#back to your regularly scheduled programming‚ i suppose! that last one was so strange

[front-facing-pokemon]

[cambria-writes]

happy spookmas everyone!

cranked this out at the very last second. shoutout to @anothermunsonsimp for encouraging this when i first brought it up (though i originally mentioned how pissed i was that the princess bride came out in 1987) and to @alovesongshewrote for being very enthusiastic about the concept of a halloween fic.

hope you're all having or have had a great day, regardless of current festivities! we will resume our regularly scheduled program on sunday. :)

rating: T warning: mostly just swearing, minor implied spoilers for ravenloft word count: 674

𝕴𝖙'𝖘 𝖔𝖓𝖑𝖞 𝕱𝖔𝖗𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗

Halloween, 1986

You check yourself in the hallway mirror for what feels like the hundredth time in the span of ten minutes. You adjust the poofy sleeves for the nth time, fiddle with the hair pieces again, and make sure the necklace is well centered. You know you’re being ridiculous, but your blood feels like it’s full of static and you’re considering going back to the bathroom to wipe the blush off your cheeks. The heat in them makes it feel redundant. 

You rush into the kitchen to look at the time on the stove before noisily making your way back to the hallway mirror to fluff up you hair. It’s not really your hair; Maggie from Genealogy somehow just happened to have the perfect clip-on hair extensions for you, that also just so happened to be curled just the way you needed. You’re honestly still shocked and still suspicious, but if there’s one thing you’ve learned this year, it’s to not look a gift horse in the god damn mouth. 

When you check the time again, you huff and reach for the phone on the wall next to the fridge. You’ve just dialed the first three numbers when you hear the head-splitting buzz announcing someone’s arrived at the door downstairs. 

You run to the front door, stuff a handful of twenties and a lighter in your bra and run out the door. 

The stairs are an unexpected challenge—even when you grip as much of the gown’s skirt as you can, you nearly fall down  three flights of stairs about five times. 

When you finally manage to make it through the building‘s lobby, you have to take a second to just. Look at Eddie. Take him in, just for a bit. 

It had taken weeks of pestering, convincing, and literally reciting essays to Eddie to get him to agree. Not only to do a couple's costume—that's too cheesy, he said, I have an image and reputation to maintain, he whined—but to dress up as fucking Jareth. 

You're only human. It's not like anyone with a pulse can resist David Bowie.

And in this moment, staring dumbly at Eddie in a ballroom get-up, with straightened hair, you're not sure how you're supposed to resist him, either. 

When Eddie looks up at the glass door and, consequently, at you, you choke on your own spit. You can hear him burst out into laughter, and the sound shocks you from your stupor. You burst out the door. 

"Hey! I almost fucking died! Don't laugh at me!" You shout, smacking at his should with both hands. 

"I yield, I yield!" he cries out, still laughing. 

When he's finally recovered enough, and pulled you out of the way of the building's door, Eddie holds you at arms' length. It's his turn to stare at you now. 

And stare. 

And... stare some more. 

You shuffle nervously on your feet, and clear your throat. 

"H-hey, c'mon, you're making me feel like I'm doing something wrong."

"No," Eddie says, so forcefully and instantly that it makes you jump. "Shit, sorry, I mean—no, you're. You look..."

"Strange? Nerdy? Larger?" You emphasize the last word by patting down the many layers of your gown's skirts.

Eddie huffs at you like you've just said the most ridiculous thing. "Magical. You look magical," He says, quietly, moving his hands from your shoulders to your face. "Absolutely enchanting. Bewitching. Mes—"

"Oh god stop," you groan, slapping his hands away and hiding your face behind your own hands. "You've made your point, I'm sufficiently flustered."

"Perfect," Eddie replies, and you can hear the smug tone in his voice. When you peek through your fingers, he's wearing the most obnoxious smug grin and crosses his arms. "That shade of pink looks better on you." 

You make a gagging sound but pull at one of his arms to wrap your own around. 

"Come on, nerd. We've got booze to drink and teenagers to pretend we're chaperoning." 

Eddie starts walking first as he's chuckling. 

"Please, they're going to be chaperoning you."

[benaffleckofcrowdsurfing]

Star Treatment - 2

TBHC Alex Turner AU

description: an escort; a millionaire; a hotel that breaks the boundaries of technology, time, and space; a flashing red light; and a shit ton of cocaine.

word count: 4.6k

masterlist here

warnings: brief scene of assault

lmk if u wanna get added to the taglist 4 this story or 4 all my works :)

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

ok before we get into it, a quick author’s note: hello! long time no see! yes, it is I, returned from the dead. quick life update, I just graduated high school!!!!! which means I have a huge weight lifted off of my shoulders and will have far more time to write and be active!!!!!! so expect more from me from now on. thank you for being patient. xoxoxo

back to your regularly scheduled programming

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

PART 2 - THE BASE

“I know you saw him last night.”

Brielle could do nothing but stare down at her phone in fear. She knew that she was, in the simplest of terms, dead.

“I think we need to sort this out in person Princess. someone’s forgot their place.”

She threw her head back in frustration. “God, you’ve got to be kidding me.” 

“I swear I didn't plan on seeing him, Enzo.”

“I’m coming over.”

“I’m fucked. I am so, so fucked,” Brielle grunted. One of Enzo’s many favors to Brielle had been an apartment for her to stay in, one directly across the hall from his. This meant that at any given moment he could waltz into her living room, ready to tell her what to and what not to do.

And that’s exactly what he did in the following moments.

Before Brielle could even begin to compose herself, the front door swung open and footsteps thundered through the apartment. Within seconds Enzo stood in front of Brielle, his face red from anger.

shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit

“You've got a death wish, don't you Miss Roux?”

Brielle’s lip began to tremble as Enzo slowly began to inch towards her. She shuffled back to prevent from being any closer to him until her back thudded against her dining table and Enzo placed his hands on either side of her to trap her in. They stared at each other in silence, Brielle shaking in fear and Enzo waiting for her to defend herself for a long while until she gulped loudly and spoke up.

“It was purely coincidence that I saw him.”

Enzo only narrowed his eyes and chuckled. “It was a coincidence that you got into his car?”

Brielle only stuttered for a moment.

“That's what I thought.”

Brielle had no idea what to say to Enzo, she knew he would punish her for this and she was terrified of making him angrier. However, her pride seemed to get the better of her and she refused to let him bully her over something that really shouldn't be any of his business. It took her a long moment to think of what to say, but when she did her eyes went dark and a Cheshire cat smile crept on her face. 

“You know, you really shouldn't be jealous.” 

Enzo’s eyes widened at Brielle’s snarky remark and he almost immediately shoved himself away from the table.

“You're fucking joking,” he muttered. He expected Brielle to react in fear, as she usually did, but this time she kept her head held high and her arms crossed in front of her.

“Because it's okay, Enzo, Alex and I are just friends. You can still obsess over me if you'd like to.” Brielle kept the smile on her face and chuckled to herself at the last part of her comment. Enzo’s face immediately contorted into a grimace, it was obvious he was livid. Brielle had never stood up for herself like she was, nor had she ever acknowledged Enzo’s obvious crush on her.

 He gritted his teeth and approached her once more. “Get out.”

Brielle shook her head and looked up at him, this time the fear apparent in her face.

“We’re through, Brielle. You've pissed me off one too many times. Leave the fucking apartment before I throw you out of it myself.” Enzo stooped down to Brielle’s eye level, his face was only inches for hers, and he spoke in a hushed tone. This, however, only scared Brielle more.

“Where am i supposed to go?” Brielle whispered. 

“Don't know, don't care,” Enzo sighed. He backed away from Brielle once more, ushering for her to leave. “Feel free to leave all of the shit I’ve provided you with over the years. I'll give all your dresses to whichever dumb slut takes your place.”

Brielle furrowed her brows. “Dumb slut? Who's a dumb slut? Because I know you're not talking about me…” She stepped away from the table and towards Enzo. “And I’m taking my fucking clothes, no matter how much you don't like me right now I have still worked day in and day out for you and every penny I’ve made has been well deserved. Those are not your clothes to take, they're mine.” She approached Enzo and put a finger on his chest, testing him a bit. “And I hope you do try and replace me. We both know you'll only be sorely disappointed.” 

Enzo looked down at Brielle in shock. “Did you just touch me? Did you just lay a finger on me?” 

The fear returned to Brielle’s eyes once more. “I- uh-” 

“Get out. If you don't leave this apartment right now I’m going to lose my shit.” 

Brielle's eyes shifted from the door to Enzo and back to the door again a few times before she crossed her arms in front of her and turned away from Enzo. “I’m getting my things and then I’ll leave.” 

Brielle was sure that Enzo wouldn't do anything, in her mind she thought there was nothing he could do, she was just going to shove her things into a suitcase and check herself into a motel room. But, before she could take even a few steps, Enzo grabbed her by the back of her shirt and pulled her back to him. 

“That's not what I told you to do though, is it?”

Brielle chuckled nervously and tried to push away from him. “You can't tell me what to do anymore, you just fired me.” 

This sent Enzo over the edge. He inhaled sharply and forcefully pushed Brielle off of him, she fell to the floor and before she had the chance to get up he pinned her down and hovered over her. Brielle stared up at him with wide eyes, terrified of what he would do. 

Enzo lowered his voice once again. “If you don't leave this apartment the moment I let you up, I’ll fucking kill you. If I ever see you again, I’ll fucking kill you. If I ever hear of you going to the police and ratting me or any of the guys out for anything, I’ll fucking kill you. You and I have bad blood now, do you understand?”

Brielle held back tears and nodded her head shakily. “I understand,” she choked.

Enzo muttered a few profanities at her under his breath. He then puckered his lips, looked down at Brielle with resentment, and spat directly in her face. “That's your warning.” 

When Enzo got off of Brielle she scrambled up off the floor and wiped off her face with her sleeve. She stood paralyzed in fear, completely unable to move her legs and leave the apartment, until he yelled at her to leave one final time and she darted out the front door. Fuck her clothes, fuck her wallet, fuck her things, she knew for a fact that if Enzo told someone he would cause them harm he meant it and the last thing she wanted was to end up on the headlines of the Los Angeles Times. 

Brielle didn't stop running until she was out of the complex completely, she had practically flown down the stairs and out the front lobby door. Once out and safely down the street, she collapsed onto the sidewalk.

She shivered uncontrollably and could not stop the tears from streaming down her face. She frantically rummaged through her jacket pockets for her carton of cigarettes and yelled out in frustration when she realized that she had left them sitting on her couch. Brielle did, however, find $20 in her phone case, and figured that it would be only right to spend her last few dollars on the one thing she really had regretted leaving. As she slowly made her way to the corner store, still shivering from the adrenaline of her fight with Enzo and the impending anxieties surrounding the idea of what she’d do now, her phone rang.

“H- hello?” Brielle stuttered. The number had been one that was not saved in her phone and she prayed that it wasn’t Enzo trying to scare her. 

“Oh, thank God it's actually you,” the voice on the other end sighed. Brielle’s face softened and her body relaxed slightly when she realized who it was, it could not have been further from Enzo.

“Al-alex, hey,” Brielle smiled. “How d-did you get m-m-my number?” 

“That's unimportant, where are you? Are you safe?” The voice on the other end asked. He sounded very concerned to Brielle and it made her wonder how he knew she was in trouble to begin with. But, before she could even ask, he answered her questions. “Enzo called me to tell me that you had to cancel. He sounded very strange and it would be very unlike you to cancel, so I knew something had to be up… and judging from the fact that you can't get out even a word without stuttering, I guess I was right.”

Brielle sniffled and let out a shaky sigh. “Enzo got angry with me and kicked me out. I'm not really quite sure what I’m going to do, as of right now I’m walking to the 7/11 to buy myself a pack of reds.” 

“The 7/11 down the street from your apartment complex?”

“Yeah. On the corner across from that Italian restaurant you like.” 

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes, okay? Go inside the store and don't leave until I come get you. I promise you'll be safe.”

Brielle let out a long sigh of relief into the phone. “Okay. Thank you, Alex.”

The voice on the other end of the phone just paused for a moment and let out a small chuckle. “It's not a problem, Bri. I'm just glad you're alright.” 

Brielle muttered a quick goodbye to Alex as she walked through the threshold of the corner store, and when she hung up just gleamed down at her phone. She hadn’t the foggiest idea of what she would do now, she didn’t have many friends that she hadn’t met through Enzo and she really had never worked a real job, but at least in the meantime she knew that Alex was on his way. Oh, and she was going to get her cigarettes. That was very important. 

“Hey, can I get a pack of Marlboro reds?” Brielle walked up to the counter with as much conviction as she could muster. The last thing she needed was for the man working behind the counter to sense weakness or unsureness in her and ask for her ID, as it was still in the apartment. Fortunately for her, though, the man only nodded and began ringing her up.

The man asked her if the cigarettes would be all, to which Brielle thought for a moment before gasping, “Oh, and a lighter. The pink one.” She smiled at the man and gave him the bill in her phone case. 

Brielle made her way towards the door, but once she placed her hand on the cold metal handle the ghost of Alex’s voice replayed in her head. Don’t leave until I come get you.

Now, typically Brielle would have disregarded the instructions, she was just dying for a cigarette and she thought that no harm would come to her if she was just sitting on the sidewalk, but something about Alex… something about the way he spoke to her… made her want to listen. She slowly retracted her hand from the handle and turned back around to face the clerk. 

“Is...is it alright if i wait here for a moment? I’m waiting for a friend and I… I don't feel comfortable being alone on the street in this area.” 

The man nodded in compliance and Brielle bid him a quick thank you.

Brelle settled herself next to the door and scrolled through her Instagram for a moment while she waited for Alex, but she soon grew bored and decided she would wander the aisles instead. She did so for a good five minutes, got completely lost in her head while her eyes scanned the shelves of snacks and drinks, until she hit the wine fridge. 

Wine. Oh, how I’d love to be able to afford some wine right now. She thought to herself. It had been a long day, even if it was only twelve-thirty in the afternoon, and Brielle prided herself on being quite the wine snob. (It’s my French heritage! she often told people.) Brielle opened the fridge door, picked up a particularly expensive bottle of Cabernet, and lost herself reading the label. “Chateau Montelena. Napa Valley… 2015 Cabernet Sauvignon… hey, Mister clerk guy, this is a really good bottle of wine. I didn't know corner stores carried this shit!” Brielle didn't look up from the bottle as she continued to talk, completely ignoring all other sounds and movements around her. “This winery is world famous, it's like really good even compared to French wine. My mom, she used to go to this spa in the Napa valley and she’d take me when I was little, we’d go for tastings at this Chateau and it was really boujiee. Oh, I didn't taste the wine of course, I just tagged along so I could walk through the castle. It's absolutely beautiful. But now I love the stuff. It's got such an authentic taste, it really is comparable to some of the most prestigious wineries in Fra-” 

Brielle was cut off by the feeling of a hand on her back and she clenched the bottle for dear life. The figure behind her gasped when she jumped and chuckled a bit as she attempted to catch her breath. “I’m sorry Love, I didn't mean to scare you. Just didn't want to interrupt your story.” 

