#but i love how the artist made the ears on her mask bend as if they are an extension of herself and i... maybe they are 👀

[brutalmasks]

[lokiskitten]

Tom Hiddleston | nice acting skills

Pt2 : the changing room

Tom Hiddleston x fem!reader

Author’s note : I never originally planned to write a second part but I was being held at gun point so here’s pt2 of the “nice acting skills” imagine KSKSK

plot : after going through this rather peculiar moment, you unexpectedly bump into Tom in one of the changing rooms. From there, things take an unexpected turn.

warnings : smut ( with /legal/ age gap ), unprotected sex, extremely light and discreet spanking.

You were pulled out of your daydream session again by the exhaustingly familiar sound of the director throwing around new orders, setting you and Tom free from set as this scene didn’t necessarily needed to be filmed twice. You were now sent off to the makeup and costumes room which was located nowhere far from the place you currently sat. Tom wasn’t meant to be changing nor getting ready in the same room as you did, which was totally understandable due to the fact that you didn’t share the same gender nor age. He therefore took a different turn than you did, feet leading him to the left as you were accompanied on your right.

You were allowed in your personal changing room, the makeup lady arranging her stencils which laid on the table before the mirror. However, she suddenly seemed to remember about an important detail which she seemingly needed to be getting on the instant. You were therefore left alone with nothing but the costumes and cold cup of tea to keep you company. Sighing tiredly, you sat down on the chair which faced the mirror, eyes falling on your own tired reflexion. However, you were now able to hear the sound of the door opening again, a forced smile appearing on your lips as you expected this person who just walked in to be the makeup artist.

“Did you find what you’ve been looking fo-“ you began, eyes diverting upwards only to land onto Tom’s familiar yet unexpected silhouette. He closed the door behind himself, leaning against the wall as his strong arms crossed against his bare chest. You were now trapped with him. However, it was far from being a bother. But your naturally strong mindset forced you to put up a mask and pretend as if his naked upper body wasn’t something which disturbed your mind and senses. “Oh, it’s you.” You spoke bluntly, trying you best to hide any emotion which could’ve been a threaten to your reputation as a young and serious lady.

Tom smirked. “Yes, it’s me.” He answered, his deep voice which carried a beautiful British accent rolling off his tongue perfectly. It never failed to make your heart and crotch melt. Finally getting up from the door, the older man slowly moved towards your seat before his veiny hands decided to take ahold of the leather material. His ocean blue eyes stared at your reflection in the mirror, yet he wasn’t making eye contact but simply admiring how beautiful your body was. Gently, his hand moved up to your hair which he dragged back behind your ear, fully revealing your beautiful face to him.

“You’re beautiful.” He affirmed, making sure to regulate both his voice and tone in order to guarantee that he would look as attractive as he possibly could- even tho he wouldn’t have needed any of these forced artifacts to seduce you or anyone else. You had caught him red handed through his game, though- again- it was far from being a bother. In contrary, you enjoyed it. However, the little voice in your head couldn’t help but beg you to deny his offer whilst the other part of yourself desperately wanted you to give in his flirts. Your body easily became a battlefield for those two separate opinions to fight and argue endlessly.

Face to your lack of answer- and that mostly because you were lost in your thoughts- Tom tilted his head before moving his hands down to the opening of your robe, gently starting to pull on it in order to reveal your bare chest. However, your own hand was soon to move up to his wrist and take a firm hold of it, asserting dominance and stopping the older man through his track. Face to this hostile move, the actor couldn’t help but grow confused. He frowned and accepted to respectfully pull his hand away. “Do you not want this? I beg your pardon, I thought you shared those same feelings which previously took possession of my body.” Tom explained, referring to how he felt whilst shooting the infamous scene barely a couple of minutes ago.

“No no, I do.” Your responded, your main priority being to make sure that he wouldn’t feel like he was in the wrong nor inappropriate. You finally agreed to get up from the chair you have been sitting on, still unfortunately remaining shorter than your screen partner who towered above you. “But isn’t this... not such a good thing? I mean, I always hear people brag about not mixing your love life with coworkers.” You explained, remaining aware that Tom surely didn’t work that way, which was easily noticeable if you bothered to take a look at the female casts from the movies he’s played in and link it all up with his never ending list of ex romantic partners.

Upon noticing that he didn’t seem to truly pay attention to your words, but more to your face, you stopped yourself through your speech. He was adorning those flirty eyes of his, which no woman could potentially resist to. No matter how hard you fought, in the end, you’d always fall for him. “Can you- stop looking at me like that, with your eyes and.. eyebrows.. and all of it.” You ordered, hands gesturing towards his face. Hearing those satisfying words, Tom accentuated his facial features game. “Looking at you like what?” He responded, slowly moving closer to your body until his hands could finally wrap around your waist. It felt like a huge victory to him.

Before you could know it, Tom’s lips pressed against yours, the man offering you a genuine and intense kiss which honestly resembled the ones he’d give you on set. But for now, this didn’t matter. All that mattered was that you were sharing a wanted and needed moment with your screen partner. His hands moved down from your cheeks to your shoulders, pushing off your robe which fell off your body with ease. Unlike him, you didn’t adorn any form of underwear and was therefore left naked for the older man to cherish and enjoy. The kiss progressively intensified, both of your lips parting in order to allow each other’s tongue to come in.

As he embraced your figure, Tom slowly started to push you towards the nearest wall, the two of you stumbling upon a couple of objects before your back could finally collide with the hard material. You moaned against his mouth, knee moving up to his hip which allowed you to feel his hardening bulge against your sensitive core. Your clit was throbbing, begging for sexual satisfaction coming from the man. Feeling your leg suddenly raise against his hip, Tom’s hand moved underneath your thigh and made sure to hold it up there, offering you some free support so you wouldn’t have to carry the heavy member on your own.

Tom cared a lot about the feminine pleasure- probably more than he did care for his own- which would surely guarantee you a good time spent with him during this early afternoon.

Upon feeling that you were now wrapping your arms around his neck, Tom decided to take the initiative to pull his boxers down- setting free his hardening member which had yet to grow to its full size. He was now able to fully pick you up, hands wrapped underneath your thighs in a cautious manner. His tip wouldn’t stop colliding with your soaking hole, visibly begging for entrance without ever truly daring to cross the step. Thankfully, you knew that Tom had always been a very determined man who usually reached out for the stuff he wanted instead of waiting for people to give it to him.

Therefore, it didn’t take long for him to carefully sit you down on his cock, being able to feel that you were now wet enough to painlessly welcome in his prominent member. You guys moaned together, his forehead pressing against yours as his girth was progressively coated with your love juices. Once he reached balls deep, the actor decided to take a couple of seconds in order to allow you to adjust to his size, ocean blue eyes looking up at your face which he admired and praised more than anything in the world at the moment.

Kissing your lips, Tom began to move again, hips gently and cautiously thrusting forward and retracting backwards repetitively until he felt like he could now fasten his pace. Meanwhile, you found yourself lost through pleasure and bliss, forehead firmly pressed against his as you decided that it would probably be wiser for you to keep your mouth shut and avoid to attract anyone else’s attention. Besides, you only wanted and needed his. Moaning out loud would’ve been a great risk to take as the two of you remained aware that you were in a studio filled with thousands of working people. Therefore, Tom regulated his pleasure by wincing and hissing silently whilst you decided to carry on humming sensitively.

Your arms remained wrapped around his neck as he carried on pleasuring your cunt as well as his own member, lips praising your neck which in some way also helped him through the restricted moans process. His girth rubbed past every single sensitive spot of yours, g-spot going wild and swelling out of pleasure due to the man’s perfectly appropriate actions and mannerisms. However, and without giving you a warning, Tom suddenly pulled out in order to flip you around- you chest now facing the wall as you were soon to understand that your job was now to bend over for him. His arms had probably grown tired of carrying you, which you acknowledged and understood.

Before he decided to bend you over, his large hands moved up to your breasts from behind your back, caressing and squeezing them with a lot of lustful care before he retracted his hand back to your spine, pressing his palm against your flesh and forcing you to slightly bend over. There wasn’t much space between you and the wall, which therefore only allowed you to fold a little bit. Your own palms collided with the wall as Tom’s hand caressed all the way down to your bum, giving the flesh a gentle slap before allowing his digits to take ahold of his own girth. He guided his tip to your entrance again, taking time through his actions to make sure that he would execute them properly and painlessly. Even through lust, Tom remained a gentleman.

Feeling his hardness slide inside of you again made your legs tremble, yet Tom made sure to hold you up by giving your hips a gentle and reassuring squeeze. The muscles he had developed through the intense hours spent at the gym contracted as he began to move in and out of you as you tried your best to once again remain silent and discreet. Though, a couple of moans eventually had to escape your lips. Tom shushed you respectfully, giving your bum a light spank which stood as a punishment face to your risky behavior. Yet you refused to complain, smile appearing on your parted lips as the older man continued to pound your core.

Eventually, his hips began to stutter, thrusts gaining in sloppiness which was due to his nearing orgasm. This once Tom didn’t manage to hold back his own moans, hums and groans escaping his lips as he respectfully pulled out right before white strings of sperm could be projected against your cervix. Instead, the thick liquid landed on your back, staining your flesh. “Fuck..” he praised, taking a deep breath in before exhaling loudly. His hips continued to gently rock against yours, shaft rubbing against your upper bum as Tom wished to fully get over his orgasm.

You were left emotionally shattered, body still recovering from the intense amount of emotions and sensations which had previously taken possession of your body- brain still attempting to figure out wether this was right or negative for both of your careers.

Y’all asked : I deliver. I hope you managed to enjoy it! Requested tags : @lokis-leah @marianastudiesart @fa-me @lokistoriesblog @sunshineyrosie @delightfulheartdream ❤️

[ Every single share/comment/like means a lot to me as a writer! Please never doubt that! I acknowledge and praise each one of those interactions as they also help to motivate me. Love you guys💜 thanks for the support. ]

[pascalpanic]

Stubborn (Din Djarin x gn!Reader)

Summary: Din Djarin is a difficult man, and well, you’re just as difficult. To your surprise, the stone wall of a man might have some weaknesses too: one of them might happen to be you.

WC: 1.7k

Warnings: some cussing

A/N: This was written as part of an art swap for a friend of mine! Reader is heavily inspired by her, but gender neutral- Miki, if you’re reading this, I love youuuu <3 Follow her on instagram @miknickles, she’s a FANTASTIC artist!

You were starting to fall in love with him, you had to admit to yourself, and you hated it. You might be too hardened for love, you thought, even if you knew hardened was one word that more aptly fit the Mandalorian you worked with. His steely exterior was perpetuated by few words and his imposing physicality. He was scary, you acknowledged, when he wanted to be. Your hardness was far different; you were a warrior too, growing up on a harsh planet with harsh citizens and a harsh family. Your hardness was made of your resilience, not your fear-striking abilities. The two of you were similar: hard-headed, intelligent, committed, and damn if you both weren’t stubborn. Stubborn is one word commonly tossed around on the Razor Crest, used to describe you and Mando- Din, you catch yourself, he had told you his name- and the little green baby who lived with the two of you. Stubbornness was what drew Din to you when you first met, repairing droids in the hangar of a local port. Your obstinance was what convinced him that you could hold your own on the Crest when he’s off hunting a bounty, that you could tame the equally stubborn child he had taken into his care.

Pushing aside the revolting emotions curling inside you, you bite your lip and spit out a cuss as a spark flies between two wires you attempt to connect. “Careful, cyare. Little ears are listening,” teases Din from above you, holding the little green child that put you in this very situation.

“Shut it, tin can,” you grumble from your crouched position in the wiring console. “The brain between those little ears is exactly what caused this.” You shoot the baby a teasing glare, and the green being giggles in response, causing a smile to light up your face. “Yeah you, you little womp rat,” you tell him with a teasing snarl, scrunching your nose in pretend anger. That earns another giggle from the kid and the snarl falls, leaving you smiling. “I can’t stay mad at you,” you coo at the baby before turning back to the wiring. “Well, Mr. Djarin,” you drawl, appreciating the intimacy of finally using his name, “did you have something to say or did you come to stare at me?” You ask drily, focusing on the pieces in your hands. 

Din shakes his beskar-covered head. “I came to ask if you needed help, and clearly you do. One more spark like that and you’ll make this whole ship burst into flames.” “I don’t need help. Maybe the ship’s so flammable because this thing is a piece of junk,” you retort back, looking up at him again and holding back a smile by biting the inside of your cheek. “It’s the only pre-imperial ship that hasn’t become a fireball by now.” “It can’t be such a piece of junk if it’s still running,” he fires back, setting down the baby and scooting into the wiring console before squatting down next to you. “Let me help you, mesh’la,” the Mandalorian man offers, grabbing one of the various tools scattered around the floor.

“No. I have this under control. I’m almost done anyway,” you tell him, picking up the tape and ripping off a piece with your teeth.

 “Need I remind you that the Crest has been mine for longer? Maybe you’re better suited to droids,” he says, playful yet stoic as he takes the wires from your hands and applies the tape to fix them together.

You scowl at him and then start fiddling with a filament implanted in the wall, letting him deal with those wires. “If that was true, I could’ve and would’ve hit your reset button a long time ago. Leave me alone, I can do this on my own, Mando,” you turn to him with a playful fire in your eyes.

He shakes his head again under the helmet, bending and picking something else up. “We both know that isn’t true. I’m helping you and you’re going to like it.”

“Aw, you almost made me think there’s a human under that beskar,” you taunt, raising your eyebrows at him and challenging, rapping on the beskar of his chest with a closed fist’s knuckles. “Nope, it’s empty,” you say with a mocking frown.

Smacking your hand away, Din almost laughs through the helmet, the quiet sound he makes too low to pass through the voice filter. “I could say the same about you, cyar’ika.”

“I’m fully human, Mando, all flesh and blood,” you say in a jokingly seductive voice, pouting in a flirtatious way at him. Just like always, you remind yourself, this is just normal flirtation between two friends. As you think about what he just said, you look at his helmet, studying the curves and sharp lines chiseled into the indestructible metal. “When are you going to tell me what all these goddamn Mando’a words mean?” You ask suddenly, curiosity getting the better of you, turning to him and looking him right in the eyes through the visor of his mask. You’ve asked many times, and he always deflects it, giving either a bullshit answer or making something up to chide you.

It always amazes him how you can always find his eyes under the helmet. No one else has ever been able to always see right into his soul, through the beskar and everything, when they look at him. He turns his face away from yours, the direct eye contact too intense even though he knows you can’t see his eyes. “When you stop being so damn stubborn and let me help you.”

“Maker, Din,” you groan and continue to look at him. “You’re really trying to call me the stubborn one? You won’t even take off the helmet when I promise not to look. You won’t tell me about your life, you hide everything about yourself from me even though I tell you all of it. The only damn thing I know about you is your name. You never let me come on a hunt, even after I prove my aptitude to you.” You unintentionally start venting your frustrations with him, angrily ratcheting a bolt into the control panel to hold something else in place. “And yet you still like to call me the stubborn one,” you grunt with a particularly hard push on the wrench. 

The honesty of the words takes Din back for a moment. He didn’t expect you to actually criticize him, only be playfully harsh as the banter between the two of you normally is. The words sink in and he gives a soft nod. “Maybe I am stubborn,” he sighs and stands, leaving you to it.

It surprises you that he left that easily, and that he almost seemed like he had shown his emotion. It was rare that he gave anything away. “Wait, Din,” you call and sigh as you stand, shimmying out of the wiring space hidden in the wall. He’s already walking away, dramatic as always, and climbing up to the cockpit. You follow after him, climbing up and standing behind his chair, daring to rest a hand on each of the beskar pauldrons covering his shoulders. “Din,” you say, somewhat sharp, needing his attention back on you. He spins in his chair and you remove your hands, bringing them to rest on your hips. “That’s new, you listened,” you mutter to him. 

“Do you really want to know about me, cyar’ika?” He asks you, a hand reaching out and taking one that hangs at your side. After a beat of silence, you nod and he pulls you to him, setting you on his lap and continuing to hold your hand. “Well, then I’ll tell you.”

“Tell me what those words in Mando’a mean first,” you ask him, tilting your head and looking down at the black line carved into his mask, where his eyes are hidden.

He sighs and you can feel it in his chest, which your shoulder leans against. “Cyare means beloved. Cyar’ika means... something like sweetheart.” Your heart flutters in your chest. It’s hard to believe he’s been calling you these things the whole time and you had no clue, his brazen flirting in his native tongue being indecipherable to you. He takes a deep breath. “Mesh’la means beautiful,” he admits, voice lowering softly.

The butterflies in your chest have moved to your stomach, settling there and fluttering aggressively enough to cause a hurricane. Your natural coping mechanism comes out again, as always. “Aw, you mean it?” you ask teasingly, moving a hand to the side of his beskar helmet. 

He’s baring his emotions now, so he might as well continue, he figures. “I do,” he admits, voice barely above a whisper as it comes out of the modulator.

You’re taken aback, truly. Your mouth opens softly to say something else, but you stop, biting your lip and looking away from him. You turn back, a smile falling across your face. “I have to admit. I’ve never seen your face, but I think you’re beautiful too, Din Djarin,” you say, voice soft, and press a kiss to the beskar, exactly where his forehead rests beneath it. His breath hitches for a moment and the smile widens a little. “I like you, Din. A lot,” you admit, hand moving to his arm and gently rubbing the space between the beskar armor.

“I like you too, mesh’la,” he breathes out, a hand coming to your waist. “In fact, I absolutely adore you.” He brings you into a keldabe kiss, his forehead meeting yours with the layer of armor between them. It’s the most intimate gesture he can give while in armor, you’re fully aware, and it makes the butterflies scatter all over your body, making you absolutely tingle with the appreciation the Mandalorian’s voice held for you. 

“Din,” you ask softly, breaking your face away from his and smiling gently down at him. He cocks his head in response, waiting for the question that’s sure to follow. “What do you look like under this?” you ask, caressing the cheek of his helmet with your fingertips. 

He chuckles, a low rumble through the modulator. “You can find out when you stop being so damn stubborn, cyare.”

[mostlycompetentwriter]

On Track

F/M Pairing: Y/N x Lee Minho

Genre: Married Life AU, Romance

Warnings: Smut and Language

Word Count: 11K

Summary: Despite her reputation, Y/N is considered one of the very best agents in the music industry. Of course, it doesn’t help that she married one of her clients---notoriously stubborn and arrogant Lee Minho AKA the extremely talented Lee Know whose silky voice and amazing choreographies appeal to an enormous fan-base. A pop singer who prefers to work alone, Y/N usually obliges Minho’s preferences...until her boss demands that he collaborate with the up-and-coming and multi-talented trio, 3racha.

Well, nobody ever said that married life is easy.

For: @hwngjn​

There’s a certain decorum involved with the management of arrogant pop singers who think the entire world revolves around their singular existence. In my experience, if you want to tame these wild inclinations, then it’s best to do one of the three things: 1) leave the company ASAP with a two-week notice and a heartfelt plea for a good recommendation, 2) tolerate the existence of this pop singer and hope that he matures with age, or 3) marry this pop singer because you fell in love without understanding the fraternization clause of your contract. 

Allow me to elaborate: options one and two will leave you with enough room to continue rising through the ranks without much conflict with upper management. You see, I have firsthand knowledge because I lived through the ensuing outcomes, leaving my first job at the tender age of 23 with very little knowledge and then arduously suffering at my next position with a female artist who insisted on testing my patience. But then again, if you choose to skip options one and two and pursue option three, then you better learn to live with the consequences because it will bring the most long-term effects.

Let me start from here because, for the most part, the consequences for me were fairly minimal. The record company was, of course, incensed when they found out about my unauthorized affair. Unfortunately, Minho liked to brag about the things he cherished, and he made no secret of our relationship outside of the company. I knew it was only a matter of time before the issue was brought to the attention of Mr. Park, the company’s CEO and head producer. 

I can still remember sitting in his big office, ignoring the lingering smell of smoke, while Mr. Park shoved my management contract in my face. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he asked, to which I had no response other than my weakness for Minho’s cunning smile. “You’re done here,” he announced and my heart broke in my chest. 

Fortunately, before I could finish packing my belongings on the same afternoon, Minho had appeared at my desk with a very unhappy Mr. Park trailing behind him with an intense scowl. “Tell her,” Minho growled.

“Y/N,” he sighed. “You’ve been reinstated. Mr. Lee made a convincing argument on your behalf. Apparently, he can’t possibly work here and renew his contract without you as his manager.”

I remember glaring at Minho for his intervention, since our impromptu marriage was entirely his fault. “Thank you, sir.”

Thereafter, I was determined to do the best job I could as famed singer Lee Know’s manager, even if it meant facing scrutiny from jealous fans or bowing my head when I faced another agent in the hallways. I suppose I could deal with their scrutiny because it was better than the alternative of finding myself lounging away in Minho’s expensive condo unemployed and ruined because of my reputation. Even so, I was walking on thin glass everyday, and Minho continued to make things hard by insisting that he didn’t need to follow the rules, especially since he insisted on some one-sided feud with Mr. Park. 

For example, today Minho was scheduled for an interview with a very distinguished magazine, but my husband had decided to prioritize his never ceasing libido over regular responsibilities. “Hold still,” Minho said, smirking against the side of my neck while his hands made quick work of my skirt and panties, shoving them harshly down my legs to make room for his greedy touches. Inhibited access to the heat between my legs, presented to him in just the way he liked, meant that his fingers were currently teasing the swollen folds of my labia while I fell apart at the seams. 

I could tell that Minho wanted to take his time, but one glance at my wristwatch told me that we weren’t allowed such liberties today. “No, sir,” I said, reaching behind me to scratch my nails along his forearm. “You have an interview in ten minutes!”

“Relax,” he said, kissing delicately down the individual knobs of my spine. “I missed you today.”

“How romantic,” I deadpanned. “Can you hurry before the agency sends someone to look for us?”

As I said before, Minho was never the type to follow clear instructions, and he didn’t like the fact that his agency was rather strict when it came to scheduling. He liked to spite the men upstairs whenever an opportunity arose, such as prolonging needless foreplay when I was already dripping down my thighs because of his ministrations. I reached behind me for his belt, attempting to undo the zipper and release the erection straining the material.

“What’s your hurry, sweetheart?” he purred, knocking away my hand. 

“My job as your manager,” I returned, fervently trying to hasten our unexpected intimacy. 

“Well, as your favorite client, I suggest you bend over for me so I can fuck this little pussy.”

His words went straight to the tight coil offering no resistance the longer Minho continued to speak dirty words into my ears. “Did you lock the door?”

“Why? Are you expecting someone?”

I frowned, ready to offer a snarky retort before the words were wiped clean from my head when I felt the tip of his cock sink into my awaiting heat. “What was that, sweetheart?” he asked and I moaned loudly because he was suddenly intense with his movements, leaving no room to gather my bearings before he was fucking at a harsh pace.

Actually, in hindsight, I should’ve seen this coming when I met Minho in my office for the very first time. He walked in wearing a loose-fitting tank top and tight skinny jeans like he was attending a fraternity party instead of a company meeting. Minho’s steps were completely assured, sunglasses framing his face perfectly and standing out against the smooth tone of his skin. “Y/N?” he asked with a smirk.

“Miss Y/L/N,” I said with a roll of my eyes. “The agency assigned you to my care.”

“Really?” Minho asked, cocksure and smiling bright as he made himself comfortable on my futon without permission. “Miss, you say?”

“We go by professional titles, Mr. Lee,” I said, glaring at him from behind my computer screen. 

“Sure,” he dismissed, reaching for the flower vase on my coffee table. “How does this work exactly? You do whatever I ask, right?”

“Put the vase down and pay attention.”

Minho’s smile vanished at my tone. “What did you say?”

“Mr. Lee, the agency forewarned me about your...behavior. I must assure you that it won’t be tolerated because my job is to make sure that you do everything outlined in your contract. I’m sure you didn’t bother taking the time to read it, but there are certain things the company expects of you other than posting to your Twitter at 3:00 AM in the morning.”

I took a deep breath, satisfied that he appeared to be listening. “For example, the company expects your first album release this October. It’s my job to make sure you attend all recording sessions. Furthermore, promotions will be anticipated leading to the album’s delivery to applicable streaming platforms. That means interviews, photoshoots, award shows, and radio performances. Please understand that I’m one of the very best this agency has to offer, which means my clients demonstrate respect and high aptitude for their work and how it reflects on the company. From the moment you first stepped through that door, I knew that you lacked both of those capabilities.”

I stood up from my desk, walking around to the front to regard the man who suddenly found it difficult to look at me. “Here’s a warning, Mr. Lee. If you fail to adhere to my standards, then I won’t hesitate to ask the company to find you a new manager, understand?”

Minho scoffed, snatching his sunglasses away before nodding his head. “Fine.”

Satisfied, I reached behind me for the manila folder I prepared for his arrival. “Now, let’s review your schedule.”

Of course, that was two years ago and despite the whirlwind of mischievousness that encapsulated Minho, including several scandals, an endless barrage of paparazzi, and several intense arguments with upper management, I wouldn’t trade our relationship for anything else in the world. You see, I never counted on falling in love with an idol singer, but he managed to charm his way into my good graces with an irresistible smile and warm personality masked beneath his arrogant facade of indifference. He always brought a smile to my face, even in the midst of an intense orgasm bent over my desk as his cock hit deep inside. 

He fingers wrapped around my wrist, dragging my watch into his line of vision. “Two minutes, Y/N.”

I groaned in complaint, wondering how someone who graduated college with a flawless 4.0 GPA continuously broke company rules on a daily basis.

The following morning, I found myself crushed between several executives for an undisclosed company meeting. “Everyone!” Mr. Park announced. “I have exciting news for this year’s Christmas theme.”

A chorus of groans greeted his words. “Sir, I thought we were leaving the decision for the talent?” another agent spoke up.

“Yes, but I think this will work better for our core demographics,” Mr. Park said. “Y/N!”

I sat up straighter, attempting to look more alert than I felt inside. Unfortunately, Minho had kept me up all night in the small recording studio he built in our shared condo, asking me for continuous feedback on his latest project. “Sir?”

“Mr. Lee gave us a very interesting demo last week for a recent project.”

“Oh?”

“I’d like to make it a collaboration effort with our talent,” Mr. Park said and my heart seized in my chest because I knew firsthand just how much Minho despised working with other people. “3racha have landed their first platinum album. We need to capitalize on their success!”

“You want a collaboration between 3racha and Minho?” I asked, swallowing hard at the idea of telling my husband. 

“Exactly,” Mr. Park said with a smile. “For the music video, I was thinking we could also invite Hwang Hyunjin and Lee Felix to choreograph something for the project.”

“How...exciting?” I offered, cringing at my tone. Thankfully, Mr. Park was already addressing 3racha’s manager while I stared at my empty coffee mug and wondering if I would need more caffeine to survive.

Afterwards, Mr. Park adjourned our meeting and I returned to my office to find Minho waiting for me perched on the edge of my desk. “Sweetheart,” he greeted me, pulling me in by my waist to press a welcoming kiss to my pout. “You seem worried?”

I leaned back enough to meet his gaze. “You better promise me that you won’t get upset and scream.”

Minho rolled his eyes. “When have I ever done that?”

A million scenarios filtered through my mind before I decided to leave those memories in the past. “I just finished a company meeting.”

“Oh yeah?” he nodded, playing with the necklace resting against my collarbone. “What happened?”

I took a deep breath, searching for the right words. “Mr. Park had an... interesting suggestion.”

Minho glanced up and narrowed his eyes. “This doesn’t sound good.”

“He wants a collaboration,” I said, deciding to go for the killing blow before I could lose any more of my fading confidence. “The new demo you played for the company. He wants you to work with 3racha.”

Minho was quiet for a moment before he chuckled. “Really? Well, I don’t think so, sweetheart. You know how I feel about those things.”

I released an unsteady exhale. “It might be an opportunity?”

He shook his head. “You just march your cute little ass back into Park’s office and tell him I’m not interested.”

I groaned, pulling out of Minho’s arms to walk around my desk. “I have no power to tell Mr. Park anything.”

“Why not? You’re my manager!”

“Yeah, but he’s the head producer and owner,” I remarked, offering him an unimpressed look as I sat down to unlock my computer. “Besides, I think it’s a cool idea for the fans.”

Minho frowned. “Fuck, if I’m collaborating with anyone, then it’s gonna be Sam Smith or Post Malone.”

“As likely as that sounds,” I started with a dramatic sigh, “I think you should start small and work your way to the top.”

“But 3racha?” Minho grimaced. “Those fucking guys think they’re the absolute shit around here.”

“That sounds familiar.”

“Not funny,” Minho grumbled. “It’s my demo. I should be able to choose who I work with.”

“I think you’ve forgotten the fine print in your contract,” I said, reaching across the desk to offer his hand a gentle squeeze. “Please don’t make a big deal out of this. Can’t you make an exception...for me?”

Minho sighed, and I offered my absolute best pout in return.

“You’re lucky that I love you.”

Later that afternoon, I was surprised to meet Mr. Kim in the elevator on my way to the lobby. It was heavily rumored around the office that 3racha’s manager was notorious for locking himself away in the studio with his favorite clients. “Y/N,” he greeted me. “Are you busy?”

“Not really,” I said, holding up a folder. “I was bringing some files to Mr. Park.”

“Leave them with his secretary,” Mr. Kim insisted. “I thought it might be a good idea for you to meet my clients since we’ll be working together.”

“Minho is busy with an interview right now.”

“Oh, that’s fine,” Mr Kim said. “Maybe it’s better if you talk to them first?”

I considered his offer, noting the disheveled appearance of his suit. “How long have you been trying to find me?”

