for some reason, so they did just that. Virgil lost the two games he let himself be talked into playing. He was actually a little disappointed because there was a squid hat that he really wanted. He didn’t tell Roman about wanting one, though, especially as he watched Roman win a pink one for himself.

However, he was very surprised when he played the game he won the squid hat at again. He won another time and got another squid hat, this time blue. Virgil felt a little jealous until Roman approached him and placed the hat on his head.

“There!” Roman grinned, “Now we are squid buddies!”

“You didn’t ha-” Virgil started before Roman cut him off.

“Nonsense! I wanted to! I thought that you would look cute in it...and I was right! Besides, I felt bad that you didn’t get a prize too, so of course I needed to win one for you! What type of prince would I be if I didn’t?”

“Well, first of all, you’re not a prince-”

“Hahahaha that’s a funny joke, Panic! At the Everywhere!”

“Okay, whatever...but thanks…”

Roman grinned as he told Virgil that it was no problem. He then proceeded to drag him over to another game. It was one of those games where you had to shoot the water into the target to make a balloon pop. Roman beat a few people who were playing a few times and ended up getting the big prize. He picked out a giant stuffed Pikachu.

“Virgil,” Roman said slyly.

“What?” VIrgil questioned.

“I seem to have won this Pikachu here, but my room at home already has an abundance of stuff animals.”

“Of course it does.”

“I don’t think Pikachu would be very happy in my room. Would you mind keeping him for me?”

“Roman, you just spent a bunch of money playing that game for that prize!” Virgil yelled. “I can not take him because you won him. You’ve already given me this squid hat.”

“But Viiiirgiiiil, I specifically played that game to win Pikachu for yoooou!”

Virgil sighed, a deep blush on his face. “Are you really sure? I don’t want to owe you anything more.”

Roman gasped. “You don’t owe me anything! I really just wanted to win you another prize to make you happy. Please, Virgil, I really like you.”

“You-You do?”

Roman felt his own face turn pink. “Well, yeah. You’re really cute Virgil. I know that I just moved here and that we barely know each other, but I’ve noticed you from the first day of camp. I would love to hang out with you a lot more. This day was really fun and it made me realize how much I want to stay by your side.”

Virgil was shocked, “I-”

“Wait,” Roman interrupted, ruining the moment, “this has to be done in the perfect place. Come with me!”

Roman shoved Pikachu into Virgil’s arms, grabbed the emo’s hand, and pulled him towards the front of the park. They soon ended up in line to go to the top of the Eiffel Tower replica. Only the very top was available, not the lower 50 foot level. The reason for that was because a guy once tried to climb the elevator shaft from the 50 foot level during an after hours graduation party. He ended up falling and getting killed. Since then, the stairs that led to that level had been closed off and nobody was allowed up there. The elevator only went up to the top level.

Anyway, they took the elevator to the top and stood where they could overlook the park. The height didn’t get to Virgil like it did on the Windseeker because there were railings and they weren’t trapped on a seat suspended from a thin pole. It was very peaceful up there, save for the occasional roar of a roller coaster. It was hard to hear the laughter and screams from people riding them since they were so far up.

The night sky was very pretty. The moon was out and there were only a few clouds. The stars could not be seen very well due to light pollution, but they could imagine that they were still there. The different rides littered around Kings Island were lit up with bright, colored lights in order to make everything look beautiful.

“This is wonderful,” Virgil said in awe.

“Yeah, it is,” Roman agreed. Both of them were nervous to continue their conversation from earlier, so Virgil spoke up about a different matter first.

“Thank you for coming with me today. Usually I’d have to hang out with one of the groups of kids since they didn’t want me going off on my own. I knew Patton felt bad, but there was nothing he could do about it. Not even Logan, who the other volunteers are scared off, would force me to hang out with people who hate me. I would have had to skip out on all of these roller coasters and be bored all day.”

“It’s no problem at all,” Roman replied. “I don’t get why the others don’t like you. Virgil, you’re so amazing! I had so much fun today, but it wasn’t just because we were here. No, I had fun because I was with you.”

Virgil turned to face Roman, only to find him already staring at him.

“Did you mean it when you said that you liked me?” Virgil asked.

“Of course I did! You’re beautiful! You’re funny! You like some of the same things that I do! I like everything about you and it drives me crazy! I just want to be with you…”

Virgil was blushing hard now. He wanted to respond, but he didn’t seem to be able to muster up any words. He was afraid that he would say the wrong thing.

“Virgil?” Roman asked.

“Yeah?” Virgil whispered as best as he could.

“Can I kiss you?”

Now Virgil was really shocked. He had not been expecting that at all. He nodded after a moment, not wanting to be silent for too long in fear that Roman would take it negatively.

Roman grinned as he cupped Virgil’s cheek. He leaned in slowly before pressing his lips gently against the other boy’s. It wasn’t very deep or long. Actually, it was rather clumsy, but it was perfect to them.

When they pulled away, Roman dropped his hand from Virgil’s cheek in order to grab his hand instead. Virgil was careful not to drop his Pikachu as he listened to what Roman had to say.

“I hope that you believe me now when I tell you how much I like you. I really want to give us a try, but only if you want to. What do you say, sunshine? Would you be my boyfriend?”

“Of course, you idiot!” Virgil exclaimed as he nodded enthusiastically. “I like you too!”

Virgil was the one to take the initiative this time to kiss Roman. It was more passionate, more emotions coming through. Virgil was really happy because somebody finally wanted to be with him. Somebody finally liked him and not those who bully him. He felt joyful tears run down his cheeks as they pulled away again. Roman just smiled before kissing them away.

“But you can’t call me sunshine,” Virgil ordered.

“No promises, My Chemically Imbalanced Romance,” Roman teased.

“Ugh, whatever Sir Sing-a-Lot.”

“I like that one! Feel free to keep calling me that.”

Virgil just rolled his eyes and decided to shut his new boyfriend up with another kiss.

About 20 minutes before closing, they returned to the ground in order to head back to the bus. They didn’t want to be the ones to keep everyone else waiting. As they walked, their hands were intertwined with one another.

They got back to the bus with 10 minutes to spare. They paused before reaching it fully, turning back around to watch the fireworks that lit up the sky. Kings Island sure knew how to end a night. They looked at each other with smiles on their faces, sharing another small kiss in order to help remember that moment.

They knew that they would have a lot of annoying teenagers to ignore once they got on that bus. They also knew that the summer would be filled with those teens annoying them and making fun of their relationship. However, the most important thing they knew was that as long as they had each other, they could get through all of that and more.

El fin