Brielle’s entire body relaxed once she realized who it was who had approached her, and she turned around to greet him, still holding onto the bottle. “Alex.” 

When their eyes met they both let out weak smiles, Brielle's eyes welled up with tears and Alex pulled her in and wrapped his arms around her. She sniffled into his chest, doing her best not to break down in the middle of the 7/11, but Alex’s comforting grip made her vulnerable and she couldn't stop herself. They stood there for a moment, Brielle buried as deep into him as she could be, and Alex just resting his head on the top of hers and muttering sweet affirmations to her. Brielle could have stood there forever, just engulfed in his arms… in his scent… but Alex soon broke the embrace and put his hands on her shoulders.

“Are you alright? Did he hurt you?” 

Brielle shook her head. Tears freely streamed down her face and she sniffled loudly.

Alex’s chocolate eyes softened and he beamed down at her. “Is the wine really as good as you say it is?”

Brielle nodded and hummed through her tears.

“Alright then, it's a good thing I brought my wallet. I think we could both use a glass of wine right now,” Alex winked at Brielle and gently took the bottle from her arms, which made her blush, before wrapping his own arm around her shoulders. He didn't move his arm from her as he paid for the wine, or as he opened the door for them, or as they approached the car. It was the same one that they had ridden in the night previous, and to Brielle’s silent delight Nick was waiting for them. 

“Miss Roux, we meet again,” he chirped. 

Brielle giggled as he opened the back door for the pair. “It's a pleasure to ride with you again, Mister O’Malley.” 

Once settled in the car, Alex’s arm found his previous spot around Brielle, and she leaned into him. Her tears had ceased but she still let out the occasional sniffle, to distract herself she began twiddling with the hem of Alex’s blazer (which Alex definitely did not mind.) Alex’s calloused hands soon found themselves in Brielle’s hair, he still continued to mumble words of solace into her and ask if she was alright, to which Brielle only let out soft hums of agreement and nodded her head. They stayed relatively quiet for the car ride, Brielle never thought to ask Alex where they were going or what they were doing, she was just happy that he had been there for her when she needed it. 

As the car ride became more drawn out and they left the more urban area of Los Angeles, Brielle drifted to sleep in Alex’s arms. He hadn’t noticed it at first, she had been quiet even when she was awake, it wasn’t until he felt her breathing become slow and heavy under him that he realized. A small smile crept onto his face and when Nick glanced back at them through the rear mirror he let out a small chuckle.

“Is this really what’s best for her, Al?” the driver sighed.

Alex narrowed his eyes and spoke through gritted teeth. “She has no other options. At least she’ll be safe from the outside world at the hotel.”

“Yeah, but what about what’s on the inside?”

“We just can never let her discover what’s on the inside.”

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

“Brielle. Brielle darling it’s time to get up… Bri…” Alex cooed. He did his best to wake her without scaring her, but the moment he gently peeled his arm from around her shoulders, she jolted up.

“Wh- oh, hey Alex,” she mumbled. “How long was I out?” 

Alex’s eyes crinkled as he looked down at her with delight. “Only about fifteen minutes,” He tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear, “You’re absolutely precious when you sleep.”

Brielle blushed and gazed dreamily into his eyes for a moment, still not quite completely conscious, but her facial expression changed to one of confusion when she looked past him and out the window. 

“Is that-”

“Welcome to the Tranquility Base, Brielle”

Brielle couldn't speak, she only looked up at the behemoth building in awe. She had driven past the property before, sure, but never had entered its elusive gates. Only the wealthiest of people stayed in the hotel, it put the Chateau Marmont to shame. It was a playground for the ridiculously rich and wealthy; only the most prestigious of politicians, A-list celebrities, billionaires, and world leaders stayed at the Tranquility Base. The casino, which was the only building on the property that actually touched the outside world, was nearly impossible to get access to, it was extremely popular. So popular, in fact, that it operated in a similar way to Los Angeles’s clubs, you needed a reservation or to be on ‘the list��� even to be let inside. If you weren't, have fun waiting in line outside for hours and hours.

 No one actually knew how big the property that the Tranquility Base resided on was, it was said that the original owners bought nearly eighteen square miles of land surrounding the hotel and no one, not even regulars at the hotel, knew what existed beyond the hotel and its few gardens. There were rumors that there was something the original owners were hiding out there in the surrounding desert landscape, perhaps something similar to area 51 (it would explain the overall eerie feeling one got when passing by the property), or some sort of giant illegal oil mine.

 It was also rumored that there was a series of tunnels underneath the property that connected to the hotel, almost like a series of catacombs, which the most elite of hotel stayers used to get around in an attempt to avoid paparazzi and the public eye. 

Now, Brielle thought that these sorts of rumors were bullshit, especially since she knew the owner of the hotel, but now that she was actually on the property, past the gates, about to enter the castle-like hotel, her mind raced. 

“I just- I thought we’d go to… you know… your house.” 

Alex only smiled softly at the still disoriented girl. “This is my house. Or, my house is here, at least. Not the whole hotel.” 

Brielle furrowed her brows. “Oh. Right. I guess I’d live here if I owned it too. It's absolutely gorgeous.”

“Have you ever been inside?”

“Well, not exactly,” Brielle mumbled sheepishly, “I’ve been inside the casino but don't remember much of it.”

Alex chuckled. “Wild night?”

“To say the least.”

“Usually is at the Tranquility Base. That's how I like it.”

“I get that vibe from the casino for sure. It's like stepping onto the Lunar Surface.” 

Alex paused at Brielle’s mention of the moon. “You know, that's exactly what I modeled the casino after. It's a place where technology and the unknown can form an almost perfect union.”

“You built the casino?”

“It was my first project after my uncle retired and I took over.”

“Well, you did a lovely job.”

 “Do you gamble any?” Alex slowly stepped out of the car and gently took Brielle’s hand to follow. 

“I don't like to let luck decide my life,” Brielle ventured. 

“Good girl,” Alex mumbled in response. 

This caused Brielle, whose hand was in Alex’s and was stepping out of the car, to direct all of her attention from where she was stepping to the sultry words leaving his lips. In return she stumbled a bit, tripped over her own two feet, and was only saved by the hand of a very smug looking Alexander. 

“Careful, Darling,” Alex cooed. 

A deep red hue crept onto the brunette’s cheeks. “Two left feet, sorry,” she muttered. 

Alex only laughed in return and snaked an arm around her waist. “Only teasing.” He then kissed the top of her head -- beckoning for her blush to return -- and gestured for them to continue on towards the hotel. “Off we go then, come along.”

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

The hotel truly was a haven for everything grand. Upon entering, Brielle was immersed in a very specific frame of mind. The large foyer, which Alex explained that he had redone to ‘efficiently harmonize the classic atmosphere of the building with the more postmodern ambiance we here at the Tranquility Base strive to instill’, was… well… just that. A perfect harmonization between the Baroque inspired interior of the building and the neon dazzle of the 1980’s. 

The domed ceiling was spangled in intricate depictions of royalty, sacred events, and mythology. Stone sculptures of all sizes resided in all corners of the foyer, lit up by various colored neon lights at their bases. The front desk was decidedly an 80’s ode to the Art Deco era, it sported trapezoidal engravings on brass walls and a glass counter top, and was also overly saturated in various colors of neon lights. The man sat at the desk, who Alex introduced to Brielle as ‘the man running the show, the face of the Base, Monsieur Mark’, typed away on a suspiciously fast computer that looked fresh out of an 80’s sci fi movie and would occasionally answer a corded phone in the shape of a bat. 

As Alex guided Brielle through the main floor of the hotel, he showed her Roman statues, Baroque art, and Renaissance paintings that Brielle thought should be in a museum rather than a fluorescently lit hotel. He guided her through a cherry red dining room which Brielle claimed looked ‘straight out of the shining’; a day spa with a quite peculiar hot tub (“It’s not just bubbling in the water, there are bubbles rising up out of it! How does it do that, Alex? It looks like you threw a bucket of dry ice in it!”) and a lovely view of the hedge maze below; an extremely vaporwave-esque bar with the largest selection of liquor Brielle had ever seen; and once again Brielle found herself in the casino. She hadn't noticed its brilliance the first time around, the mosaic glass ceiling and the dim neon lights complimented the rows and rows of classic slot machines and card tables quite well.

 The juxtaposition between hotel and the casino was somehow huge and yet not at all noticeable, it seemed so seamless walking out of the castle and into the neon space age streamline moderne lounge that was the casino. 

Brielle’s eyes were consistently wide with wonder as she trailed behind Alex, all of her senses engulfed in the dazzle before her, and yet she also felt consistently… uneasy. The hotel was neither busy nor empty but there was a certain hollowness that followed her, the rooms seemed to swallow her whole as she entered them and spit her back out as she left. A very faint buzz bounced around her head, she assumed it must be from all of the neon lights and 1980’s technology but something about it still made her chest feel tight. The employees, all of which wore bright red uniforms and seemed to go about their tasks like robots, gave her strange stares as she walked by. Alex joked that they were just not used to seeing him with a girl on his side and that they would warm up once they got past the initial shock of having Brielle around, but Brielle still felt off. It seemed as though all of her troubles with the hotel had logical explanations, yet none of them calmed her anxieties. However, seeing as that she had nowhere else to go and was rather enjoying her time with Alex, she shoved them aside and carried on beside him.

“Are you ready to see your room?”

Brielle stopped in her tracks as they approached the glass elevator. “My room?”

“Well, not your room. It's my room. It's- Well- We’ll call it our room.” Alex hesitated for a moment. “That is, if you'll stay.” 

Brielle said nothing, only furrowed her brows and began chewing on her lip.

“If it makes you more comfortable I’ve got a rather large chaise that I’d be more than happy to sleep on, I'd get you your own room if I could but we plan on being overbooked these next couple of weeks, with spring holiday coming up and all,” Alex stressed.

Brielle gasped and shook her head frantically. “Oh! No, that's not what I’m thinking about, I'd be delighted to stay in your room, I just really hadn't thought about what was going to happen. I mean, I have no clothes, no job, nowhere to go. I just don't want to be in the way.”

The last part of her comment left her lips in a whisper, she seemed to shrivel up at the thought of being a bother and was reduced to nothing but a mouse in front of Alex and it melted his heart. Without hesitation he drew her in close to him and wrapped his arms around her. He felt warm around her, Brielle’s head rested perfectly against his chest and she could feel his slow, even heartbeat begin to pick up against her cheek. 

“I’ll take care of everything. Don't you worry about a thing. You can stay here for as long as you'd like, it's absolutely my pleasure. I’ll take care of you.” 

[riverboundao3ff]

Riverbound, Chapter 5

You are THE GUARDIAN, and you are currently munching on the most delicious bowl of grubflakes to have ever existed.

You have seen many things over the course of your travels, met all kinds of people and befriended them, been to places most could never even dream of. Space, time, and an entire universe have surrendered to your whim. The heart of an eldritch sun flowed through your veins not too long ago, and you through it.

And yet, you have still to encounter anything as satisfying as a good breakfast.

Yesterday was mostly spent sleeping, only waking up to eat a couple of times and talk to Daraya and her friends. Bronya had also brought Karako with her when she came to check in on you, which had been the highlight of your night. Like Wanshi, he had noticeably grown, and now had a couple of inches on you. There was a new depth to his gaze that had come with the passage of time. He almost looked like that… entity you and Feferi spoke to at her palace.

It was a little unnerving at first, but it had soon become apparent that this boy was still the same young clown you nearly threw hands with seadwellers for. He was still Karako.

That much was obvious as you watch him and Wanshi plot out the next chapter of her Soldier Purrbeasts fanfiction, with Wanshi arguing that Lionstar of ShadeCaste needs to be killed off and Karako drawing out Lionstar eating a bunch of other purrbeasts. It’s very detailed and anatomically correct. You wonder how Bronya even let those books into the caverns, and then you remember reading Warriors as a kid on Earth. Those cute illustrations of cats running around in the woods on all of the covers did a great job of hiding the gorefest that raged within.

Sitting next to you on the couch is Daraya, typing away furiously on her palmhusk, and Lanque, who is trying to judge how well your ribs are healing by poking your side.

You dodge another perfectly manicured claw in time to see Daraya receive another text from Tyzias, saying that she and the others would be at the bottom of the mountain in an hour or so. “Tell her I said hi!”

“You’ll see her pretty soon,” Daraya says, a little confused.

“Yeah, but I’m excited-ow! Lanque, quit it!”

“I’m feeling for the break.”

“You’re gonna be feeling my fist up your flat ass if you don’t stop.”

“They said a bad word!” Wanshi yells.

You freeze. Your mind races for a solution that doesn’t involve Bronya reaming you out for cussing in front of the kids. “If you don’t tattle on me you can say a bad word too.”

Her big black eyes widen. “Really?”

“Really.”

“‘Cause Lanque taught me a really good one!”

“I taught you nothing of the sort, young lady,” Lanque growls, slapping a hand over your mouth to shut you up. You contemplate licking it just to see how he would react. Better yet, you could throw your empty bowl at his head and see how thick troll skulls really are.

Wanshi takes control of the situation by hopping up to you and leaning into your ear. “Lususfucker.”

You squeal into Lanque’s palm, and Daraya’s jaw drops. Even Karako looks impressed.

“Wanshi Adyata!” Lanque scolds, but the corners of his eyes lift in such a way that tells you he’s not actually angry. You wiggle out of his grasp and stand, taking a couple of slow breaths to test the pain. It’s still sore AF in there, but as long as you take it easy you’ll be fine. You’ve had a lot worse for a lot longer.

Taking your bowl and putting in the sink by the bathroom, you turn to your friends and do your best impression of having your shit together. “Alright, so I know it’s only like a fifteen minute walk down to the bottom of the mountain, but I’m crippled so I say we head out early.”

“Bronya won’t be here to pick up Wanshi and Karako for an hour,” Lanque says, tapping the armrest he’s leaning on.

“They could come with us. Tyzias is bringing Tirona, she’s around their age,” Daraya points out.

“Won’t Bronya be mad?” you ask warily. The last thing you want to do is drag her student and her adopted clown son into a possible Situation™. It’s not like you’re going out tonight looking for trouble, but this is Alternia.

Lanque considers it, and then leaps to his feet with a smirk. “Nah. I’ll be coming with you guys, and I’ve taken the children out plenty of times.”

“Bronya didn’t-” Daraya begins to say, huffing in amusement, but Lanque cuts her off with a dramatic twirl of his suit jacket that slaps her in the face with a perfectly pressed sleeve.

“Daraya, dear, if I don’t get out of these godforsaken caves soon I might actually lose my mind. Wanshi, Karako! Come, we’re going on an adventure.”

You watch with a smile as the kids look up with sparkling eyes and instantly abandon their project to scramble over to Lanque. Daraya glares up at the older jade, nose still scrunched up from being smacked, but finally heaves herself upright to follow. You join her as the five of you head out the door and bump your shoulder against hers. She must have grown a little as well, because the top of your head now barely reaches her jawline.