“Does right now work for you?” he continued, pointedly ignoring my question.

“If you must insist,” I grumbled. “But they’ll have to meet at some point.”

“Yes, but I think we can delay the inevitable,” Mr. Kim said with a pointed look which I knew was directed at my husband.

“Fine.”

My easy agreement was met with a satisfied smirk to which I resisted the urge to remind Mr. Kim that I was only meeting his clients to make things easier for everyone involved in the collaboration. Of course, I had no room to talk down to my superiors and Mr. Kim’s credentials were practically golden compared to the minimal mark I had left on the company and its prolific talent. Instead, I let out a shaky exhale, wondering if it was too late to reconsider the fight I endured on a regular basis to keep my position with the company.

“Here we are,” Mr. Kim grinned. The elevator stopped on the top floor with a resounding alarm. “I think you’ll find my clients to be satisfactory.”

“In comparison to Minho, you mean?” I asked, narrowing my eyes as Mr. Kim urged me to follow him down a narrow hallway. I vaguely recognized our destination, but I usually never lingered around the studios.

“Did I say that?”

“It was implied,” I sighed, crossing my arms.

“Well, that wasn’t my intention, Y/N. You, of course, understand that nothing between us is personal?”

“We’re colleagues, Mr. Kim,” I replied. “That defines our relationship.”

“In that case...” he trailed off, pausing outside one of the doors. “I’m excited to work together.”

I rolled my eyes when he turned his back, but held my tongue as he reached for my hand to drag me inside the room. Immediately, my eyes were drawn to the plethora of monitors and screens dragging the walls of the entertainment studio. It reminded me of my early time as an intern during college, overwhelmed by the inner workings of the record company I was privileged to support, learning everything about the business. There was also a time, however briefly, when I first entered my current company as nothing more than an executive assistant for Mr. Kim who enjoyed reminding me of the fact, especially when his clients continued to eclipse mine in popularity. And that included the three men who offered us polite smiles when we interrupted their session. 

“Y/N,” Mr. Kim said, dragging me further into the room. “I thought it might be nice to formally offer introductions. I’d like you to meet Bang Chan, Han Jisung, and Seo Changbin.”

“I’m very excited,” I said, taking on a professional tone as I extended my hand to Chan. “My client is looking forward to your future collaboration.”

Chan accepted my outstretched hand, curling his fingers around mine. “Likewise.”

I withdrew my hand slowly, offering Jisung and Changbin a courteous nod. “Mr. Kim insisted that we meet today.”

“Yes,” Chan nodded. “But your client is noticeably absent.”

I swallowed hard as I met his gaze. “Minho is busy with an interview.”

“I see,” Chan remarked, taking a step back. “Well, 3racha is working until this evening. Perhaps Minho could join us here after his meeting.”

I turned around to look at Mr. Kim who only shrugged in response as if it hadn’t been his idea to keep Minho as far away as possible until necessary. I rolled my shoulders, schooling my expression as I gave Chan an airy laugh. “That only makes sense, doesn’t it? Let me send him a message.”

“In the meantime,” Changbin sighed from behind us. “We can continue with the recording.”

“Keep us updated, Y/N,” Chan said, returning to his work while I started on drafting a message for Minho.

To Minho: Tell me when your interview ends

“Y/N,” Mr. Kim cleared his throat. “I hope Minho’s schedule is cleared for tomorrow?

I raised one eyebrow in question. “Tomorrow?”

“We’d like to start the first recording session,” Chan replied. “Mr. Park played us some of Minho’s demo and we have some ideas for the track.”

“Oh,” I responded, completely out of my element when it came to the actual creation of music despite the many nights I spent with Minho in our home studio. “I’m sure we can make it work.”

“Perfect,” Mr. Kim declared, pulling out his cellphone with a grin. “I’ll make the arrangements on my end.”

Mr. Kim stepped out into the hallway, leaving me alone with his clients who were all watching me with barely concealed curiosity. “You know,” Chan started, “I’ve listened to Minho’s albums. He doesn’t seem like the type of person to write love songs.”

“He likes to experiment,” I said, blushing when I recalled the way he had intimately explained the meaning behind his new demo, but there was no way I was telling anyone that the song was about me. 

“Is he...open to criticism?” Jisung asked hesitantly.

“Why? Is there something wrong with the demo?”

“Of course not!” Jisung immediately corrected. “I just thought I’d ask because we have some cool suggestions to improve the overall quality. But I don’t know if Minho would listen.”

It was highly unlikely. “I’m sure he’s open for improvement,” I lied, wincing when I felt my phone vibrate from inside my pocket.

Minho: Call me.

“One second, gentlemen,” I said, cringing at my tone before escaping into the hallway. I held up my cell phone reluctantly, tapping on Minho’s contact name to place the call. He answered almost immediately. “Minho?”

“Sweetheart,” came his voice from the other end. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Yeah,” I said with a heavy exhale. “I’m with 3racha.”

He was silent on the other end for an uncomfortable duration. “Why?”

“Mr. Kim caught me on the way to Mr. Park’s office,” I said. “He insisted we meet.”

“Really? Are you having fun?”

I inwardly groaned at Minho’s tone, recognizing it as the same one he reserved when he was feeling particularly annoyed. “They want to meet you too.”

I was met with another long silence and then- “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

I paced outside the studio entrance, wondering if Minho had suddenly had a change of heart in the brief amount of time he had been notified of the collaboration project. After all, everything would be a lot easier if my husband wasn’t so stubborn, a perfectionist in every sense of the word who had trouble delegating work to other people, especially when he didn’t trust them. But for this to be successful, Minho would need to respect 3racha as capable artists who knew what they were doing when it came to creating hit singles.

“This feels more like an intervention,” Minho suddenly announced, trudging down the hallway and pulling me out of my foreboding thoughts.

“Then don’t give me a reason to be nervous,” I said, accepting his brief kiss before reaching out for the door handle. “Promise me you’ll behave?”

“I’ll try,” Minho grumbled, and that was the only confirmation I received before letting the literal beast into the jungle..

Chan was the first to realize Minho’s arrival, standing up from the couch to greet Minho with a professional smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Minho glared at Chan’s outstretched hand. “I’m not thrilled about this collaboration.”

I shook my head, resisting the urge to grab Minho’s hand and force him to feign politeness for once in his life. “Oh,” Chan said, retracting his arm. “I just thought we should get along since we’re working together.”

“A temporary arrangement,” Minho said, clicking his tongue as he turned around to look at me. “Y/N can handle the PR stuff.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” I quipped, trying to lighten the air even though Minho had more or less successfully generated enough tension to last a lifetime. 

“Mr. Lee, my clients were hoping to schedule a session tomorrow,” Mr. Kim said. “We’d like to start on the collaboration as soon as possible.”

“Sure,” Minho said, jaw clenching to betray that he wasn’t entirely happy. “I’d like to work quickly.”

A long, insufferable silence ensued while Minho took his time studying the three artists he was expected to share his newest creation. Finally, Mr. Kim interrupted the never-ending staring contest, flashing a forced smile. “Bring the demo with you, Mr. Lee, and anything else you’ve been working on.”

Minho nodded. “I’ve already finished most of the song.” I took a deep breath, waiting until Minho turned around to look at me. “I have something to do, so I’ll see you at home.”

I bowed my head, holding my tongue until the sound of the door closing broke whatever spell Minho had cast over our sullen group. “Pleasant isn’t he?” Changbin snorted.

“He’s just busy,” I tried to excuse, but the sentiment fell short and I suddenly had the desire to run down the hall with my arms flailing above my head.

I guess we can consider day one a complete and total failure.

Despite the awkward tension of Minho’s first meeting with 3racha, I was determined that the remainder of the collaboration would endure no further obstacles. Accordingly, I woke up early the next morning with every intention of playing the part of the mediator, which meant doing everything possible to improve Minho’s mood. For example, my husband was notorious for being intimidating at work, but he was nothing short of soft at home and I took advantage of his early-morning clinginess by surprising him with breakfast in bed and open arms without worrying about rushing through our usual routine. 

“You want something,” Minho said, one arm pulling me close to his chest while his other hand made busy work of his breakfast.

“What makes you say that?” I asked.

“In general? Maybe it’s the fact that we’re already twenty minutes behind schedule and you aren’t losing your shit.”

I opened one eye, watching him as he swallowed down the remainder of his orange juice. “I’m comfortable.”

“Really?” Minho snickered, looking down with a knowing glance. “Sweetheart, you’re usually pushing me out the door right about now.”

“Well, things have been hectic at the company, so I thought it might be nice to treat ourselves.”

“I assume you’re talking about my required collaboration with the three idiots,” Minho said. 

“I’m concerned,” I continued. “Minho, you hate working with the other artists, but this isn’t something we can just walk away from.”

“I understand,” Minho sighed. “I don’t want you to worry about me or the collaboration. I promise to be a good boy.”

I rolled my eyes at his tone. “That’s a great way to instill confidence.”

“They’re irritating,” Minho continued. “My inbox is full of messages and I hate email.”

“Welcome to the 21st century.”

“Are you sure Mr. Park wanted this?”

“Minho,” I said, slowly pulling myself out of his arms. “Stop thinking about the project like it’s some sort of punishment. Consider it an opportunity instead.”

“Please feel free to elaborate.”

“3racha are incredibly famous and they have a considerable fanbase,” I said. “When those fans hear your voice on the record, they might start paying more attention to your music.”

Minho exhaled, chest falling beneath my hands. “I see your point, but I don’t like it.”

“Nobody said you had to like it,” I reminded him. “Be nice to them.”

“What are you asking me to do?” my husband groaned, rolling over onto his stomach.

I quickly straddled his waist, working my fingers into the tense muscles of his shoulders. “I know you don’t like the collaboration, but it won’t last forever and then you can go back to working on your solo projects.”

“I guess, but only if you come to all the recording sessions.”

I grinned triumphantly, even if it was only one victory in a long history of tedious arguments with my stubborn husband. 

Mr. Kim was a very impatient man, and I was only somewhat surprised to see him standing by the main entrance when we finally arrived at the company.  “Minho, you needed to be in the recording studio...” he trailed off, glancing at his wristwatch with a frown. “Ten minutes ago.”

My husband scoffed. “I don’t work on your time, Mr. Kim.”

“We had a late start,” I intervened. “I’ll make sure he gets there soon, Mr. Kim.”

The older man grunted, clearly displeased with Minho’s behavior. Thankfully, Minho had the decency to wait until he was well out of hearing range before further disparaging Mr. Kim’s character. “Sweetheart, I’m doing this for you,” Minho said, glaring over my shoulder at Mr. Kim’s retreating form. “But I don’t appreciate being told what to do.”

“That’s how he is,” I said. “I used to work for him as an assistant. He was always keeping everyone busy. Time wasted is money lost.”

Minho snickered at my poor imitation of Mr. Kim’s accent. “I’d kick his skinny ass if I was any less patient.”

I resisted the urge to laugh at Minho’s “restraint” because my husband was notorious for acting without consideration for the consequences. “Don’t be late for your first recording session.”

Minho pouted, looking down at me with wide, brown eyes. “You aren’t coming?”

“I’ll be there soon,” I promised him with a quick kiss. ��I have something to do first.”

Minho was hesitant to leave me behind, but I offered him another encouraging kiss before retreating in the opposite direction to my office. It seemed that I would need reinforcements for this particular occasion, and I knew there were only two men who I could force to help me. As such, I found Jeongin and Seungmin loitering around their desks, passing back and forth what appeared to be a paper airplane. “I wasn’t aware I made any prior aviation requests.”

Jeongin let out a small whine, quickly disposing of the distraction in the bin next to his desk. “Sorry, Mrs. Lee.”

“Look, I’m actually in a hurry today and there’s too much going on for me to handle your hijinks,” I said, beckoning the interns to follow me into my office. “I have an important assignment for you.”

“Of course!” Seungmin agreed, walking ahead to grab the door. “Whatever you need, Mrs. Lee.”

“It’s about Minho.”

“Lee Minho?”

I turned around to glare at Jeongin. “Who else? Or did I receive notice of another client with the same name?”

Jeongin shook his head furiously. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Lee. It’s just...”

“Minho has a history with interns,” Seungmin finished. “And maybe people in general.”

I laughed at their suggestions. “You’ll be with me the entire time, alright?”

They both visibly relaxed. “So we don’t have to help him?”

“Not directly,” I affirmed, moving around my desk. “Sit down, boys.” They both complied quickly, looking up at me with wide and innocent eyes that reminded me of my days in university. “Minho and 3racha have a recording session scheduled for this afternoon.”

Jeongin squealed from his chair. “The 3racha! I love their music! Oh, do you think it’d be too much to ask for an autograph?”

Upon seeing my glare, Jeongin quickly apologized. “Would it be too much to resist that urge, Mr. Yang?”

The younger boy sighed. “Sorry, Mrs. Lee.”

“Anyway,” I continued, ignoring their antics. “I have your assignments.”

Seungmin leaned forward expectantly. “Whatever you need, Mrs. Lee!”

“Your job,” I said, glancing back and forth between Jeongin and Seungmin, “is to make sure that Minho doesn’t piss off 3racha.”

“How?” Jeongin asked with sad eyes that almost forced me to change my mind on the spot.

“Just make sure you’re at their recording sessions with me,” I said. “Intervene whenever it seems like they might argue.”

“Intervene?”

I sighed impatiently. “I don’t know, improvise or something, but nothing bad needs to happen or Mr. Park will chew my ass out for disrupting a perfectly good collaboration opportunity.”

Seungmin and Jeongin looked at each other before sighing in defeat. “Does this mean we’ll be getting a raise?”

Here’s the thing about my job: despite Minho’s insistence, he was not the only client I represented. For example, I was also currently working on the debut of a new boy group who were incredibly talented and highly charismatic. They were also obedient and respectful, doing whatever they could to make my job easier even though I never asked them to sacrifice their free-time to practice their dancing and singing. When I worked with their leader, I couldn’t help but think that my job was considerably easier in comparison to the extra effort sometimes required to fix Minho’s mistakes, like the time he showed up an hour late for an interview because I forgot to set the alarm in our bedroom. Nonetheless, it always seemed like I was doing something extra to remedy Minho’s abrasive nature, which explains why I was prepared to sacrifice two of the company’s interns for the betterment of the future.

“Are you ready?” I asked the younger boys, lingering by the doorway to the studio.

Seungmin managed a nod while Jeongin murmured something that I decided to interpret as his approval. I knocked on the door expectantly, slightly relieved when Minho greeted me on the other side. “There you are,” he said. “We couldn’t possibly start without you.”

I rolled my eyes, but followed him inside with my interns hot on my heels. Minho retired to the couch, hunched over his laptop as he worked with a frown. Meanwhile, Chan, Jisung, and Changbin were busy adjusting the sound equipment while Mr. Kim watched his clients with eager eyes.

“Stay here,” I said to my nervous interns before joining Minho on the couch. “Do you actually plan to help them?”

“Believe it or not, Y/N,” Minho said. “I’m not actually procrastinating...just putting the finishing touches on the initial demo.”

He lifted one of the earbuds, offering it to me with a grin. “Are you trying to ask me something?”

Minho scoffed. “Will you please listen to my finished demo?”

I snatched the earbud from him in response, plugging my right ear and blocking out the lingering noise from the studio. The soft cadence of the piano started to play from the computer, shortly followed by Minho’s familiar breathy vocals that never ceased to amaze me. My husband was gifted with a profoundly gorgeous voice that could reach high notes that even I would struggle to obtain.

“My voice sounds angelic, wouldn’t you agree?” Minho asked.

“I see your ego has somehow managed to grow overnight.”

Minho chuckled, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to my lips. “Don’t worry, I don't intend to sabotage the collaboration...I worked too hard on this demo.”

“I guess we can start then,” I said, stretching my arms high above my head as I waited for Minho to eject his flash drive. From the corner of my eye, I spotted Jisung approaching the two of us with a hesitant smile. “Good morning, Jisung,” I said, nudging Minho when he continued to remain silent.

“Let’s get this over with,” he said, holding up the flashdrive. “I prepared most of the song.”

“Really?” Jisung questioned, accepting the device from Minho. “I’d like to listen.”

Jisung returned to the sound booth and Chan accepted the flash drive with a brief glance over his shoulder at Minho. My husband remained silent while Chan opened the corresponding file on the computer and everyone listened with admirable concentration while Minho’s sweet music and tender voice filled the empty studio space.

“It’s good,” Changbin acknowledged at the end, even though his tone was somewhat reluctant.

“Good enough on its own,” Minho muttered and I shot him a warning look. “Fine,” he begrudged. “I have some ideas on the arrangements.”

“Sure,” Chan nodded, leaning back against the sound booth. 

“We can split up the parts,” Minho continued. “I’ll handle the chorus.”

“I see,” Chan acknowledged. “I guess that means you want us to take the verses?”

“Logical, isn’t it?” Minho snarked. “I suppose you can add a rap verse or two since that’s your...thing.”

“I could try and sing as well,” Jisung offered. “We could harmonize over the final chorus.”

“You sing?” Minho snorted. “I thought you were a rap group.”

“Does that automatically disqualify us from being singers?” Changbin asked gruffly.

“Of course not!” I interfered, inserting myself effectively between Minho and Changbin. “I’ve heard some of your vocal work and it’s absolutely beautiful.”

Minho grumbled something indecipherable under his breath from behind me, but I ignored him and continued to do my absolute best to ensure the recording session progressed as smoothly as possible. “I hope you don’t mind, but my interns will also be joining us today for their field work.”

“That’s fine with me,” Chan spoke up from his position behind the sound station. “Should we start with finalizing arrangements?”

I ushered Minho forward whose expression revealed his reluctance. However, since he was on his best behavior, Minho started conversing with Chan and the others about arranging the vocals and rap verses for the song. In return, I sat down on the couch with my interns since I wasn’t skilled enough to comprehend their impressive knowledge of song production. I knew Mr. Kim was also quite unfamiliar with their vernacular, but the proud man continued to linger around the artists as if he could possibly offer something beneficial to the professionals.

I scoffed at the idea, turning to look at Seungmin who was busy playing some sort of application on his phone. “Is this your way of doing a good job?”

He jumped at the sound of my voice, closing out of his game before shoving his phone back into his pocket. “I’m paying attention!”

From my other side, Jeongin sighed happily. “Han has the best voice.”

I tried not to laugh at Jeongin’s starstruck expression, especially since Han Jisung was a very impressive vocalist, singing Minho’s lyrics like they had come from his own imagination. “He’s quite talented,” I agreed, studying my husband to try and determine if he also shared the same opinion.

But Minho was difficult to read when he was focused on his music. He never spoke during Han’s performance, waiting until the younger boy was finished before addressing him expectantly from the recording booth. Minho sighed, pressing the button to allow him to speak directly to Jisung. “It was alright for a rapper.”

I resisted the urge to bang my head against the wall as Jisung glowered at Minho. “I’m not just a rapper.”

“The tone isn’t right,” Minho carried on as if Jisung hadn’t spoken, “we need tighter vocals.”

“My vocals are fine!” Jisung bristled and I shoved at Jeongin’s arm who immediately jumped into action. The younger intern stood up abruptly, the unexpected action commanding the attention of the entire studio...

“Who wants coffee!”

I sighed at his dramatics, but it was a decent distraction. “Why not?” Chan asked, reclining back in his chair. “It seems like we have a lot of work to do.”

Sadly, truer words had never been spoken.

Graciously, Minho managed to keep his more radical opinions to himself for the remainder of our scheduled recording sessions with 3racha. Of course, my husband always had his ways of insinuating an insult through carefully chosen words. Nonetheless, I think all parties involved knew it would be to everyone’s benefit if we finished recording the new song without arguing about Minho’s dismissive comments. 

In any case, Mr. Park was thrilled with the final result, inviting me and Mr. Kim to his office after listening to the finished product. “This is exactly what I envisioned,” he said with a bright smile. “The fans will love this!”

“It was a process, sir,” I admitted, sheepishly offering Mr. Kim what I hoped was a sincere apology.

“I’ve scheduled a shooting day for the music video,” Mr. Park said. “I have the perfect concept for the song!”

“I’m sure it’s brilliant, sir,” Mr. Kim added.

“Lee Felix and Hwang Hyunjin have agreed to choreograph the track,” Mr. Park said. “They have some very interesting ideas for your clients.”

It was only then when I remembered that Minho liked to arrange his own dances, but since we were already this far into the collaboration, he might reluctantly agree once more. “We’ll be there,” I reassured my boss.

Unfortunately, I knew it would be a horrible shooting day when I walked outside with Minho and saw a gray sky and light misting of rain. “This is already a mess,” I said, dragging my still sleepy husband to the car. 

“How long will this take?” Minho grumbled.

“If you’re willing to cooperate,” I said, fixing him with a stern glance, “then I’d imagine we can finish by this evening.”

Minho yawned. “I hate music video shoots.”

“You poor thing,” I sighed. “Whenever you finally decide to become a director, then I’m certain you’ll insist on controlling that aspect of music production as well.”

“I feel like you understand my vision, Y/N,” Minho said with an airy laugh. “I’m too tired to argue today.”

I exhaled a sigh of relief, hoping that he was being honest. “Mr. Park invited the company’s best choreographers. Please don’t insist on doing your own performance.”

“As long as they won’t have me doing anything less than artistic,” Minho said. “We should be fine.”

I chose not to take my husband’s words to heart as we drove to the shooting sight together in silence. It had started to steadily rain the longer we drove, and I had a feeling that the sky itself was foreshadowing the impending breakdown threatening to destroy all the progress we made. But I was also an optimist, and Minho was usually the least abrasive when it came to shooting music videos.

I parked my car next to the company’s van, watching a few regular staff members unload equipment from the back. “Y/N, it’s not too late for us to drive to that adorable little breakfast restaurant we like so much,” Minho reminded me.

“Shoot the video and I’ll treat you to a gourmet dinner,” I said, reaching across the console to squeeze my husband’s hand. 

He was still reluctant, but I was proud when he reached into the backseat for our umbrella. We stood close together, Minho’s hand firm around my waist. In the distance, I easily found Mr. Kim talking with his clients as they fought to stay dry under one of the company’s tents.

Mr. Kim saw me first, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “Y/N, you’ve decided to keep us waiting again.”

“Blame it on the weather,” I said, closing the umbrella as Minho wandered over to talk with one of the directors.

“Oh! You mean the rain pushing us into a delay? I guess I didn’t notice,” Mr. Kim returned, rolling his eyes as he led me further into the crowd of people. I faintly recognized the younger men dressed in gorgeous outfits, recalling their appearance in various music videos from some of the company’s most distinguished artists. “Y/N,” Mr. Kim smiled. “I’d like you to meet Lee Felix and Hwang Hyunjin. They have some excellent suggestions for the music video.”

“The honor is mine,” I said, bowing respectfully to Felix and Hyunjin. “Minho is eager to work with you.”

Felix smirked. “You don’t have to lie to us, Mrs. Lee. We know your husband prefers to work alone.”

“Ah,” I murmured. “His reputation precedes him.”

“I hope he can appreciate our efforts,” Hyunjin added. “Felix and I have been working on some new choreography for the track.”

“He’s being compliant today,” I said. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate everything you’ve done.”

“There isn’t much of a choice,” Mr. Kim said, startling when the director attempted to speak over the white-noise of the tent’s occupants.

“Attention! We’re starting inside the school for the first scene.”

I met Minho’s eyes over the crowd of moving staff, nodding for him to obey the director’s command. “What’s the concept, Mr. Kim?”

“Friends-to-lovers?” Mr. Kim shrugged. “Your pretty husband is the main character, which I’m sure will please him greatly.”

“It’s a high school setting?”

“Yes, and he has a crush on a school girl,” Mr. Kim said. “You should know this very well, Mrs. Lee, didn’t he seduce you in the same way?”

I ignored his jab. “And 3racha?”

“Protective friends, I guess,” Mr. Kim said. “The director assured me that it wouldn’t take long to film.”

“I hope not,” I said. “The less Minho has to be here, the better.”

“Cut!” the director growled. “Mr. Lee, this is not the same choreography that we discussed with Felix and Hyunjin.”

“I tried to improvise,” my husband defended himself.

There were less than two scenes left to film and I was very close to dragging Minho away from the film shooting and knocking some sense into him. “Follow the script we discussed,” the director said. “Let’s take five.”

Chan glared at Minho as he snatched a bottle of water from the snack table. “Is it too much to ask you to cooperate, Minho?”

My husband ignored Chan, pausing in front of me to bring his forehead against mine. “I’m tired.”

I shot Chan an apologetic smile as I smoothed my hands through Minho’s hair. “I’m sorry.”

He pulled back to look at Chan who was engrossed in conversation with Jisung and Changbin. “He’s impossible to work with.”

“What’s wrong now?” I sighed, feeling another impending headache courtesy of Minho’s behavior.

“I hate Bang Chan,” Minho said. “He keeps looking at your ass.”

“Who cares?” I nearly shouted, attracting the attention of a few camera workers. “Minho, the shooting is almost over. Please, for the sake of my mental sanity, can you try to listen to the director?”

Minho’s eyes betrayed his exhaustion. “I want greasy food for dinner and a cheesy movie when I get home.”

I laughed, amused by Minho’s behavior. “Whatever you want.”

“Minho!” the director yelled. “We need you back on set.”

Minho closed his eyes and sighed. “He’s lucky I’m a professional.”

I was lingering by the snack table, picking my way through the bowl of skittles because I only liked the red kind, when I heard the unexpected sound of yelling from somewhere inside the school. My husband’s voice was easy to detect about the noise, and I stuffed a handful of candies into my mouth before deciding to investigate. As much as I’d like to imagine that the yelling was a part of the music video, common sense told me that my husband had likely gotten into another confrontation with the director.

However, the last thing I expected to see was Minho marching through the open doors of the school with Chan following him with clear annoyance. “I’m telling you it’s not good enough,” Chan said, frowning when Minho stopped by my side.

“I don’t want to film it again,” Minho said. “Besides, your reaction was genuine. The best ‘acting’ you’ve done all day.”

“What’s going on?” I demanded.

“Nothing,” Minho said, glaring at Chan as he reached for my hand. “The collaboration required a song and we have a finished copy and a music video. I’ve done my part, so if you’ll kindly excuse my wife and I...”

Chan shook his head. “Do whatever you want, Minho. I don’t care anymore.... But the sad part in all of this is how much I was sincerely excited to work with you, despite your reputation.”

Minho seemed at a loss for words, glancing back and forth between me and Chan. “I can’t share your sentiment, Chan,” he finally said. “I think it’s best if we make this a one time thing.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Chan agreed with a disappointed sigh.

I could only helplessly stand aside as the two bickered, wondering if it was too late to formally retire.

Sunday was the only day of the week where I could actually enjoy myself without having to worry about the company or the never-ending demands of my clients, with the exception of my husband. “Y/N,” Minho slurred from next to me in our bed.

I made a vague noise of recognition, pulling the blankets closer to my chin because it was too cold in the apartment. “What?”

“Your phone is vibrating,” Minho said, and I managed to crane my head back just enough to realize that he was right.

I reached out my hand to feel for the stupid thing on the nightstand, pulling it close enough to read the message displayed across the screen:

From Mr. Kim: Mr. Park planned some sort of elaborate interview/performance for the new collaboration. Make sure Minho is at the company tomorrow by noon.

“Who is it?” Minho asked, using one arm to drag me closer to his welcoming heat.

“Mr. Kim,” I murmured in return.

“Why?” Minho growled.

“Apparently, you have an interview with 3racha tomorrow. Mr. Park wants a live performance for the debut of the collaboration.”

“I thought I was done with them,” Minho said with a tone that suggested he was anything but pleased with the news.

“It’s just one performance,” I argued. “And you promised me that you would finish all your responsibilities.”

“You keep adding more things,” Minho gruffed.

I smirked, rolling onto my side to face my husband. “I think it’s a great idea to let the fans hear it live on the same day it starts streaming.”

“Can’t they just play the recording of my parts?”

“It won’t be the same,” I said, leaning in closer to brush my lips across the seam of his pout. “I’ll be the loudest fan screaming your name from the back.”

He chuckled, allowing one hand to pull me in closer. “Aren’t you always my biggest fan?”

“Lee Know, will you sign my albums?”

“You’re a good negotiator, sweetheart,” he said, diving in for a passionate kiss that reminded me of when we first started dating and Minho was always eager to shower me with affection. 

“Minho,” I gasped, barely restraining a moan when he suddenly moved between my thighs.

“I’m sorry I’ve made things difficult,” he said, pressing sweet kisses to the skin around my calves. Tender moments like this reminded me of the person I fell in love with, slowly learning that there was more to Minho than his arrogant stage persona. 

“Please,” I whispered, helping him remove my sweatpants before weaving my fingers through his hair.

“Anything for you,” Minho said, breath hot against my sensitive skin. He stuck out his tongue, tasting the heat between my legs with languid strokes that promised the best wake-up call to start the day. Not that Minho and I did anything substantial on Sundays since we preferred to watch movies and indulge in the glorious high of junk food.

More often than not, we always ended up in this position with my husband doing his best to please me. And I had no room to complain because Minho was awfully talented with his tongue, and he had me writhing against the mattress like a complete mess. “You’re too good at this,” I complained halfheartedly.

His nails dug into my hips, holding me in place while he continued to drive me over the edge. “Are you going to cum for me?”

I always broke at his husky tone, lying spent in my post-orgasmic haze as Minho feathered light kisses across my legs. In moments like this, it was impossible to think about the negative aspects of working for the company, or the drama of the collaboration. Besides, it was only one more day and Minho never broke his promises.