The stairs are kind of a bitch, but you persevere long enough to get to the main level of the caverns. Your ribs are throwing a Karkat-worthy bitchfit, though, so when Lanque halts the group at the end of the corridor for some reason you don’t complain.

“What?” Daraya mutters, impatient.

“Hush. Just because we can leave the caverns doesn’t mean we’re supposed to, and Bronya is supervising tonight’s shift. Do you want to explain to her who we’re going to meet?” he shoots back.

There’s something in his voice that tells you there’s more to this than either of them are letting on. You want to ask them what’s up, but even Wanshi and Karako are silent, so you keep your mouth shut and trot after Lanque. Teleporting is sounding more and more appealing by the second, but you know you’re still a little high from the painkillers Lynera gave you before she left for work. You learned the hard way that teleporting while drunk/high/otherwise incapacitated is a bad idea, like the time when you and Lanque had to ditch a party because the drones showed up and you, in a panic, zapped the both of you right into a river outside of Thrashthrust. That was the night you also discovered that landdwelling trolls are notoriously poor swimmers.

The next twenty minutes are spent dodging from building to building like you’re a group of spies trying to escape the government. It’s fun at first, but when Daraya has to yank you down behind a garbage bin to avoid being seen by a group of girls on their way to class, you wonder how often these trolls have to resort to sneaking around just for a glimpse of freedom. How many jades had never even had a friend that wasn’t of their own caste? How many haven’t seen the stars in the night sky, felt the wind in their hair, had the opportunity to pursue something they chose for themselves instead of being thrown into a life entirely dedicated to others?

Kids raising kids. That’s what this is.

The world outside of the caverns is cruel, devoid of justice and mercy for even those whose blood ran cold in their veins. But when you look at it, really look, the caverns aren’t much better. It’s a prison with bioluminescent cells.

You focus on keeping up with Daraya so you don’t get even more pissed off than you already are. Being angry would have to wait. Right now, you’re going to meet your friends.

… This isn’t the way to the main entrance, though? Where are you guys going?

Lanque answers your question by leading the way down an offshoot behind what you think is a storage unit. No more fungi grows to light the way, so you simply trust him to know where to go. There aren't many other options. In less than a minute it’s pitch black and strangely damp, and the temperature has dropped far enough to make you wish you’d brought that nice jacket Vriska gave you.

“This is how I get out,” Lanque whispers. You hear his footsteps stop, so you stop as well. “It’s a bit of a climb, but it’s the fastest way to the surface besides the main entrance.”

Your heart sinks at the word climb. Also, you can’t see balls. “I’m assuming there’s another tunnel? I'm as good as blind down here.”

“You seriously can’t see? How is your species still alive?” Lanque chuckles.

“Because we’re diurnal, pretty boy. We do our business with the light of our nice, not-lethal sun shining down on our backs. And just because I can’t see doesn’t mean I can’t do anything.” To prove your point, you take a careful step forward and feel for the walls of the tunnel. It’s narrow, and you can already feel the rock sloping up to the surface.

How the hell does Terezi do this?

You feel the challenging spark of Lanque’s gaze on the back of your neck. Nice Boy hours were over, it seemed. Time to return to the regularly scheduled programming of roasting each other until he let you in behind those meticulously maintained emotional walls for a moment or two, or you doing something especially stupid to spite him.

With one foot in front of the other, you lead the way into the darkness.

Fifty steps in and you can tell that if you hadn’t taken the painkillers earlier you’d be on the ground crying. One hundred steps in you trip and almost eat shit. One-hundred and fifty steps, Lanque is right up in your business, trying to make you go faster.

Keyword being trying. You wait until he’s got one foot up on the rock slab you’re standing on and pretend to trip again. He grunts and grabs the walls for support as you slam back into him, using the weight of your frankly magnificent ass to knock him off balance.

“My bad, sorry,” you tell the blackness.

“Do I need to carry you? Because I will carry you. Like a little wiggler.”

“No, thank you. You can wait for the poor injured alien without self-combusting for a little while longer. Unless… Daraya? Kids? How are you guys holding up?” you call back.

“We’re good! Take all the time you need!” Wanshi announces, giggling.

“Yeah, dude. Don’t push yourself,” Daraya adds.

“Honk!”

Lanque growls, and you grin.

Luckily, he doesn’t have the time to come up with a plan for revenge when Wanshi yells that she can see the end. You can’t see anything for another half-minute or so, but when you do you, moonlight illuminates the bend in the tunnel you’re rounding like a searchlight. The slope flattens out, much to the relief of your aching legs.

The secret exit leads out underneath some huge tree you have no name for, shielded from sight by a thick layer of roots that twist all over the place. You squeeze through an opening in the mess and hop aside to let Wanshi and Karako through. Lanque hauls himself up and over through a bigger hole above you, and Daraya does the same.

You take a moment to suck in fresh air. The trolls come to stand beside you, and together you all look out towards Thrashthrust. Two moons hang low in the sky, lighting up the planet below in shades of pink and green.

It’s beautiful, but you know the kinds of danger that beauty can hide.

Karako is the first one to hop off the ledge, with Wanshi close behind. You opt to carefully shimmy down as far as you can before sliding to the forest floor. You’re left breathless nonetheless as the impact sends stabs of pain through your torso, but you shake it off and follow the kids. Daraya and Lanque come up on either side of you to lend you support.

“I’m fine, guys, really,” you protest.

“I saw that flinch,” Daraya mutters. “Besides, if we show up with you limping all over the place the teals will have my ass.”

“You just want to impress Tyzias,” Lanque snickers.

Daraya hisses like a feral cat, and you turn to her, interest peaked. “Wait. You and Tyzias?”

“No! We’re just friends!” she snarls, swatting at Lanque.

Lanque has a knowing grin on his face, though, and he wraps an arm around your waist to lean down to your level. “They’re so pale it’s disgusting.”

You look back to a green-faced Daraya and wiggle your eyebrows. Daraya gives you and Lanque the finger and stomps ahead to catch up with the kids.

“We gotta set them up,” you tell Lanque. “How far along are they?”

“Oh, you’ll see.”

You want to demand more information than that, but then Wanshi calls out a greeting from ahead. Somebody farther down the path answers.

“What’s with you and good timing?” you ask, your heart rising to your throat. Despite your ribs you quicken the pace, and when you don’t feel like you’re going to pass out you break into a jog.

“Oh, so now you want to hurry it up?” Lanque snarks, but right now you’re more interested in seeing your friends again than coming up with a good comeback.

You follow the path as it turns, and boom, there they are.

Karako, Wanshi, and Tirona are all saying hi and introducing themselves, Daraya and Tyzias are hugging each other (Oh, worm?), and Stelsa and Tagora are standing back like proud parents, even if good old Gor-Gor looks a bit scandalized by all the pale stuff going on.

It’s Stelsa who sees you first. Her hands fly up to cover her mouth and she squeals in delight. Tagora jumps at the noise and turns to see what she’s looking at before breaking out in the biggest smile you’ve ever seen on him, not the customer-service smile that’s all fangs but with his eyes as well.

You manage to haul your crippled ass over to them in time for Tyzias to pull away from Daraya, spot you, and pull you into a desperate but careful embrace. Daraya must have told her about your injuries, which is great because you don’t think you would have survived a whole gang of teals jumping on you all at once.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” she croaks. “Fuck, we searched everywhere for you but you were gone and I thought you died somewhere all alone-”

You squeeze her tighter. “Hey, hey. I’m alive. I’m back.”

She sniffles and pulls back in time for Stelsa to wrap up the two of you in her ridiculously buff arms. Not for the first time, you can’t believe how much your friends missed you. It makes you feel so whole to know that you have so many people who care about you, and at the same time you’re crushed with the guilt of knowing that they all thought you were dead. Damn.

“Please, people, not in front of the children,” you hear Tagora complain, but his voice is a little thicker with emotion than you remember it being. You turn and stick your tongue out at him.

“What about me?” A frantic hand smacks your arm. “Hello? Gimme a hug, alien!”

“Hi, Tirona,” you laugh, reaching out behind you to bring her into the group. She squeaks in protest before letting it happen.

“Better,” she mumbles into your hoodie. You graciously pretend you don’t see her using it to wipe away a stray tear.

“Daraya told us everything and I could hardly believe it, it all sounds so… it sounds too much,” Stelsa says, wrapping her arms around herself. “Before all of this the world was so much smaller, and now you’re back because you escaped from a bunch of gods!”

“That’s the gist of it, yeah,” you agree.

Tagora pats your shoulder, which you know is his version of a hug. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. We’re just glad to have you back in one piece.”

Doc Scratch’s calm voice agrees somewhere in the back of your memories, overlaid by Dirk’s- no, not the goofy, lonely young boy you helped feel cared for, the other one-! “Thanks, Gor-Gor. I’m glad to be back, too.”

“Well, there is one thing I hope you’re willing to share,” Tyzias begins hesitantly. “Daraya said something about you being able to do some… interesting stuff. For… ah, screw it. We all know why we’re here.”

You meet her sharp, tired eyes. “What’s that?”

“We’re rebels.”

All of the trolls turn to glare at Lanque.

The tall jadeblood just shrugs and shoves his hands in his pockets. “What? It needs saying. Words are powerful, you know.”

“Yes they are, Bombyx, which is why you need to be more careful with them,” Tyzias drones.

“I can’t believe you guys are dragging me into this,” Tirona whines.

Tagora gives her a withering look. “Hey, you wanted to come, kid.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I wanted to see my friend-!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” You throw your hands out in a hold up motion. Your mind frantically replays what the fuck just happened. “You guys are saying that all of you are rebels?”

“Don’t say it out loud!” Tirona stage-whispers, ears flattening against her head.

Daraya sighs and comes up to pat your shoulder. “It’s a long story.”

“I’ve got time.”

She and Tyzias look at each other, seemingly come to a silent agreement, and then look back to you.

“You might wanna sit down for this,” says Tyzias.

[thewriterofmanythings]

And They Were Roommates

Day 5 of Widojest Week-There’s only one bed, or Alternate Universe

Nott and Yeza's apartment is undergoing renovations, and the cute foreign grad student Jester has been crushing on needs a place to stay. What could go wrong? Super happy with this fic. You can also read it on AO3. As usual big shoutout to @3fling for all the love and support, especially this time because I wouldn’t even have a plot for this otherwise!

Working at the local coffee shop had a lot of benefits. Free coffee of course, free pastries at the end of the night, listening to whatever music the employees wanted, and the flexible hours that worked with her school schedule.

The cute redhead grad student that came in everyday was definitely a plus too.

Jester had been working at Cool Beans for four years and had seen all manner of people come through the door. As a college town it wasn’t a surprise; people came from all over and stayed a few months to a few years while they studied. Some of those people stayed but most left to go back to wherever they came from or even off to new places. Jester herself dreamed of leaving one day, venturing out into the world and discovering what was out there. But for now she was here, working towards an art degree and making the best of her situation.

The redheaded grad student was a foreigner from Germany. He spoke excellent English though his accent was a bit tough to understand at times, especially if he ever got frustrated. His name was Caleb and he had come all the way from his home country to join one of the world’s best linguistics programs. He came in every day at exactly one p.m., ordered a sandwich and an americano with an extra shot of espresso, and sat down to study for two hours before neatly cleaning his table and heading out.

Jester enjoyed people watching, trying to analyze people from the way they walk, the things they did, how they interacted with other people. Even before she had a full conversation with Caleb she noticed he was quiet, polite, and had a dry sense of humor. His wardrobe was full of earthy tones, lots of boots and plain button up shirts, adding in jackets, scarves and hats when the weather began to turn cold. On the rare occasion he came in when it didn’t seem he was studying he still carried a simple black leather notebook. He often pulled the top part of his shoulder length hair into a sort of bun, exposing the pen he regularly kept behind his right ear. Ink marks and scratches along his hand indicated he did a lot of writing and, Jester would guess, he owned a cat.

Of course, it wasn’t all just staring from a distance. Jester had begun to build a friendship with Caleb thanks to a strange change of relationships. Most often at the shop Jester shared her shift with Clay and Molly; the three of them made a trifecta of hair colors and piercings that gave the warm shop an unexpected punk vibe. Clay was a gardener of sorts and had made friends with Yeza and Nott, the lovely couple whom Caleb was staying with during his time in the States. Molly was in a band with two women named Beau and Yasha and the group usually played in a newer dive bar downtown on Saturday nights. Jester and Clay went every week to support their friend, and one day while picking up a new plant Clay had told Yeza about the shows. Knowing it was unhealthy for Caleb to spend all his time in the house studying, Nott and Yeza had immediately booked a recurring sitter for their young son and dragged Caleb down to the bar to hang out with others. The eight of them had begun to get closer, but Jester still found it difficult at times to put herself out there and really engage with Caleb.

Today however was Jester’s lucky day.

“Caleb!” The small bell chimed through the coffee shop as Nott slipped in, shutting the door quickly to keep the cold wind from freezing the customers out. The woman was on the shorter side but no one ever noticed because her personality more than made up for it. Her sense of humor among the friend group was unrivaled and she could easily drink them all under the table.

“Ya Nott, is everything all right?” Caleb looked up from his laptop where he had been hyper focused on a paper. His brow was furrowed with a mix of worry and confusion.

Jester busied herself with straightening the pastry display, which was conveniently close to Caleb’s table. She could be particularly nosy at times due to her curious nature, but now she mostly wanted to make sure everything was okay with Nott’s family.

“I’m all right Caleb, but I’m afraid I do have some bad news. The renovation plans have been moved up by two whole weeks!”

“Oh, that means…” Caleb’s voice trailed off, his face turning into a frown.

“Yeah exactly! Yeza’s mom said she can take Luke, and we have another friend we can stay with, but she only has one extra room.”

“I see. So I suppose I will need to find a place to stay in the meantime since Clay will not be back until the end of the month.”

“I’m really sorry about that Caleb! I’ll help you look, surely we can find something soon. Maybe you can stay with Beau or something?”

“He can stay with me!”

Jester fought the urge to clasp her hands over her mouth. Wow, smooth move Jester. Inviting your little crush to live with you? There’s no way this is gonna go well, she thought to herself. She hadn’t even stopped to consider the ramifications of what she had volunteered for.

Something glinted behind Nott’s eyes and she nodded her head frantically. “Yes! Yes that would be perfect! You’re just the best Jester.”

“Oh, I… I would hate to impose, Jester, that’s very kind of you…” Caleb stuttered, his hands nervously fidgeting with his scarf.

“I think it sounds like the perfect plan.” Molly emerged from the back room where he had apparently been listening to the whole conversation. “Jessie might bring you out of your shell, Mr. Caleb, and Jester, well…. You could learn some tidiness habits perhaps.”

What a wingman, Jester thought, rolling her eyes at her purple-haired friend. He smirked, twirling around and walking to the register to help another customer who had walked in.

“Don’t you have a dog? I do not know if my cat would like that.”

“Oh that’s okay! Nugget doesn’t mind cats, he won’t bother Frumpkin!” Jester smiled at Caleb, trying her hardest not to blush.

“Well, I suppose it would be the best offer I could get on such sort notice.”

Nott beamed at the two of them. “Sounds like it’s settled then! I’ll help you pack up Caleb and we’ll be right over!”

***

“Soooo, this is my apartment. It’s nothing crazy you know, but it’s nice and has a good view and a lot of spaaace….”

Jester could feel herself beginning to ramble as she opened the door to her studio apartment. It was extremely nice for college student standards; her mother wanted her to be comfortable so she paid for Jester’s rent, but she also wanted her daughter to learn the value of hard work, meaning Jester was responsible for her own tuition and school supplies, as well as any other necessities. All things considered it was a pretty nice arrangement.

The living room was a nice open space with a gorgeous window overlooking downtown. The kitchen and living room were decorating in bright colors with unique art sculptures spaced around. In the center of the open area close to the window sat a large easel displaying a half finished painting. A number of half-dead attempts at plant keeping were littered about the area as well.

“You have a very nice place, Jester.” Caleb was huffing a bit as he carried in a large box of his belongings. Jester herself had Frumpkin’s cat carrier and a bag of cat supplies. There was still a fair amount of stuff to bring in but this was a good start.

“So I don’t have a second room but the couch is a fold out and it’s totally comfy.” Jester sat Frumpkin’s carrier down and unlatched the door. “Here, kitty kitty kitty!”

After a second Frumpkin lazily made his way out, beginning to inspect the strange new space. The two of them watched as he began to sniff the couch, marking the edge with his scent glands.

“You are an artist?” Caleb asked, gesturing toward the easel.

“I do! I’m an art major but I don’t get to do a lot of painting stuff at my level so I like to practice it here.”

“I look forward to seeing you work.”

Jester tried not to let Caleb see her blush as she began to help him unpack. The rest of the day was spent moving boxes to make sure everything was out of Nott and Yeza’s apartment in time for the renovators to begin their work, taking only a small break for Chinese food. The conversation was timid at first, the two of them dancing around each other the way acquaintances interact at a party when their mutual friend goes to visit the bathroom. But by the end of the night the two had sunk into a comfortable rhythm. As Jester went to sleep that night, she played over the day’s event in her head, giggling every time she thought about how she had made Caleb laugh. If she didn’t have a crush before, she was certainly deep in one now.

***

“Jester, look out!”

Caleb’s frantic voice came from inside Jester’s room. It had been a week since Caleb had moved in, and Frumpkin and Nugget hadn’t gotten along as well as Jester had assured him they would. He had spent the last hour trying to coax his cat out from under her bed and it seemed like the persuasion had taken a turn for the worse.

Jester glanced over from her position at the easel. She was enjoying her Saturday morning routine of hot tea and painting, listening to Regina Spektor ring out through the apartment via her wireless speaker. Her trance like state was broken as she saw Frumpkin shoot down the hallway, followed by Nugget’s large body. The cat turned sharply, but the poor dog was caught unaware and his attempt to switch directions was nowhere near as smooth, throwing himself right into Jester’s easel. Thanks to Caleb’s warning however, she was able to stabilize the workspace, only losing a bit of her paint to the tarp underfoot in the process.

Caleb ran out, his red hair a frazzled halo around his head. He frantically darted into the kitchen, trying to corner Frumpkin around the island, but the cat was wise and jumped up onto the counter, knocking over one of Jester’s plants in the process.

Catching wind of what Caleb was trying to do, Jester ran to try to intercept him, but the cat was too fast and she ended up tripping over Nugget instead. She braced herself for a fall onto the hardwood floor, but felt hands attempt to catch her. Unfortunately in his rush to help, Caleb himself was off balance, sending both of them tumbling to the floor.

Jester felt her face redden at being so close to Caleb. She could feel his breath on her face and his eyes were just inches away from her own. Her mind scrambled to think of something to say, an apology or excuse or anything, but her brain was short-circuiting.

“Paint,” Caleb said, pulling her out of her panicked haze.

“Wh-what?”

“Sorry, you uh, you have paint on your cheek.” 

She felt Caleb’s thumb rest on her cheek, gently wiping away a fleck of color. He still lay there though, holding her in his arms, inches from her face. She knew she ought to pull herself away, get up and clear her head, but she had to admit there was no place else she would rather be. “Thank you,” she said, barely daring to whisper.

“Your freckles are quite beautiful.” Caleb spoke breathlessly, his thumb still stroking her cheek softly. His eyes seemed transfixed, glancing over every bit of Jester’s face. She could feel his heart beat underneath her hand.

It’s now or never Jester, said the voice in the back of her head, and before she realized what she was doing she had closed the distance between him. Her lips touched his, quickly and softly before backing away. “I’m sorry Caleb, I don’t know why-”

Her voice was silenced by the sudden presence of Caleb’s lips on hers. He had kissed her back, but his held intent. Something about him was hungry, as if he had been waiting for this for months and he was going to enjoy every moment of it. She moaned into his mouth as her tongue slipped into hers and she moved her hand to the back of his head, intertwining her fingers through his hair.

Caleb suddenly moved away and Jester moved after him, craving more before realizing he had something to say. “I did not know this was a perk,” he said, chuckling lightly before kissing her again.

Jester in turn pulled away, laughing as well. “Only for really special roommates.”

***

“Caleb, the rennovaters are all done! You can move back in whenever you want to!”

Nott’s voice came across loud through the phone speaker, forcing Caleb to turn the volume down. It was seven in the morning and the sun was barely beginning to peek through the window of his apartment. He looked down at the woman next to him, still asleep with her blue hair splayed out across the bedsheets.

“Thank you Nott, but I don’t think that will be necessary for now.”

“Really?”

“Ya. I think things have worked out just fine.”

[snappedsky]

Fanatics Adventures in Space Part 6

We get a look at the Night Terrors and their time back on Earth. Previous! Next!

--

All Aboard!!

           We interrupt your regularly scheduled program to bring you: Earth. A magnificent blue marble in a galaxy the locals call The Milky Way. On its surface, on a section of land the locals call America, in a region the locals call California, is a city that not even the locals have a name for. It is known only as The Nameless City. And anyone who has spent any amount of time there will know…it’s weird.

           The city is not only home to humans but all manner of creatures from fantasy and horror. Many of these creatures are dangerous and a threat not only to the city, but sometimes to the whole planet as well. But even though the self-proclaimed heroes- the Battalion- are off-planet, the city is not without protection. In their stead they have left the Night Terrors.

           With psyches born from pure evil, bodies created from imagination, and powers the likes of which most can’t even dream of, they are the perfect substitutes.

           Unfortunately, being heroes isn’t easy.

             “What are they!”

           “Run away!”

           Civilians scream and scatter as little furry creatures crawl out of the sewer grates. They leap onto people, scratching and pulling out their hair.

           On a nearby rooftop, four figures watch the chaos. One of them pulls a small notebook out of their top hat and flips through the pages.

           “Gremlins,” he reads. “They’re fast but should be easy enough to handle. Just kill them however you can.”

           “Sounds fun,” his near identical comrade comments.

           “Let’s get to work,” the largest of the group demands.

           “Me first!” the fourth declares and leaps off the building.

           Sickness lands perfectly on the ground. She grabs a running passerby’s shirt and rips a gremlin from their hair. Then she snaps the little creature’s neck.

           Reverend Meat, Mr. Fuck, and Psycho Doughboy are quick to join her. They split up along the block, freeing the civilians from the attacking gremlins, but not being very courteous. They shove the humans around like nuisances and tear into the gremlins, breaking their bones, smashing them with a hammer, or cutting into them with a knife.        

           Finally the street is cleared out and the last of the gremlins are quickly dealt with, all except for one, which tries to escape through a sewer grate.

           “Whoa there,” Eff exclaims as he grabs the creature by the scruff of its neck. “Lookit you, trying to be all slick.”

           The gremlin snarls and thrashes its little claws as it tries to escape Eff’s grip. He holds it safely at arm’s length, grinning.

           “You know, it’s kind of cute,” he comments, “we should keep it as a pet.”

           “I don’t think Aron would appreciate that,” Sickness points out.

           “Kill it and let’s get back to the van,” Reverend Meat orders, “I’m starving.”

           Eff shrugs apathetically, stabs the little creature through the head, and drops it at his feet before following the others. They walk off, leaving behind a gruesome, grisly slaughter scene.

           They arrive back at their home within a few minutes; an old VW van, bright pink and tricked out with alien tech. They enter through the side door. Their roommate and landlord, Aron, is curled up in the driver’s seat, a hoodie over his head and his face barely illuminated by the glow of a laptop screen as he types furiously.

           “Hey, Aron,” Eff says. He grunts in reply.

           Reverend Meat opens up a cooler and sighs at the lack of selection. He settles on a half rotting apple and sits on the soft seats.

           “Whose turn is it to go shopping?” he asks.

           “Supposed to be Serena,” Sickness replies as she sits next to him. “Where is she anyway? Haven’t seen her since yesterday.”            “Hopefully shopping,” D-boy says as he lies down in his hammock.

           Almost as if on cue, the door opens and their vampire roommate, Serena, walks in, carrying four groceries bags.

           “Ah, finally,” Reverend Meat exclaims, tossing away the apple and tearing into the bags.

           “What, did you think I’d forget,” she grunts.

           She tosses off her sweater and sunglasses and she slumps onto the seats next to Eff.

           “Where were you last night?” he asks.

           “Getting some action,” she replies, “but it was so dry. God, I am just so sick of guys who think that just because their dick is big that means they’re the king of sex or something. If you’ve got no technique then you’re no good. Quality over quantity, right?”

           “What does it matter?” D-boy questions, “you just suck their blood anyway.”

           “Yeah, but I wanna have fun first,” she whines.

           “First world problems,” Reverend Meat grunts, a granola bar hanging out of his mouth. “We have bigger issues. Like food. This isn’t gonna last us through the week.”

           “It would if you didn’t devour everything,” Sickness points out.

           “Hey, blame Squee. He’s the one who gave me such a large figure. I gotta keep it up.”

           “Well, maybe you guys could pitch in once in a while,” Serena says with annoyance.

           “We would but we’re kind of busy, you know, protecting the city,” Eff points out.

           “Come on,” she scoffs, “how much protecting could the city really need? It survived just fine before those kids decided to play hero.”

           “Hey, just earlier we had to fight off a bunch of vicious gremlins,” Reverend Meat says.

           “Yeah, and yesterday that large bat creature attacked a park,” Sickness adds, “it’s crazy out there.”

           “Right. We have to remain vigilante; constantly watching over this city and its people as their heroes,” Eff concludes dramatically.

           Serena nods sarcastically as she looks at them, lounging comfortably. “Well, you’re doing a great job.”

           “Even heroes deserve a break,” D-boy shrugs.

           “Yeah,” Sickness agrees, “besides, there’s nothing going on right no-.”

           Suddenly a loud engine noise cuts her off, like a jet going by, accompanied by the van lurching to the left. Everyone exclaims with surprise as they lose their balance.

           “What the hell was that?” Aron squeaks, looking over the side of his seat.

           Reverend Meat throws open the door and they all look outside. All the vehicles parked along the road are on the curbs, almost like they’ve been pushed over, just like the van; there is a pair of long skid marks burnt all the way down the road as far as they can see and smoke has just started dissipating.

           “What the hell could go that fast?” Eff asks.

           “Guess we gotta find out,” Reverend Meat replies, “Serena, can you drive?”

           “Yeah! Sounds fun,” she chimes as she hops into the driver’s seat.

           “What? Bu-but,” Aron stammers.

           “Hang on!” Serena exclaims and starts the van. It immediately takes off at an incredibly high speed. The others lose their footing and tumble into the back seat.

           Serena speeds the van through the streets, following the dark skid marks and the path of destruction. Vehicles have been shoved over the curb, street signs and lamps are knocked over, and car wrecks are on every corner. But whatever caused it is still a mystery.

           As they continue on, the smoke gradually gets thicker. Everyone is clustered in the front, holding onto the seats or the dash, trying hard to see what’s causing it.

           Serena hits the brakes, causing the others to slam into the dashboard, as police cars turn onto the road, sirens blaring. They watch them disappear into the smoke, bewildered.

           A siren suddenly gets louder and they exclaim with shock as a police car flies over them and crashes into the road. Before they can look back at it, the other police cars start flying towards them, overhead or tumbling down the road.

           “Go go go!” Reverend Meat barks.

           Serena hits the gas and screeches down the road, swerving around to dodge the onslaught of police cars. As they thin out and the smoke gets thicker, a loud engine can be heard. Everyone squints and strains to see what’s causing it.

           “What…is that…” Eff asks with bewilderment.

           Through the smoke they can see the back of some kind of large vehicle. It takes up nearly the whole road and is knocking everything out of its path with ease. Smoke is being released from a stack on its top near the front. Now that they’re closer to it, the loud engine sounds more like a train than a jet.

           The back opens up like a hatch and a dark red tail-like appendage folds out. Everyone shouts with surprise as it smacks the side of the van.        

           It doesn’t move an inch and absorbs all the shock.

           The tail lifts up and seems to stare at them, perplexed, before going back inside and closing the hatch.

           “Serena, get closer to it,” Reverend Meat orders, “we’re gonna get on top and see what’s going on.”

           Serena gets the van as close to it as she can without touching it. Reverend Meat rolls down the passenger side window and he, the Doughboys, and Sickness clamber onto the roof. They steady themselves, then one by one jump over to the strange vehicle.

           The smoke is much thicker up here. They cough as they cling to the roof, the enormous speed threatening to blow them off. They crawl carefully along the roof to the front of the vehicle. As they pass the smoke stack, the air becomes much clearer and they’re able to see just what it is they’re dealing with.

           “It’s like a…monster train!” D-boy exclaims.

           The vehicle looks like a short train, the rail wheels tearing into the road at blurring speed. It doesn’t appear to have doors or windows of any kind. Instead, the front looks almost like a built-in face, with angular eyes and painted on fangs.

           “All aboard!” A metallic voice seems to ring out of the smoke stack. “Not! No stowaways on my trip! I’m the fastest thing alive and I will not be slowed down!”

            A compartment on either side of the train opens up and two long, dark red arms are released. The Night Terrors exclaim with surprise and leap out of the way as the arms swing at them, smashing onto the roof of the train.

           “What do we do?” D-boy asks, shouting over the engine.

          “It wants to be the fastest thing alive,” Reverend Meat says, “so maybe if we beat it in a race, it’ll stop.”

           “I don’t think even I can outrace this thing,” Sickness points out.

           Eff narrowly dodges an arm as it slams down beside him. Before it can withdraw, he pulls a long sword out of his hat and slices clean through the wrist.

           A sharp, metallic scream rings out as the wounded arm flails about. The train swerves around a little, crashing into buildings. The Night Terrors exclaim and struggle to maintain their balance.

           “It didn’t seem to like that,” Eff grins.

           “Fine, destruction it is,” Reverend Meat declares and starts punching the roof, denting the unearthly metal with his powerful strength.

           The monster cries out again. “Stop, you vermin!”