I found a strange, but calming quality to pacing back and forth when I came across a problem that was incredibly difficult to solve. For example, arriving at the office early to prepare last minute forms while fully expecting my husband to show up to his scheduled interview and performance without my intervention. Yet, despite my expectations, I was currently backstage with Mr. Kim and his clients while we listened to a crowd of eager fans waiting to hear the new collaboration. Unfortunately, my husband was nowhere to be seen, and that meant our schedule was in jeopardy.

“Where’s Minho?” Mr. Kim nearly screeched, raking his hands through his balding hair while remaining heavily engrossed in his phone screen.

The performance was supposed to start ten minutes ago and the fans were clearly confused. A distinct murmuring of intermingled voices echoing throughout the soundless concert hall. “Y/N?”

I turned around, using every last ounce of strength I could muster to meet Chan’s gaze. “I don’t know where he is.”

“Is that so?” Chan asked, and the anger in his eyes was enough to nearly give me a premature heart attack.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, desperately ringing Minho’s number once again only to be met by the familiar greeting of his voicemail inbox.

“I knew that bastard would ruin this,” Changbin said. “He was determined from the start to see this fail.”

“It was one performance,” Jisung bemoaned, and I could only feel absolutely miserable listening to their shared complaints. But, in the words of my formidable boss, the show must go on and I couldn’t bear to disappoint the eager fans waiting to hear the song they loved.

Speaking of which, I reached out a hand to support myself against the wall when I saw Mr. Park walk backstage with his assistants. Our eyes met from across the room. “Mr. Park,” I managed, but my throat was suddenly dry despite the three empty bottles of water I had consumed.

“Y/N,” Mr. Park sighed, eliminating the distance between us. “Tell them to have 3racha perform without Minho. Our phone conversation today has certainly changed my mind about the viability of his collaboration.”

“You talked to him?” I growled, feeling nothing short of betrayed since my husband had repeatedly ignored my phone calls.

“We’ve reached an impasse,” Mr. Park explained solemnly. “Please tell Mr. Kim about the change.”

“But sir!” I tried to protest because I was extremely confused and had no idea what we needed to tell the fans.

However, Mr. Park was already focused on a new task and instead of delaying the inevitable, I found Mr. Kim talking urgently to a stage hand next to the curtain. “Introduce 3racha,” I said. “Tell them that Minho had an unexpected emergency.”

Mr. Kim, if it was even possible, grew even redder to the point where I hesitated to call for help backstage. “This is an outrage!” he finally growled, crowding me against the wall. “If this goes wrong, then I hope you know that it’s entirely your husband’s fault and his mistakes reflect poorly on your performance.

I bowed my head, because I knew that part of the blame rested on my shoulders as Minho’s manager, especially in regard to the mysterious phone call he shared with Mr. Park. In the meantime, I could hear the crowd cheer for the arrival of 3racha who performed to the best of their ability without my husband. Still, it broke my heart to know that he had somehow been excused from the performance after promising to complete the remainder of his responsibilities. 

But I still wanted to give Minho the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps something happened when I left for the company and he was forced to call Mr. Park? Still, my optimism didn’t stop my hands from shaking from my grip around the steering wheel, pulling into my usual parking spot with a heavy sigh. Before our marriage, there were plenty of times when Minho tested my patience. For example, on multiple occasions I had come very close to handing in my request to have him transferred to someone else because he was sometimes impossible to handle. However, each time I would threaten to leave, Minho always convinced me to stay, turning his entire attitude around and doing his best to make up for his mistakes. He was usually successful, but today’s mishap forced me to question whether or not he was capable of recovering from this unexpected slight. And it wouldn’t just jeopardize my relationship with him as his manager, but also the close intimacy I shared with him as his wife.

I paused at the door to our apartment, trying to listen for any sound of movement from inside. “He’ll have a good excuse,” I attempted to justify, unlocking the door before dragging my feet into the entryway. “Minho?” I called out, greeting nothing but silence before I walked downstairs to his studio where Minho often liked to escape when he wanted to be alone.

I was surprised to see him inside, working on his computer as if today was just another ordinary session. “Minho,” I snapped, opening the door without bothering to knock. “We need to talk.”

Minho sighed, glancing away from his computer screen. “I know Mr. Park cancelled my performance.”

“Yeah? And you don’t think that there’s something wrong!”

“Y/N, don’t worry about the interview,” he replied. “Park called me earlier and told me he would take care of everything.”

I slowly exhaled. “I know he called you, but I don’t understand why it happened.”

“He said it wouldn’t be the last time I was involved with marketing,” Minho continued. “I told him I was under the impression that today would be the last performance. We argued for a while and he told me that I shouldn’t bother showing up today if I wasn’t committed to the project.”

I blinked twice, trying to process his words. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked, barely restraining the anger. “I called you several times before Mr. Park showed up backstage.”

“I knew you’d be disappointed,” Minho said with a vulnerable tone I could hardly tolerate. “It’s not a big deal. Park knows about everything, and tomorrow we can forget about the collaboration.”

He looked at me like he was expecting me to just agree with him, but I was beyond words. Instead, I turned my back to him and retreated upstairs to our bedroom. I had fought with my husband before, but this was an entirely new level of anger and frustration.

I could hear Minho following me, but I refused to acknowledge his attempts to gain my attention. “You’re an asshole sometimes,” I growled, storming around the bedroom to find a spare set of sheets in the closet. “Let me know when you’re done being the world’s biggest jerk.”

“What are you doing?” Minho asked, blocking my path to the doorway. “We’re not done talking about this if you’re upset.”

“Yeah? Well, I’m done and you don’t always get your way,” I snapped, pushing past my husband into the living room.

“Y/N,” Minho said, reaching for my arm despite my attempts to ignore him. “I’m sorry.”

“No you aren’t,” I said, spinning around on my heel to confront him. “If you were sorry, then you’d try to make things right, but your ego has grown to such a monumental size that you can’t even accept the added weight of another mistake.”

“What are you saying?”

“You can’t make this right,” I said, tears obscuring the vision of my husband. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Sweetheart,” he said, expression transforming completely when he realized I was truly on the verge of a breakdown. “You know I’m not mad at you! Park knows everything, he was the one who told me not to show up!”

“It doesn’t matter,” I cried. “I asked you to do something that’s surprisingly simple for most people. Not because I wanted to punish you, but because I saw an opportunity to help Lee Know! But after the stunt you pulled today, I don’t think I’d bother helping you anymore.”

The single tear that fell from Minho’s eye would have normally been enough for me to recognize his guilt, but I wasn’t in the mood to fall back into the tedious cycle of forgiving him only to deal with another mishap in the future. “Y/N,” he said softly. “Please don’t leave me.”

I shook my head. “I need some time to think about things.”

“What do you mean?” he asked with a desperate tone. “We should talk about this, I can make it better!”

“Just let me sleep,” I begged him and he broke even more, releasing my hand with an uncharacteristic whine.

I tossed my blanket onto the couch, attempting to find a comfortable position on the leather. It was a far cry from the mattress in our bedroom, but I desperately needed space away from Minho. For now, I didn’t want to deal with the reality of our situation, which is why I was more than willing to drown myself in the familiar darkness of sleep.

The smell of bacon was surprisingly overwhelming when I woke up the next morning with lower back pain. I groaned, attempting to sit up despite the near constant throbbing. Apparently, leather sofas were built for style instead of comfort.

I opened my eyes slowly, feeling my heart jump inside my chest when I saw Minho holding a plate in my direction. “Y/N, are you okay?”

I swiped a hand across my face, remembering my argument with Minho from the previous evening. “I’m fine.”

“You should eat,” he insisted so I accepted the plate from him, shaking my head when I realized the toast was burnt, but Minho had never been a great cook. “I want to talk about last night,” Minho said. “Because you’re obviously hurt and that’s the last thing I wanted.”

“What did you expect?” I asked. “You weren’t there for the performance, you ignored my calls, and then my boss tells me that one of his artists decided he was done promoting his new single?”

Minho winced at my tone. “It’s all my fault because I decided to take everything personally. He forced me to do the collaboration when I didn’t want to participate, and it felt like he was taunting me...like I had no control over my music and he could do whatever he wanted.”

“He can, Minho,” I said. “You signed a contract with the company.”

“I know,” he sighed. “I keep forgetting that part, and it’s really stupid how much I let it affect me, but I hate it when things are out of my control.”

“But that’s no reason to take it on the people who were only trying to do their job,” I snapped. “Or refuse to tell your own wife!”

“I understand,” Minho nodded. “I was too caught up in my problems to realize that everyone was suffering because of my decisions.”

“What are you going to do about it?” I asked, holding my breath because I was dreading his answer.

“I’ll apologize to them,” Minho said, hanging his head in shame. “I need you to know that I’m sorry for everything.”

My heart broke at the sorrowful expression he wore, completely uncharacteristic of my husband...as was his decision to apologize since I halfway expected Minho to threaten his leave from the company. However, I also sometimes forgot that Minho was more than the way he acted around other people, and his sincerity was perfectly evident for me to recognize. “I know you are, but sometimes you do things without thinking about the consequences.”

“I’m aware,” he chuckled. “And I usually don’t really care, but that’s selfish...especially when it hurts you.”

“It is selfish,” I agreed. “How do I know you won’t do this again in the future?”

“Because I’ll remind myself of this moment,” he said. “I’ll remember what happened last night and do whatever I can to prevent it from happening again.”

I was stunned by his determination. “Are you really going to apologize to everyone?”

“I am,” he nodded. “Of course, your forgiveness matters the most.”

I took a deep breath, processing his words and the steady way he continued to hold my gaze. “You know I forgive you.”

“Thank you,” he said quietly, leaning in to press a chaste kiss against my lips. “I need you more than anything else in the world.”

My heart warmed at his declaration. “I wonder what everyone at the company would think if they saw how cheesy you are.”

“Are you going to tell on me?”

“Not as long as you behave,” I returned, laughing at the way he held me tighter, feeling nothing short of safe and secure in his familiar embrace.

Mr. Kim was surprisingly calm when I requested a meeting between our clients. In fact, I was shocked that he even accommodated my request considering our bad relations. However, I recognized an opening, walking down the hallway next to Minho who was clearly nervous as he hugged the bottle of champagne we brought as an apology gift.

“Good morning, Y/N,” Mr. Kim greeted us upon our arrival, sparing Minho a grimace before inviting us inside the studio.

Chan and Jisung were sitting together on the couch, glancing up only when Minho paused in front of them. Meanwhile, Changbin stood against the wall, watching my husband with narrowed eyes. Minho held tightly to the bottle of champagne in his hands, glancing between the three men who all wore similar expressions of disdain. “I’m sorry for the interview,” he said. “It was really selfish and immature.”

Chan arched one eyebrow, glancing between me and Minho. “Really?”

I quietly offered Minho a small push against his lower back, encouraging him to continue. “I rehearsed this,” Minho chuckled, “but it’s hard to swallow my pride.”

“Take your time,” I whispered to him softly.

“Well, let me start by saying that I was wrong about the whole collaboration thing,” he said. “It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be and you guys did everything to help us succeed.”

Changbin scoffed. “You certainly made it more difficult.”

Jisung nodded furiously in agreement. “I don’t think I’ve ever had this much trouble with promotion.”

“I know,” Minho agreed. “I was just upset because I have this stupid thing with Park and he knows that I have...problems working with other people.”

“That’s an understatement,” Changbin said, glowering at my husband with obvious disapproval.

“Honestly,” Minho said, swallowing hard. “The song is one of my favorites. I wouldn’t mind collaborating again in the future.”

“Well-” Jising broke off, staring at Mino with something akin to shock. “Huh?”

Chan frowned. “You really made us look bad on stage.”

“That wasn’t my intention,” Minho sighed. “I was being an enormous jerk, trying to stick it to the man or something ridiculous and it played out better in my head.”

I reached out a comforting hand, squeezing Minho’s shoulder for support. “I think he knows his decision was wrong.”

Minho nodded. “You might be upset with me and I understand. I’m sorry for everything that happened, and if you decide I don’t deserve to be taken seriously, then I won’t blame you.”

Minho ended his speech with a nervous cough, thrusting out the bottle of champagne in Jisung’s direction who accepted the bottle hesitantly. “Minho,” Chan said, closing his laptop with a sigh. “I know about your history when it comes to working with other artists.”

“It’s not exactly a glowing resume,” Minho admitted.

“No, but that’s the only reason why I know that your apology was sincere,” Chan said. “If you’re really serious, then I think we can move past this.”

Changbin nodded his agreement. “Mr. Park also explained some of the...politics behind the interview fiasco.”

“I guess it’s hard for you,” Chan shrugged. “I’m glad you came here to make things right.”

“And the champagne is nice,” Jisung added quickly to which Minho managed a smile.

“I’ll do whatever I can to make it up to you.”

“Well, if you were serious about collaborating again, we can start with line distributions,” Changbin said, leaning in with a smirk. “I want to sing next time.”

Minho laughed, nodding enthusiastically. “I think that’s a great idea.”

“In that case, we have cause for celebration,” Jisung cheered. “Mr. Kim, do we have spare glasses?”

In the meantime, I took a step back to allow the four men space to talk together, distributing several glasses of champagne before laughing at Jisung’s failed attempt not to spill anything on the carpet. It was certainly admirable, and I found myself simply watching Minho from across the room. This was nothing short of substantial progress, and I cherished the moment because it promised very good things for the future.

And at one point, Minho snuck away from his new collaborators to join me at the sound booth. “I love you,” he whispered. “I’m glad you’ve always been at my side.”

I reached out for his hand, watching Chan, Changbin, and Jisung hold up their champagne glasses in our direction. “You know? I’m really excited about your next project.”

Minho grinned, leaning his forehead against mine. “I think I could get used to this...as long as you’ll be there.”

I sighed happily, closing my eyes to remember this moment. “That will never change.”

[curious-minx]

October 2010s Music Deep Dive!

A mock up poster for the only possible music festival line-up I would be willing to risk my life attending. Tony Allen’s passing has caused the entire Octoberfest to be cancelled indefinitely, but all proceeds from ticks will be given back to the community. 

Hope all of you special nobodies and overblown somebodies reading this right now are having a smashing start your first o November. All last month I had taken it upon myself to listen to as many albums and fragments of albums released sometime during the month of October spanning the entire 10’s decade, 2010 through 2019. This is all probably a result of drinking too much dead water, Quarantine brain, undiagnosed Autism, magical thinking and the death of boredom. I have created a Spotify playlist sporting 25 hours and 4 minutes worth of music with an arbitrary amount of albums getting multiple songs, but largely one song/album. This project did create a sense of madness because of the volume of music that gets cranked out. How can we expect anyone to properly criticize music when it is nearly impossible to keep up with it all? I largely culled these albums from Allmusic’s Editorial Choice section, but I did have to use Rateyourmusic to fill out the hip-hop and R&B gaps. In gathering up all of this music I am attempting to see if spooky music was relegated to the October season and any other possible trends. Even though October has been laid to rest her swelling calendar breast still contains a treasure trove of music worth discussing. Grab your broom, sharpen your heels and get the cobwebs out of your ears because we’re going on a Deep Dive! 

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The 2010s Old Souls and Musical Auteurs 

I consider any musician or band that endures more than a decade worthy of this veteran label. Music biz lifers seem found solace in the October release schedule. A trend that has carried onto the new decade with October 2020 offering revitalized releases by Elvis Costello and Bruce Springsteen reunited with the E Street Band. All three main members of Sonic Youth, Moore, Gordon and Renaldo are still harnessing that spooky Bad Moon Rising energy and carrying it over into their solo releases. 

KIM GORDON’s NO RECORD HOME

The first truly proper solo album by Kim Gordon following up her pretty good noise rock releases under the Body/Head moniker with Bill Nace. No Record Home towers over Thurston Moore and Lee Renaldo’s mostly okay solo releases because of how truly experimental and refreshingly modern sounding No Record Home is. This album sounds like it could easily have come out from a young Pacific Northwest Trip-Angle (RIP) label upstart. Instead, Gordon is defiantly aging gracefully and remains an all around important feminist voice in experimental rock music. No Record Home did not pop up on a lot of “Best of the Year” lists in 2019, nor did Gordon embark on any kind of touring for the release. I am hoping that more people will eventually discover this great album and realize that Gordon was truly the best, most truly experimental aspect of Sonic Youth. Her vocals on this album are the best she’s ever sounded because she built these songs and sounds with the intergral collaborator, producer Justin Raisen. A glimpse at Raisen’s Wikipedia page is a who’s who of great artists of the past decade: Yves Tumor, Charli XCX, and Sky Ferreira. The collaboration occurred at an AirBnB shared between Gordon and Raisen and birthed the first single of the project “Air BnB.” A song that completely sets the tone of the album and features one of those amazing music videos in the same line us Young Thug’s “Wyclef Jean. “

Björk - Biophilia

Can you name the last album the rolled out with its own app? Nine years have come and gone and I certainly can’t think of another album with such wholesome ambitions. Björk was getting passionate about ecological concerns in her native Icelandic home with Sigur Ros and using her sphere of influence to try to good. 2014 the app has found a permanent home in the MOMA, but outside of this curio status the album itself is still a worthwhile addition to the Björk canon. Biophilia finds Björk in musical scientist mode using sounds captured from a Tesla coil and making a whole musical universe onto herself. The rest of the 2010s found Björk going for bigger and more ambitious projects that continue to frustrate those who wish she would go back to her poppier roots. She remains one of those most consistent solo artists around and someone no one will be able to predict what she does next. The only thing is certain is that it will be visionary and will probably include a wildly ambitious rollout and a new piece of physical art like Biophilia’s $800 tuning forks.

NENEH CHERRY - BROKEN POLITICS

Featuring production duties for the second time from Four Tet (who also pops up in the October playlist with his 2013 album Beautiful Rewind). Broken Politics in Cherry’s words, “is about feeling broken, disappointed, and sad, but having perseverance. It’s a fight against the extinction of free thought and spirit.” The music video for single “Natural Skin Deep” was filmed in Beirut, a backdrop made even more painful given 2020’s Explosion. Cherry is an artist with deep spiritual and blood connections with artists central to jazz’s history. Broken Politics also features songs built around Ornette Coleman samples. This is all to say that Neneh Cherry is always going to be someone tapping into a creative cosmic vein that spans generations, and with that comes a hard wisdom. Two years later we’re still dealing with the same god damn guts and guns of history. 

OTHER NOTABLES:

(Cat Power - The Wanderer; John Cale - Shifty Adventures in Nookie Wood; Tony Allen - Film of Life ; Neil Young & Crazy Horse - Psychedelic Pill ;Bryan Ferry - Olympia; Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds - Ghosteen ;Yoko Ono - Warzone; Vashti Bunyan - Heartleap; Elvis Costello & The Imposters - Look Now; The Chills - Silver Bullets; Weezer - Everything Will Be Alright In The End;Laurie Anderson - Heart of A Dog;Janet Jackson - Unbrekable;The Mercury Rev - Light In You;  Rocketship - Thanks To You; Van Dyke Parks & Gaby Moreno - Spangled; Donald Fagen - Sunken Condos; Prefab Sprout - Crimson Red; Pere Ubu - 20 Years in a Montana Missile Silo; Negativland - True False )

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TRILOGY OF BLACKSTARS

Three last albums released by three titans of 20th century songwriting. Two of them follow the trajectory of an older artist getting rejuvenated by a younger backing band. Lulu is beyond a meme at this point and is considered one of the most confounding flops since Metallic Music. Like Metallic Music, Lulu will get a reappraisal and find its audience. Mr. Blackstar himself Bowie considered  Lulu one of his favorite releases. “Junior Dad” alone makes this album a worthy addition in Lou Reed’s discography. Scott Walker invited some similarly hairy and intense younger rock studs into his private castle and pulls off a far more natural combination. Soused fits like a velvet glove on a elegant corpse hand swirling thick slabs of guitar and demonic percussion. Scott Walker effortlessly orchestrates between elegance and moribundity whereas Lulu wallows and thrashes against  the ugly riffage. 

No riffs or oozing wall of sound are  anywhere to be found on the sparse and pointedly elegiac You Want it Darker. Leonard Cohen never went full on sleazy I’m Your Man ever again but he didn’t become adult contemporary either. You Want It Darker finds Leonard and his son Adam Cohen. When Leonard passed away he was the only one to get a full David Bowie like museum tribute, Lou Reed only got a corner of a library. Cohen is far and away the most accessible mystical Jewish Buddhist monk with a penchant for fedoras and having a masked man with a leather belt beat him in the recording booth [citation needed]. You Want It Darker is the only one of these mortality laden kiss offs to win a Grammy. I do wonder if Cohen would have ever allowed a more adventurous production to touch his staid and timeless old fashioned sound. Tom Scharpling divides Leonard Cohen into his Pre-Fedora and Post-Fedora days. If you are being literal about that demarcation that still gives you a pretty vast body of music I just want sad bloated blurry black and white Leonard Cohen with a banana or the smiling cad on Songs of Love and Hate. Even the floppy fedora era has worthwhile albums and he sounds like if Serge Gainsbourgh was a muppet Gargoyle, he’s reliable. I will always beat myself for not buying that official Leonard Cohen raincoat at the Jewish Museum Leonard Cohen exhibit, but I hope someone has and they are finding comfort with Cohen’s music. A lot of his latter day period is comforting in a sardonic sexy mind bending nursing home sort of way. 

I am glad that these men were ultimately spared from having to deal with Covid times and even someone as tasteless as Brian Wilson’s Ghost can acknowledge that it’s more important than ever to keep your elderly loved ones locked away in a well ventilated pod. 

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(INSERT ARTIST HERE) SEASON

For a few sticky sweet select few artists the month of October proved to be a suitable release launch pad for more than one album. The Mountain Goats and clipping. have just joined the October two-timer club this year. The reigning queen of October releases is Taylor Swift and Adrianne Lenker. In chronological order swift released Speak Now, Red and 1989 probably Swift’s biggest run in terms of critical and commercial success. None of these albums have a particularly big place in my heart, in fact speaking on behalf of Brian Wilson’s Ghost Ltd. I’m not the biggest fan of America’s Sweetheart, Sweet Tea Poet Laureate.  All three of these albums all came out in the latter part of October and based on the Target brand synergy roll-out felt as inevitable as pumpkin spice. Haunted. Sad Beautiful Tragic. Out of the Woods. These are either song titles taken from these three albums are the names of the under utilized Romantic Halloween Horror Comedy genre. Lady Gaga might have been spooking it up on American Horror Story, but Swift gives a far more chilling performance in Tom Hooper’s midnight madness of Cats and I could envision Swift excelling really well as a horror film actor. Especially in a role like Scarlett Johansson’s Under the Skin. 

You cannot get more polar opposite from Swift than Adrianne Lenker. Who released her first solo album abysskiss   and the second Big Thief album of 2019 Two Hands. Lenker will have also gone on to make her third October release this year with her second solo album songs & instrumentals. Striking that such a ghostly autumnal band would have only released one album in October, but autumnal feeling albums are not beholden to release calendars. The song “Not” from the Big Thief album Two Hands is a watershed breakthrough moment for the band and put Lenker and her band on the map. In 2019 Big Thief became a band that could get booked onto a Goodmorning American performance slot and more or less made Big Thief one of the rare 2010s indie bands to become more or less a household name. 

Other notable artists to have released more than one album on October 2010s:

Less notable artists to have multiple October releases: James Blunt Korn

Calvin Harris 

Kings of Leon

Pentatonix 

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FORMER HARBINGERS OF HYPE

These are October releases from artists that once felt like whenever they put out an album a wider array of outlets and publications seemed to care more and would spill more digital ink over them. The big three artists that had the biggest drop off in attention and acclaim that stick out to me the most are Titus Andronicus,  Justice and Why? All three artists debuted with strong starts back in the aughts, but according to critical reception more or less crashed and burned. Titus Andronicus’ Local Business was one of the last times Titus Andronicus would get positive marks from Pitchfork. Local Business a fun and shaggy follow-up to one of the most self-serious concept albums of the 2010s. 

Justice’s Audio, Video, Disco similarly is a follow up to a highly acclaimed album that set the bar high enough to doom Justice into never living up to the hype. Justice’s 2007 s/t heralded them as the next Daft Punk, but unlike those soulful and thoughtful robots Justice mainly wanted to make big ridiculous unfashionable synth prog rock. Audio, Video, Disco is simply cheesy fun and even though we live in a world better off without parties and gatherings this album helps you feel like you are in high-def IMAX monster mash on the moon. 

The leaves us with Why?’s Mump’s Etc. an album that already had the job of following up an already divisive follow up record Eskimo Snow. Why’s Alopecia is a really important 2008 indie blog rap album that helped thrust the online indie blogs into the hip-hop genre hybrid experimentalism. Why? would never make another universally beloved album again and with Mump’s Etc. ended up permanently in Pitchfork’s hate pit. In the original release review the Pitchfork writer essentially deems this album an act of “career suicide.” The whole review is essentially an assignation of Why?’s figurehead Yoni Wolf and taking him to task for all of his awkward lyrical blunders and the fact he is narcissistic enough to be a musician writing about his career in a meta fashion. Yet when I listen to Mump’s Etc. I am more or less enjoying Yoni Wolf’s personality and find the whole thing to be pretty charming. A perfectly serviceable 3.5/5 release that a media outlet like Pitchfork turns into a flexing opportunity to show how that they have the power to make or break a career. 

A.C. Newman, an artist who appears on this playlist with his terrific 2012 Shut Down The Streets took to Twitter to scoff at the idea that a good Pitchfork review has done anything for his career. Shut Down The Streets currently remains the last solo album Newman has released under his name choosing to focus on his main gig with the New Pornographers. The Internet based hype machine is even more ADHD addled and twitchier by the day. The joy of doing this deep dive allowed me to revisit a lot of these artists and acts that I had fallen out of touch with. I had completely forgotten about King of Convenience’s Erlend Øye who released the album Legao in 2014. I rediscovered a good deal of bands like the Editors, The Dodos, Kisses, Black Milk, Crocodiles, Empire of the Sun, Juana Molina, Jagwar Ma, Here We Go Magic, Dale Earnhardt Jr. Jr., YACHT, Peaking Lights, The Twilight Sad, Elf Power, Swet Shop Boys, Radio Dept, Allo’ Darlin, Foxes In Fiction, and HOMESHAKE are all bands not trying to change the world or challenge listeners with avant garde experimentation. Instead I feel like I maintaining relationships with old friends on the edge of obscurity. 

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A HISTORY OF CHRISTMAS IN OCTOBER 

A tradition stretching back as far as 2014 not October’s Idina Menzel’s Holiday Wishes, but Seth McFarland’s Holiday For Swing sweatily released on CD, digital, and vinyl on September 30, 2014.  2015 then brings us a Chris Tomlin and Ru Paul Christmas albums because every force of Neo-liberal good must be balanced with evangelical contemporary Christian music *shutters.* 2016 finds the Christmas in October era reaching a complete and utter nadir with R. Kelly’s final official LP 12 Nights of Christmas and A Pentatonix Christmas, but also buffered by Kacey Musgrave’s Christmas. 2017 only had time for Gwen Stefani’s You Make It Feel Like Christmas and no one else could evoke this feeling in October. On 2018, Michelle and Barack Obama’s combined one and only Christmas wish comes true, no not cancelling those drone strikes, but getting John Legend to join the October release jamboree; Eric Clapton claps open his guitar’s butt cheeks and hatefully squats out a half assed Xmas album defiantly opening the album with “White Christmas” [eyeroll emoji]; and finally 2018 found the Pentatonix announcing in October that Christmas Is Here. I apologize for all of that crude butt talk about the hateful racist Eric Clapton, but(t) I have festive gluteus Maximus on the mind, because in 2019 Norah Jones got her alternative country gal trio back together to remind us to shake our Christmas butts. Eat shit commercial shit, today’s Santa’s birthday! That’s the magic of the October release schedule! 

The hallowed Christmas in October tradition continues on in 2020 with Dolly I-Beg-Thee-Pardon  releasing A Holly Dolly Christmas right on time on October 2, 2020 (Carrie Underwood missed the memo and unwraps her unwanted My Gift in September 2020). Meghan Trainor, Goo Goo Dolls, and Tori Kelly released Christmas albums. Can you believe Seth MacFarlane comes up twice in this article, because his sleazy J. Michigan Frog croon is processed and grated like Parmesan cheese snow flakes all over a rendition of White Christmas.  What a time to be alive! 

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WHERE DID THEY GO?

A Brief Case For Class Actress’s Rapproacher

Among my October music travels I encountered one artist that really impressed me with her proper LP debut Rapprocher. The trio fronted by Elizabeth Vanessa Harper is essentially peddling the kind of competent moody 80’s inspired synth pop that belongs on a lost Donnie Darko sequel. Harper’s vocals are striking and expressive and they are melded with constantly propulsive bed of shiny synths and glossy barely-there gated percussion. Outside of an 2015  EP called Movies featuring exciting production contributions from Italo-disco icon Giorgio Moroder there has been nothing else from Class Actress. Highly recommend you check them out especially if you want to find the sweet spot between Chromatics and Kylie Minogue. 