           Its remaining arm swings at them. Everyone easily ducks out of the way.

           Reverend Meat’s large fist finally breaks through the metal into a gooey surface. He yanks his hand out and black liquid drips from his fingers.

           “Gro-o-oss,” Eff chuckles.

           Reverend Meat starts to lift his fist again when the train suddenly lurches. Its back curves upwards, shooting the Night Terrors into the air. They scream as they plummet to the ground. Reverend Meat and Eff both land on street lamps; Sickness hits the road; and D-boy lands right on the hood of their van.

           Sickness quickly jumps to her feet and starts going after the train on foot with her magnificent speed. Eff follows, leaping from street lamps to telephone poles. Reverend Meat jumps to the top of a nearby building and races off in a different direction. D-boy clings to the van, Serena still in hot pursuit of the train.

           “Hey, D!” she calls out through the driver’s side window. “You know what I just realized? When it comes to guys, the important thing isn’t quality or quantity. It’s durability!”

           “Huh?” he exclaims.

           “Get ready!”

           She steps down hard on the accelerator, pushing it down to the floor. The van grinds against the back of the train. Aron whimpers and squeezes his seatbelt.

           “Wa-wait!” D-boy cries.

           Serena hits the brake and D-boy goes flying off the van.

           He screams as he sails over and past the train. Everyone watches in awe.

           “No!” the train shrieks, “nothing can be faster than me! Nothing!”

           It suddenly picks up speed, somehow going even faster. It races right for D-boy. He grabs his hat, pulls out a large mallet, and meets it head-on.

           Coupled with the incredible momentum, he smashes the train’s face in, nearly stopping it in its tracks. Its back end flies up and tumbles over its head. It starts to fall on D-boy when Reverend Meat suddenly swings in from a nearby alley and slams into it, smashing it into nearby buildings. Eff and Sickness leap in- Eff brandishing a sword and Sickness readying an axe kick- and deliver the final blow.

           The van catches up and Serena and Aron get out to join the Night Terrors.

           “That was awesome!” Serena cheers.

           “You are fucking crazy,” D-boy snaps.

           “Aw, come on. I knew it wouldn’t kill you,” she shrugs.

           “Jeez, first gremlins, and now that thing,” Sickness groans, “it’s a madhouse out here.”            “But the city’s safe for another day,” Eff beams.

           “I am starving,” Reverend Meat says.

           They all go back into the van and drive off as the dust settles, leaving behind another scene of destruction and ruin.

[they-call-me-hades]

{Cinderella AU} Night and Day

CHAPTER FIVE

Kit leaned against the back door of the kitchen and held the flower close to his chest with a wide grin as he looked down at the petals and gently ran his hand over them, it perhaps hadn’t been the most romantic day but….well Kit felt like he’d known Hades all his life.

It was only a moment later that Kit was seized by a gushing Honey and Crowley chuckling as he sauntered in

“Lover boy! How’d the date go?” Crowley asked with a suggestive eyebrow waggle, Kit laughed a bit and rolled his eyes

“Nothing happened, not really anyway.” He said gazing down at the flower in his hands Honey laughed and pulled him over to the table where she already had tea waiting, Kit suspected that one of them likely had their eyes glued to the window waiting for his return the entire time. Honey poured each of them a cup of tea

“Alright spill,” she said Kit raised a brow at her and began slowly tipping his cup towards the floor, Honey swatted at his arm and rolled her eyes while Crowley snorted with laughter

“Not like that you jerk! How did it go? Tell us about your day.” Honey encouraged him Kit knew that she didn’t get out very much and that this was likely her only form of entertainment for the night, so Kit decided to amuse her. He leaned back in his chair and recited all the events of the day. Picking flowers with felicity and telling them both fantastical tales of magic and daring escapes that had the two of them with rapt attention, the most delightful foods that Kit had ever tasted and talking with Hades, gosh it had been fantastic.

“It was a wonderful day, he’s just wonderful in general! Wonderful hair, wonderful smile, wonderful- “

He had been about to say name when he paused as the dawn of realization hit him and he went a ghostly shade of white, quickly noticed by Crowley

“What’s wrong?” Crowley asked him as Kit suddenly looked devastated and reality set in as he sank his head in his hands with a groan about how stupid he was. Honey was beginning to worry and frowned

“Kit what’s the matter? Is it something that deserves me hitting him because I will?” Honey said she even rolled up her sleeves for emphasis, but Kit shook his head and looked up at them

“I…. I’m an idiot. I never got his last name.” Kit said and like that his fairy tale was just that. A story to be told and cherished rather than getting to continue. Honey and Crowley both looked just as disappointed and Honey pulled him into a hug which Crowley timidly joined by patting Kit’s shoulder. Behind them a bell rang, and it was ever the horrid reminder that Kit wasn’t the princess of a fairy tale but a servant in an old home and like that it was back to their regularly scheduled program.

                                                                              ~*~

The next day Hades and Aziraphale were in the garden practicing their fencing, Felicity sat at the window of her room listening to Lady Adhira ramble on about how she had to properly learn tea ceremonies and such for any visiting dignitaries in the future, the way her father talked enthusiastically even if she couldn’t hear him she knew he was talking about Kit.

For the past day or so, Kit had been all her father had talked about and as young as she was Felicity knew that her father deserved a fairy tale ending and that this usually meant that Kit was his or at least should have had a chance to prove he was his.

But Felicity didn’t know how to do that, she suspected that Kit didn’t know that they were royals, there had been no bowing or special treatment the other day which she liked someone needed to treat them normally if they wanted to have a chance with her papa.

Adhira quickly realized the little princess wasn’t listening and let out an irritated sigh

“Perhaps we should invite some of your friends over to practice with?” Adhira suggested hoping it would interest the girl, Felicity perked up hearing that and hatching an instant plan

“Friends? So…I could invite anyone I want?” Felicity asked Adhira seemed to enjoy and potentially misinterpret Felicity’s enthusiasm thinking that she was actually interested in teatime.

“Oh o-of course princess!” Adhira said and instantly Felicity jumped up and hurried to her desk beginning to scribble out an invitation, only one which Adhira thought strange but she left the girl to do as she pleased, probably a mistake as the little princess began to scheme.

Meanwhile Outside her father and his brother sparred with rapiers clanging together and the metallic sounds filling the garden loudly as they swiped at each other “He was wonderful Aziraphale, he told the most wonderful stories and had Felicity wrapped around his finger.” Hades told him making a jab which the other one blocked quickly jumping away from him and giving a small eye roll, hades caught it and frowned moving out of his stance and lowering his practice blade

“What?” he asked but Aziraphale just smiled at him

“You remember when I got drunk at our birthday and I kissed that gardener?” Aziraphale asked him Hades nodded “And how much crap you gave me in the week after when I couldn’t shut up about how I wished I’d gotten his name and was able to continue seeing him after even if it would have caused some kind of scandal?”

Again hades nodded and Aziraphale grinned a bit and shook his head at him “You teased me relentlessly about not shutting up and I now know what you felt like because you’re so smitten with this guy that you’ve hardly met you haven’t shut up about him in the past twenty four hours.” Aziraphale told him he was completely caught off guard when a moment later a sword came thrusting towards his face and suddenly a foot behind his leg toppled him and Hades now had his practice sword pointed in Aziraphale’s face and he couldn’t stop himself from grinning

“Sore spot?” Aziraphale asked Hades chuckled

“No, my brother, you’re simply soft.” Hades said putting the blade down and pulling Aziraphale to his feet before he started to walk away Aziraphale could tell he may have over stepped but if someone else didn’t acknowledge how Hades was feeling, Aziraphale knew that hades himself would never acknowledge it either. His brother had become so closed off to the idea of dating or courtship or whatever you wanted to call it that Aziraphale knew that he’d never think about his feelings unless someone else brought them up first.

Aziraphale stayed in the garden after that sitting on the edge of one of the flower beds and running his fingers gently over the petals of a beautiful red rose and thinking back to his own night, what he could remember of it anyway. The beautiful gardener with his long red hair and his golden eyes, how Aziraphale had begged him to stay and work at the palace but it would cause to much of a scandal and how he needed to protect someone, Aziraphale vaguely remembered a passionate kiss and a promise to return some day. The problem was remembering a face to go with such lovely features and such a kind heart.

Aziraphale then noticed Felicity coming out from the kitchen doors like she did when wanting to avoid Adhira and frowned as he saw the little one approach the stables

“What are you doing?” Aziraphale asked but the little girl had a gleam of mischief in her eyes which never really meant anything good as she just waved and kept going for the stables

“I’m going to practice my riding,” She said Aziraphale frowned and began to follow her after the incident the other day he wouldn’t have expected any different. But with the look on her face that reminded him exactly of his late sister in law he knew it couldn’t be anything good that the little one had in mind.

Aziraphale followed her down the riding path, and then onto the path that lead outside the grounds…. followed by an old dirt road leading out of town that was until they came to a house deep in the woods not long after. It was a magnificent house, beautiful even or at least it probably had been. Age had worn the outside but the garden, the garden was spectacular! Roses redder than any he’d ever seen. Aziraphale knew instantly this had to be the house of Hades crush, oh that clever little girl. Aziraphale rode to catch up with her and when he got beside her she went a little pale but he smiled down at her and her little pony (the one she wasn’t supposed to take off grounds but did anyway) her mischievous smile vanished and was replaced with one of guilt and worry as she looked down at the ground and began stroking her pony lovingly, Aziraphale waited for her to speak first since there was obviously a lot on her mind and he trusted her to tell him the truth. When she looked back up to him fearful and with teary eyes, he knew that he was right.

“Am I in trouble?” Felicity asked him Aziraphale shook his head

“You know your father likes this man yes?” Aziraphale asked and Felicity nodded wiping her eyes on her sleeve until Aziraphale offered her a hanky and she took it dabbing at her eyes and he offered her a soft smile

“Good. Then what’s the plan?”

Felicity was startled and confused for a moment before she broke out in a grin and told him, the two then went to the house and Aziraphale rang the doorbell and waited.

There was a long pause and at first Aziraphale wondered if no one was home, he rang the bell again and still nothing. Just before Aziraphale could make the suggestion to come back another day there was the sound of shouting incomprehensibly and stomping footsteps coming to the door which made Aziraphale worry that perhaps that Hades might have exaggerated until the door answered and a large, well fit fellow with dark hair and a sour face answered and leaned across the entire doorframe not actually looking at them but rather his own reflection in a small hand mirror

“Yes, yes what do you want?” he asked exaggerated like this was such an inconvenience Aziraphale glanced down at Felicity who pouted a little she obviously didn’t like his attitude either

“you’re not kit.” She said simply this had Aziraphale having a wave of relief wash over him because honestly as pretty as this man seemed he had a dark aura that surrounded him that Aziraphale didn’t like. The stranger looked up only at Felicity and got a sour look on his face which Felicity mimicked back at him

“No I’m not,” He said with a scoff as if this was the biggest insult he’d ever heard Aziraphale took Felicity by the shoulders and pulled her back closer to him protectively and this is what finally got the man to look up at him and his expression change drastically as he realized exactly who he was dealing with.

Aziraphale gave a forced smile

“We’d like to have a word with Kit Marlowe if that’s at all possible sir.” Aziraphale requested it was then a second older man pushed his way into the doorway and Aziraphale recognized him from a few gatherings of the local lords, he had been lady Marlowe’s second husband before her passing if he remembered correctly

“Your highness! Please excuse my son he sort of woke up on the wrong side of the bed.” The man (Gabriel if he recalled?) greeted him with a bow pushing his son into the same position and while he was much more pleasant Aziraphale saw the pout on Felicity’s face deepen further

“You’re not kit either” she said this seemed to be like a momentary slap in the face to the violet eyed lord, but he recovered with a forced smile as he knelt down to her height

“No, my dear princess I’m afraid not, Kit is out at the moment running some errands for the household. Could I perhaps help you with something?” he asked Aziraphale noted how strained it seemed to speak even decently about Kit and didn’t like the vibes he was getting or the auras he was sensing and frowned

“Yes, the princess met him just the other day, he saved her when her horse was frightened and as a thank you, she wished to invite him to afternoon tea with me and my brother.” Aziraphale said he offered the invitation and Gabriel snatched it looking over the invitation so formal with a shiny seal but still the scratched cursive writing of a young child still learning what she was doing. Aziraphale didn’t like the look in his eyes and kept Felicity close to him something about this man wasn’t right and Aziraphale wasn’t sure that perhaps much better could come from this place, that was until he heard a familiar voice casually from the other side of the door that left his own heart skipping a beat.

The familiar ginger hair and dark glasses as the tall lean figure appeared and started up the stairs with a woman close behind him

“Honestly Honey, can you believe that idiot not getting a name?” he asked with a sigh Aziraphale felt like he had seen an angel for the second time as he recognized his birthday romance perhaps there was something good about this house.

Fortunately, in his paralyzed state Felicity saw him and took over also recognizing the man and having similar bad vibes about Gabriel.

Felicity snatched the invitation from the violet eyed man and ducked between them “HEY!” she called catching the attention of the two servants, Crowley recognized her and grinned like the cat that caught the canary “We were just talking about you and your dad,” Crowley said Felicity handed him the invitation “That’s for Kit, Uncle Zira and I are inviting you and him to tea tomorrow can you make it?” Felicity asked Crowley quirked a brow and looked up his own shock taking over as the familiar prince that had snogged him to death one night last year came to view, Crowley was stunned as Aziraphale gave a nervous smile and waved Crowley took a moment to remember he was being addressed and something clicked as he looked down at Felicity,

“You’re- “

“Princess you shouldn’t worry yourself with talking with common servants,” Drake said cutting in and stepping between them, he reached for the invitation which Crowley moved out of his reach and glared at him Felicity did as well

“Uncle Zira knows him and wants him to come with Kit to tea right uncle Zira?” Felicity asked as she looked. Aziraphale seemed to sober and his face burned a bright red as he gave a soft smile

“Yes, yes of course.” Aziraphale said his smile becoming as warm as the radiant sun that seemed to beam off of the prince “I think we have a lot of catching up to do if you’d like?” Aziraphale asked Crowley could only give a nervous smile and nod Felicity smiled and walked back to Aziraphale and took his hand before she looked back at Crowley

“You and Kit, tomorrow at two okays?” She asked before she took Aziraphale and began walking away.

The moment that door shut, Gabriel glared at Crowley

“How dare you accept an invitation in my home.” Gabriel growled Crowley snapped out of his love sick trance and glared at him putting the invitation in his breast pocket before Drake could make another snag for it. “I live here as well, the princess said it was for him and me why wouldn’t I accept it? Do you know how rude it is to decline an invitation from a princess?” Crowley asked him Drake grabbed him and slammed him into the wall his temper going from one to a one hundred in a second until Honey shoved between them and leveled him with a glare

“What’s going on?” Kit asked as he entered next with Vlad, Kit instantly felt the heat and hatred from his stepfather and step brother the second he made his way around the corner and Kit had to wonder what he did wrong

“Did you know your prince charming is an actual prince?” Crowley asked him to straighten his waist coat and never taking his eyes off of Drake Kit was surprised and raised a brow Gabriel offered him a smile that looked like it was painted on some doll, forced and fake. He put his arm around Kit and steered him back towards the other room and Kit resisted a shiver that was threatening to go down his spine

“Lets have a chat shall we my boy?”