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THE OCTOBER 2010s MASTERPIECES 

(Robyn - Honey, Big K.R.I.T. - 4eva is a Mighty Long Time  ,Miguel -  Kaleidoscope Dream, Crying - Beyond The Fleeting Gale , M83 Hurry Up, We’re Dreaming ,SRSQ - Unreality, Sufjan Stevens - age of adz, Joanna Newsom - divers, VV Brown Samson and Delilah, Kelela - tear me apart , Neon Indian - VEGA Intl., Fever Ray - Plunge , Antony and The Johnsons - Swanlights (goodbye album) , Caroline Polachek - Pang , Sky Ferreira - Night Time, My Time . Bat For Lashes  Haunted Man, James Ferraro - Far Side Virtual , Grouper -  Ruins , Kero Kero Bonito -Bonito Generation , DJ Rashad - Double Cup)

Maybe if I surround this VV Brown album with more well known artists she’ll finally get some more clicks? I should also mention that Joanna Newsom’s Divers is nowhere on my Spotify October Music playlist because Joanna Newsom thinks Spotify is bananas, and she hates bananas. I know I should also mention Kendrick Lamar’s good kid, m.A.A.d city and Tame Impala’s Lonerism. That’s the maddening thing about October music that just when you think you covered all your ground you find another hidden hump underneath the carpet.  I feel remiss without mentioning striking debut and instant hidden gem Tinashe’s Aquarius, which did you know has a new album art on Spotify. Death Grip’s No Love Deep Web. T_T I didn’t even get around to making a big verbal mosaic to Thom Yorke’s witchy Suspiria soundtrack.Corpus Christi! I forgot to highlight The Orb album in the collage with my other veteran artists!  As you can see this project nearly ruined me. I did not necessarily listen to all of these albums from front to back, but I did listen all of the songs on the playlist and chose them from the immense collection of October releases. I am pretty sure this is the kind of content for no one in particular but I really needed to get it out of my system. Let’s meet back up October 2030!!!!!

(Thank you to my beloved partner, best friend and Spotify provider Maddie Johnson XD)

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7sdLaNNaqWpKEKXRZ3jNqY?si=SLZxUwLMQYOQ5wA1xuZc7w

[cutegirlmayra]

Sonic is gone on a mission for a lot of years that when he comes back, everyone is now adults. He tries to reconnect with everyone and it's mostly the same except with Amy because of how much her attitude has matured. Because of this, he finds its easy to hang out with her and easily finds himself falling for her but since he was gone for so many years, Amy is no longer pursuing him and now just sees him as an old friend, so Sonic does his best to reignite the old flame in her.

(Preview image is used with permission from the amazing Sonic Artist @masked-bixch! Please support her and her amazing talents! x 

I’ve done quite a few of these before, but I’m always down for Older Sonamy~

Prompt:

“It really was a whirlwind,” Sonic’s now lanky arms and legs draped over the tree’s branches, closing his eyes after looping an arm around it and jumping up. He was much older now, his quills were so long that they arched from his head and drooped down towards the ground.

He placed his arm behind his head, a cushion of sorts, looking up at the stars.

“But enough about me, Tails. How are all of you doing?” He smiled as he looked over to Tails, who happily obliged to the question.

“Well, Knuckles finally took my advice and used technology to protect the island more. He even convinced G.U.N to make it a sanctuary. It’s heavily guarded now and Knuckles even has a small living making it a tourist site.”

Sonic’s eyebrows raised, amazed to hear so much had changed.

“And the others?”

“Cream is happily married. Vanilla loves her new grandchildren.”

“Grandchildren?”

“Yeah. I mean… they’re bunnies, Sonic.” Tails kinda gave him a funny look and Sonic just scratched his nose, embarrassed.

Tails poked some figurative fun at him before sighing, “And me? Well…” He looked up at the sky. “I’m getting married too.”

“What!?” Sonic bolted upward, turning to him before seeming to sulk back to being unexpressive again. “…You really have all changed…”

“Not really. Not in here.” Tails pointed to his heart, looking up at Sonic. But then his smile changed to concern, worrying his friend hadn’t changed, and what the future held for him. “You know… it’s rather peaceful these few years… We’ve been defeating our home pretty well. What… What do you think you’ll do?”

Sonic remained silent, looking down at the waters below him, a stream babbling over Tails’s matured voice.

He closed his eyes, “Don’t know.”

Tails once again seemed worried, “…Sonic…”

“Everyone’s moved on. I know.” Sonic sighed and hopped down from the tree. “But there’s still someone you haven’t told me about.” He dusted off his back from the tree’s bark and twigs.

“Huh? Who’s that?” Tails tilted his head.

“Heh,” Sonic chuckled, never figuring he’d be asking something like this about… her. 

“Ever since I chose to leave on that mission… Amy said she’d never forgive me.” He looked to Tails now, carefully hiding with a sturdy mask his real intention in asking this. “Where is she now?”

Tails held his breath a second, his tails wavering in their usual bending behind him and situated themselves low to the ground.

“Amy’s…” Tails’s hesitance was clearly not for Amy’s benefit… and Sonic picked up on that.

The hurt was apparent in Sonic’s eyes, thinking the worst, as the shine of the water’s moonlight hit and sparked a deeper emotion that Sonic usually never revealed upon his face.

He still didn’t.

He turned around and folded his arms, “Figures. I guess that’s how it goes though, huh?” He took a deep breath, turning his head slightly to address Tails over his shoulder, “Who’s the lucky guy?”

“No guy.” Tails walked up to him, placing a hand on his shoulder, a light smile, “There never was.”

Sonic’s surprise was covered by the darkness of the night.

He lowered his head and smiled, “Really..?”

Tails nodded, “But I wouldn’t let that glimmer of hope sink in too deep, Sonic. She’s changed. She’s not the little girl you used to know. She’s really grown up quite a bit.” he emphasized that change, but Sonic seemed to let it pass through one ear and out the other.

In a greater spirit, Sonic strutted away, waving back to Tails. “Thanks, buddy.” He barely heard him, only thinking about how much fun it would be to surprise her by showing up again. Maybe a playful tease here and there. At least that wouldn’t change.

“Sonic! I’m serious! She’s-!” Tails finally quit. He gave up trying to shout out when Sonic took off, “He’s gonna get himself hurt… And there’s nothing I can do about it.” he sighed, flying off into the night to return to his now luxury cruiser plane, massive and expensive.

Time went by and Sonic did end up meeting Amy, however, Tails was absolutely right. She had a fine job, a great set of new friends, and was living a very independent life.

A bit too independent for Sonic’s liking…

It was like she was just polite and sweet to him, but nothing more. She would joke about the old days, and her humor bothered Sonic when she used self-depreciative jokes about how she used to act around him.

“It wasn’t that bad…”

“Haha! You were my whole world! How was that not bad?”

She wore heels and long draping dresses. Her hair was slightly up and styled. She was a high-class lady. Purses and accessories, a real uptown girl.

It made Sonic uncomfortable.

However, though that was the case, it was suddenly easy to talk with Amy and get the real scoop on everyone and how their lives had changed. Amy held no secrets, and she told Sonic everything about Eggman and the gang. The battles they had to fight while he was gone. The great successes…

“It was hard at first,” Amy admitted, nodding to the beat of a song she was listening to over the speakers of the carnival they had stopped by. “We all realized we depended on you so much… We had to really fight and push past all our insecurities. We learned to rely on each other instead of just you. That was a huge turning point for me too… It wasn’t one man who could save the world, it was all of us.” She took a bite out of her ice cream and Sonic just held the cone in front of him, looking deep in thought at the ground as he heard how much his friends suffered without him, but also picked themselves up and overcame everything after him.

“Guess I didn’t realize how much I was limiting you all.” It was a spitfire comment and Sonic’s hot-tempered ego was shown just a bit. He took a bite of the ice cream and flinched at a brain freeze.

“Ohhh, don’t be so gloomy!” Amy patted his back, having him cough and swallow the pain back as he turned back to her, pouting. “You’re so much like your old self. I can’t lie, I was hoping you’d change a little bit…” She took another lick of her ice cream, “Emm~ So yummy~”

He just watched her… She had grown so much, but she was still as kind and trusting as ever.

“…Would it be so bad?” He suddenly said, jumping down the raised parking lot where they were sitting and looking over the carnival. “If everyone started trusting me again?”

Amy paused and lowered her ice cream. “…We did miss you, Sonic… but… Heroes are everywhere now. It’s not as rare as when you were with us.”

He felt his fist tighten.

“So… No looking up to me like I’m the greatest thing in the world?” He faked a smile to her, trying to keep everything light.

She noticed this time, something he wasn’t used too. “Sonic…” She jumped down and walked up to him, placing a hand on his cheek. “You’ll always be the famous Sonic The Hedgehog. History will count you as the fastest hedgehog in the world… The one who lead the revolution towards heroes saving the world. But that doesn’t have to be all you are.”

He had never felt her touch like this before. It startled him. His heartbeat… what was wrong with it? His hands flexed like a twitch at how calming and comforting the sensation was. It was like he wanted to come closer to it, and that spooked him.

She smiled a sorrowful look, which also upset him.

She removed her hand and placed it back by her ice cream. “You know… I think love is kinda awesome. It probably…” She began to turn away from him, and he felt the urge to reach out and grab the twisting end of her dress, just to hold her there… a little bit… longer…

“Only happens once… and never comes around again.”

If eyes are the windows of the soul, then words were the breeze and sunlight that escaped into the room within.

Sonic’s eyes were deeply plagued with having seen the room, knowing it was beautiful and lavishing in wonderful, homely comfort. And yet, he also noticed he didn’t hold the key to that home anymore…

“Only comes once?” He tried to act as though he didn’t understand, faking a false comprehension.

“…That’s not what I meant.” Amy took the bait but didn’t turn around. She took another small bite of her ice cream. “I should go, it’s been fun to catch up. But I do have work tomorrow…”

“…Tomorrow…” Sonic looked down. What would await him tomorrow?

Everyone had moved on and was living their lives… No one had time for a has-been.

“…Will you be okay, Sonic? Finding a place in this world… who has itself covered?” She finally did look back at him but was jolted back at how serious his expression had turned.

“S…Sonic?”

He narrowed his eyes to the ground, then looked up at her. “So… The world doesn’t need me anymore… Heroes are abundant… and I’m just a name drifting on the wind?”

She shook her head, immediately regretting her words. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean it like that! Sonic! You’re still so important!” she came forward but that desire for someone had slipped out of Sonic.

He stepped back and turned his head away. “Alright… so the world doesn’t need me.” He closed his eyes, shutting her out. “But then…”

“…Do you?”

Amy’s eyes flinched back, her heart felt like a string had been pricked and dust sprayed off of it. She hadn’t felt this melody in a long time… She had forgotten so much about it.

“Sonic…” her eyes watered. “I… I have to go!” she wouldn’t cry in front of him. She had hardened herself too much for that. She bolted at lightning speeds, the ice cream dropped and abandoned in her rush to escape the past she loathed so much.

But… did she really hate that time? When she was so lovestruck and ditzy? Not a care in the world?

He bent down with a much tender look towards the fallen ice cream.

He let his own fall next to it and walked towards the side of the edge.

He scaled the rooftops and darted around the world that had no need of him… but waited. Patiently. For the time that maybe Amy’s world would.

And like usual, he didn’t have to wait long.

A car had almost hit Amy, but something blue and speedy had caught her and brought her to the other side of the street. That was the first occurrence.

Another time, someone stole Amy’s wallet. She summoned her hammer and raced behind him till he turned a corner. When she got there, he was already beaten down and the wallet left with a flower beside it. She had gripped her heart.

This kept happening… over and over again… and as it did, her heart pained to be beside him again… She couldn’t fight it. The loneliness of not being in love… The strain of taking on life without someone beside you.

When she finally did catch him, he had slowed down and turned his head back to her, wondering what she wanted…

The news had talked about a blue bullet, going around and saving people from ordinary inconveniences. But even those reports were so thankful for a guardian angel with blue light that surrounded him, saving them from a rainy day.

“Where do you think you’re going.” she stepped forward, heart pounding as she dropped her bags and charged him. “Without one of my infamous Amy Rose hugs!!!”

He smiled, having waited quite a while to hear that greeting again.

He held her close upon impact. She rubbed her head deeper into his chest and gripped him closer to her. She didn’t want to have a life without him again. It was too much to not be with the man she loved…

And Sonic?

Evil always rises when there’s greater Good to combat it.

But the Good is always better and conquers all its scheming.

Amy and Sonic were a power couple, alright. Villains rose that normal, present heroes didn’t have the skill to handle. But Tails and Knuckles would happily join in the ‘old times-sake’ fun, finding Amy and Sonic and taking them all on once again… as not a couple of snot-nose kids trying to save the world…

But as a family that would save the world, one act of love at a time.

[photochoco]

Out in the Field (pt. 1)

Black Cauldron’s newest recruit learns the ropes. She hopes she isn’t in over her head!

Wisteria had always loved sleeping late. In a world where the night was eternal, and the city only had colored lights to indicate the time, it was easy to lose track. She often would stay up until the deep purples of “night” would slowly gradient into the bright yellows of “daytime”. People more or less adhered to the idea that yellow was for doing things and being awake, and purple was for sleeping. Though Wisty had found that the city came alive during the purple hours in a way it didn’t when the lights were yellow. She herself worked better during purple hours. 

But now, they looked more or less the same. Maybe the purples were a little darker, but Wisty didn’t realize just how much she’d miss them until she’d looked out her window. Monochrome, just like the inside of her colorful room. Had she known this would happen, she would’ve appreciated it all a lot more. She was glad the BC had told her to come in for her orientation when she felt ready. She had curled up on her bed and sobbed her guts out for what felt like hours. It hurt, not seeing any color. Sure, she could still see all the colors in her mind’s eye, but what was the point if she couldn’t see them with her real ones? Her real ones, which were now gaping, black voids. They didn’t even reflect light very much, which was probably the weirdest part. 

For the most part Wisty had stayed cooped up in her apartment, trying to figure out what to do with her artist career. She’d made her way to the BC a couple times to meet with Harvey, but most of her time was spent fighting off a creeping emptiness.

She put on her headphones, pulled out a few locks of hair on each side and looked herself over in the mirror. Perfect, coordinated, adorable. She adjusted her hood and took a deep breath. She forced herself to keep looking when all she wanted to do was shut her eyes.

You are okay.

In front of her apartment complex she wrestled on her roller blades, selected some music, and was off. The breeze as she skated along eased her mind some, and her favorite tunes in her ears eased it more.

She wondered if Harvey had finished designing it yet.

---

The bustling of activity in the cafe area of the Black Cauldron was the same as always, Cadets walking around and chatting with each other. Everyone stopped though, at the sound of something banging into the front door. A heartbeat later, Wisty practically rolled through the threshold, a pair of roller blades in her hand. “Sorry sorry! I didn’t mean to hit the door!”

“Now that’s what I call an entrance,” Bianca giggled, giving a wave. “You ready for your first day?” “As ready as I’ll ever be!” Wisty said, raising her arms in a stretch. “I hope I don’t cause too much trouble for y’all.”

A tall mage in a bunny mask rounded the corner, a giant calligraphy pen in his hands.

“Ah, perfect. I just finished the final adjustments to your weapon. Here.” Harvey held it out with both hands. Its tip gleamed of newly polished brass. Its long body was black and smooth as Wisty took it in her hands. It was-

“It’s perfect!” she nearly squealed in her excitement. Harvey gave a satisfied nod. “Aaaand here are your ink canisters. I took the liberty of filling them up for you already. And here are the colors in powder form, just add water. Once you run out I can make more for you. And the colors are in the order you requested so you can easily pick them without seeing the hue. There should be enough ink to last you a whole fight, but don’t y’know, go painting the entire city.”

Wisty hugged her pen and ink pack tightly to her chest like a child being gifted a new toy. “I love it I love it I love it!!” she exclaimed, hopping up and down.

Harvey’s bunny mask was stuck in a perpetual grin, but Wisty could glean from his body language that he was quite pleased with his handiwork. “You’ll get a chance to try ‘em out today during your sparring.” “My what?” “Sparring!” Bianca appeared out of nowhere and slung an arm around Wisty’s neck. “You said you don’t have a whole lot of fighting experience yeah? Plus like Harvey said, you’ll totally wanna try out your weapon before heading out there, see whatcha can do!” “Okay…” Wisty said slowly. “But who am I gonna be sparring?” It was then she was lifted bodily off the ground by an enormous hand, which wrapped around her middle as easily as if she were a doll. 

“That would be me, cupcake. You should get a feel for what it’ll be like fighting powerful enemies with a lot of physical strength.” “As ya probably know, ghouls are usually witch cronies, doin’ their dirty work. Not the smartest, but really damn strong,” Bianca added. 

“...Did you just call Pinprick stupid? That’s not very nice!” “Oh no, cupcake, she is mostly right. Being turned into a ghoul scrambled my brains, hehehe,” Pinprick replied with a wide smile. Wisty paused to consider this. “...Still! Be nicer to yourself! I’m fairly sure you’re not stupid.”

“My oh my, what a sweet cupcake you are! But no time for chatter, we must be off to the sparring spot!” 

“Oh cool!” Wisty looked down to be put down. “Where is it?” “Near the outskirts of the city,” Pinprick replied as he squeezed through the small doorframe. “Oh, are we gonna walk?” 

“Nope!” Bianca said, walking up behind them and jumping onto Pinprick’s other arm, balancing herself against his shoulder. “Rooftop hopping is much faster. Observe!” Pinprick bent his legs.

“Wha aaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA--”

---

“Here we are!” Pinprick chirped, letting go of Wisty. “Go stand over there, and we can get started. Oh before you do though…” He held his hand out to Bianca, who placed something in his palm. He then tossed it to Wisty, who caught it. 

“All Cadets carry these bracelets. They’re a magic disrupter, placing them on witches or ghouls disrupts their flow of magic to incapacitate them. But of course, they don’t always do the job, so you all need to know how to fight,” he explained. “That one is just a dummy bracelet of course, completely harmless.” “How does it work?” Wisty asked, looking at the bracelet curiously. “Is it like a taser in bracelet form?”

“Correct! Today, you’re gonna try to get that bracelet on me. Get that bracelet on, and we can call it a day. Unless you get it on real quick though!” Pinprick snickered.

“Oh, you won’t need to worry about that…” Wisty mumbled.

“Chin up, cupcake, back straight! Cuz here I come.”

“Ok so what--” Her words were cut off as Pinprick’s arm shot towards her at an alarming speed.  “ShiT!!” Wisty barely had time to dodge out of the way, one of Pinprick’s fingers clipping her cheek. 

Geezus, he’s fast!! She hopped backwards, trying to gain some distance between them. He lunged towards her again, arm outstretched to grab her. Gripping her pen, Wisty rammed it against his arm, knocking it off course. She barely had time to feel even an inkling of triumph before she was slammed into the ground and pinned there by his other hand. “Not a bad start, cupcake. But you’re gonna have to do better than that,” Pinprick crooned. “HhHhhhffffiiiihhhhhhhhne,” Wisty wheezed. “Le’go please my lungs hhhhh-”

Pinprick let her go and she stood up, wincing. Dude could pack a punch. “Ready? Again.” He lunged.

She dodged and slid underneath him, bashing the end of her pen into where she thought the back of his knee was. She must’ve struck true; the giant ghoul kneeled with a small grunt. Wisty yelped in surprise as his entire upper half pivoted to face her. “Surprise!” Wisty barely managed to bend out of the way of his swipe. Noticing the ridges on his arm, she grabbed one and swung herself up onto his shoulders. Pinprick bucked, trying to throw her off. She impulsively grabbed the first thing she could, his hair. “Sorry sorry sorry!” she yelped as she reached for the bracelet.

Her apology was answered by Pinprick grabbing her ankle and yanking her off. Upside-down, she could see Bianca ambling up to the scene, a burger in her hand.

“Howzit goin’?” she asked. “Pinprick is killing the shit out of me, so I’ve come to the conclusion that I will absolutely die if I go fight anything,” Wisty grumbled as she dangled from Pinprick’s hand. He snickered in response. “Hey, don’t feel too bad, this is only a baseline! Imagine how good you’ll be after me ‘n Nate ‘n Dex have taught ya!” Bianca said.

“Hopefully it’ll be a less shameful display than this,” Wisty replied as Pinprick idly swung her from side to side like a pendulum.

“Ready whenever you are, love,” he grinned widely.

“I yield.” Wisty’s legs were far past beginning to wobble. Now she could hardly keep herself upright. Pinprick was not only stupidly fast, but stupidly powerful. He absorbed all of her attacks like they were nothing and dished out brutal counters one after the other. Wisty had been reduced to blocking and dodging. At least she could safely say she was better at that now.

Pinprick raised his hands again in preparation, grinning still. “We’re only getting started, love!”

“What even determines if I’ve won anymore?!” “Simple! Immobilize me and get the bracelet on, and we can call it a day.” “Okay.” “With me at least!” “OH SCREW OOOOOOFF WITH THAT!! I’LL FRIGGIN DIE IF I FIGHT ANYONE ELSE!”

“What’s happening?” Bianca turned and gave a nod of greeting to Dex, who had strolled up to the scene and was now watching with interest.

“The newbie is getting broken in,” she said, cringing as Pinprick sent Wisty flying again. “I think she’s doing...okay…” Dex smirked. “Sure doesn’t look like it, hehe.” “Hey, go easy on her dude, she just started today! I’ve been watching the whole time, I can tell you she’s gotten a lot better already. Aw geez,” Bianca winced as Pinprick threw a punch that caught Wisty on her right cheek, resulting in her swearing loudly. “Remember your safe word!” Dex shouted to her. “My WHAT? PINPRICK YOU CHEATER, YOU NEVER TOLD ME ABOUT THAT!!” The ghoul only cackled in response. “You never asked about it, cupcake!” “OF COURSE I DIDN’T, I’M NEW HERE! YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO TELL ME!” Wisty screeched.

As Pinprick rushed her again, she didn’t wait. This time she lurched to meet him, jumping in the air and landing an impressive high kick on Pinprick’s chin. “Close!!” Dex shouted. “Keep trying--oof, that looked like it hurt.” 

Pinprick had slugged Wisty full force in the torso, and the girl skidded several yards away and hit some nearby boxes, sending dust everywhere. “I’ll go get the nurse bed ready,” Bianca sighed, turning to head back to the Black Cauldron.

Was Pinprick just that strong? Or did she just suck that bad? Wisty coughed on the clouds of dust filling the air. Fine. Fine.

Fine.

She reached behind herself to her ink cartridges. One, two, perfect.

“Yo Pinprick! Did you kill her, man?!” Dex called to his comrade. “Ahoho, I certainly hope not, we were having so much fun!” Before he could say anything more, though, a thin jet of orange ink fired from the dust cloud. The instant it made contact with the ground, it triggered a huge explosion. “HOLY FUCK!!!” Dex hollered as Pinprick skidded backwards, blinking in surprise.

“Oho, it seems the newbie has a few tricks up her sleeve! Good, good!” he laughed. The dust was settling, and now he could see Wisty standing with her back nearly against the brick wall. Just...standing there. “Oh come now love, you can’t be that tired already! You’re leaving yourself...wide! Open!” Pinprick sprinted forward and thrust his left arm out. Wisty swiftly jumped to the side, his right, and he attempted to grab her again, this time with his right hand. She ducked again, resulting in both Pinprick's hands smashing into the wall, sending pieces of brick flying. Wisty took aim with her pen, and fired. Black ink streamed from the tip and coated Pinprick’s hands. His first instinct was to tug--

And they didn’t budge. The ink was like tar.

“What in the--” his words were cut off as Wisty grabbed his arms, flipped herself up onto his shoulders and, using him as her own personal launching pad, leapt up into the air. She shoved another cartridge into her pen and aimed. “Gotcha.” Orange ink streamed. Pinprick was caught in a massive explosion. Dex shielded his face as the heat wave slammed into him. 

“Jeezus God, what the hell did Harvey put in those inks??” he muttered to himself.

As the smoke cleared, he could see Pinprick, still standing, his hands free from the black ink, but looking significantly more banged up. 

“Yeowzers,” Dex trotted up next to the ghoul to get a closer look at the damage. “That was pretty awesome. Might cause some property damage, though.” “But really, when don’t we cause just a little property damage?” Pinprick pointed out, dusting himself off. 

“Wait...where’d Wisteria go?” 

“Hmm...did she get blown away from the explosion…?” Pinprick mused. “She was right--”

His entire body was knocked to the ground as Wisty dropped down from above onto him. Dex barely managed to jump out of the way with a squawk. 

“You little--” Pinprick hissed, but the girl had a firm grip as she snapped the bracelet around his neck. 

“Friggin...got it...Geezus…” she huffed.

She slid off Pinprick as he straightened himself up, looking very pleased.

“Well well well, color me surprised, cupcake! You were quite clever to coax me into getting my hands stuck to the wall. So, orange ink makes explosions, hmm?”

Wisty twirled a lock of her hair looking sheepish, but very happy with herself. “Hehehe, to be honest, while designing my weapon and the ink color effects, I’d asked Harvey which effects each of you guys were resistant to or weak against. Y’know, in case I lend you a hand out in the field. I want to make sure I don’t accidentally hurt one of you.”

Dex let out a whistle. “Damn, you might even give witches a run for their money with smarts like that. But for now, howsabout we get you back to BC? You look like you’re gonna collapse. Your cheek ain’t lookin so good either.” Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, throbbing aches began to make themselves known all over Wisty’s body. Her right cheek really, really hurt, and she gingerly pressed her fingers against it, wincing as the swollen flesh protested.

“Do forgive me for goin’ so hard on you cupcake. Needed to make sure you were prepared; out there, it could be even more dangerous.” Pinprick reached out and ruffled Wisty’s hair, wiggling her whole head back and forth.

“You two got pretty banged up. How about we head back to BC to getcha patched up?” Dex jerked his thumb back to his bike, which was parked nearby. 

“See ya back at BC, cupcake. And you too, Dex,” Pinprick wiggled his fingers in farewell.

“Awwwww C’mon Pin, aren’t I a cupcake too?” Dex asked, his puppy-dog voice belied by the shit-eating grin on his face.

“Absolutely not! Go on now, I’ll see you two back there!” With a mighty leap, Pinprick was off, hopping from roof to roof with ease. Within no time at all he was out of sight. Wisty slumped. “Urgh, I barely hurt him at all. Look at him doin’ parkour shit while I can barely stand--” Right on cue, her legs buckled. She was saved by Dex, who swooped down and grabbed her under the arms.  “Tracy will get you all fixed in no time. Pinprick only went so hard on you because he felt you had potential you were holding back. His method of bringing it out is to hit as hard as he can, hehe. You seem promising, rookie. I’ll have to be extra careful when we fight.” “You use GUNS.” “In the field! Sparring I use blanks. And my lithe body.” Wisty burst out laughing as Dex helped her to the bike. “You guys are merciless! I don’t wanna do anything until I’m not hurting everywhere.” 

“Nothin’ a lil magic n’ a hot bath can’t fix. Aight, get on the back,” Dex said, turning the key in the ignition. “DeeDee likes to go fast, so you might wanna hold on.”

“Okay...uh where…” Wisty hesitantly gripped Dex’s shoulders. 

“Here we go!” The bike flared to life and Dex squeezed the handle.

The inertia as they took off was unexpected and Wisty had to momentarily throw her arms around Dex’s middle to keep from tumbling off the back. But soon enough her hands were back to his shoulders as they drove along, buildings and power lines passing by in a blur.

It was exhilarating. 

“Not too fast for ya, newbie?” “It’s awesome! I love going fast!” “Heh, hang on then!”

Wisty closed her eyes and took a deep breath through her nose, lost in the music from her headphones and the feeling of the wind as they drove along. This was giving her an idea for… She opened her eyes. Ah. Right. What she would’ve given to see what this all looked like in color. The blurred buildings. The bright moon. Dex’s scarf as it fluttered and danced behind them. He had told her it was red, but what shade of red? What shade were her inks? What if she forgot the colors she knew? Her mouth twisted as tears again stung her eyes. Not that any would fall, the wind was drying them up. 

“Hey just so ya know, you might wanna actually hang on to my middle or else you’ll fall off!” Dex called over his shoulder.

“What?” Wisty shouted back right before they went over a bump. She yelped and clung to Dex again. He snorted.

“Soooooo, have you thought about partnering up with anyone?” he asked her. “Uh...no, not really.” “Would you like to? Newbies usually tend to, though I don’t think Alphus ever did, heh.” “I dunno. I mean, I...” The truth was, she’d loved to partner up with someone. Maybe then she could stop that cycle of loneliness before it even started. 

But… “--It’d be nice to have someone show me the ropes!” 

What kind of person just went around telling others how they struggled with loneliness and just wanted to be included? It wasn’t their problem. It was hers, and she didn’t need to be included just so as to not be rude. Even if it hurt, a lot. Still… Please let this be different. Don’t let this be a repeat of every time I’ve tried to join a group. 

Her grip tightened. If Dex noticed, he didn’t say anything as he rounded a corner hard, tires screeching. 

“Y’know, you should really wear a helmet, especially driving like this!” “Naaahhhh, I’m too cool for one!” “No one is too cool for head safety, my dude.”

“This hair is!”

He weaved easily in and through the crowd. Wisty could see people staring as they flew by. What a strange pair they must look, a boy with glowing white eyes and a girl with black voids for hers. If they could even see them. “...Hehehe.” 

Wisty stood up suddenly, her arms spread wide. “Whooooooo!!!” “WISTERIA SIT DOWN! You’re gonna fall off!”

“My balance is really good!” 

Luckily for her, and Dex’s blood pressure, the Black Cauldron was within sight now. He pulled into the corner and Wisty hopped off as he turned his bike off. “That was awesome! Can we do it again sometime?” she asked excitedly.

Dex twirled the keys around his index finger. “Sure! If you can beat me when we spar.” “Oh--that is so unfair!! I can’t do that, change your conditions you meanie!” 

“Take it or leave it, sweetheart!” Dex smirked. 

“The only thing I’m taking is a nap, cuz--” Wisty’s legs gave out from under her. “Everything is hurting right now.”

“Let’s get you to Tracy, rookie.”