[mjbookreviews]

On Writing by Stephen King

My first (and surprisingly not last) nonfiction book of the summer

I grew up reading fiction because it always seemed more fun; I loved getting lost in other worlds.  But I’ve been trying to branch out my reading tastes, and honestly, I think I’ve been missing out.  And if there’s one nonfiction subject that I will always want to read more about, it’s the craft of writing.  I love reading about what ~real~ authors have to say about writing: their tips, tricks, and philosophies.  How their little writerly minds work. I’d heard about On Writing a few years ago, but I didn’t seriously consider buying it until this year after a classmate recommended it.  So I picked up a copy of the 10th Anniversary Edition (which I think tells a little something in and of itself, but I’ll get back to that) and set to learning about writing.  WARNING: This review is going to get long.  I love to write about writing, what can I say.

I think that this is a pretty valuable book for someone just beginning to think about writing seriously, which is the position I find myself in now.  I really appreciated getting King’s honest opinion on things, an incredibly successful author who doesn’t seem to hold much stock in caring if his work is taken as “literary.”  Personally, I found King’s views on things very comforting.  As an undergrad, there was always a little part of me that was somewhat intimidated by my creative writing courses.  My stories were not strange or deep or meaningful enough, I thought. They were too easy to understand, too accessible, too easy to enjoy.  I think that King does an excellent job of pointing out that for many authors, making your work “literary” is not how writing should work, and that as a beginning writer, you should work with what you can rather than worrying about whether it will be considered “intellectual.”  At least, that’s what I got from it, because that’s what my fears are.

King starts with a tidy biography of his early life; how he began writing, what the influences behind his writing were, what people shaped his career, etc.  I enjoyed this part because I like to learn what make writers tick, but I admit that that the next few sections of the book, where we get to his tips for writing, held my attention more.  Maybe that’s kind of rude, but I doubt King would care much.

First we learn about the “Toolbox,” or the basic things that every writer should have handy.  For King, this mostly boils down to vocabulary and grammar.  Like any good creative writing teacher, he warns against passive verbs and adverbs.  Language, style, and length all go in here.  The best little nugget I took away from this section: “I’m convinced that fear is at the root of most bad writing.”  Fear to use bold verbs, to portray accurately, to tell the truth.  That definitely holds true for my own writing.

Next was the main part of the book, “On Writing.”  I found this section the most informative/helpful.  There are so many great tips to take away from this section for writers new to the whole writing thing, from the necessity of reading above all else (other than, you know, actually writing) to when, where, and how long to write on a daily basis.  There are at least around fifteen things in this section that I want to touch on, but I’ll try my best to keep it short(ish).

As I just mentioned, one of King’s first pieces of advice in this section is as follows: “If you want to be a writer, you must do two things above all others: read a lot and write a lot.”  To this end, King goes on to describe his own reading and writing habits, reading whenever possible and writing 2,000 words a day basically every day.  This helps keep his story and characters “fresh” and “exciting” for him, and he encourages beginning writers to set a similar schedule to his: pick a time to write (preferably the same time every day, and, for King, preferably the morning) and then set a goal of writing 1,000 words every time you sit down in this space.  King encourages creating your own writing space, a place with a good desk, good light, and a door to close out the world with.  

I think that this is really great advice for a beginning writer, as this has the double effect of actually getting you to write and also making the whole writing thing feel official.  I do agree with his decision to point out early on that all writers are different: some can write thousands of words in one sitting, some labor over the same ten words.  But I suppose this book is marketed more toward people interested in commercial writing, where writing and publishing regularly is the goal, so having a system of getting out tens of thousands of words a month is probably a good idea. You also can't know what kind of schedule works for you until you try.

One thing I really loved about this book was his straightforward approach to those big, scary things called plot, symbolism, theme, etc.  In fact, King does not believe that plot has much to do with a writer’s job.  “The job of the writer is to give [their stories] a place to grow (and to transcribe them, of course).”  Rather than trying to figure out every single plot point of a story in advance, King advises beginning writers to just write.  The story will come: “Stories are relics, part of an undiscovered pre-existing world. The writer’s job is to use the tools in his or her toolbox to get as much of each one out of the ground intact as possible.”  I love this idea of stories already existing in you; you just have to find them.  This takes so much pressure off of someone just beginning to write.  You already have what you need, and now you just need to work with it.  This doesn’t make the job any easier of course, but it does make for a better mentality, in my opinion.

Similarly, King warns against getting too hung up on symbolism and theme.  As King points out, “symbolism doesn’t have to be difficult and relentlessly brainy.” And as for theme, “starting with the questions and thematic concerns is a recipe for bad fiction.”  This is something I personally get really caught up on. In college, I would read all these incredible novels and marvel over how intricately put together the book was, how incredibly talented the author had been to create a work that could draw so many interpretations and subtly touch on so many important themes and allusions. And let’s be real, I don’t think I’m ever going to write the next Scarlet Letter, but to even get close to something like that… I wanted to figure out how to do it.  But King reminded me that I was going about it all wrong. Perhaps this is a claim that works best for writers who want to write commercially successful fiction like King’s rather than literary fiction, but I think it’s a good reminder for us average beginning writers that sticking to the basics (aka the writing part) is what leads to a successful story.

This brings me to another interesting thesis in King’s book: “While it is impossible to make a competent writer out of bad writer, and while it is equally impossible to make a great writer out of a good one, it is possible, with lots of hard work, dedication, and timely help, to make a good writer out of merely competent one.”

Wow.  Quite a statement.  At first I kind of fumed about this.  What do you mean not everyone can be made into a great writer?  Shouldn’t we be wary of building up these “possible” and “impossible” situations? But the real reason for my fear and anger at this statement was simple: I did not want to hear that I might never be a “great writer.”  It has taken some time for me to reconcile with this idea, but perhaps the thought of being a good writer isn’t so terrible after all.  Being “good” doesn’t mean settling if you’re putting hard work and dedication into it, as King says.  And how many of us can really be expected to join the ranks of the Hawthornes, Woolfes, Morrisons, Austens, and Borgeses (Borgess?  Borges+s?  Borges’s? You know what I mean…) in our writing careers?  There’s nothing wrong with wanting to write something that even your favorite author would praise (we all fantasize about it, don’t lie), but it’s important to keep realistic goals and expectations when it comes to writing.  Trying to make a living from a creative career can be unforgiving.

There’s so much more I’d like to touch on, but since this is already over 1,500 words, I’ll end it with this paragraph.  The only thing I really took issue with is that this book was first published in 2000, and I think that a lot has changed in the last seventeen years.  The way King got into writing and publishing stories seems like a much different world than what I know, though perhaps I just haven’t tried to publish stories as much as King did as a teen.  At one point, King recommends subscribing to writers’ journals and buying a copy of Writer’s Market, which I subsequently went and looked up on Amazon.  But isn’t my quick search kind of the issue here?  Do people really use these things anymore?  King also advocates for writing your entire story/novel before showing it to anyone (preferably your “ideal reader”), so I suppose this means that he does not support the structure of workshops that most MFA programs utilize.  But if you’re like me, you don’t have an “ideal reader,” and getting into MFA programs and other types of workshops is one of the few ways to meet people that might become your first readers.  I feel like getting an MFA is just expected of anyone serious about writing nowadays.  Perhaps an updated 20th Anniversary edition could answer these burning questions?  (The real question though: how has it already been almost 20 years since 2000?  Jesus.)

[sheepydraws]

And So They Lived (1/6)

Part 1:

There were rumors about Kadic Academy. Schools attract rumors like young starlets, or sudden deaths. Not quite as well as the sudden deaths of young starlets, but schools built out in the suburbs of France can come close. If you ask some people about it they’ll haul out their psychology textbooks. They’ll talk about innocence and fear and transgression. They’ll point out the seemingly endless list of spooky stories surrounding the various Disneyland parks. They’ll mention liminal space and that the human brain isn’t finished developing until one’s early twenties.

Some people will ask those scientists, or realists, or whatever name they use that they think sounds smartest, why it is that the stories all share the same threads. These aren’t your standard, ‘a girl committed suicide there and now her spirt haunts the bathroom’ schoolyard yarns, or the tall tales spun around architectural quirks. Something mind altering went on at Kadic Academy. Something that brought on psychic dreams and deja vu. Both quite common in their own right, but psychic dreams in tandem? Dreams that were exact tellings of the future, but then something would go horribly wrong, something that wouldn’t really happen? Deja vu that wasn’t the run of the mill thought skip, where the past and present seem to merge, tripping over each other for a second, nor the just as regular, ‘I have written three hundred essays in my life and this one feels no different’. No, the deja vu at Kadic Academy was legendary. 

You would be minding your own business, walking into the courtyard, say, and it would hit you in a wave that rooted you to the ground. For a moment you would become unstuck in time as you mind replayed the moment as it happened. As though someone had rewound you.

How do you explain that?

A bunch of kids living together, eating the same food together, studying the same things at the same times…Why wouldn’t they have similar psyches? Why wouldn’t some days feel like an endless refrain?

Then why did it stop?

No warning, no concrete ending. They all noticed, but not together. Every one of them looking up individually and saying ‘oh.’ before their world carried on exactly as it had before. Life was normal, and then, suddenly, it was more normal.  

This was the reason the creepypasta enthusiasts and horror story connoisseurs remembered Kadic Academy. Not for what happened there, but for the fact that it stopped. There was a mystery there. This wasn’t one class getting infected with mass hysteria. This wasn’t a simple haunting, your everyday paranormal activity. Something happened at Kadic. Something with a distinct beginning, middle, and end.

Perhaps some stranded aliens set up camp there, and they were finally rescued. 

Perhaps someone cursed the place, and the curse was broken. (No one would believe that the curse broke itself. A four year curse wasn’t properly auspicious).

Maybe a group of teenagers sacrificed their hearts, minds, and bodies keeping the earth safe from an overly advanced A.I. bent on world domination. 

Odd Della Robbia checked his phone for the third time that minute. He forgot his pop rocks in the room and now he had to wait out his sexile in the library with no high fructose corn syrup to keep him company. Ulrich swore he would text as soon as he and Yumi were finished and decent again, and that they would not fall asleep like they had last time. 

He was staring out the window at the rapidly darkening sky when his phone buzzed, and his heart jumped into his throat. Adrenaline shot through him and then drained away, leaving him flushed and dizzy. 

U kn com bk now. 

It didn’t say XANA. It never does anymore. Now all his phone screen ever tells him is: You are a normal teenager, Odd Della Robbia. We’re sorry for any inconvenience that war over the entire planet might have caused you. Please get back to your regularly scheduled programming of being a dork with roommate problems.

Another message popped up on his screen, a real one:

Buy twinkies.

They defeated XANA two months ago, and last week Ulrich and Yumi finally got together. Odd had been kind of expecting it now that William had straight up skipped town. He was in class with them last year, but summer break had come and gone, and he hadn’t come back. He wrote Jeremie an e-mail, promising he wouldn’t tell anyone about Lyoko. Actually, all I want to do is forget.

At first they had worried, but William assured them he was fine, and that he wasn’t involved in XANA’s plans. Which was good, since last semester XANA went nuts. A constant onslaught of attacks as Jeremie whittled down Aelita’s code, till he finally realized that it wasn’t Aelita who was encrypted.

Or something like that. Odd hadn’t been able to understand whatever epiphany Jeremie had been having over his speaker while lasers were burning through his own skin. 

The five of them stayed at school all summer, or at the factory more like, jumping into Lyoko every time Aelita felt the slightest vibration. Jeremie worked double and then triple time at the supercomputer. Days slid into days. Not in the soft, warm way summer vacation was supposed to, but the overlap that happens when your day has three breakfasts and two dinners because you still haven’t gone to sleep.

And then it was over.

Odd felt like a train that had run out of track. His momentum kept him sliding forward, sending up sparks and scoring lines into the earth, but he was no longer going anywhere.

Odd paused just outside his dorm and took a deep breath. There is a quality to the air in autumn, as though you could hit it with a tuning fork and it would sing. He tried to focus on it, tired to banish the sense that he was utterly lost in a foreign city. A slow rise of panic that you try desperately to hold down, because there is nothing you can do if you panic-no one you know you can go to for help-which only makes the panic worse.

Honestly, it was probably just because he had been kicked out of his room with nowhere to go. It wasn’t his fault he didn’t have a girlfriend to canoodle now that he wasn’t fighting for his life. Unfortunately, most girls remembered him as that guy that they dated for like two weeks in the eighth grade, who dumped them after they kissed. His high school dating life couldn’t even boast the long term rivalry dripping with pining and sexual tension that at least Yumi and Ulrich had at one point.

Bzzz Bzzz Bzzz

Odd fished his phone out of his jacket pocket. He started to type, Got yr darn twinkies, before he registered what the text actually was.

Ulrich, I need to talk to you. I’m in my room. 

The name at the top of the screen: Sissi.

It took Odd another minute to figure out why Sissi’s phone number was even in his contact list to begin with. 

Sissi had always had Ulrich’s number, but last year, before all XANA broke loose, she began texting him all the time. Ulrich shared the messages with them, but he never replied. Which meant Sissi kept trying. I’ve got cookies-and-cream pocky, want some? Is this a cute cat or what? What was the Calc homework for tonight?

Odd had to admit, he admired her tenacity. 

Maybe that was why, a month later when XANA hacked their phones and they had to steal other people’s to communicate, Odd found himself with Sissi’s phone in it’s huge pink teddy bear case, and he happened to change Ulrich’s phone number to his in her contacts. Maybe it was because there was a fifty percent chance that they would Return To The Past and it wouldn’t stick. It was probably just cause he found it funny and Ulrich was getting ready to block her.

He wasn’t sure what his excuse was for slipping into the Kendrick dorm instead of Cohen. If Ulrich had actually received that text he wouldn’t have given a fuck. He might even have dragged Yumi down to Sissi’s room and explained to her in no uncertain terms who his girlfriend was. Odd, on the other hand, was probably looking forward to a night of getting a sugar high and crashing as he watched surrealist films. At least Sissi might prove entertaining.

Sissi was clearly taken aback when she realized it was Odd at her door. Odd was surprised: Did she actually believe that Ulrich would come when she called? After all the evidence to the contrary? Never mind the fact that he was here at all might be a little confusing.

“What are you doing here?” She asked, but her tone was flat, without the disgust Odd was expecting.

“Got your text.” Odd said, wiggling his phone in front of her, though it was a halfhearted wiggle at best. It was strange. He didn’t really have the energy to be cheeky, and she didn’t seem up to being a total brat. Maybe they were both coming down with something.

“I texted Ulrich.” She said, and her voice broke on his name.

It pissed Odd off. It wasn’t like they had been a couple and he had dumped her. As far as Odd knew Ulrich had never had genuine interest in Sissi, but here she was, acting like she was the victim in all this, and not the asshole who just spent his last ten bucks at a vending machine. 