--- ---

And then Wisty slept for 44 years, content that her character arc was beginning. The lil spinoff series continues! What awaits the newbie? Probably a coupla witches and sprayin’ ink everywhere.

[cloudyyoonji]

Unraveling.

Lee Felix x Reader.

REQUESTED BY ANON

Summary: You can always count on the boys who have made JYP Entertainment home for you.

Genre: lil angst, fluff! Super fluffy ending!

Warnings: mentions of minor bullying.

____________

Nodding along to a beat that is playing through your headphones, you rapidly tap along to the beat you’ve created, anticipating its every sound.

This was your favorite part of your job as a producer; getting to listen to your songs when it’s all completed. You almost loved it as much as when people got to finally listen to your tracks.

You’re lucky. Extremely lucky.

You hadn’t planned on being producer, more so a trainee who was keen on debuting with a group. But when your career choice had failed, somehow, you were granted a producing job; first shadowing other producers, but within a year, producing your own tracks for use.

You’d worked with some amazing artists, but you’d been completely grateful for the one group of boys you work with the most.

“Right outside the practice room Love.”

You briefly look down at your phone, the light bight in the dark room, and almost instantly a smile ignites your features.

Oh how this boy made you feel really mushy inside, even after a few years of being together.

Wrapping up your hard drive already, you’re quick to shove everything into your bag, ignoring the light that steams under the door. The light you swore wasn’t there 5 minutes ago. Or maybe that was 5 hours ago...

The beat itself had woken you at all hours of the morning exactly 2 days prior, it’s rapid thumping sticking in your brain for all the days to come.

But now it was here, in your headphones, playing through your ears; a picture perfect imagine of what you’d imagined all those nights ago.

Blinking away the brightness of the day, you’re quick to press shuffle on a playlist, a change in music filling your senses as you lock the door behind you, now a little more awake and alert for the rest of the day.

Gathered outside the training room, you can see that the group are still slightly sweating as they discuss choreography.

“Y/N!”

It’s Seungmin that sees you first, his loud exclamation making not just the rest of the band but a few trainees turn around too.

You can’t help but cringe in embarrassment, taking your earphones out.

“You look exhausted.” Chan comments as you near them, a kaleidoscope of noise now surrounding you now that your headphones are out.

“I’ve been working, on two new songs actually.” You tell him, hands rubbing together in unconscious excitement.

“For us?”

You nod your head at an eager Changbin.

“You guys and some trainees. They wanted a demo for a dancing classes.”

“Let’s get you some coffee. You’re banned from working until you actually have something to sustain you.”

You look up at your boyfriend, whose taking your laptop from your hands, his serious facial expression almost overshadowing the way his freckles only make him look more adorable.

Mocking a salute, you turn to follow the already walking boys, a laugh slipping from your lips. He catches up with you in only a few strides, hand taking yours whilst your computer is cradled safely in his other arm.

You’re quick to order a coffee first whilst the group go find seats, holding the table with a coffee in hand as they get their own food.

You pick up on stares as soon as soon as they start, your gaze going to a group of trainees who seem to be particularly interested in you, looking as their gaze flick from talking, to you.

You watch them over your cup, subtly trying to make out just some of what they’re saying.

The two males seem to be equally invested in watching you, their gazes scanning you as they estrange words in whispers with each other.

You roll your eyes.

You often got these type of looks because you were dating Felix, but perhaps they’d even heard of your trainee failure, that too was often a fuel to the malicious looks.

As Felix climbs into the seat next to you, Minho on your other side, you rip your gaze from the two trainees, a smile greeting the 8 as you take another sip of your coffee, the two trainees long gone from your mind as you listen to them discuss the new choreography.

You begin to think that you must’ve done something in your past life, because these damned boys seem to follow you everywhere.

This same day you’d seen them in a glance across the cafe, they were now right behind you as you walked to the dance rooms, and then again as you made your way to the dorms to fetch your laptop. Now again they were right here, outside your recording studio, backs leaned against the wall as they stood, smug and impressed as they watched you come through the hallway.

“Sorry guys, can I just get in?” You ask, pulling out one of your earphones as you hold up the keys in your hand.

The two don’t budge, rather opting to stay in their slightly intimidating poses, looking down at you with that same evil smirk.

“Why don’t you make us, pretty?”

You look up at the dark haired one, catching sight of his name tag. Sungwoo.

Ah, so that was this boys name.

“Sorry?” You say, looking up at the boy with a unimpressed look.

What did this boy think he was doing?

“You heard us. Why don’t you make us move?” Jungmun, the sandy coloured hair boy, tells you, eyebrow raised in an arch.

“Y/N!”

The sound of your name makes you spin around, sighing in relief when you meet the gaze of the choreographer you’re working with.

The two students have dissipated in a simple syllable when you turn back around.

Thank god.

You quickly invite her in, sitting down and opening the song as you continue on with your original agenda set for the day, the two boys now far from your mind as the beat you’ve made fills the room through the speakers.

But it’s like you can’t shake the bad luck that follows from these trainee boys, similar incidents follow over the next few weeks in the form of rude phrases and even one incident where they trapped you outside your studio in the middle of the night.

Now you’re scared, too scared to even work alone.

You know that telling Felix and the other boys this would be a simple fix, a security blanket around your shoulders. But, they were already all so protective of you after your trainee career had flopped, helping you get the producer job you would’ve absolutely died for. They’d done so much for you, you couldn’t ask them to do more.

So, you now decided that leaving the dorms would be too much of a risk, especially after that night.

You now creep out of your room in the middle of the night to take over the small desk in the corner of the living area, staying up to sunrise so you could make up for lost time you could’ve been working on songs.

The days are blurring past now, you basically a walking corpse running on so much coffee it’s almost ridiculous at this point. You’re exhausted, but slowly things are getting done, just not in the most ideal way.

Sitting in the cafe again, you can’t help but zone out, almost zombie-like as you drink up your coffee, waiting for the 8 to get their food.

Somewhat unconsciously you’re gaze trickles towards where the two trainees would normally sit, but they’re seats are empty.

Where are they? Where have they gone?

Your heart rate picks up as your eyes flick through the seats, trying to get a glimpse of the two in a desperate need for some relief.

Cmon, where are you two? What are you planning?

A touch on your shoulder sends your body flinching backwards, almost losing balance on your seat as you look up wide eyed at Felix.

Felix. Just Felix.

“Hey!” The boy says, hand on your shoulder as he bends to your height. “It’s just me, Love.”

You try to play off your wide eyes with a smile and a laugh.

“Yeah! No it’s okay! You just scared me!”

He gives you a little laugh, taking his seat and beginning to eat, hand on yours for a second longer then it normally would be, his lingering touch perhaps a way of saying “it’s okay.”

Whether he knew it or not; it was calming.

When his hand does leave yours, you zone out again, the bitter taste in your mouth most certainly not the coffee.

“Don’t you agree Y/N?”

You hear Lee Minho’s voice loud and clear, but you can’t quite register what it is the boy says.

But when he touches your arm from across the table, you body reacts first, pulling back in record speed as a flinch ripples through your body, a silent scream building in your throat, burning as you swallow it away.

Your heart feels like it’s almost about to burst from your chest, the thump so heavy you’re sure everyone can hear it too.

It takes you a full moment to completely register just where you are; at the table with the people you could trust.

You pull at your sleeves, trying to cover your own skin from the sudden chill that takes the room, that makes goosebumps form all over your body as it sleeps through the woven fabric of your hoodie.

“Hey, you okay? You look really exhausted.”

“Yeah yeah,” you brush off Changbins question like a chip off your shoulder, trying to mask your labored breaths with a quick smile.

“I’m fine.”

“You dont look fine Y/N, you look tired, exhausted actually.” Chan chimes in, Felix nodding beside you as they both peer at you in concern.

“How long has it been since you’ve had something other then coffee? Or slept for that matter?”

You stand up in an instant at Felix’s question, shaking your head at the concerned group.

“You are too worried guys. I’m fine,” You tell them all, eyes wandering to each member, smiling for reassurance.

“I’m seriously fine! Don’t stress, you’ve all got a comeback to stress about!”

And with that you’re walking back to your studio, laptop bag in hand.

Sighing at your quite suspicious response, your breath catches in your throat mid way through, eyes wide as you see them, leaning against the wall as if they’ve got something to hold above you, still smug as anything.

“Please move.” You monotone, eyes half glazed as you stare up at the boys, done with all the shit they’ve pulled.

“No can do sweetheart.”

You want to roll your eyes at the sandy haired boy, but hold back.

“One kiss and we’re gone, love. You know the deal.”

You roll your eyes, frustrated.

“Guys cmon, you’re trainees. Please, listen to your senior and move from the doorway. This is getting ridiculous.”

They seem to snigger at your attempt of trying to hold some authority above them, Sungwoo opening his mouth as Jungmun laughs.

“Why don’t you make us, pretty. Does JYP-nim still not have your back? Even after your attempts? You’ve still failed huh?”

Your fierce glare is no match for shout that echos through the halls.

“What did you just say to my girlfriend?”

Felix is behind you in an instant, his arm around going around your waist. You look up at the at the boy, who’s glaring over at the two trainees, in surprise, eyes wide as you see the anger in his glare.

They turn to scramble at just his fierce glare.

“Felix... Chan... Jisung...” Jungmun breathes, the names causing you to turn around in Felix’s grip, seeing the two boys behind you slowly materialize into 7 as they all round the corner.

“I never want to see your faces again. I suggest you leave before we change our minds on letting you go lightly.”

They scramble off, white in the face at Felix’s words. He turns to you, hands on your arms, any harshness replaced by a soft gaze as he looks down at you.

“Did they hurt you at all?”

You shake your head in reply.

“Have they done this before to you?”

Now your gaze falters to Chan, whose eyebrows are raised at you.

Shyly, you nod, eyes lowering to the ground, not wanting to see his reaction.

“Hey,” your boyfriend’s voice is even softer, fingers under your chin to push you to face him. “Why didn’t you say anything? We could’ve helped.”

“I know,” you reply, a sigh escaping from your lips, “But you’ve already done so much for me that I thought I could just ride this one out. It wasn’t a big deal.”

“Yah, Y/N, we’re always going to be here for you, no matter the issue at hand.”

You nod, avoiding eye contact with Jisung. “Thankyou.”

The words barely leave your lips before Felix embraces you, pulling you towards the studio you’d been trying to get into.

“Let’s hear that song you’ve been working on for us!”

With a sincere laugh, you watch as all they cram into a studio only built for 5, setting up your speakers with one quick press of a button as your finger hovers over the play button for the song you’d spent so long on.

It thumps through the speakers, loud, and absolutely thrilling as your eyes slide over all the members for their reactions.

“This is so good!” Jeongin yells over the music, giving you a wide smile and a thumbs up.

“Yeah, those jerks really don’t know how talented you are, seriously.” Minho yells, a few members nodding in agreement with him.

Felix takes your hand, his wide smile almost reassuring. You take a deep breath, feeling as if the weight has finally been lifted from your shoulders.

Whether its in light of the situation, or the fact your favorite part of your job is happening right here, you feel that you finally know that as long as you have these boys, you’re safe no matter what.

[eerythingisshaka]

Will the Bell Ring? Pt. 3

(Erik Killmonger x Black!OC)

Part 1 Part 2

Kimara pays the barista for her green tea and goes across the street to the studio.  This week has been a hectic one for her since she’s been working with Peter Gafflin, an alternative rock artist who is on the come up since his EP dropped last year.  Kimara was owed a favor from the owner of the studio, Rick, after Erik helped get him some new equipment from a group that trashed the place after a drug fueled mosh pit they formed to add ambiance to their album.  Suffice to say, they would not be returning to record any time soon.

When she enters the studio, Rick is there playing in his grey locs nervously.

“Kimmy!  Good to see you 15 minutes past showtime, I really appreciate it.”  He smiles, dimples still displaying powerfully under is grey beard.

She shrugs.  “You know I have a process, Ricky Kanicky!  It all works out in the end, thanks for the hookup on this gig.  Are they waiting on me?”

Rick holds out his arm to escort her to the back.  “Nah, I stalled them with some mic check mumbo jumbo, so at least their warmed up properly.  You need some time in the booth before we start?”

She shakes her head as he opens the door.  A gust of patchouli hits her senses.  Peter Gafflin and his gang were warming up in a way much different than how Rick described.

“Rick!  Thank God, I was ready to call the police, you were gone for like three hours man!”  Peter’s rough Carolinian accent boomed as he walked wistfully over to you two in his holely jeans and cowboy boots with his fringed black leather jacket and matching wide brimmed hat.

“No, I just had to go get some extra talent to guide our recording session along.  This is Kimara, she’s the third part to our banging backup we keep on hand for artists.”

Peter towers over her at 6’7, but humbly bends to kiss your hand like a prince.  “To God be the glory for creating women and music.  Put them together and I’m a happy Papa, you know what I’m saying?!”  He ribs Rick before clapping thunderously to liven his group.  “Aight y’all!  Look alive.   Dave get your Fender, Bill get your wide ass behind them drums, everybody take your places!”

Kimara goes over to the mics with her other singers.  “Wassup Brenda?  Tara?”

They roll their eyes at you before mumbling their hellos.  You put your headphones on to get ready for the track to play, not studdin them today.  They were the fourth pair this year to work for Rick and the studio.  They all get inspired to be solo artists or get too wrapped up in the artist of the day and think they can keep up with a touring schedule to only come out of it broke with no plan B, and pregnant.  

Singing has always been her dream to do, and any capacity in which Kimara can fulfill that, is one she is willing to go for.  It’s her escape, her home away from home, it’s her church, especially when the artist has some good stuff to work with.  Kimara hadn’t gotten as in depth with Peter’s discography as she usually does with artist’s before a recording session because her mind could not focus lately.  Trying to have a baby has been on her mind 24/7 and Erik filling her mind with hope and then trying to tell her to chill made her crazy.  Did he want a baby as bad as she did?  Kimara didn’t think so anymore.

She shakes her head and takes a few deep breaths before looking over the music with the girls.  Brenda catches her up on the tempo of the song and little points in which Peter wanted them to blow.  Southern singers couldn’t deny the power of a good Black gospel when they needed it.

Peter certainly is no exception.  He places his hands in front of his mouth in prayer before raising them up to the sky, bringing them down with shaky fists.

“Now THAT is a climax if I ever heard one.  What did I tell you Rick?  Music and women, the best sounds on this Earth come from both.”  Peter smiles pointing victoriously at the three of them before taking his place at his mic.  “I’m ready ladies, let’s record this thing!”

After a few dry rehearsals, time came to record.  Kimara gives a thumbs up to Rick as he queues up the track to play in your ears.   The song isn’t bad, kind of bluesy and it’s about a love misunderstood.   Peter plays a man who is trying to convince his lover out of depression, using the analogy of being in shark infested waters.  His lover finds the water and waves so beautiful she jumps from the boat and dives in after he protests over and over.  He is subjected to watch as the sharks circle around her, he reaches out to her the whole time reminding her that he is there and to take his hand.  He can’t tell if her face is wet from the ocean or from tears but she is smiling all the same and it frustrates him to see the danger looming but she isn’t phased.  

The song ends ambiguously but Kimara can’t stop her emotions from spilling over and affecting her vocals a little bit.  Rick notices immediately and cuts the session short, popping into the booth.  

“Hey Kimara, you alright?”  He asks in a fatherly manner.  

All she can do is nod and wipe her eyes as she wishes she was anywhere but there.  Being late is unprofessional enough, but costing an artist studio time, she might as well hang it up now.  Peter comes over to Kimara, waving at Rick.  “We’re fine, just give us a minute.”  He dips his height down to look her in her eyes.  “You alright there, ma’am?”

Kimara nods shrugging.  “The song is just that good I guess.”

Peter shakes his head.  “No, it isn’t.  My buddy Ralph helped me to write it, I’ve been wondering about the composition of it since, but when he died in a car crash a couple months ago, I haven’t been able to nail this thing down.  He’d know exactly what it needs, but he ain’t here to tell it.”

“I’m sorry for your loss Peter.”  Kimara says apologetically.

Peter smiles.  “I didn’t kill him, so all’s good!  I want you to sing a little something on the track for me, just you, to kind of hear how it sounds.  Don’t worry about my notes, just do what feels good to you.”

Peter motions to Rick as he walks Kimara over to his mic, setting the headphones over her ears.  Kimara feels nervous instantly, not knowing what to do with the spotlight being on her, this has never happened to her before.  

But as the track plays, she sings the lyrics from her heart.  They were pretty simple and easy to memorize so when she closed her eyes and flowed with the track, she began to feel that familiar emotion again, accept this time she honed it as best as she could.  She knew where her inspiration came from, it was undeniable, but why did he bring the sadness out so easily?  Before she knew, the song was done and when she opened her eyes, Peter was on one knee with his hands out.

“You see me right now?  This is what you just did to me, an old bachelor crooner ready to lay down it all for your hand.  Are you betrothed my dear?”

Kimara laughs as she takes off her headphones, stepping back.  “None of your business, because you are too wild for me anyway!”  

Peter gets up pointing at Rick.  “You hiding treasures from me, you greedy bastard!  This girl ain’t a back up, she’s a star in the making!”

Kimara felt hot, trying her best to appear humble, but this man has a way with words that made her completely big headed.  “It’s nothing.  I don’t have the time for that right now.  I’m focusing on my personal life.”

Peter smiles but appears disappointed.  “Girl the places you can go.  I hope you have someone in your life to remind you of your-your QUEENLY-ness!  I wouldn’t leave the house without you by my side.”

Kimara shakes her head.  “Well luckily I do have someone.   He’s….pretty great I think.”

Peter pulls his glasses down the bridge of his nose.  “Well until that ‘think’ turns into a ‘know’ keep me in mind.”

Kimara cackles pushing him away.  “You have some nerve.  Get back to your spot so we can make this album and go home!”  

They share a laugh but before Kimara goes back to her mark she turns to him.  “Peter, I did wonder though, with the song:  Does the lady ever take your hand?  Gets out?”

Peter smiles weakly shaking his head.  “Nah, never does.  Cuz I pushed her in.”

Nine Years Ago

Kimara sits on the couch with a movie playing in the background but she isn’t really looking at it.  Her eyes have glazed over the moving images on her screen and the sounds are similar to being underwater.  There is too much happening in her mind at the moment to even be bothered with the world around her.  

Kimara hangs her head clutching her knees as she thinks back to a couple months ago, when Erik was there.  She had left her part time job at the music college and cautiously pulled up to her house when an ominous figure sat on her front doorstep.  Her keys tucked between her knuckles and 911 ready to just hit dial, she steps out the car.  

“Whatchu want?!”  She bellows, bringing the bass out her voice as much as possible.  His head hung low enough that the front door light couldn’t catch his features, face masked in the darkness.  

She hears him chuckle.  “The hell you barkin at?”  He lifts his head up to look at her.

Kimara’s heart dropped in her stomach at the sound of his voice.  Covering her mouth, she drops her keys to the concrete, overcome with emotion.  He wasn’t supposed to be there, practically considered him dead.  Erik gets up, hugging her tightly.  “I told you I was gonna be aight.  I told you.”

Kimara gasps for breath.  “No!  You ain’t told me though!”  She punches his chest for emphasis.  

Erik pulls her away to lift her face toward his, wiping her eyes.  “I like a surprise, what can I say.”

Kimara sniffles her snot bubbles, stepping back.  “This is so damn embarrassing.  How can you act so cool right now.  I’m a mess, and you put on so much damn weight, like, the fuck!”

Erik opens his jack to look down at himself.  “Well damn!  You still know how to talk crazy to somebody.”

She laughs.  “No, like, look at you!  You got so damn….BIG, like….”  Kimara holds his jacket apart a bit to run her hands down his chest.  

Erik bites his lip nodding.  “Now that’s more like it.”

“Shut up!  I’m just in awe!  You weren’t scrawny for real but not nearly this buff!  What kind of undershirt you got on, you feel bumpy.”  Kimara puls at the collar of his shirt, but Erik swipes her hand away.  

“Uh uh, you gotta earn the show.  Cash upfront.”  Erik jokes, putting his hands in his pockets.  “You look good too, real….real good.  Gettin them squats in huh?”  Erik stands on his toes to look around her backside but Kimara steps sideways.  

“Here you go!  Go on!  I don’t see you for two years and you drop yourself here for what?  Are you back for good?”  Kimara picks her keys up, going to her front door to open it.

“I’m just here to talk, hang out.  I needed a place to lay my head, so I figured I could get two birds with one stone.”  Erik walks in behind her, closing the door.  

Kimara takes off her jacket and sets her bag down.  “That’s fine.  You welcome here.  You gotta tell me how things went!  I know you went to Japan at first, but I didn’t get a letter from you after that, I got kind of worried…”

Erik told Kimara about his time in Japan; he was only there a few weeks before he was selected for Special Ops training, which gave him the physique.  Most of the rest of his missions were confidential, but the orders he was given were implied.  

When he showed his scars and the meaning behind them, Kimara just about lost it.

“How can you mark yourself up like that?!  The memories aren’t enough to live with?  You have to see them on yourself everyday you look in the mirror?”

“Might as well!  I see it when I wake up, when I sleep!  In a way, this is therapy for me, makes me feel like what I did wasn’t for nothing!”

Kimara paces the floor agitated beyond compare.  “Why would you hurt yourself like that?  Haven’t you been through enough to make these permanent changes to yourself?  I still can’t believe the day you signed up for that damn program.  The details were shaky at best.  But the Navy was more important to you than what I thought.”

Erik scoffs.  “This wasn’t about you to begin with.  We didn’t have anything to fight for.  You’re my friend, I had plenty of those.  You think you’re the only one that told me to fall back from it?  Huh?  This gave me purpose, it gave me a vision for my future, something I ain’t had EVER.”

Kimara looked at Erik with disgust.  “You’re a damn dumbass.”

Erik cocked an eyebrow.  “You better be glad I know you like that, I don't let anybody talk to me like that no more.”

Kimara stands her ground with him.  He really forgot who she was.  “I ain't scared of you Erik! You forget that I've known you for years now, I'm not just somebody off the street! I've seen you stressed out for exams, I've seen you dealing with people giving you a hard time for being on scholarship, hell US cuz we Black and they didn't believe us! I get that every year on your father's death date, you get extra distant but you let me in to your little rituals to honor him.  That Wakandan chant you'd do? I still know it by heart, hell I said it for you!”

Erik looked at Kimara angrily but not because she was wrong.  “Stop talkin bout that shit.”

Kimara steps to him.  “What you think you hard now?  You think you got everyone figured out, you so damn smart??  But you won’t even let yourself FEEL shit no more, is that what your big plan is?  Shooting people up and taking their things, like that’s ever worked for anybody.”

Erik snarls.  “Except it has, and I have no problem sending it right back to people.”

Kimara points to the door.  “Get the fuck outta my house Erik.  I didn’t ask for this bullshit in my face.”

Erik turns his chin up at her. “So you done with me now?  Now is when you wanna throw me out?  I knew you wasn’t worried about me anyway.”  As Erik turned away, Kimara pushes his back to get him to the door quicker.

“You fucking bastard!  I wasted my fucking time thinking about you!  You can’t get outta your own damn head to realize who cares about you!”

Erik reaches for the doorknob, standing there a moment listening to her wail.  

“You could’ve been great here with me!  I don’t give a damn how tough you think you are, you aren’t this.”

Kimara grows weak from yelling, crumpling to the floor sobbing.  Erik crouches down to her quicker than he meant to.  It was instinctual more than anything.  “Come on now…”

She holds her hands up.  “No!  You don’t get it.  Whatever those people told you over there isn’t true.  You aren’t more of a man for doing this shit, for scarring yourself up, for not caring.  You’re not human!  You’re not yourself!”

Erik freezes when she says this, something finally clicked in him with what she said.  Erik apologizes softly, but Kimara was tired.  Tired of crying, tired of fighting, she just wanted her friend, she wanted to be happy and for him to be safe and happy too.  Erik just held her in his arms, allowing himself to feel like she kept reminding him to.  It hurt worse than getting the scars did and when he broke, Kimara was glad.  Looking into his face she finally saw the Erik she always knew, the one that she wanted so much from.  The world didn’t trample his soul that day, or any day for the next few weeks following.

Kimara allowed Erik in her heart, something she always fought with herself over because they were such good friends and Erik wasn’t the first person she would assume wanting to settle down.  But when he looked at her it seemed so genuine, so pure she couldn’t help but fall into him.  And that's what she was kicking herself over on that couch a month later, sore and opening a bottle of pills.

Present Day

When Kimara left the studio, she tried calling Erik but didn’t get an answer.   Instead she got a generic text saying he would call her later, in a meeting.

She rolls her eyes and decides to go check on his cousin at the community center.  He’s helped Erik through a whole helluva lot of bullshit before so maybe he could listen to hers.

The state of the art facility was amazing to see given what it used to be.  Old apartments where crime and drugs ran rampant, now it looked like something you would see downtown in the upscale neighborhoods.  

When she got inside, it didn’t take long for her to find T’Challa, crouched and talking to a small child standing next to their mother.  The child gives him a hug, which he took genuinely and that’s when he sees Kimara.

“Janae, I will see you next week to work on your long division, ok?”  He points to her, thanking her mother at the same time before heading over to Kimara.

“Hello!  How are you?”  He says to Kimara warmly.

Kimara bounces on her toes.  “I’m good T’Challa, you?”  They share a church hug.  Kimara is so happy she can call T’Challa family, without him, Erik wouldn’t even be there.

T’Challa sighs heavily, putting his hands behind his back.  “I’ve been better.  I’ve been drowning in chamomile tea and crackers to settle my stomach.  American alcohol is horrendous.”

Kimara laughs.  “Oh yeah, Erik took you out on the town.  Did you have fun at least?”

T’Challa half shrugs, smirking.  “It was successful for what the goal was.  I met with a young lady there and we may have hit it off.  I haven’t contacted her about it yet.”

Kimara’s jaw drops.  “Whaaat?  You playin with women’s heart now T?  I never thought of you as the type.”

T’Challa stutters a bit to find his words.  “It wasn’t really….well, Erik just wanted to cheer me up for me and Nakia not being on the best of terms, so-”

“Yeah, that’s how he was in college.  One girl doesn’t stop his show.”  Kimara rests her hand on the back of her neck, playing with her curls knotting at the nape.

T’Challa looks away, visibly uncomfortable.  “But I do intend to call her back, I just don’t want to appear too eager and things.”

Kimara pokes her bottom lip out, bucking her round brown eyes at him.  “Aww, now don’t go soft on account of me.  I know how guys are, so lemme stop asking about your love life.  However, if it ever becomes official, feel free to invite her to hang with us.  We can make a double date of it.”

T’Challa nods, smiling humbly.  “Of course, that would be delightful.  I am glad you stopped by actually, I imagine you’re looking for this anyway.”  T’Challa turns on his heels, the tails of his jacket picking up with a flourishing wave as he clicks down the hallway.

Kimara follows behind him confused.  “What are you talking about?”

Walking down the halls decorated with projects and works tagged with an ‘A+’ or 100% mark whizzed past them as they approached his office.  Opening the doors to his office, his footsteps muffle against the lush carpet to retrieve something out of his desk.

He pulls out a burlap pouch to hand to Kimara proudly.  “There.  Erik is pretty eager to get started on that regimen so you guys can….have at it!”  T’Challa gestures awkwardly shaking his hands about in front of him.

Kimara screws her face up looking from T’Challa to the bag.  “But I still don’t….OH!  He actually asked you about some erectile, baby juice making bull from you?”

T’Challa’s eyes widen.  “You and him never stray much from details, eh?”

Kimara opens the drawstring of the bag.  “I’m sorry, I just don’t….what is the shit, T?”  Kimara pulls out dried leaves and herbs from the pouch.

T’Challa tuts at her.  “Aye aye, put it back!  He is supposed to boil some water and put that in a cup and drink it.  It’s just a mix of common teas and spices, more of a placebo than a real cure.”

Kimara sighs, closing the bag up and placing a hand on her hip.  “So I guess Erik really does wanna have this baby.”  She murmur to herself.

T’Challa comes around the front of the desk, leaning against it.  “Were you having second thoughts?”

She shakes her head fervently.  “No, I want to be a mother more than anything right now which….may be part of our problem.  I’m forgetting how to be his partner.  We got into a bit of a thing when he had his appointment today.  He keeps saying I should slow down with the baby making regimen, and I thought for a second he wasn’t taking things seriously.”

T’Challa gives an empathetic glance, crossing his arms thoughtfully.  “Excuse me in advance if I’m getting too personal but Erik has told me only a few things, so I’m not unaware.  But I know that Erik has your interests in his heart.  He knows this is important to you and it is equally important to him.  However, he doesn’t do well with rules and regulation.  He likes to make things happen and if it works great, if not, move on to something new.  And maybe this is his way of moving on to a new method.  But it sounds like he wants to take pressure off of you,  like with this herbal method.”

Kimara looks at the bag in her hand, feeling herself relax as she held onto it tightly.  “I think you’re right.  He’s been getting on my nerves with it but I think he’s just trying to show he cares.”

T’Challa nods.  “He does, I’m certain of it.”

Kimara gives T’Challa a grateful hug.  “Thank you so much!  I’m gonna take this to him.  Thanks for your help, I knew I would get what I needed coming to you.”

T’Challa gives her a soft pat on the back before breaking the embrace.  “Anytime.  You guys are a great pair, he’s lucky to have you.”

“You too.  He’s come so far because of...because of you.  So even though these are dud teas, it may make things a little more hopeful, who knows.”

T’Challa clutches his chest, looking hurt.  “Dud teas?  I will tell you those are delicious and very relaxing, if nothing else!  Fresh import from Wakandan gardens of the royal palace-”

Kimara yawns.  “Yeah yeah, I gotta go home now.  Tell Shuri I said hello, and if Nakia give you any trouble…”  Kimara boxes the air with weak punches.

T’Challa walks her out giving final goodbyes before making her way home to the man of her life.  

Walking into their place, Kimara finds Erik sitting on the couch playing 2K.  

“I’m home!”  Kimara calls out, kicking off her shoes and jacket.  Erik presses a combination of buttons on his controller, grunting as he misses his shot at the basket over and over, losing to the computer.

Kimara climbs over the back of the couch, laying her calves over his chest, warming his neck with her serried thighs.  “Erik…”  she whines.

Erik remains unconcerned with her presence.  “Come on, I’m almost done with this quarter, don’t fuck it up.”

Kimara plays with his head, pushing it side to side before resting her breasts on top of him.  “Are you still mad at me?”  

“When did I say I was mad at you?  I thought you were mad at me?”  Erik says, still focused on the game until a loud buzzer makes Kimara jump and Erik tosses the controller on the table in defeat.  

“I’m not mad, I was just...upset and assuming shit.”  Kimara says softly, massaging his scalp.  She feels his shoulders relax under her legs as he strokes them.

“So what problems you tryna work through still?”  Erik says deadpan.

“None!  We don’t have any.”  Kimara says sweetly, feeling hands along his face to scratch his beard.  “T’Challa gave me his little love potion stuff…”  She dangles the bag in front of his face.

Erik takes it, staring at it in his hands.  “Aight, just let me know what time you want me to take this and I’ll be on the way to the bedroom.”

Kimara swings her leg around to slide beside him holding on to his arm.  “Erik, you ain’t gotta worry about that!”

Erik looks so tired, looking at Kimara wearily.  “I don’t wanna be a reason you feel like you can’t get pregnant.  I know you think I’m being childish sometimes but I want a kid just like you.  This ain’t been good for us though, how we doin it.”

“I know,”  Kimara says, resting her chin on his shoulder.  

“And soon as those results from the lab come back, we can talk about other shit, but right now, I got you and I’m good with that.”

Kimara’s heart pounds in her chest, what a lovely man he can be.  “You’re the fucking sweetest.”

“So don’t be looking at your phone in bed with that tracker, don’t just fuck me without tryna be sexy about it, and don’t down my manhood in the heat of your anger.”

Kimara rubs his chest.  “That was bad of me.”

“Damn right it was.  Cuz that ain’t no fucking problem.”

Kimara shakes her head.  “Never.”

“I know faking, and THAT ain’t it.”

“It’s impossible for me to fake THAT.”  Kimara says, knowing exactly what he’s talking about.

“So as a man and as your man, lemme take care of what I gotta do on my own terms.  You just keep being cute and fine and smart as you always acting.”

Kimara lays her head across his lap looking up at him.  “Never an act babe, I’m all those things and more.  Including hungry.”

Erik plays in her wild fro with one hand, the other resting at the base of her throat.  “What am I supposed to do about that?  You ain’t got hands to dial delivery?”

“Erik!  I know you got something in that kitchen, I smelt in soon as I walked in.”

“Yeah, for ME.  This a every man for himself house, Ma, you know that.”

“Pleeeease.”  Kimara widens her eyes a bit for good measure.

Erik smirks.  “You better quit all that for I poke your eye out.”

Kimara scoffs, smacking his stomach as she gets up to look in the oven and pull out a brown paper bag with two containers of penne pasta slathered in marinara meat sauce and melty cheese with the crispy crunchy bread she loves so much.

“You were gonna eat two by yourself, huh?”  Kimara quips.

“I can eat a lot more than that, so don’t try me.”  Erik calls across the room.

Kimara gets her serving out and practically skips back to the couch to enjoy and watch Erik play his game.  Except he still had it on pause.  

“So you couldn’t bring mine back witchu?”  He asks, voice raising an octave.

Kimara slurps up a stray string of cheese off her fork.  “Erik, seriously?  I just got in!”

Erik kisses his teeth.  “Ok, lemme have a bite of yours.”

“Uh uh!  Get your lazy self up and get your own!”  Kimara kicks her feet up at him, scarfing another bite.

Erik doesn’t take no for an answer, pushing her legs to one side pinning her.  “Gimme some!”

“No!  You’re gonna make me drop it!”  Kimara squeals, barely holding onto the aluminum container.

Erik just opens his mouth open coming closer and closer to her face.  “You gonna spit on me, close your mouth!”  

Erik guides his mouth to her fork and she hesitantly puts it in his mouth.  He dramatically pauses to savor the flavor, chewing slowly.  “Mm!  Damn that’s good.”

Kimara rolls her eyes.  “Can you get off me now?”

Erik nods, swallowing.  “Yeah, just lemme have some bread and-”

“NIGGA IF YOU DON’T GO!”  Kimara squirming under him.  

Erik takes the container from her hand setting it on the table.  “Chill I gotta digest now.”  Erik proceeds to open her legs up laying his head against her chest, snuggling in her womanly comforts.  Kimara is lowkey seething when all she wants is some damn dinner, but in reality it had been a while since they had been this playful with each other.  Putting her needs aside, she takes the time to enjoy his weight on her, his heartbeat on her stomach, the warmth in between her.  

“Sing me somethin.”  He mumbles in her titties.  

That night and every night following for the next two weeks were grand.  Kimara hadn’t felt that kind of love for Erik in a length of time she would be embarrassed to admit.  It felt like they were dating all over again and she would’ve loved for that to have stayed that way, but then his results came back and her worries erupted all over again.

Part 4

Masterlist

Ragtag

@chaneajoyyy @sarcastic-sunshines @muse-of-mbaku@dameshaemonique  @fonville-designs @destinio1@bakarisangel @wakanda-inspired @klaine15689 @savageiz @nickidub718 @yoyolovesbucky

[therichonnewritingnetwork]

Aren’t you a little to old to be trick-or-treating?

written by: nwfanmega

read more of @nwfan‘s works at FFN

“Andre Anthony!” Michonne shouted, stumbling on the slick hardwood floor as she chased the wet, naked toddler down the long hallway. “Get back here now!”

He turned back to look at her, gleeful eyes grounding her in place as his mischievous grin tugged at her heart. The two years since Mike’s passing had been the most brutal, numbing of her– their entire lives. Over a year of waking to her own tears soaking the blankets shrouding her underfed, sleep-deprived body had morphed into months of mornings being roused by cheerful laughter emanating from her rambunctious baby boy.

Today was Halloween and her energetic imp had tickled her awake as if it were Christmas morning. His infectious excitement carried them through the day as they carved lopsided pumpkins, filled a comically enormous bowl with assorted treats, and meticulously decorated their front porch with spiderwebs and skeletons.

All the activity made a bath necessary and after the end of Andre’s tub-time, he’d insisted on retrieving the clawed gloves Auntie Sasha had expertly fashioned to accompany his costume. Seeing the bright smile on his face warmed her from the inside out, making it impossible for Michonne to willfully tap down his enthusiasm.

After all, this had been Mike’s favorite holiday too. The elaborate couples’ costumes he would sweet-naturedly charm her into wearing had created distinct memories she could hold close for the rest of her life. Cleopatra and Mark Antony. Samson and Delilah. She was always his strong, resilient warrior.

It had been forever since she’d felt like his fearless fighter. The return of his illness had dropped her into depths of despair from which salvation seemed unreachable. But she had this tender-hearted boy to raise, who they’d agreed was the very best parts of both of them.

“Sorry Mommy,” he pouted, dropping his head as he bounced from one foot to the other. “Just wanna make sure I put it on ‘fore trick treaters come.”

He stepped on the tips of his toes, reaching over to the console in the foyer to grab the box holding the gloves for his costume.

“Ok baby,” she gently said, smiling as she dropped to her knees and opened the towel in her hands.

He ran back, jumping into her arms as she peppered his baby-soft face with kisses until he squirmed to be released.

“Ready for treat trick Mommy?” he asked, cupping her face with his little hands.

She nodded, wrapping the towel around his still damp body before lifting him up and carrying him to his room.

…

As soon as she dropped him at his door, he scurried to his dresser, opening the lowest drawer and pulling out his favorite T’Challa underwear. He slipped them on, then turned to his mother, waiting expectantly for her to help him put on the rest of his outfit.

Michonne opened his closet door, pulling out the garment bag carrying the costume Sasha had painstakingly made for her favorite nephew. Unzipping it, she pulled it out and turned to gauge Andre’s reaction.

She closed her eyes as tears slipped past her lids. If she could have bottled his expression and saved it forever, she would have. Silently, he clasped his hand over his mouth as he stared at the meticulously crafted creation.

He held his arms up as she helped him slip his little legs into the bottom half of the suit, before gliding it up his torso and spinning him around to zip the back.

“Wow!” she exclaimed, stepping back and spinning him towards the mirror. “You’re Black Panther.”

She watched Andre’s eyes widened, his little eyebrows rising so high she could easily count the creases on his forehead.

“I am, Mommy,” he whispered, tilting his head to look up at her with awe-filled eyes.

…

“Remember, I answer the door,” Michonne began, looking down at an eager Andre while adjusting her gold collar. “But you get to hand out the candy.”

Andre nodded solemnly, laser-focused on the overflowing bowl next to the front door. He’d insisted on matching outfits, having spent what turned out to be a very long week vacillating between Shuri and Okoye, finally deciding his fierce mother was Okoye; ready to battle evil by the Black Panther’s side.

Michonne glanced at the hallway mirror, taking in the red faux-leather breastplate Sasha had painstakingly drafted, cut out, and hand-delivered with explicit instructions on how to sew everything together. Sasha’s design sensibilities hadn’t rubbed off on her, but the hours spent in high school sewing her best friend’s artistic creations had. So while fairly adept at following the directions, she couldn’t have put together such an ensemble without Sasha’s inventive flare – and latent OCD – driving the endeavor.

The bell rang, startling her and drawing a loud giggle from Andre.

“It’s showtime!” Michonne exclaimed, squeezing his hand as she walked to the door.

Andre anxiously hopped up and down as she reached over his head and opened the front door. She tried to swiftly absorb the scene in front of her, shifting between one partially masked pair of crystal blue eyes to another, observing what could only be father and son.

“Trick or Treat!” the young boy enthusiastically chirped.

“Mommy!” Andre exclaimed, squeezing around her legs to stand in front of the visitors. “He’s Black Panther too! I told you there’d be another one!”

Michonne laughed as Andre made his way over to the little boy who’d been partly obscured by his father, but now stood proudly in front. As the boys admired each other’s outfits, Michonne turned her attention to the father, who slowly lifted the glass panel of his Iron Man helmet to reveal a tangle of damp curls plastered to his forehead.

“Boy, didn’t take into account how hot this thing was gonna be,” he announced, sweeping the curls from his forehead. “I’m Rick and that’s Carl. I believe we’re neighbors. Just moved up the street.”

“Nice to meet you,” Michonne smiled, leaning out of the doorway to take his outstretched hand. “I’m Michonne and my Black Panther is Andre.”

“Did a fine job with that,” he quietly said, conspiratorially leaning in and closing the space between them. “Pretty sure Carl’s gonna be talkin’ ‘bout it for weeks. I got his online, but yours… Wow. Both of yours are awfully impressive.”

His eyes quickly scanned her body, before making their way back up to her eyes.

“No, no, no” she giggled, shaking her head and gesturing between herself and Andre. “All of this is the work of a very good, very talented friend. I probably would’ve been knee-deep in the sales bin at Walmart.”

“Sounds like a good friend.”

“She is,” Michonne quietly replied.

“Don’t tell me you’re all decked out and only handing out candy,” Rick exclaimed, turning to watch the boys showing of their best moves on the porch.

“Andre was really excited about his costume. Less so about going out. I guess we’re homebodies… Plus, I’m pretty sure he thinks there’s gonna be a lot left at the end of the night. He turns three in December and doesn’t remember last year when the neighborhood cleared us out by 8pm.”

“I know how that is,” Rick said, nodding slowly. “Carl turned seven in June and still talks about how we didn’t get out early enough last year, leading to his ‘diminished haul.’ Not even sure where he got that from, to tell the truth. Had to promise this year we’d head out as soon as the sun set.”

“Andre’s started remembering stuff like this,” Michonne said wistfully, eyes dropping to her shiny patent leather boots. “Figured this would be a good year to start doing it up.”

“Loved that age,” Rick said, noting the caution in her eyes as she brought them back up to meet his. “Wish I coulda’ kept Carl there a bit longer…”

“Well, you seem to be doing just fine,” Michonne noted, watching Andre show Carl how the claws were attached to his gloves.

Rick turned to look at the boys.

“Wasn’t really sure Black Panther was, you know, appropriate for Carl. But it is his favorite character…”

“It’s appropriate for any kid who loves the character.”

The air stilled between them as they quietly gazed at each other. Something about the twinkle in Rick’s eyes calmed her in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time. She didn’t quite know what to make of it.

“Carl loves the comics, but I’m terrible with stuff like that. Can’t keep the characters straight to save my life. I only picked Iron Man ‘cause that’s the one I usually remember. I’m a disappointment to my seven year old.”

“Then lucky for you, Carl now has neighbors well-versed in all things Marvel. He’ll never have to suffer in silence again.”

“Wanna go trick-or-treating with us?” he asked, laughing at her teasing dig.

She was fun. He could get used to this.

“Aren’t you a little too old to be trick-or-treating?” she smirked, pointing at the plastic pumpkin in his hand.

He grinned, eyes falling to the ground, before rising and getting lost, once again, in her dazzling smile. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had registered in his consciousness like this. Maybe this was the fresh start he needed too. He looked over at Carl, bending down so Andre could whisper into his ear.

“Nah,” Rick replied, biting his bottom lip as he turned his full attention back to Michonne. “Never too old for a little bit’a fun.”

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[withastolenlantern]

The late morning sun peeked between the Center City towers to the south, breaking through the smog haze emanating from the drone freighters parked at the port. The streets of Rhawnhurst were already abuzz with life; she passed the barbershop and Señor Rodriguez’s dry cleaners and old Madam Tupolov begging for change outside the automat café as she walked down Bustleton Avenue toward the intersection with Cottman, taking the long route to school. Not that anyone would notice that she was late, or ditched entirely; it would be hard to make out any individual student in classes that ranged up toward fifty students. The public schools were still drastically underfunded with an urban tax base that was quickly dwindling. They said on the holo that the state had threatened to bring in another private contractor to run them, but they’d tried at least twice before to little avail, and what would they pay them with? The Delaware had flooded three out of the last five years, each time cresting to a new record and washing out more homes along its banks and tributaries. Turquoise had overheard her mother and aunt whispering about property values, and she knew that in some way that was tied to school funding. 

A drone truck cut the corner at Cottman trying to make the light, clipping the curb and sending a splash of sewage run off spraying up on the cracked sidewalk. “Watch where you’re going!” she screamed in vain as she dodged out of the way, knowing full well it couldn’t hear her. “Piece of shit truck.” She wiped the water from her coat, a dark purple hand-me-down from her sister Destiny, and flipped off the truck as the cross-walk indicator turned. Her shoes, worn with age, were soaked through to her ratty socks, and now made squishing sounds as she walked.

Turquoise hated school, but she’d made a deal with her mother that she’d keep going, to her science and math classes anyway, and when she finished her homework she could go down to Mister Krystkiewicz’s studio in the basement. Mama stressed that she needed to focus on her education, that it was the only way she’d ever make her way out of here. But the universities were just as packed as the public schools; her counselor had told her there were ten applicants for every seat, even at the community colleges, and her grades weren’t good enough to qualify for a scholarship. Her mother worked three swing shift jobs just to keep food on the table, and even then they were all crammed into a two-bedroom apart they shared with her aunt’s three children. There was no way any of them could afford any kind of higher schooling, but Turquoise had never had any interest anyway: she was born to be an artist, she was sure, no matter how impractical that might be in the current age. Kris, as she shortened her neighbor’s borderline-unpronounceable eastern European surname, had told her numerous times she had promise, and some days that was the only thing that kept her going. At fifteen, her life was approaching a turning point, where adulthood would quickly become a pressing reality, and with it the requirement to find some way to provide for herself or become one of the hundred million Americans living below the poverty line.

Her grandmother had been the one to inspire her; her mother agreed, but would likely prefer the term “blame.” Dolores Quinlan had been a woman out of time, before her lungs had given out, a remnant of an era of opportunity. She would take Turquoise and her sister to the art museum once a month on the free Sundays, and afterward she would walk the girls down Fairmount Avenue for ice cream, making sure to point out the large mural of Irene Brevis, even then still mentioned with the reverence of hushed tones. The elderly woman, an idealistic academic in a world rapidly devolving towards the brutally pragmatic, did her best to instill in her granddaughters an appreciation for the abstract and intangible. Turquoise delighted in the visits, drinking in the history and the artistry in equal amounts. The sculpture gallery was her favorite; she loved to walk underneath the dangling installation chimes of Ole Sted as they glittered and whistled in the ambient breeze. One day she hoped to work in a similar medium, and Kris had dug up an old MIG weld unit for her to practice on tin cans and other sheet metal she collected from the building recycling dumpster. Her mother was skeptical but supportive, and mostly concerned that she didn’t burn down the only building she could afford to house them.

As she rounded the corner onto Cottman, she noticed the same drone that had nearly hit her driving erratically and squealing to a stop at the next stoplight. Catching up to it, she looked through the window, and noticed that this particular truck was being piloted by an actual person. It was peculiar to see, but not altogether strange; she knew some trucks carried armed security to protect valuable cargo or oversee important deliveries. The man in the truck was not wearing a Union uniform, though, and he had what appeared to be a bandana wrapped around his nose and mouth. He was sweating, even through the air conditioning of the truck, and pounding on the steering wheel as if to will the traffic light to change.

In the distance, she heard sirens wail, and as she turned to look, the engine of the truck roared to life as it flew forward into the intersection, through the red light. Horns blared as the cars in the cross-traffic swerved to avoid it, and with a loud thud a sedan collided full-speed with the back corner of the truck, sending both vehicles spiraling through the intersection. 

The sedan barreled toward Turquoise. She screamed, more instinct than conscious fear, and dropped her school bag to the pavement, ducking into a squat as if that might offer any protection. The car crashed head-on into the support pole for the traffic light, the metal and plastic bending and buckling with a terrible groan as a shower of sparks flew to the ground. The front end crumpled to a heap, and she heard the loud pop of airbags deploying from within the passenger compartment. A dark black smoke belched and hissed from under the crushed bonnet cover. 

Turquoise was disoriented; her ears rang from the sounds and her head spun as she tried to stand back up. She stood before bending reflexively at the waist, and steadied herself by leaning against the now-bent light pole. Her vision was blurred, likely from shock, and she felt slightly nauseous, probably just as much from the stench of the car’s burned electronics as the adrenaline flooding her system.

She heard a low moan from the passenger of the sedan. Turquoise breathed deep and cautiously tip-toed around to the side of the car, peering through the shattered window. It was a woman, slight and not much older than herself. She was dressed in business clothes, a blazer and slacks, and blood caked her white blouse. Her head was supported by the deployed airbag, its cushion now stained with a mixture of blood and makeup. She wasn’t moving, and her breathing was heavy and laborious. Turquoise shook her shoulder gently. “Ma’am? Are you okay?”

The woman screamed, high and shrill. Turquoise jumped back, startled. “Are you okay?” she asked again. “Here, let’s get you out.”

The woman’s screams turned to sobs. She was clearly still in shock from the crash. Turquoise tugged at the door, trying to free the woman from the car, but it was stuck. She pulled again at the handle, harder this time, and it gave way; the door came free from the broken hinges at the frame and slammed to the pavement with a heavy clang. There was blood everywhere. The woman’s leg was pinned below the now-crushed console; a long jagged piece of the bent door frame was jammed deep into her calf muscle. She continued to cry, deep painful gasps. “I think my leg is broken,” she mewed through the sobs.

“Stay here. I’ll get help,” Turquoise said, summoning a calmness to her voice that masked her internal panic. She turned away from the car toward the rest of the chaos. Across the intersection the truck had spun a half-rotation and bounced off a fire hydrant before slamming sideways into the glass facade of a storefront. The hydrant rocket into the air, a geyser of pressurized water throwing the cast iron fixture high into the sky only to come crashing onto the roof of a parked car, its bleating alarm now adding to the cacophany of the scene. 

Turquoise walked slowly across the street, taking care to avoid the shards of broken glass that now littered the intersection. Traffic had come to a stop, and people were slowly getting out of their cars to assess the scene. A man on a mobile had a holo open, and it looked like he was coordinating with an emergency dispatcher. She approached the truck quietly, and the door to the passenger compartment flew open, the driver spilling down into a heap on the sidewalk the sidewalk. His shirt was torn slightly, but he seemed mostly unharmed apart from a cut across his forehead. He quickly bolted upright and clutched his arm gingerly while he looked around, confused. She tried to ask him if he needed help, but as she got close he took off, sprinting toward an alleyway behind the ruined storefront. 

“Hey! Hey asshole, get back here!” she yelled after him, giving chase, but after a few steps she thought better of it and let him go. She’d gotten a good look at him, and the police were sure to want her statement when they arrived.

A bang behind her caused her already quickened pulse to skyrocket. She turned around and found that the loading door at the rear of the truck had sprung open in the crash, and was swaying in the early morning breeze, clanging against the side of the building. Boxes and crates had spilled out of it and were scattered across the sidewalk, and several people were now gathered around, gawking at the contents.

Turquoise joined them. Several of the crates had broken up, and her eyes quickly went wide in terror. She immediately recognized what she saw from the nightly news feeds; one didn’t grow up in one of America’s most violent cities without knowing a gun when they saw it. But these weren’t the small handguns she’d seen tucked into the waistbands of wanna-be thugs and bangers; these were large and heavy, with polished chrome finishing that glinted in the morning sun. There were five to a crate, and she counted at least ten more crates. 

Inside the truck were more, and things she couldn’t name but looked just as dangerous. Large tubes with switches and holo-projectors were scattered on the floor. A dozen or so heavy-looking vests were piled in a cardboard box; a large, inactive drone was parked on the bed, but not the type of delivery or advertising drones she’d seen before. This one was sharp, angular, and with much bigger rotors. It had small stanchions to either side where large, multi-barreled guns were mounted. It was painted matte black with cartoon shark teeth along the front edge. 

And in the far back of the cargo area, near to the passenger compartment, sat a large plastic vat. It had various tubes connected between it and some kind of controller that sat next to it. The apparatus hummed quietly, but ominously. Turquoise wasn’t sure what she was looking at, but she knew it couldn’t be good.     

Sirens wailed in the distance, and she was never so glad to hear them.

[stuckonswan]

The Inn of Senrof, Act I

It’s still the 31st in Californiaaaaa After many many MANY months of working on this, I have finally completed my work for the sanders sides big bang run by the lovely blog @ts-storytime An apology for being so late to post, the entire month has been nothing but struggles and things kept popping up to delay me. A major thanks to @bloodropsblog who did everything I could possibly ask of them. 

Click Here for Act II

Click Here for art done by @zennyo

Click Here for art done by @lady-literature

Another thanks goes to my lovely artists, @zennyo and @lady-literature who have been patient and supportive, I hope you enjoy the final product. 

Trigger Warnings: violence, cursing, fire, arguments, blood, injury

Virgil

Pulvis et umbra sumus

His cloak was a worn black, faded with time and covered in rushed patch jobs, the velvet purple lining the inside peeking out in many places. To most, it would have been retired and packed away, or repaired until very little of its original fabric remained.

However, for Virgil, it was his beginning. The cloak with its deep hood and stitched pockets was where he began his endeavors. Each mark on the garment was a memory, an arrow too close or a sword slash too slow. It reminded him he was alive. That he could fight and that he would win.

So it stayed, secured around his throat, barely keeping him warm with all the holes and tears. The wind billowed around it as he rode on his horse, towards the small town of Senrof.

Senrof was a small city, hidden in the valley between two mountains and where Virgil rode to meet his boisterous and excitable partner, Roman.

The pair had been getting more attention as adventurers and, as a result, have been encountering less than ideal situations where a extra teammate would have made the situation far less dangerous as it had been originally. Coincidentally, a pair of adventurers who’d also been searching for a partner, attempting to make a team more suitable for dangerous missions. Roman had encountered them during a visit in the City of Shrines and they had agreed to meet in Senrof to discuss a possible alliance.

Virgil was a half day's ride away, and running late, as if the gods themselves were against his appearance in the forgotten town. As he rode on, he remembered the last conversation he had had with Roman, nearly a fortnight ago.

“I don’t like this.” Virgil grumbled, taking a large swig of his wine. The pair were staying in an inn, just west of the city of shrines. After a grueling quest, they escaped the city to resupply and rest for two weeks.

It seemed Roman had other ideas, however, as he instead wanted to use their downtime to discuss joining up with another pair of adventurers.

“That’s because change is a foreign concept to you, stormcloud.” Roman jokes, dodging the punch to his arm before taking a sip of his drink and continuing, “We need them if we are to take on higher paying jobs.” Roman clapped Virgil on the shoulder. “One’s a healer, the other’s a talented magician. They’d be of good use.”

“I’m not saying they wouldn’t be. But how do we know we can trust them, Ro?” He was paranoid and Roman knew it. It wasn’t that strange a trait to have when you realized he grew up in an assassins guild. It was expected to be stabbed in the back when you let your guard down. Virgil never really shook that particular habit, and had no want to anyhow.

“The healer is a paladin, Shadow. They’re good, trustworthy men. I promise.”

Virgil had just rounded the bend, lost in thought as he trekked the mountain slope when the thieves attacked, throwing him off his horse and into the snow below. He sucked in a fruitless gasp as the wind rushed out of his body. The three masked thieves rifled through his saddlebags, ignoring Virgil’s prone form on the ground.

A dangerous mistake when robbing someone, Virgil thought angrily, scowling into the snow.  The least they could do if they were going to rob him is rob him well. Their daggers were still sheathed, the familiar mark of the assassins guild carved into the hilts. Virgil nearly snorted at the sight. Just his luck to be attacked by his peers.

I’m better, the voice in the back of his mind spoke up. They’re amateurs at best, he noticed, and certainly not taught by her.

“Today’s not your lucky day, boy,” a man snarled from under his mask, probably the leader and certainly the oldest. They moved slowly and clumsy, their feet kicking up snow as they went.

‘Boy?’ The word stuck under his skin, the jab at his apparent naivete leaving a sour taste on his tongue.

Slowly, Virgil stood, his knees shaking with nerves he never could seem to get rid of. His cheek was stung from having been scratched in the fall and his arms were covered in gooseflesh, his cloak having fallen from his shoulders. He knew he looked small and pitiful and it only served to make him angrier.

He stood to his full height, bringing himself up above the thieves. He may be thin but he towered over most. “I believe it’s you who should be worried,” he snapped in irritation.

Before they could react, he smirked, falling into a step sequence he knew by heart. His feet moved along the pattern burned into his muscle memory. The steps flowing through his body as he spun and danced and twisted himself around. In the blink of an eye he was gone.

The darkness having swallowed him whole, welcoming him into the inky black of the rich swath of shadows beneath the mountain.

The thieves, ill trained as they were, spun in circles to try and find his cloaked form. They moved with frustrated caution, unsheathing their daggers and calling out to him as if that will make him reappear.

Virgil rolled his eyes. And they thought him naive.

Fast as lightning, Virgil flew through the shadows, incapacitating the men with practiced ease. They were unconscious before they hit the ground.

Virgil did a sweep of the area, making sure no one else was hidden in the treeline. Just because these men were sloppy didn’t mean he needed to be. When he decided it was safe, he stepped from the shadows, the sunlight once again touching his face.

Completely on autopilot, he removed all the thieves possessions from their persons. Coins, knives, and any valuable items they may have stolen. He left them with little more than the clothes on their back. Then he grabbed a length of rope, tying them securely to a tree he knew was near a soldier’s patrol route.

When he was finished and realized he was safe again, the weight of the moment fell onto his chest making it hard to breathe. He took deep breaths to hold back his oncoming panic attack, but he could never really calm down without Roman chattering in his ear.

It took him seven minutes to start breathing normally again, and another three to calm Sombra down.

The damn thieves in the mountain ranges were getting out of hand. Virgil knew Roman blamed the guild, though he wouldn’t dare say those words aloud for fear of hurting his feelings.

He had trained there and he’d always be a part of the guild. It was his roots and no matter how hard he tries to distance himself, he knows you can’t run away from something that’s apart of you. No matter how hard you try or fast you run.

The shadows licked at his feet as he moved, loyal as they were for the few that they chose the help. They blurred the edges of his form, trying to pull him back into their dark realm. Trying to keep him safe. He smiled and cast them away with a quick flick of his wrist, placating them for the time being before throwing a leg up and climbing onto Sombra’s back.

It wasn’t until sundown that he reached the town, he and Sombra exhausted and ready for a rest. And it wasn’t until moonrise that he reached the inn.

Virgil had paid for a stall in the stables on the outside of the town and decided to walk the rest of the way to the inn, giving his nerves time to settle. He passed several small houses and shops, all closed several hours ago. Only the blacksmith was still open, the owner bringing a hammer down on a screaming lump of metal, still blazing with fire. The moon was at its apex and the shadows swirled around him, beckoning him into the darkness between the many buildings.

Soon, the Inn was standing before him. A lame building, clearly on its last legs. Crumbling bricks looking like a hard wind would send the building crashing to the ground at Virgil's feet. He continued forward, his eyes on the inn at the town’s center and the man clinging to the eaves.