“Yeah, well, as his fucking lackey, he sent me to tell you to leave him alone.”

Sissi’s nose wrinkled, but her grip on the frame of her door turned her knuckles white. “I don’t see why he couldn’t come tell me that himself.” 

Odd shrugged, “I guess he didn’t feel like pulling out of Yumi long enough to come down.” His stomach twisted, his anger folding in on itself. He wasn’t sure if he meant to upset Sissi or Ulrich with those words.

At least they got Sissi to recoil. “You’re disgusting. You all think you’re so tough, teasing people, doing god-knows-what in the woods all the time, but when you’re alone you’re just stupid kids.”

“Trust me, Sissi, you do not want to get into a fight with me.” But Odd leaned forward, got into her space. Dared her. 

“You’re the one who’s looking for a fight.” Sissi said, not leaning towards him, but holding her ground. “I just wanted to talk to Ulrich.”

“When are you going to understand that he doesn’t want to talk to you?”

“When are you going to understand-“ Sissi began, jabbing her pointer finger into Odd’s chest. He grabbed her wrist on reflex, so fast his skin made a slapping noise against hers.

She gasped, which he expected, and he almost laughed before the nails of her other hand tore down his cheek. Pain exploded behind his eyes as he felt his skin gave way to her manicure. It was just a scratch. One that drew blood, but a scratch nonetheless.

If they had had that stupid conversation the year before Odd would have shrugged it off, or threatened to tell her father, or, yeah, maybe he would have just given her one clean slap across the face and walked away. 

But that was last year when he more than knew the difference between life and death. This year all he knew was that adrenaline was coursing through him, his cheek throbbed, and he could feel his heartbeat in his ears for the first time in months. He didn’t stop to consider all his options. He slammed his fist knuckles first into the side of Sissi’s face. 

She staggered back in shock. Odd’s brain caught up with him, and began blaring kill bill sirens. 

“Fuck you!��� Sissi screamed, “I don’t want your stupid boyfriend!”

“You nearly gouged my eye out for him!”

“You-you-“ Sissi’s hand trembled as she touched her cheek. Odd saw tears well up in her eyes, and the anger in him faded. This was fucked up. 

“I don’t want your stupid, fucking-“ She began to cry.

Odd stood in her doorway, guilt making him desperate to leave and unsure if he should. He wiped blood off his cheek and was surprised when he pulled his hand away. He had forgotten how vibrant it was, how it stained skin with thick, rusty streaks.

Sissi had curled in on herself, putting her head level with his stomach. It was strange being this close to her when she was crying her eyes out. He wanted to close the door and leave her alone, but he couldn’t abandon her. 

Odd heard the click of a door opening down the hall and Sissi stood up with a gasp. She grabbed the front of Odd’s jacket and hauled him into her room, closing the door behind him. 

Odd was overwhelmed by the scent of girly things. Shampoo and lotion and perfume, and who knew what else, fruit and floral and sweetness so strong he could taste artificial flavoring. It almost distracted him from the fact that this might be the first time he was in Sissi’s room with her permission.

Sissi pressed her ear to the door, still clutching the front of his shirt. Her hand shook as she listened, bumping against his chest. Odd pried her fingers off, but once he dropped her hand he made the mistake of looking at her. Tears continued to flow down her face though she seemed completely focused on straining her ears past the cheap plywood. Something about the image made Odd lean against the door too, just so he would have an excuse to close his eyes.  He heard someone knock at someone else’s room. He could make out voices, but not words. The other person’s door closed and there was silence. 

“Okay,” Sissi said, peeling herself off the door, her voice still thick. “I don’t think anyone’s going to come check.”   

Odd nodded as though conspiring with Sissi felt perfectly natural. 

Sissi opened her door a crack, but then turned back to Odd. “Tell Ulrich that the only reason I wanted to see him was because I don’t care about him anymore, and Yumi can stop glaring at me like she thinks I’m going to rip my clothes off every time I talk to him.” She flicked moisture from the corners of her eyes and and in a moment became the same cold, shiny Sissi Odd knew and understood. All poise and selfishness. 

“Kay.” Odd said, because this was good. The world has returned to order. He felt like he was on solid ground again after that sudden white-water rafting interval.

But the image of Sissi crying, her face as red and crumpled as any other person’s, continued to shake him as he walked back to his room, like he had been at sea for months and couldn’t adjust to the fact that the ground had stopped moving beneath his feet.

Part 2 

[3one3]

The Sequel - 850

Perfect Martini

André Schürrle, Juan Mata, other Chelsea/BVB players, and random awesome OC’s (okay they’re less random now but they’re still pretty awesome)

original epic tale

all chapters of The Sequel

“Lulu Schü would love these fries. Should we bring some back for him? They probably won’t travel well.”

“Do you still feel bad we didn’t bring him?”

“No. Can you hand me another napkin?”

André walked over to the horse show to collect Christina for lunch when she was finished riding Nick and Rio during the open schooling period in the competition ring wedged between the restaurants and Monaco’s famed, glittering harbor. He wanted to take her to a burger joint a few blocks away, and have an hour alone with her. Lukas was going shopping with Espen. The whole family had been together nonstop for days and days, and mostly out on the water. The player was getting cabin fever, and wanted a break from family time. He knew he was going to get lots of breaks from it throughout the weekend since his girl would be spending much of her time around the show, but he also knew she would be around all of her friends too. Burgers for lunch would probably be their last “date” of vacation. The place he found had an old McLaren Formula 1 car on the wall, and two kinds of French fries. Christina ordered both. Her crispy shoestring fries were plain and crunchy, and her thicker, softer, plank-like chips were smothered in liquid cheese and bacon. André had seen a lot of pure pleasure, delight, plain happiness, and joy in his wife’s face recently. She looked as happy about the two paper cartons of fries as anything else.

“Remind me again. When I give him my condolences, am I supposed to be very grave and serious, or is it more like an “oh, that’s too bad” kind of thing? I don’t know the protocol for this,” he told her while she wiped grease from her hands so that she could respond to a message from Daniel, who just lost one of his best horses-his first Olympic mount, no less- to colic. The horse was home in Belgium, so he didn’t get to say goodbye.

“Something in between. Just try to be natural,” Christina shrugged. Her colleague wanted to know if she had any extra wristbands for all-access at the Tour venue.

“Do you like your burger?”

“Yeah, it’s really good. D’you want a bite?”

André nodded and the rider passed her paper-lined plastic basket over the piles of fries. She got a turkey pesto burger with melty fresh mozzarella and tomato on garlic ciabatta. The only reason she was even willing to give up an André-sized bite was the fries. Christina was definitely going to devote more of her stomach’s capacity to fried potato, liquid cheese, and bacon. The two athletes had been eating very well on the boat, not drinking too much, and working out together regularly, so they were due a major indulgence. They’d been sharing all of their food too, and pretty much everything else. The BVB sophomore always believed that their relationship would be saved and strengthened when they could be together again for an extended period, without distractions, and their sailing holiday was proving the theory, at least in the short-term. They couldn’t get away from one another, and everything was great. Being stuck together on the water, out of sight of dry land, was like forced therapy. There was no telling if the new intensity of their bond would last when there were miles between them again, but there was hope.

“This is good as a sandwich but a burger should be a burger,” he declared after the taste test. His order was beef and Swiss with onions and mushrooms, lettuce, and tomato, on a brioche bun. As indulgences go, it was a pretty big one for him. Taking Christina out for burgers and fries was a bit of a ritual thing for him though, so it was fitting. It was his solution for a lot of her problems, and their problems. There was no way she could be overwhelmingly upset if she was enjoying a cheeseburger. A meal like that could subdue fires enough for him to get in there and work to put them out instead of just throwing water at a blaze one bucket at a time, which is how it sometimes felt to him when he tried to fix his wife’s more complex problems.

“Your face is a burger.”

“Are we going back to the show after this or are you all done?”

“I promised a Eurosport writer half an hour, but I can invite her to the boat. It doesn’t have to be at the show if you don’t want to go back. Or I can just go back by myself,” Christina shrugged before feeding herself a long potato plank dripping with cheese, one savory bite at a time.

“I don’t care about the venue. I’m thinking about free time to do things. Would you like to visit the shops near the casino? Walk around? After your interview I guess.”

“Yes! But I also want to be back in time to do Munchkin dinner and bedtime, and have a disco nap with you before I have to get ready.”

“How late are we going?” André raised an eyebrow at his girl’s proposed agenda. They were expected at the official GCT pre-party at a nightclub, and Lukas was supposed to go to bed early because his schedule was getting out of control. Vacation was terrible for keeping him on a program.

“It doesn’t start until 10 and we can’t be the first people there. Duh. Oh! Maybe I can get new shoes or something for the party. I feel so disadvantaged being away from my closet for so long.”  

“You could just wear these strange riding pants,” the player suggested as he leaned over to look under the table. Christina did her morning schooling in baby pink breeches and a white adidas tee.

“They’re not strange! They’re nice. They’re girls’ actually. I ordered them online from the US.” Things I never would have bought in the past: baby pink anything for riding, the rider chuckled to herself. I used to get dirty all the time though. If you don’t have to do any of the dirty barn work, you can wear light pants. I mean, if I manage to wear white breeches all day on every show day without being filthy, baby pink is okay. “Plus I can walk around places like Monaco in them and maybe other people just assume I’m wearing pink leggings. Pikeur gray stands out in a crowd because nobody wears regular pants in that color. They have to be riding pants. And it would be weird to wear any of my navy or black ones because it’s summer and it’s hot and who does that?”

“Hey, I like this look. The Velcro cuff thing opened and turned up to show off the ankles really complements the thong sandals,” André joked about his girl’s standard warm weather post or between-rides outfit. He was also teasing about ankles, because she complained about every single pair of pants he wore out in public on the entire trip because they were short and showed off his ankles. She didn’t like that unless he was also wearing sandals, and he always wore sneakers or loafers.

“I like the look of the cheese fries. Actually, can you take a picture of me with all the food?” she asked, thoughtful. “I haven’t posted anything fun in days.” Her family holiday had gotten very private. André wasn’t kidding when he said he didn’t need to share his vacation with 3 million followers, and Christina followed his lead. They took a ton of pictures on the water, on beaches, on a bike ride through a wildlife park, on playgrounds, and in multiple ice cream shops. The snaps were just for themselves though. Christina sent a few to Juan, and Natasha, and even Tom. There was a small sense of liberation in ignoring social media for 10 days. Her partner in crime and potatoes took a photo of her biting into her turkey burger, with all the other food in the foreground, and then told her she couldn’t have her phone back to post it until after they finished eating. He didn’t want to be there all day.

Lilly XO was docked a 90-second walk from the GCT media center tent, directly east of the famous swimming pool. She was flanked by other superyachts on both sides. If her owner were exceptionally lazy, she could walk to the end of that section of the dock and have the Fonz pick her up in the launch there and drive her 20 seconds deeper into Port Hercule to the “by water” entrance to the horse show. Obviously it was easier to walk. Christina met up with her interviewer at the tent and invited her to walk over to the boat with her and André so that they could have their chat there and she could change before walking 15 minutes or so to the boutiques that made her smile as part of the backdrop during the Monaco Grand Prix of the motorsport type.

The interview was almost entirely about the Olympics- how she was preparing mentally, how the horses were prepared, who she expected to be the toughest competition individually and as a team, her expectations for the venue, her hopes for the experience, etc. It wasn’t supposed to be. The writer told Christina she wanted to talk about the Tour. The rider kept trying to steer things away from the Games. She wished she had just done the sit-down at the media tent, because she could have easily pretended something came up on her phone and ended it early. It was a lot harder to do that while sitting on her own deck. It would be rude to ask her to leave. Her anxiety about being trapped in the interview, and forced to discuss the thing she’d been avoiding so diligently, made her regret all the French fries too. Her stomach hurt. Her face felt hot even in the shade of the next deck up. André couldn’t bail her out because he was playing with Lukas, inside. The whole thing put her in a bad mood, and he paid for that later.

The problem was that Christina didn’t want to have any expectations for anything. She didn’t want to anticipate riding well, riding just okay, or riding badly. She didn’t want to anticipate it being fun, or stressful. There was no room for wondering if she would find it all rewarding, or challenging, or life-changing, or perhaps even disappointing. She couldn’t think about what it meant for Dirk. She absolutely couldn’t think about possibly being left out of the team again. Everything about the Olympics was scary, because everything was riding on it. It meant too much. So much of her desire, and so many of her goals, was stacked on those colorful rings. It was the Holy Grail off in the distance, and just as mysterious, so there was no telling what she’d encounter on the last leg of the journey to finding it. André was the one who urged her to dream that big. It was never even an option before he came into her life. She was terrified of what resentment toward him might flourish inside of her if it didn’t work out. She hated him for making her love and need him so much when he left her, and it was unbearable. Olympic failure presented the real possibility that she’d feel that again- that it would be “his fault” that there was even a thing out there for her to want like that. And that presented the real possibility of marriage collapse. The foundations had been creaking for so long already, and the reinforcement project was nowhere near complete.

André kept poking at her when she turned into a pensive, quiet, and snappy shopping date. Eventually she did more than just snap at him. She wanted him to back off and stop digging to understand what was wrong with her, and what happened to the much more palatable mood from earlier. Then they got in a fight about the price of a Chanel bag. Following that was the fight about how they could possibly have a fight about a Chanel bag. The concluding fight was about the party. André didn’t want to go anymore. He didn’t want to do anything with her while she was “being a pill”. The cranky, triggered rider said she’d just go alone, then. There were friends to meet up with there anyway. But it wasn’t a fun party. The pop music was too loud. The strobe lighting was painfully distracting. Most of the guests were either huddled in small, exclusive groups, or shouting at each other near the equine ice sculpture and shellfish buffet. Most of the people found Christina’s short fuse off putting too. Kent’s head was bitten off for making a joke about her trying to get a Bellini, for example. He pulled a face like he didn’t understand what he did wrong or what just happened, and then excused himself to chat to other people. The only one who found her bad attitude amusing was Daniel, and he suggested they ditch the cliché party and go find a chilled out bar for a real cocktail instead of a club drink.

“Do you know what a Serendipity cocktail is?” he asked the pretty woman serving drinks at the busy but more relaxed drinking establishment he chose a few blocks from the booming club. It had a second floor terrace that seemed to be the life of the party. The riders grabbed stools at the bar inside. That there were stools available at all said everything about the density of the population in there.

“No,” the green-eyed blonde admitted. “Walk me through?”

“Tall glass; fresh mint- but don’t muddle it,” Daniel smiled back. “You’re going to like this,” he added, turning to Christina, who was checking to make sure the low part of her high-low hem tank dress wasn’t stuck under a leg of the stool. It was jade jersey and she liked it a lot. Damage wouldn’t do. That silhouette was becoming her favorite for summer, primarily because it was easy, showed off her legs, cool, and generally carefree. The example she wore that night was just a bit longer than the others, and thus she had to be mindful.