“Has my shadow finally returned to me?” a man standing beside the doorway of the inn called out, his face hidden in shadows. Virgil rolled his eyes at him as he stepped out into the light. Roman had been calling him his shadow since their first quest together, when Virgil had quite literally become Roman’s shadow to maintain the element of surprise over their enemies.

“I thought I told you that if you called me that again I’d throw your stuff in the nearest stream, shall I make good on my promise?” The threat was half-hearted at best and Virgil was smiling as he said it, enjoying their inside joke of three years. As he stepped into the soft glow of torchlight surrounding the inn he realised the friendly expression did nothing for Roman in the darkness he was just standing in. His fear evaporated as Roman stepped out of the shadows, bearing a smile as well.

“It’s good to see you, Ro.” The pair clasped hands in greeting. Virgil looked his friend over for signs of battle, checking to make sure he was alright. When the thief found none he stepped back, waiting for Roman to finish his more obvious examination.

“Well you’re late, so I can call you whatever I please,” Roman snarked, stepping back to lean against the wall of the inn. He was wearing his flashy white tunic with the gold accents. The golden buttons he bought on the last job, securing the blood red cape to his shoulders.

He was dressed up like a presenting peacock, the obvious outcast in a sea of dull peasant browns and greens. But after the many years of partnership with him, Virgil had given up trying to talk him out of it. “We’re supposed to meet the others inside at sundown. It’s almost a new day, Shadowling.”

Virgil’s hands shook and he smoothed down the cloak, feeling the worn black velvet on his fingers. “I got held up. Some bandits on the mountain ambushed me.” At Roman’s worried look, Virgil added, “They’ve been handled. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

Roman frowned, irritation and worry in his eyes. Despite his best efforts to keep his partner calm, Virgil knew that Roman was constantly worried about him during their brief periods of separation. “I’m glad you made it here unscathed, Virgil.” Roman let out a deep breath before brightening. “Come on. As I said before, we’re very late.” He flicked his cape around him with a flourish before pushing open the door.

The bar was empty save for a few patrons scattered here and there. Most were slumped over cups of ale, snoring worse than Roman on a cold night. Despite the few patrons, it was loud and dirty inside. Virgil eyed the room with distaste.

“I see you still have poor taste in taverns,” He remarked, scrunching his nose as he maneuvered around the tables.

While Virgil had yet to meet his future companions face to face, he trusted Roman’s judgment and just looking around the room, he knew immediately who they were. There were only two men in the bar that Virgil deemed fit for travel, and Roman knew how shallow and picky Virgil could be when he wanted. He would only pick what he thought was best. Besides, he was allowed to be picky, he was one of seven Shadowdancers in the world. It’s not like you could hire one at the market. And if you could, you’d be poor from the effort.

The two men worthy of more than a half second glance were huddled in the far corner. Their table looked to be barely holding itself together but the position was the most defendable should someone attack the inn. The pair looked to be in deep in conversation, their heads bent towards each other as they spoke in hushed tones. The man on the left had cropped, brown hair and a tall stature from what he could see. He wore long, billowing robes of deep navy and light gray silks. Dusted over his cloak were words of power, scripted in what seemed to be golden thread. He held himself with confidence and power, his back straight and shoulders squared. He looked hesitant to touch anything besides his chair and the table.

Virgil rolled his eyes, A spoiled nobleman’s child out studying magic. Roman better know what he’s doing.

To the right of the magic user was a man in lightly glowing armor. His hair was a light brown, almost blonde that curled just past his ears. He seemed to cast a light over the dim bar both literally and figuratively, walking closer Virgil felt magic flow through him and was calmer if only for a moment. His sword glowed brighter than the light he already cast and Virgil decided it was some sort of godly light. Now that Virgil was closer he could see that the armor he wore was well kept yet lightly tarnished, as if it had seen recent battle.

He gestured wildly at his partner, his face animated despite his whispered tones. As they grew closer, Virgil heard this man frequently cut off the other in favor of his own voice.  They approached quickly, moving through the maze of tables and the occasional bar maid or patron. By the time they got to the table, Virgil’s heart beat like a metronome to a ghost song. A deep pit was forming in his stomach and he wished he had talked to Roman more before walking in here.

Logan

There is no great genius without some touch of madness

-Aristotle

“How good can they be if they can’t even handle being punctual, Patton?” Logan whispered hotly, eyes scanning the bar on the first floor of the inn. The disgruntled bartender was washing the counters as he spoke to the patrons sitting up there with him. He all but ignored the pair of adventurers tucked away in the back corner, seated at a table riddled with scars and scrapes.

It was a sad inn. There were few customers and the furniture had clearly seen better days. The walls were littered with holes and deep gashes. And Logan firmly believed that the tables had to be imbued with some form of magic because they should have long since crumpled to nothing.

As a whole, Logan thought of Senrof as a pitiful town to stow away in, waiting for two people with no concept of time as it would seem. He was growing impatient, but Patton was hellbent on teaming up with whoever these people were.

“Well you never did like to give newcomers a chance Logan, but we really do need them. It’s getting more and more dangerous out there. The seem like good people, Logan. His partner’s even a dancer, Lo!”

“I hardly see the point of a dance-” Logan was cut off by Patton waving his arms to silence him.

“A Shadowdancer. Taught under she who walked through the shadow plane. The shadow plane, Logan!” Patton took a deep breath, his excitement practically vibrating through him, before he continued, smiling at Logan earnestly. “He’s a good kid and Roman’s a talented Bard. Handy with a longsword as well.” Logan sighed frustratedly. While an excellent partner with a moral compass so good it was almost uncanny, Patton was far too trusting.

These people could be good as Patton believes . Or they could be waiting to kill them and rob them blind for good measure. The latter seemed more likely to Logan than the former and he prefered himself alive, thank you very much.

After all, you can’t cast if you’re dead.

Logan forced himself to admit that they sounded good. However, he and Patton were better he was almost positive. More than good. He and Patton meshed in a way that was near indescribable. Logan had never felt this comfortable around someone else, and he certainly didn’t want two strangers coming in and ruining everything. They made an excellent team as they were.

“I’m just not sure, Patton. If it isn’t broken-”

“Break it.”

In front of them stood two men, the left-most having finished his statement, albeit incorrectly. They appeared to be adventurers, although one was dressed in a crisp white uniform, a golden circlet resting atop his golden hair while the other looked like he had been dragged by a horse down a hill, his cloak taking the brunt of the damage. It was fairly easy to deduce which man was the Shadowdancer and which the Bard. Logan was sure even Patton could tell, he could read people like the best clairvoyants and yet when it came to determining a person’s prefered fighting style, Patton always failed.

Patton stood, grinning from ear to ear as he walked around the table to shake both their hands. “Roman! And you must be, Virgil? Was it?” Patton hesitated on the other man’s name and could see him physically wince. Despite this, Roman nodded and Patton moved away from their table and shook both their hands, grabbing Roman by the forearm in a warriors grasp and then shaking Virgil’s hand as if he were made of glass.

Patton was always pulling things like this on Logan, inviting other adventurers to their table to share stories and regale each other with fantastic tales. Patton normally kept his group of the night up well after moonrise. It was perplexing the amount of energy he would have after a battle or an entire day of traveling. While Logan prefered to sit with a book and a tall glass of ale, Patton preferred company and wouldn’t hesitate to find it once Logan started ignoring him. This time however, Patton had agreed to travel with these new adventurers and while he loathed to be apart of a bigger group, he couldn’t deny that the shadowdancing assassin was intriguing.

“Let’s not hound them Patton, they must have come a long way. At least give them time to sit and grab drinks,” Logan kept his tone neutral, as if he didn’t care whether they joined or not. In all honesty, it wasn’t difficult to act as though he didn’t want them and he wasn’t so sure he was acting after a moment of thought.

“Thank you for offering, my friend.” Roman sat down at the table with a hearty thunk, making himself comfortable as he waved over the bartender. After a moment of hesitation, so did his partner. Unlike Roman who stood out like a sore thumb, Logan would have had trouble noticing Virgil if he wasn’t staring right at him.

Almost immediately Roman waved over the bartender and soon a pitcher and two glasses were sitting next to the ones Patton had ordered earlier.

“So, shall we talk about this new arrangement before we drink?” The assassin spoke without preamble, straight to the point. A personality trait Logan could appreciate.

Virgil leaned over the table, the wood creaking under his weight as he swirled his finger over the edge of his drinking glass. It created a small warbling noise, almost musical in the quiet bar. “I prefer to talk business before my partner here drinks himself under the table.” The words were stamped at the end with a mild glare towards said partner, already half a glass of ale into the evening.

“I agree.” Logan said, a brow creeping its way up onto his forehead before he could stop it. Their partner dynamic seemed… interesting to say the least. For one, they had obviously been partners for years. This was made clear by their friendly banter and overall comfortableness around each other. Roman was quite obviously the unspoken leader similar to how Logan was the unspoken strategist between Patton and himself.

What was unusual was how similar the partnership seemed to his own. Yes, they were an odd pair and yet so were he and Patton.  

Granted he had only been around the pair for mere minutes and yet he saw himself in both of them just as easily as he saw Patton in the pair. He caught Patton’s eye and saw him staring back, a gleam in his eye as if they were thinking the same thing. Patton saw it too. Logan stared for a few minutes more, lost in thought until someone pointedly cleared their throat as if waiting for an answer to a question he never heard.

“Logan, are you even paying attention?” Patton was talking to him, poking him in the side till he glanced over.

“Yes, sorry.” Logan glanced up, nodding to both travelers. “Now, what was it we were discussing?”  

Patton waved off his lapse and brought him up to speed. “We were discussing our strengths. Roman is proficient with a longsword and is capable of magic!” He bounced in his seat excitedly, the energy of ten men inside his body.

“Ah of course, you’re the bard yes? And your associate is the dancer, correct?” They both nodded although Logan did not miss the look of irritation that flashed across Virgil’s face at the word, ‘dancer’. “I’m a practicing mage although most of my powers go to evocation. However, I am also proficient with spells to aid my companions.”  

Roman nodded, “Sounds similar to what I do for Virgil. He’s the fighter in our group. While I am proficient with the sword, I normally aid him with my magic.”

Virgil thwacked him in the head with his sleeve, a playful smile on his face. “You only aid me when you remember you have magic.” Turning to Logan, the smile fell off his face and he became more composed. “I fight in the shadows, Roman usually fights alongside me until he remembers he can use magic.”

Logan’s eyes widened in surprise. He looked over at the lithe and small frame of Virgil. Of course he was muscled, but he seemed far too fragile for a fighter.

But, even he was wrong sometimes. Looks can be deceiving, I suppose.

The rogue caught his eye and, seemingly reading his mind, narrowed his eyes in a challenge. Slow and purposeful, he reached for the hilt of his dagger and sank the blade into the table with a dull thud. It wasn’t deep, merely enough to keep the blade standing, but Logan heard the bartender make an affronted noise.

Both Roman and Patton made confused noises, unable to understand the power play. While excelling in certain areas, brains and strategy was neither’s forte. But virgil seemed to know what he was doing, knew what he needed to do to get what he wanted.

Another agile mind.

Interesting.

“I’ve been told you’ve had training with the assassin’s guild. You are remarkably small-built for a frequent combatant.” Logan spoke in a calm manner, his tone controlled, wanting to see how this played out.

“It doesn’t take much strength to use daggers. And an opponent with all the strength in the world means nothing if they can’t catch you.” His eyes twinkle in a way that makes Logan shift in his seat, silently reminding himself to never underestimate Virgil again. “Besides,” he continued, shifting to be more comfortable in the rickety wooden chair, “shadows don’t care if I’m not the strongest. Their skills are wit and stealth. I consider myself proficient in both of those. Understood?”

The pair held gazes for a moment. Virgil, to make sure he got his point across and Logan to make sure that while the battle was lost, the war was not.

“Of course.” Logan answered, tilting his head in a nod and breaking eye contact. He reached across the table, plucking the knife from the table and holding it in his hands to examine.

Logan didn’t know much of blades, but this one looked like a fine one. It made sense such a man would have a nice blade.

After a moment, he held the knife out, hilt first to Virgil, a sign of goodwill after such mind games. He knew they’d but heads in the future, but for now they could agree to a truce.

Virgil leaned back in his seat, twirling the blade with deadly precision before sliding it back in his holster. As he moved, Logan saw the outline of at least four more weapons on his person. Logan suspected he was wearing a bandolier, dozens of knives held to his chest.

Patton coughed to ease the tension, giving an easy if confused smile. “Well now that that’s… settled, how about discussing what we all came here for, yes? We didn’t come all the way here to talk, not that you aren’t lovely.” He and Roman share a laugh.

“Yes, I think now is a great time to start discussing important matters.” Roman sends Virgil a sharp look which the assassin steadfastly ignores. “While this has certainly been fun, I’m afraid that we don’t know how we’d work together as a team. Most jobs are dangerous. A single mistake could mean death or injury. How do we plan on being prepared?”

“My concerns exactly,” Logan agrees. Virgil looks at him in surprise but hides it before anyone else notices. “We cannot guarantee safety in such uncontrolled environments. A possible solution could be a simple mission with little fighting, but that could still end in injury.”

“Exactly! See, Roman? I’m not paranoid, I’m merely thinking ahead.”

Roman rolls his eyes. “Then what is  your solution?” he asks, slamming back the remainder of his pint before refilling his glass.

Logan sighed, “If it fails then we go our separate ways, and we forget meeting each other.” He spoke the answer as if it was obvious and to him it was. Why would they continue as a party if a simple quest went awry. Patton,  ever the cheery one, sat up straighter in his seat and leaned onto the table before speaking.

“Logan is just a pessimist, ignore him. A test run sounds like a swell idea and I’m sure it’ll go great. Right Lo?” The agreeing tone and the kick under the table had Logan nodding, if only to keep the peace. “Now that we have decided on where to go from here, how about dinner?” Patton waved over a waitress before anyone could protest and soon, their orders had been placed and Logan was once again sitting with his head in a book, ignoring the chattering of his newfound party.

The smell of warm food brought Logan’s nose away from the stiff pages of the book and he quietly put it away as the waitress slid platters onto their table. A large pitcher of ale and two platters of meat were accompanied by 4 wooden bowls filled with a strong smelling broth. Logan nodded at the barmaid in thanks, tossing her two silver pieces before grabbing a bowl. Other than the call for more ale from Patton, supper was a silent affair and afterwards, the party of four paid for the meal, and went outside towards the back of the inn to examine the quest board.

Like many towns, the quest board was right outside the inn, marked by a line of torches at the top of the wooden sign. However, unlike many towns, this board was thin for quests. Only three papers littered the massive board and none of them required the skill of four adventurers. Logan sighed, defeated if only for a moment. “Looks like no quests worthy of our attention. Of course we may do them for the gold they can bring us but it would be a better use of our time to travel elsewhere in search of a good trial quest.”

Patton gathered the papers regardless and nodded. “I agree with Logan. These papers detail ingredients that need to be gathered and children’s pets that have wandered.” he glanced at a child’s drawing of their own missing cat, carefully peeling it off the quest board, “I can deal with these at dawn, split the money four ways before we leave town. For now, I suggest we rent rooms and get some rest. It has been a tiresome day for us all and we must leave after breakfast tomorrow.” He looked at the pair next to him, a stern look set into his face, and waited for their nod of agreement before turning on his heel and walking back into the inn.

Logan fell in step behind the trio, looking back in disappointment at the board. One small close of the fist and the torches extinguished around the board, leaving a patch of darkness in the circle around the inn. He closed his fist entirely, nails digging into the flesh of his palm, and the area went dark entirely. The only light came from Patton as he led them back inside and up to the barkeep.

“I only got two rooms, double beds in em both.” the barkeep was talking to Patton already by the time Logan had stepped through the door. He sighed, watching as the barkeep handed over two small keys. His hands gestured upstairs with a dirty rag and then the foursome was upstairs, trotting down hallways to their rooms.

“So what did you think of them?” Patton was laying on his bed, having just finished his nightly prayers. His armor rested by the bed in a neat pile waiting to be polished and he had switched into a pair of cotton pants with a light blue tunic. He gazed over at Logan every so often, glancing at him before returning his eyes to the ceiling above him.

“They were certainly interesting. You have a knack for picking perplexing individuals, Patton..” Logan shuffled around, folding back his blankets and crawling into bed. Immediately his eyes shuffled closed and a wave of sleep crashed over him. He murmured a small good night to Patton and was then asleep.

Roman

“Where words fail, music speaks.”

-Hans Christian Anderson

Roman folded his clothes, making a small pile on the nightstand between the two beds. The moon was high in the sky, marking the late hour like a beacon and yet the pair were still awake. Virgil had already shucked off his clothes and was now pacing across the floorboards in a pair of linen pajamas, shirt flowing unbuttoned. Every so often he stopped to engage his partner and yet didn't bother trying to calm himself. Roman just started on, lazily strumming his lyre as Virgil attempted to saw a hole in the floor with an endless back and forth pattern as he walked. This had been going on almost an hour now, Roman’s eyes blurred from watching the motion.

“-and it’s everytime Ro! Why can you walk up to any random adventurer in a tavern and instantly have a seat with a pint of ale while I have to prove myself every damn time. I hate taverns.” He had been rambling nonstop since entering the room and Roman kept murmuring small remarks to keep Virgil under the belief he was listening. If he was honest with himself, Roman was just as angry. Yes, Virgil was a small, lithe body that hid in deep hooded cloaks for most of their friendship. It makes sense that people look at him without seeing the threat. However, Roman had watched Virgil throw daggers with deadly accuracy and seen him be swallowed whole by shadows, leaving no trace of where he is. He was powerful and yet his appearance masked any sign of strength. It worked for them in hostile situations but it was useless making allies.

“You can best five men in a fight without breaking a sweat. People’s first opinions may be wrong but their second is what matters most, Shadow.” Roman settled across the bed and turned to his partner. He plucked at the strings of his lyre, humming as he tuned the small instrument. “Now will you please settle? You’ll fall through the floor with all that pacing.”

Virgil collapsed onto the bed, it wobbling dangerously before settling against the floor. “It’s annoying, and frustrating. Not that you would know, Prince Perfect.” the name is a poor attempt at a jester to lighten the mood and Roman laughs if only to soothe his partner. It was true, while Virgil struggled at near every town, Roman could walk in anywhere and swindle a crowd to his side. They never took him seriously, but he had no problems making friends before traveling with Virgil.

“I have my own dealings, Shadow. Now try and rest. Tomorrow will be a new day and you’ll need your strength.” Roman strummed a soft and gentle rhythm, humming to the tune. It was melodic, calming for both. Instantly, Virgil’s eyes drooped down and he turned onto his side, grabbing the blanket to tug over his head.

For as long as they’d been partners, sleep was a rarity for Virgil. So for the better part of their friendship, Roman would make up nonsense chords to sway the shadowling into sleep. Sometimes he would sing lullabies and sometimes he would only have to hum for Virgil to fall prey to his tune. This was one of those nights, Virgil kicking off his boots and closing his eyes.

Roman continued his tune until Virgil’s chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, almost to the beat of the song. He gazed over at his companion, propping his lyre up by the nightstand between them.

It had been a long day. A long, difficult day for both him and Virgil. He would be branded a liar if he said the first meeting went well, Logan being an obvious problem for Virgil. Roman was unable to keep the peace between the two and as far as first meetings go, this one would unfortunately be considered an utter failure in his book. The team just didn’t click. He wasn’t sure they would ever be considered a decent team and the thought was...worrying to say the least.

Before long, Roman’s eyes grew heavy, exhaustion weighing him down like an anvil tied to his back. Shifting onto his side, Roman allowed his eyes to fall shut. His last thought before sleep overtook him was of the quest they would soon begin. Of course, he should have known sleep wouldn’t last long on nights like these.

He was stepping off a ledge, one foot impulsively moving off the side into the abyss below. The wind blew hard and fast, ripping at his clothes and hair. Fear rippled through his entire being and he could feel his heart beating like a tribal drum. The energy around the hole was dark, negative and ominous. He knew nothing good would come from stepping into the abyss in front of him. Yet he was halfway there already.

He could sense death and the image of a dark, almost black horse with a broken neck became all he could see. Like a terrifying play, the images pressed forward, showing him a broken party. His broken party. Roman surged forward, his weight toppling into the dark cavern below.

The felt like an eternity, but he could tell it only took mere minutes before he hit hard, on rocky ruins. Roman gasped for air, his lungs deflated after the impact stole his breath from his body. He lay prone, head barely lifted and saw chaos before him.

Virgil stood alone, betrayed by his own cloak which lay wrapped around his throat, throttling him. The thin fabric dragged him backwards with a choked scream followed by a sickening crack, 20 feet into the darkness. A silent scream ripped from his throat, helpless on the ground and unable to speak. On the floor Logan lay, moaning in agony with a bloody hole in his forearm. His eyes stared at the hole and back at his quarterstaff, broken in half at his feet. Patton stood with a smile yet his face was horribly marred, burns covering over half his face. Screams could be heard, echoing throughout the cavern and when Roman awoke he realized it was his own voice.

Gentle hands rested on his shoulders, a soft voice murmuring kind words to him. “Everything is okay, you’ll be fine Ro. It was just a dream. No one here is going to hurt you, not with me around.” Roman may be out of it, eyes unfocused and heart running a race it had long since lost, but he could recognize the voice of his shadow anywhere. It was as if someone had washed his body in cool water, a wave of calm rolling over him as he focused on the voice. Unshed tears blur his vision and he blinks them away, allowing the tears to trace their way down his face. Virgil’s profile appears above him, features sharpening as his eyes become tear free. Worry and concern flash through Virgil’s features and as he helps Roman sit up in his bed, his hands shake.

“I’m so sorry I woke you. It was but a dream, nothing harmful to us in the present.” His words rang true at least partially.  No one can speak for the future.

“Bullshit Ro. I’m surprised the entire inn isn’t awake from the screaming. It was worse than the wail of a banshee.” he sits on the bed, fidgeting with the bedspread in an obvious show of restlessness. “It wasn’t a good thing to wake up to. It sounded like you were dying.”

Roman’s features softened, hand going up to Virgil’s shoulder in a sign of comfort. “I can assure you, I am quite alright, my Shadow. It was but a startling dream.” Which again, partially true on Roman’s part. He couldn’t bring himself to recount the dream to Virgil. The shadowling had enough trouble sleeping without any unnatural dreams. Besides, looking at Virgil, scanning his neck for any bruising and seeing none, he slowly realized he had nothing to fear. Everything was going to be okay. His shadowling was alright and so was he. Roman let his hand fall off of the other man’s shoulder, resting it atop his hand instead.

“Ro are you sure? You looked like you’d seen a ghost. Or worse.” He kept a grip on the palm of Roman’s hand, rubbing soothing circles into the flesh.

“I’m sure. It was just a strange dream. Nothing more, nothing less. I’m sorry for rousing you from sleep. I’m sure you’re exhausted.” The room was still dark and the sun had not yet risen. “Need me to play for you?”

Virgil gave a small chuckle, a smile across his face. “No need to worry about me, just get some sleep” his voice was like velvet, soft and gentle. It washed over Roman until the fear had gone and a wave of sleep fell over him. The dream loomed ominously over his head but at the moment, sleep was winning.

“Goodnight, V.” he murmured, clinging to the blankets with one hand, Virgil with the other.

The other man smiled, “Sleep. We can talk in the morning.”

The last thought Roman had before lady sleep dragged him away was of the smooth circular movement Virgil was rubbing his palm.

Patton

Strength does not come from physical capacity.

It comes from an indomitable will.

-Mahatma Gandhi

Patton rose with the morning sun, his eyes sliding open on instinct, as if he somehow knew a new day had arrived. Putting great effort in keeping his motions soft, he stood and stretched. Soft cracking noises could be heard throughout his body, weathered with age. It was the marks of battle making early appearances in his still youthful form.

His arms moved instinctively towards the tarnished breastplate laying neatly on top of his pack, almost urging him forward with the warmth it gave off in the otherwise cool and dark room. Picking up the piece, Patton made quick work of the worn leather straps and pins that kept his armor in place. The moment the last strap was secure against his body, heat poured off of him. It was a type of light his armor held from the day he first strapped the pieces onto his person. He never knew why it glowed and he dare not ask in his prayers, lest it be taken. After all, who is he to question the gods who so generously blessed him everyday?

The life of a paladin wasn’t ideal for most, but for Patton, it was the only suitable way to live. From a young age, the ideas of the gods had been drilled into his brain, and of how the forests and sun that blessed his town were all gifts from them. It was taught to never take those gifts lightly. . He had trained for years in an attempt to pay the gods back and the first day he strapped on his armor, he knew with the glow that every hard quest or difficult night he had worked paid off. The gods had shrouded him in golden light as thanks. Or at least that’s what he believed.

Now fully protected in his armor, Patton moved to the window and knelt, head hanging with eyes closed. Silently, he reflected on the day to come and thanked his gods for allowing the day to exist in the first place. Warmth began to seep into his skin, heating his body in a pleasant, kind way and he smirked. Everytime he prayed he felt what could only be described as sunshine flood into his body, proof the gods were at least happy with him.

A quick glance towards Logan showed him still sleeping, albeit fitfully. His blanket had long since been discarded and the clothes he had worn to bed were rumpled. Clicking his tongue as he observed his sleeping partner.  Patton grabbed the blanket, now strewn half on the bed and half on the floor, and threw it over Logan. Satisfied with the room and himself, he stepped out into the hallway and started for the stairs, his armor clinking as he walked.

The inn was quiet, not a single person awake besides the bartender and himself. It was a strange sight witnessing a bar in dead silence and yet it was one he was familiar with. As long as he could remember, Patton was asleep before the moon and rises high into the night sky and was awake with the morning sun. The smell of eggs and sausages wafted into the air and he moved towards the counter, taking a seat and holding up a single finger, silently requesting a plate.  

It arrives sooner than he expected, a metal pan heaping with eggs, potatoes and sausage along with a large glass of water. He gives a nod in thanks, a small, cheerful smile spreading on his face before he begins to scarf down the breakfast, burning his tongue as it slides down his throat. The food warms the inside of his stomach and he smiles at the feeling.

“Up quite early aren’t ya? I normally don’t see people down here till half past six.” A loud yet gentle voice brings him away from the still silence of the morning and Patton jerks his head up to stare the man in the face. The bartender’s eyebrow raises and Patton follows the curve of his brow up his forehead.

Patton paid no mind to the bartender, just shrugging to the comment and returning to his breakfast, When he was done he slid from the high stool and walked towards the exit, towards the quest board to see if any new ones appeared. None were displayed much to his disappointment and frustration, so he pulled the papers he collected from it the night before out of his pocket, unfolding their worn creases and reading their requests.

In every town, no matter what the quest, Patton always gave it at least an attempt. Not only did it allow him to serve the people of the town, it gave Logan time to rest as he rarely went on the quests with him without a reward or some danger. Fine by him, he was there for the adventure.

They weren’t anything exciting, mostly recovery of artifacts or cave exploration but he took what he could.These would at the least intrigue Logan who would see it as an easy exercise for this newfound team they had become a part of.

Upon closer inspection, the quests seemed to line up after one another, something no one noticed. Not even Logan. Patton moved to the floor, leaning against the wooden legs of the board for support as he spread the papers out in front of them. He couldn’t determine the order but he knew that they connected.

A heavy sigh caught his attention, he looked up to identify who it had come from to see a figure kneeling in front of him. The person was cloaked, the black of it seeming like a piece of the world was missing in front of his very eyes. Not even the light he had been gifted from the gods could penetrate the darkness in front of him. A nest of bonerats began their tumble through his stomach and he couldn’t shake his feeling of unease. Their face wasn’t visible, covered by a deep hood and from what he could tell, a half-mask across the person’s face. Patton stared down the figure, a hand instinctively moving towards the sword at his side.

“I see you are thinking of taking up on those quests.” The voice was deep, a light echo following after the sentence. It felt like the world around them shut off. The wind ceased to gust, the trees no longer made a noise, the sounds that came with the morning had ceased to exist. He looked around and saw nothing out of place, as if time had stopped. Serious magic was at work here and Patton stared back at the man with a small smile, deciding to keep talking and avoid a conflict until there was no other choice

“Uh.. yes. Me and the rest of my party are doing this as an easy exercise.” That sentence earned a hearty laugh from the person in front of him, laughing as if they were old friends sharing a joke.. “Easy. That must have been the funniest thing I have heard in years. Oh traveler, these quests are nothing to take lightly.” His fingers traced the papers as he spoke, stroking them fondly like you would a lover. Patton shifted where he sat, not able to look at the figure without feeling as if he were about to lose consciousness.

“They’re nothing but puzzles and caverns. I see no difficulty in these quests.” Patton’s features hardened and he stared down the hooded figure who merely snorted.

“These caverns are design to drive you to insanity should you take one step out of line. Even now, miles above the surface they plague members of your team and this town.” Patton opened his mouth to speak only to find silence, no words came from his mouth. The hooded man, at least he was sure it was a man, continued on. “You have to work together, to never part. It is all or none of you. There will be tragedies and falls, but you mustn’t let those stop you from adventuring into the caverns.”

Patton looked down at the papers to see them in a new order. Magically, they had shifted to the correct placement, each quest trailing into the next. The more he stared, the less they looked like individual pieces. He picked up the papers to see they had combined as one. Between his fingers were a crude map.  The first one didn’t have a way to get into the cave, no way of getting in to start their journey. “How do we get in? How do I make sure we stay together? To make everyone get along?” Like firing arrows, the questions shot out of his mouth and he was grateful he could once again speak.

“You simply wait for the fall of course. It shall come before the days end. Unfortunately it is impossible to keep your team together in the dark. They’ll have to want allies in order for your team to not wither away at the edges.” He must’ve seen the confusion in Patton’s eyes for he continued, “Patience, dear Patton. You will find out in time it is more difficult underneath the surface.”