“Okay, next?” the bartender asked once she’d obtained the proper glass and dumped some mint leaves down at the bottom.

“Ice to the top. Perfect. Now your best Calvados...” The tall and prematurely graying Olympian turned back to his colleague for a second with narrowed eyes, and then said to fill a third of the glass with the vaguely apple-tinged liquor. “Then a nice brut champagne to the next third. Fill the rest with apple juice. No need to shake.”

“Is it like public knowledge that I love apple juice?” Christina asked skeptically while she watched the rest of the cocktail come together. She let him order for her because the prospect of making a decision made her head hurt. Everything made her head hurt. Her head hurting made her inflict hurt on everyone around her. She knew her mood was insufferable, and felt like she couldn’t get out of her own way in terms of fixing that. Everything annoyed her, and every annoyance ballooned. It was like being really, really overtired and cranky, but she was pretty well rested.

“I don’t know. My knowledge is first-hand. I’ve watched you drink at least a hundred apple-somethings. You have a t-shirt that says “I like juice boxes” with a picture of apple juice. I have even watched you lick apple juice and horse saliva from your fingers after you feed a whole apple to Dirk and he takes it in bites and makes a mess. That’s disgusting, by the way.”

“Ehh. It’s just horse slobber. He eats the best of everything. Won’t kill me,” she shrugged as the Serendipity drink was placed on a napkin in front of her with a black straw. Her first sip was surprising. Her eyes grew wide. This is delicious! It’s boozy, bubbly apple juice. Not too sweet, not too alcoholy, and so...fresh.

“Good, yeah?”

“Amazing. Thank you,” she said, hoping one expression of gratitude could stretch to cover both the woman and her friend.

“You’re very welcome. And for you, sir?”

“Can you do a perfect martini with Filliers?”

“Oui oui. Do you have a preference for the vermouths?”

“Vermouths? Plural?” Christina interjected, puzzled.

“A “perfect” martini has a sweet one and a dry one,” Daniel supplied. He told the server he didn’t care which ones. Christina committed this information to her memory forever. It annoyed her that she didn’t know there was such a thing as a “perfect” martini. But then, everything annoyed her. “Should we see if André wants to come meet us?”

“He’s mad at me.”

“Why?” Daniel questioned. He got a look back from her implying he should already know the answer. “What’s the matter with you, then? You remind me of when Christian beats you fair and square and you can’t do anything about it but act like a petty child.”

“I gave Bettina 30 minutes on background for the TV broadcast and all she asked me about was the Olympics. I am not ready. I am pretending that’s still forever from now.” It was surprisingly easy for Christina to open to up to her fellow rider about her current state of anguish. He’d proven to her a few times that he could empathize with her specific problems, and that was a rare thing. It wasn’t stubbornness or close-mindedness on her part when she thought no one really “got” it. There were literally only a couple of people in the world who could possibly know how she felt about things when it came to her career, the balance with her personal life, and all the fringe matters. They were the only ones with similar experiences. Daniel was the only one she was actually close to, and trusted. Ironically, he was one of the people she had the most friction with in the beginning of her story with the German federation.

“Are you nervous or just not ready to process it yet?” he asked her, demonstrating some of that understanding, and patience too. He wasn’t going to tease or be dismissive.

“I’m not ready to start accepting the pressure. I know I should start now, so that it’s not like being hit by a truck when the day comes that I have to acknowledge that I’m going, hopefully, and that all the significance I’ve attached to it is...like...it’s now. It’s time. It’s happening. It’s not theoretical. I just can’t get there. I’m pretending it’s not waiting in the future to come for me. When I was in school I used to convince myself that I didn’t need to go to class, or do the reading, and I could figure it all out later. Then it was later and I was buried. I knew I was making a bad choice even as I did it. I feel exactly the same now. But I don’t want to give up all the days between now and then. Once I start letting the pressure settle in, that’s all I’ll be able to think about. And I don’t even know if I’m going yet!”

“You’re going.”

“Yeah, but I mean, you never know with-“

“Heiner said you don’t need to go to the trial. That means you’re going. It will be you, Marcus, Christian, and me. Realistically, who else would it be?” The taller, ever so slightly older and more experienced German ride cocked an eyebrow at the beautiful girl beside him and then sampled the martini offered to him with a twist.

“I don’t know.”

“Think of the horses. Who would he want right now besides Dirk, Taloubet, EVT, and Pret or Gin Chin? That’s the only question for me,” he testified, matter of fact. “Pret or Gin Chin.”

“Pret.”

“You think?”

“I think Marcus thinks.”

“That’s the right choice then.”

“I like Gin Chin.”

“You like my Killer Queen?”

“They’re related, no?”

“Yeah.”

“I love the way you ride her. She seems like she constantly wants to lose her shit and you look after her like it’s no big deal. It’s like- You gotta humor me here for a second,” Christina laughed, temporarily shelving her self-centeredness. “Whenever I watch you ride her I’m like, “Ugh, Daddy.” And- Don’t look at me like that! I get those feels. Because you help her so much and try to make it so easy for her and you don’t get upset when she’s all “I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I’M DOING AND I AM KILLER QUEEN!”,” she laughed about the young mare her teammate had recently taken on. The Belgian bay seemed pretty talented, but very green, and uncertain. “I notice you even jump up her neck a little before the fence just to let her know you’re really going with her, and she totally waits for it. I can see that flicker in her for a half a second when she’s thinking of sucking back but then doesn’t because you sit forward. I can see when you trust her not to lose her shit once in a while too. It’s sexy, man. You ride sexy. What can I say.” Christina shrugged and winked while sipping her wonderful new favorite cocktail from the straw.

“I didn’t know you watched that closely.” The other rider smiled casually and sipped his drink too after complimenting the bartender and giving her a credit card to start a tab.

“Obvs. I learn more watching all you guys than I do from the H’s, easily.”

“I think your rides on Rio are sexy, the way you mean it. Especially now that he’s so fit. I don’t know how someone your size can hold a horse together that covers ground like a bullet train, has no apparent sense of self preservation, and wants to sprint the last three strides no matter what. I watch and I know you’re telling him where to put each foot. You choreograph the 12 individual footfalls in about two blinks of the eye, and they’re always perfect. And usually you have to do it from the backseat!” he laughed. “Andreas and I were laughing a few weeks ago at a close up on the TV with you like Superman, you know? Arms straight out, like this?” Daniel demonstrated one of her more unflattering jumping positions, created by the necessity to catch up to Rio in the air after sitting back and leaning on his mouth to get him to slow down and collect. “I told him you do strength poses like that in the gym, and that clearly this horse is why,” he smiled, being slightly sarcastic. “I don’t think he believed me.”

“You should come to my house and bring some horses- Actually, everyone should. We should all school together where there’s a full course of jumps to play with. I already learn watching you guys in the schooling ring at shows but it’s different when it’s not just a warm up. And I have so much room now.”

“That’s it? No rejection that I am impressed by your riding? No assurance that it’s not that difficult?”

“Sorry. I was already past that conversation in my head when I opened my mouth,” Christina chuckled. “Thanks? I guess? I also just ignore it when guys say anything I do is sexy, even though, yes, I know you meant it the way I meant it when I said it before, and not the conventional way.”

“Are there really that many ways to mean “Ugh, Daddy”?”

“Yes! I didn’t mean “Ugh, Daddy, pull down my underwear and spank me,” or something. It’s just...ugh, Daddy. Period. End of the thought. It’s more a caretaker thing. I dunno man,” she laughed, giving up and holding out her arms. “I have Daddy Issues, capitalized, trademarked, etc. Everyone knows this. You’re the only straight dude who has ever called my riding sexy, so this is just as weird for me! Usually it’s like, Rafa, telling me I look sexy in a magazine and not to tell my sister-in-law.”

“I honestly don’t understand when I see “sexy” pictures of you in adverts.” Daniel looked over at her and made a strange face, like he was trying not to grin but not really succeeding. “It looks like you, sure, okay, but I don’t know you as a sexy person. You don’t do sexy things in the stables, I guess. I don’t know. Horse girls have never been sexy to me.”

“Gee thanks!”

“You know what I’m saying.”

“I wasn’t fishing for compliments. It’s okay.”

“Oh, you know what? I did think you were sexy once.”

“Fantastic.”

“You were lying on a curved lounge chair by the pool in Doha in a bikini and doing a magic trick.”

“Huh?”

“You had a volleyball and you were using your heel to roll it over your butt and into the middle of your back, and then it would stop and go up by your foot again. Do you remember the loungers there? They were curved.” He demonstrated a W-shape with his pointer to jog her memory about the wonderful pool furniture that gave her the favored stretching sensation in her back by turning it into a U. “The ball going up and over your behind and down to your back and then back again was mesmerizing and I didn’t know how you could do it so perfectly and continuously.”

“Magic trick, correct.” Christina winked and then had a look around the bar. It was in a fairly long and narrow space between the stairs up from the dining room and the restrooms at the back. It was half the width of the dining room because the kitchen was wedged in behind the wall of liquor bottles. Whatever was still cooking in there smelled good. It was pretty quiet inside but for the din of all the voices outside on the terrace- some laughing, some telling stories, some flirting, no doubt, and many shouting over each other. Something kind of unusual dawned on the rider while she absorbed the surroundings and decided it was a comfortable place to hang out. Daniel is my friend. We’re friends now, not just teammates, or horse show friends. Actual friends. I’m not looking around at everything in here because I’m uncomfortable, or not uncomfortable but just not comfortable, or because I have nothing to talk about. I’m perfectly fine. I have been so with him for a long time, really. I don’t know why I discount him as a friend when I think about my lack of friends. Marcus too, sort of. I don’t relate to him as well on a social, non-horse level, because he’s old. It’s a little different. But still. And D doesn’t even hit on me, so there’s that.

“Is anyone from home going to come to Tokyo with you?” her “new” friend questioned absently while he appeared to be returning a text to his partner.

“No, and I wish you’d stop saying that like it’s a definite,” she chided.

“It is. Why isn’t anyone coming? André has football already?”

“Yeah, and it’s a bit much for Lukas. I’m okay with it just being me and Tom Tom.”

“You two are a good match. How did that come to be?”

“We were assigned,” Christina giggled around her straw. “Props to Holger, I guess.”

“What about Stefanie and Kyle? They’re not coming even just to watch?”

“Stef can’t afford it, financially or time-wise, and if I’m there then I need Kyle home riding.”

“Juan Mata?”

“Football.”

“I can let you borrow my dad, I guess. He’s a pretty good horse show dad, and he’ll already be there and everything.”

“Aww, thanks, pal.”

“Serendipity is good for you. No more biting heads off. Champagne and apples go a long way for women addicted to horses and winning, I guess.”

“I just wasn’t in the mood for that kind of party,” she humbly admitted, eyes on the cement-look bar. “I wasn’t in the mood for existing alone inside my head either. That happens to me a lot. Like at Olympia. I get into this thing in my head where I need someone to just hear me out and let me get the stuff out of there but I don’t trust anybody to listen because I don’t think they’ll understand, because they don’t have the same experiences or situations as me, and then I’m sure they’ll get preachy because they don’t understand. I don’t want to talk to them to get advice or to solve something. I just want to talk at them and feel like they hear me and they get it. So I feel aggressively alone and it...sucks. I can’t talk to Schü about the Olympics. He looks so panicked whenever it comes up because he doesn’t want to say the wrong thing- like be too rah-rah, or too cautious, or overhype it, or underhype it, whatever. Then I get mad because he’s supposed to always know the best thing to do or be or say. I can’t talk to Juan either. He’s not afraid of the subject, but his faith and belief in my ability to have the exact experience in Tokyo that I want and need to have just drives me nuts. It’s not realistic. He also makes me feel stupid for ever questioning myself. My friend Nat never has anything significant or meaningful to say about sporting matters. Her only experience is as Eden’s rock, which actually means staying out of sports psychology and stuff. She’s his home away from all of it. It always seems to take me half a day too long to remember that you are the closest to fitting into my shoes. Figuratively of course, since your feet are like three times the size of mine.” Christina held a foot out in a boring T-strap sandal. Aside from being pleased with her dress, her mood was too dour to get excited about dressing for the party. Her ensemble lacked effort.

“Heiner said to me one time that he wishes you were less intelligent,” the other rider offered in response to her lengthy explanation that was really meant to be a “thank you” for lending her his ear. “It was during the Nations Cup last year. He thinks if you were more dumb, you would have less things happening inside your head to be wrapped up in- less psychological weight to have on your shoulders. We all see it, you know? It’s not hidden. Everyone can see when you’re in trouble because your ankle is collapsing, and when you’re in trouble because you have too much happening inside. Then he argued with himself and said that you wouldn’t ride as well if you were stupid, so it was a moot point. My point in sharing his confliction is that you should try to accept that you think a lot about everything, and keep finding good ways to do it, as opposed to fighting it, or being down on yourself for it. It’s who you are. There are things we all need to improve about ourselves, but we have to make sure we don’t misidentify them, and try to change the qualities that are actually our best strengths. For example, I knew I needed to learn to play nice with you and stop being so competitive, taking everything personally even when it wasn’t up to you. So I did that, and stopped getting upset at you for being selected over me, or upset at you for beating me, and refocused on being upset that anyone was selected instead, so that I could use it as motivation. Because I can’t stop being competitive. Heiner would say, I assume, that you should keep talking to us about the things that you struggle with, or that you just can’t get off your mind, instead of keeping them in and letting them turn you into a bitch or screw up your performance.”    

“I don’t always think of it though,” the girl in jade complained after drinking enough of her beverage to take it below the ice level. “I literally don’t think of you guys as resources that way until after I’ve exhausted all other avenues. I’m not used to having people in riding. I spent all my junior years learning to keep my mouth shut around everyone but my very best friend, because I was always offending people, or starting fights between others, or getting my trainers in trouble. Plus there was no one in my shoes then either. The other girls didn’t have the same attitude about their riding that I did. I just kept stuff to myself, or I told Jill, my best friend. She was very different from me.” Why am I still talking, she wondered idly. I should have just said, “Yeah, that’s right, and I’ll try to work on doing that”. I can’t get out of my own damn way today.

“I’m thrilled you think of me when you see Furry porn but not when you need a friend.”

“Okay that was like twice, dude, and you were the one who brought up Furry sex. I saw those gifs and just had to send them to you!” The lighthearted exchange about her unwanted texts helped to lift the mood, or at least to eliminate the need to wrap up the serious conversation with some kind of finality, or conclusion. The more German of the two Germans kept running with the new topic.

“Where even were you on the Internet that you found those things? You never said,” he laughed pointedly, also nearing the end of his martini.

“Buzzfeed, probably. I get bored on planes and beaches. Their stupid quizzes are addicting. I built an ideal hamburger and Buzzfeed said, of all the world leaders, I’m Angela Merkel. Isn’t that cool? She’s who I wanted to get.”

“Have you met her yet?”

“No. Maybe if we win a gold medal, eh?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you going to tell people I wanna call you Daddy?”

“Literally everyone. I’m thinking of telling the barmaid when I order the next round.”