As Patton was about to ask what the last sentence meant, the figure stood and dusted off his clothes, the darkness rippling as his hands ghosted over the fabric.”Unfortunately, we are out of time. I can only be on this plane for so long before things get finicky although I’m sure you’ve noticed that.” A pocket watch appeared in his hand and he spun it, the hand moving faster than a hummingbird or an arrow. Just when he thought he would be sick staring at the whirling hand, it disappeared with a loud crack and with it, the man.

A weight came off Patton’s chest and he took large swallows of air, head moving around to see where he had gone.

The earth seemed to move again, slowly but surely it came back to life. It was no longer quiet. The wind began to blow again, almost knocking the paper out of his hand. The trees began to shake and the leaves fluttered in the breeze. Animals began shifting in the shadows of the forest on the outskirts of town. From the bar behind him he could hear the clattering of pots and pans. What just happened?

It was jostling, the sudden noise. It was never quiet for him, ever. When the man appeared it was as if time had stopped and nothing could move but them. Suddenly even the softest, ambient noises were too much for him.

“Patton!” A voice yelled, causing the one in question to flinch back in surprise, throwing his weight back into his hands. There they stood, the other members of his party. Each one wore concerned and worried looks on their faces. Logan was the closest to him, arms crossed. “Patton, are you alright?”

“I- I- uh…” He looked at the papers again, hands trembling. “Um…” He didn’t know what to say. How do you explain what he had just seen? “How’d you three know to find me, it’s barely dawn.” he musters out instead, distracting them if only for a moment.

The three moved forward till they stood around him in a neat semi-circle. “We were all walking out of our rooms to the quest board, we were hoping to find a better suited quest. Patton,” Logan’s voice is soothing on his thudding head, “what happened?” Logan had bent down, now face to face with Patton.

“It was a man, a creature. He gave me this, told me this was the quest we must begin.” He started, holding the crude map out for the three to see.

Logan took the map from his hands, passing it to Virgil before hauling Patton up by the arms. Patton yelped as he was moved before he stood and Logan was holding onto his shoulders, rubbing them in comfort for a moment before gripping them tight, pulling him so they were an elbow length apart.

“Tell me everything” He said, demanding and authoritative, the voice Logan typically reserved for battle. The lines of his face had become hardened, concern evident in his eyes. Patton took a deep breath and began retelling the story. It took only mere moments to explain what was going on but by the end each person looked concerned, fear underlying their entire conversation.

“...and then he pulled out a pocket watch, spun it and he disappeared. It was almost as if...” he trails off. Patton knows what he thinks and that is that. But he’s almost always wrong, especially when magic is considered. It’s impossible. No wizard has that power. Virgil moves suddenly, his face once appalled now questioning.

“You were frozen in time.” he looks down at the ground, holding something in his fist.

“Uhm...yes that’s what I was wondering. But isn’t it-”

“Impossible.” Logan finishes for him, looking sharply at both men. “No mage has that sort of power, time is a finicky subject that only the oracles can control. There hasn’t been an oracle capable of stopping time in millenia if  even that.”

“It’s not impossible, just hasn’t been heard of in some time.” Virgil was tense, ridgid. He opened his fist, revealing a small medallion in his palm, raising it in an offering to Patton. “Does this look familiar to you?”

Patton takes the medallion, turning it over several times in his hand. It’s heavy for its size yet still relatively thin, almost as if it’s a coin. On what he would assume is the front of the “coin” is the pocket watch, impeccably detailed onto the metal. Upon closer inspection, the clock seems to move with each passing second, giving him the time. Fascinated, Patton flips the coin to the tail end, a small illustration of a hooded figure, shadows spilling from his hands staring back at him, the shadows swirling around on the coin. “That’s...it looks exactly like the watch I saw and minus the shadows, that’s the figure I saw.” He holds the coin back out to Virgil, slipping it back into his waiting palm. “Who is that?”

“That is the symbol of Skotos Sythos, patron God of assassins.”

[iotaarcane]

XnationalZ

BUSY BLOW TORCHING DABS

Door doesn’t open it glides on rails like the entrance impales tracks leave scabs

They pick at them like a flurry of energy inertly imperil and in peril while sterile the enemy isn’t at his post busy blow torching dabs

Laughing gas to a mass of brain cells that might as well been in cell or for sale to sell for the fact of not being usable like loud theater patrons at musical

Stomping footsteps upsets the stairwell, Hercule as security

picks you up and while airborne you get the farewell.

A good bye of sorts a great try physically the body with a little help contorts but spiritually its dormant in hibernation protected in a fort.  The outside winds set him to the maximum miles per hour bumping over the welts.   Swelling is mainstream never go underground.  A golf club waving at lightning

A day filled with bad decisions.   A perfect life a nocturnal health freak who is slowing dying because of the hours he choose to sleep.  North of the sauna lives out of water a piranha gills with chankla….  Flip flop the hip hop to this mantra….   They got Bin Laden but the tomatoes slices cut au gratin and their insides just by general principal all rotten every good deed all but forgotten.

They attempted because it looked great on camera to have caughten Sadam but the madam of the ministry secretly had  many a body double dangling feet from noose corpse of course wasn’t who they thought they had bad DNA tests fail when not given. You’ll just straight believe without any thought or thinking in a closed space trying to identify who is stinking. This planet in that galaxy is sinking below where it once orbited and your whole existence is defined of what you afforded how toxins are absorbed y’all point the finger iota morbid.

As blood dripping on everything like a loop of hemoglobin training goblins to run tasks on apps.  Hairless ape with only a little fur missing - hand and the wrist  slice is still fresh magenta pink placenta veiny underwent chef prep,  impractical to prevent a story to end like this begin as it went, we muster the emotion to climb street curb like step, tentacle suction cup girlfriend tales like cotton swab on bunny ear manifesto.  One piece bikini transacting - posts no bill.  Open register the creditor turned into a collector, an editorial of breadwinner meanwhile back in the western hemisphere sky is too clear - cuts retina sundries colander fluid filter an array of enemies attacked the command post.  The mid morning foray angrily adjusted.  You could totally notice the moment the ward went kaleidoscope twist 33 degree.  As the crow fly viewpoint saw the west wing extend and to what seems like an elbow bend but they aint drinking consuming much of nothing except orders from the chief who dictates the whereabouts and you gotta be down cannot have doubts they don’t come in shouts - illest hand signals in the game it’s an artistic beauty to see the tic for tac counterattack he who gets the most vagina must be the Mack.  Diesel easel drawer no undies they were left in dresser drawer and if it don’t work out oh no the lawyer is not pro bono yet the retainer fixed the teeth apprehended the beef no more issues.

Him whose piss poor planning continues will be facing the sultry seductress Miss Hughes 4 feet 6 shoes opposite of the elephant of Hindus infamous for the pop ins on miscues So real was breakfast cereal mammal sauce from cashews.   Nipple hula hoop sports car aficionado drop top in the coupe where they kept the chickens.   Jumpy trampoline mouth fortune reader foreseen vulgar obscene potty lips unclean that contingency of the attorney of where wonder land on a poca dot which marks the spot.  Accuracy solar hot, lift off broke apart space shuttle heat pads over hot not matter if they were chosen or not.  Nudity not as bad as could be frontal, wide opening little exit funnel so many come backs you can’t shoot down every rebuttal.  We double as secret agents where birds are fowl and flagrant evil as the vortex in control of this spaceship.  I got it plannded see use that ladder granted to climb into the zoo – carefully pinpoint were from the top we landed snag a handful thus huck right between their eyes candid close to the nose as possible rancid so they go crazy - ape shit

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++NOTHING and LIKE it

You’ll get nothing and like it. No matter how much you despite it.

Like you wanted that new whip but you were too good for the bus so you bike it. 

Like it ever mattered – your best bud did the same inebriated on the way home dump truck made him splattered we identified the body basically because only thing left the t-shirt he wore that night tattered.   I want a hamburger – with a vegan patty in the current state of Armageddon it doesn’t look good brethren Xnational that’s why I rock the same hairdo as a Tibetan.  No a cheese burger yall overreacting on this meat is murder so is a relentless ethic of work especially when exhausted and it hurt. We’ve been threatened by a heavy weapon.  I was reading about Reagan and outline seems Pagan that’s as good for you as dippin Copenhagen spittin telling the surgeon do not beckon the question I love when my gummies are redden.  Cancer of the embouchure is more than a Horoscope sign I concur.   I want a hot dog.  Smothered in mustard covered in meat trimmings ground up chemicals as the fixings.  Bought my rhymes with a great bargain from Groupon.  Even added a discount photoshopped counterfeit coupon. Creating to the beat the loops on.  I don’t know is a Bentley a Rolls Royce because in the back seat the window lowered and I was offered grey poupon do you happen to have another choice.  Already had condiments on my weenie.  Get off my computer don’t you dare peep my documents.  My sentiments exactly the conference in regards to arguments approximates Many inter-nationalities at least 3 continents. Ancestor occupants with these words I’m a biochemist marketing guerrillas in the midst of this mist.  We the tapestry of ornaments via the internets correspondents it’s like I’m studied on my own no paperwork to show my doctorate of rocking it.  I want a milkshake mixed extra thick so it actually improves my life.  Massacre in the streets.  Soul gets fasten to the beats.  Emotion in a drum pattern.  Puts the spirit at ease changes lives makes memories.  We reminisce lacking candor look back in retrospect kinesis situational intensity convince myths as the centripetal force drifts making you cause conflicts with the dame you caressed whose early departure has you dismissed flailing arms is a fit temper tantrum get nothing and like it anthem in this for the marathon and beyond whereupon such a large portion of our population is related to Genghis Khan.  What was going on?  Mating a savage motivation bondage of ancestral astral projections.  In a succession of going with aggression. Talking too much now I’m a witness to this confession.  I didn’t want to know that nor should you want to share it - in your heart bear with it. I need to check up on what era that was. I want potato chips crisper than a whisper in a dark room embracing solitude twiddling a whisker brisker than podcast radio transistor, he was very bad only did one movie but he was a fister, turned that lifestyle around and became a wonderful listener, except after he kissed her, she fiddled his zipper, polished half handle of liquor, hand cuffs cutoff circulation like a prisoner, as she moved towards his waistline she announced OK noodle, his phone screen lit up he couldn’t get up - his unit wouldn’t get up, Here is the kicker, she addressed yours is so much pinker, than red shade of a swisher, Oh yes it is sir right when she was about to go to town cell phone screen with the rear camera face down accessed a video Oh yes Mister Fisher.  Vid featuring a debutante with oily wrist smash grab a sphincter.   Homegirl peeped it out the corner of her eye.  Jeez Louise Guy, you think she liked it, those are screams of terror why did you video tape and mic it?  Payback is real He said no no stop she said you will get nothing and like it.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Bloop Didn't Match Bleep

Flat line monitor they filed with the manufacturer to get truth because bloop didn’t match bleep

Was she dead or deep asleep it takes a large leap of courage to surpass milestones when laid out flat on  back thick as a board bright as feather totally do laps passing my stone counting per mile our style lashes out flashes of the bang - boom go sky.  They hope when it’s over something changes dramatically like a star fall macho man bar brawl telekinetic script to anyone one whom you bonded importance of existence is something you cannot deny.  

Fly by the seat of pants, advance like cash flow, difficult to rap slow, I wanna run it like you need it get roller pinned and kneaded, Hebrew jui-jitsu submission look at what his knee did.  Star of David on his playlist we turning off tech on Satur no matter bribery or how you flatter your condolences belated along with ski masks raided should of seen them coming the porch was shaded driveway isolated doctrine confirmed over something we traded urine peptide beaker foggy but perplex this –  His best amigo did too much acid like amino so when he was at cathouse heard a whore moan he could only cognate behavior to influence mood balanced hormone as the counterpoint feline payment never transacted fee to wait in line.   What skill or excellences are you pursuing how can you portray without any cueing.  Hit your marks.  Spit in pitch black fire mouth out sparks.  

It’s your energy that relay tend to take opposition and sway.  Assists their dishin’ drug addicts spinning to get spun on a mission in addition to addiction they act like they don’t lie this is no audition you’re grown why you want permission to ruin your life You see in LA a Bruin cub a forty niner in Long Beach data gets scrubbed unit information placed out of reach.   Look what the cat drug in, breeze blew in you could have been somebody a shoo in.  Migrated to Peru in a mobile pyramid amongst doubters, its like the shouters are first with inside out lower lip pouters claim to be ballers all they are is browsers knickerbockers shirtless with trousers waving a give me a freebie voucher so I roll with moon howlers now does this overwhelm like towers stimulates give us powers of the third kind and our encounters.  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Gun Laws

-  No fun wit dem laws especially when encountering rough edges grainy surface with gun laws

-  The cause is mass hysteria because amendments put both sides into a predicament

-  Wing of the Eagle into action Xnational Activist after a sour apple up spring the people Active Fist raised above the forehead concurrently nobody wants more dead.

-  Not even the gunman but what about that run in my states Capitol Sacramento

-  Odd… Cell phone is not a weapon 20 trigger pulls the Police can act like a beast, On tempo protest Florida mad man rampaged blood everywhere escorted in handcuffs away facial expression wonder struck departed campus quad

-  Dem our rights in dat bill but that bill was proclaimed before our land fell ill Overdose of fluoride oxygen intoxicants horrible supplements processed food and diabetes from too much sugar in condiments

-  Now to fix your country don’t be chicken like poultry spend love to arrange a redeeming elixir

- This is precise calculation when you are overcrowded too many people in population the hypertension trying to keep up with what you commercially demonstrating sort of like an exchange of demon trading evil for evil soul grasp tool sickle--- Concise to arbitration overcrowded too many people in population the hypertension trying to keep up with what you commercially demonstrating sort of like is regal viper fang retention seek help contemplating like gleaming shovel off moonshine fickle.  

-  Everything even your status is the status materialism is the apparatus zero the sum on the abacus but yet the ability to function not be bullied or tempted to destroy yourself or others can be uncontrollable

-  Mental health doesn’t have a look so why they judge based on the cover texture ink print of book

-  No civilian needs an automatic machine gun.  Home protection can be accomplished with 20 gauge is plenty.  

- There are more guns in the US than people.  So agree with March for our lives.  I disagree with anything I’m not feeling and if we all could be a Democracy and meet in the middle we all should be fine with the compromise.

- First person liver body organ problem corking, ostrich keeping dome piece dipped into land chunks hoping not to get things out of proportion

-  News was sidetracked Porn Star had protection less sex with President along with a dry cleaner hanger abortion clinic minute men attacking those who look immigrated

- It’s a circle of blood you been initiated.  We do not exist in a dystopia but these large organizations can paint whatever portrait they want to fit into an agenda

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++You Can Be Anything

You are where you at in fact you could go where you want to be and you can be anything

So easy to feel like nothing complain and become doubtful with a mouthful of evil they walk in a horrible path of negativity and self-destruction same time place continuum hurting others while they just trying to get through the same as you do.  What is this reasoning?  Who created the outline?  Why if I don’t play ball can’t I get a pass down on the baseline? Appeasing you either got to be a mover and shaker or to the sideline your thrown and labeled a space waster.  Money identifies so much.  Status class how your friends and family eat continuous and fast.  Totally empty posthumous till those on top of the power structure find those beneath humorous.  Better teeth greater smile success is subjective.  I took the elective to be me why don’t you be you. Underneath all the bogus ideas and understandings  I breathe near the 14th of the month only to inhale and not exhale for another 30.  If you do business justified you can really be wealthy if you lied play dirty. Landing around the 5th I derail in a matter of moments look sick and pale living again for less than allowed.  Now the natural lines in my face is  scowled. I want to be an xnational not into whats in or rational I’ve never admired reality TV or what is force fed to me. The world is very fluid with whats not allowed how you make your bread and weather you get a box or become dust when dead.  They never said it would be like this but they never stated it wouldn’t or couldn’t I’m tired of the chosen getting a vote I never balloted giving me basically 2 options on major decisions unanimously untalented more than perfected for the future while living slithering past the masses until something so major happens to a loved one a ugly ungloved one frozen in the headline archived content someplace indefinite it is about time.  Dig through scorched Earth.   Charred ground far fewer giblets in the stew to see self in mirror the spoon is wooden and sipping left a splinter too difficult to survive this nuclear winter.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++To Get Bye

Chatted with an annoying carcass inverted in Caracas on an apparatus and we agreed about this

You’re all I need to get buy

-  The voice don’t know but like a bass line I record in mono Remember before I kissed a girl I got mononucleosis and this in general gave me a neurosis if I haven’t kissed how the heck did I get mono

-  Punctuality arriving pronto seconds click nimble with the fingertips pulling a combo characterized in metabolic state ketosis

-  Fasting near or around roses favorite floral Lotus.  To get by stay fly no aeronautics my aerobics consists of verbal trampoline pounce the guardrail carine upon the jet strip Don’t Trip.

-  Landing gear engaged to get by clearance from the air traffic controller, just this style is me high roller tip toeing soldier avoiding ebola maintain employment meeting or exceeding quota.

-  To get buy you need straight cash homie loads and loaves of bread cheddar or whatever Hamilton greenbacks, paper guap of franklin will do

-  To get by Your Blessing will be thee necessity sky beautiful.   Open heart to keep it plain and simple more than the crease unfolding the ripple

-  To get by clean water fresh air healthy food the ability to create mobility infinitely friends family meditation agility stretching.

-  Concept of these scriptures stacks all the to the back of literature willingness be the finesse all this and that’s success

-  To get by why try easier to complain make it artificial cause others through the tidal waves stress and strain

- Sitting on your knees sneaker heels tap the back of your button ups Long Barrel at temple.  Imagine the thoughts before you’re executed.   That process of it’s over.  Can you fanaggle?   Use communication for survival last chance come at them sideways like a tooth that snaggle

-  This snag will either end your current existence begin into a newish dimension an entrance how did these doors swing open? Never let them see you moping. Laugh in the face danger many elements to this for coping.

-   Change is a guarantee and you can’t get much of anything so constant.  Who can adapt the fastest?   Chip up as soon as society is cashless.  Global position the system while mapless.  I’m going to flow more rap less.

-  Concubine colorful sword edge dull, The Ktown market I copped it at in the China shop bull.     Tea party porcelain porcupine alarm module.

-  iota needs some soda caramel color cola so the bubbles can fix my upset tummy stay scummy my friend is a sin and not funny Lowest on totem pole that explains the mischievous grin

-  Never find work attitude be the jerk stay going bizerk at the store with the clerk make it impossible for them to accomplish the mish undertone a smirk relentless and abscessed until they fail find out it all evolved from silly little games your repercussions wrong answer given to test

-   Well rounded knew how art felt, Chemicals were spilt and the fumes of the 2nd story would melt.  Heartfelt never dealt a hand like that patience is all precious up til you are the doctors patients and he truly evil terrorize a boll weevil wore wild long tail lab coat crazy colors of crayon except no cotton all rayon and he would lay on the guilt deprive of medication till the truly ugly wanted to be killed subconsciously the whispers You’re all I need to get by…..

[hoodiejaebum]

Beautiful

Pairing: Bambam x Reader

Genre: Artist! AU smut, angst, fluff  

it really IS all three

Word Count: 2.3k+

Warnings: body worship, sensuality.

A/N: This is the first in the Artist AU series that I’ve been dying to do for so long. I started this in like, March and I’m just now getting it posted because I finally had inspo to finish. I really hope you guys like it! My masterlist is here, and requests are still open! Also you can vote for next week’s Daddy here. Voting ends tomorrow at 9pm MST!

You shut the door behind you as you entered the art studio. You sighed, trying to find a seat that was not too far from the pedestal positioned in the center of the room, but not too close to it. You don’t want to seem like a teacher’s pet, you thought to yourself. Finally, you found one that was a desk away from the center—perfect for the aloof vibe you were trying to give off. Having no friends after you’d moved to New York was fine with you. You were pursuing your art career, and this was your first day in class. It was supposed to include in-depth study of the human body, sculpting, painting, photography and graphic design.

You plopped your bag down on the desk, took all your pencils in your hand, and turned sharply—right into the broad chest of someone who was 5’10” and smelled fantastic. Your pencils went flying and you were knocked directly backward into your chair.

“Fuck, my bad,” he said, immediately bending to pick them up without having to be asked.

“I can get ‘em,” you said softly. He stood and turned to you with a soft expression, his eyes crinkling just a little.

“Nah, I got it. I was coming over to introduce myself. I’m Bambam, I’ll be your model today.” He handed you the pencils and extended his free hand toward you. You shook it, shocked that you’d be starting with live models.

“I-I’m uh, Y/N,” you stuttered, pumping his hand twice. “Look forward to working with you.”

“Likewise,” he beamed, and swept toward another student.

“Okay, class, settle down,” your teacher stepped into the middle of the room. “Welcome to In-Depth Art I. Today, we’re going to be working with a live model.” Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Bambam fidget with the button on his jacket sleeve. What is that about? You thought to yourself. There’s no reason to be nervous.

“For those of you who don’t know,” she said, pulling him by the sleeve into the center of the room. “This is Bambam. He’s a natural, and I’m sure you’ll all find him quite captivating. Does anyone have any questions before we start?”

When no one answered her, she grinned, turning to Bambam. “Okay, I’ll get out of your way and you can dive right into it, then.”

“Thanks, Helen,” he said, turning off the light and moving to the side of the room, where he removed his jacket. You expected him to just come sit down on the box in the center of the room, but he took off his shirt, too. His shoes and pants followed, and you were on the verge of hyperventilating as you looked around at your classmates, who seemed to be all too interested in their papers and pencils. None of them were paying him any mind except you, and you gripped the bottom of your chair as he inched down his boxer briefs, revealing himself to you.

You looked down and away as he walked to the center of the room, pulling up one knee and sitting directly in front of the warm light emanating from the front edge of the box. He caught your eye and grinned as your hand shook so much that you nearly dropped your pencil, your internal monologue beginning to get on your own nerves.

He’s looking—oh, god—you dropped your pencil, you fucking idiot! Okay, get a grip. Focus. It’s not like he’s staring at you. He’s not, is he? You looked back up just to check, and Bambam’s head was facing forward, not looking at you, or anyone, for that matter. He’s not staring. That’s a good thing. Pull yourself together. It’s not like you’ve never seen a naked guy before. He just happens to be really hot and really nice. Just draw, homie, you urged yourself.

The next two hours were spent trying to avoid eye contact and simultaneously looking at every inch of his body—trying to translate what you saw in front of you to paper.

You sighed and gathered your things as your professor excused you, and tried to keep your eyes on the floor, quietly putting your pencils into your bag. You turned and slung your messenger bag over your shoulder. You stopped a few inches short of that same chest and glanced up, an automatic apology slipping from your mouth.

“We gotta stop meeting like this,” Bambam tittered.

Your face went hot immediately, and you half-laughed. “You gotta stop sneaking up on me!” you pushed his shoulder playfully.

“Hey!” He grinned and leaned forward, bracing himself on the edge of the table. “I was wondering… Would you want to go get coffee with me tomorrow?”

You paused, slightly taken aback by the abrupt shift in conversation. “I—I’d love to.” You beamed up at him. “How about ten? Before class?”

“That works for me. I don’t have anywhere to be other than here,” he chuckled.

“Okay, I’ll see you at ten,” you smiled, and he grinned as you left the room.

The alarm went off, and you rolled over to face your boyfriend of two years. You slipped a hand into his hair and kissed his cheek softly. “Baby,” you whispered, your face inches from his, “it’s time to get up.”

“Okay,” he said, his voice thick with sleep, one of his eyes popping open and clutching the pillow closer to his bare chest. “Can I have like, five more minutes, please?” You kissed his forehead.

“Of course you can.” You got up and busied yourself in the kitchen. You sighed as you pulled a pan from the shelf, dropping four eggs into the basin once it was hot enough. You put the bread in the toaster, and Bambam walked out of the bathroom. He sauntered into the kitchen, turned on the faucet, filled the coffee pot and turned to face you as he pressed the power button.

“Good morning, beautiful,” he beamed and planted a kiss on your cheek.

“Morning, baby,” you cooed as he turned to the living room.

“How did you sleep?” he said, switching on the Xbox and waiting for the Youtube app to load. His head snapped back to look at you when you didn’t answer right away. “Babe?”

You hesitated, flipping the eggs to stall. “I slept… fine, I guess.”

“Well, did you have a night terror or did I just hog the blankets?” he murmured.

“You hogged the blankets, like always,” you said, contemplating telling him what was on your mind, then you huffed and pulled a plate out of the cupboard. “Truthfully, I keep having the same night terror. I’m always losing you.”

He walked into the kitchen, having thrown on Rain for quiet background music. “Losing me how?”

You gulped around the lump that had grown in your throat, and took a deep breath as your boyfriend sat down at the table. “I don’t feel like I’m what you want anymore.”

Bambam’s face softened more than you’d ever seen, his eyes becoming pools of molten chocolate. He gestured for your hand. “Come here,” he said, “turn off the stove and come here.”

You did as you were asked, and he pulled you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you and leaning back so he could stare into your eyes.

“You are the single most beautiful thing I have ever laid eyes on,” he whispered. “Let me show you.”

Bambam’s lips were gentle on yours, your mouths moving in unison like they were made for each other, like they’d always belonged to each other. His right hand caressed the back of your neck, the left cupping your cheek, his thumb rubbing back and forth along the skin there. He sighed into the kiss and you couldn’t help but smile at the familiar way his tongue slid out to greet yours. He pulled you against him, deepening the kiss further, getting more urgent with each passing second.

He hitched your legs around his hips and you hooked your arms around the back of his neck. He stood up and carried you slowly to the bedroom, whispering sweet nothings into your ear.

“Hang on,” he breathed as he set you down. He was gone for probably 30 seconds before he came back with a palette of acrylic paints, a couple brushes and a cup of water to dip in.

“You’ve been painting me for so long that I want to paint you for once, and show you what I see,” Bambam’s gaze was soft, making you melt as he stared into your eyes.

“I- I don’t know what to--” you started, but your boyfriend put his finger to your lips.

“Just take a deep breath and say yes, already,” he giggled, the perfect smile you that you’d sketched so often--but never been able to capture the true beauty of--spreading across his face. You inhaled at the sight and your pulse increased noticeably. You were apparently unable to help yourself. He still had this hold on you. Still.

“Yes,” you said. Bambam kissed you once again, his lips melding with yours effortlessly. You smiled at him and he pulled gently at the hem of your shirt, asking permission to remove it silently. You nodded and lifted your arms over your head, and he pulled it off in one fluid movement, like water in a creek. You unclasped your bra, setting it to the side. A gust of breath escaped your boyfriend.

“God, you don’t even know how beautiful you are,” he murmured.

He pushed you backward into the mattress and straddled you. He took the paints in one hand and had you hold the water cup, dipping his smaller brush into it. His hips were settled over yours as he went straight in with the dark blue paint, slipping it along the right side of your collarbone. “This part of you is my favorite place to kiss, because every single time I do, you get goosebumps,” he breathed, a grin seeping into his mask of concentration. The goosebumps appeared as instantaneously at his words.

He changed brushes, this time to a bigger one that could cover more surface area. He covered your chest in blue paint, and the sensation made you cold but you didn’t care. You closed your eyes and reveled in the way his brush glided over your body. He paused and changed back to the smaller one, and when you squinted at him, the color was yellow.

“This,” he said, pressing the brush to the underside of your breast, “is my favorite spot to sleep. I can hear your heartbeat and your breasts are so comfortable,” Bambam said, leaning forward to plant a kiss to your lips.

He moved the brush in a spiral pattern over your right breast, pulling it in smaller circles as he drew it closer to your nipple. He grinned as you arched toward him slightly and moved the brush to your midsection.

“This place...” he dabbed the brush in the glob of green on the palette, then pressed it to your navel. He drew another spiral, then looked up at you. “This is where our children are going to be. I love them already,” he said. “I’ve never loved someone I haven’t met this much.”

Tears of joy filled your eyes and he beamed down at you. “Will you make little artists with me one day?”

“One day,” he whispered, his brush now moving into the white, coming to land on your other breast. He drew a flower this time-- a lily with great detail. The bud of your nipple served as the carpel of the lily, and the petals fell beautifully over the rest of your breast. He mixed the grey, then went in with values, making the lily not only stand out more but also look more lifelike. He leaned back on his heels, admiring his handiwork.

“This is gorgeous,” he breathed, his eyes alight with wonder.

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t deny the way your heart rate picked up. “You’re so dramatic.”

“No, seriously. Go look at it,” he murmured, helping you up and sending you off to the bathroom.

You walked to the bathroom with your hands shaking, hoping that he hadn’t been exaggerating when his mouth had fallen open a little at the sight of his work.

Bambam followed you in, standing behind you as you turned to the right to look at your reflection in the medicine cabinet’s mirror. The first thing you noticed was the little lights that he’d placed on your hips, right in the divots. They had orange, yellow and red in them, glowing like no one’s business as your eye was pulled up by the vines connecting to the lily on your left breast. You’d have thought that it was a photo, the shading was so precise. You gasped at the spiral on your right breast. He’d done a rendition of Van Gogh’s Starry Night on that half of your body, and the green spiral on your bellybutton was a part of both paintings, connecting them beautifully.

“Bambam,” you said, tears filling your eyes once again, “It’s beautiful…”

He kissed your neck slowly, nodding his head and snaking his arms around your waist. “Just like you.”

You sighed and turned to press your lips to his, your mouths tangling harder and more quickly than ever before. You lifted his tank top off his body, pausing only to pepper kisses along the divot of his collarbones. He grinned and pinned you against the door of the bathroom, his hand dipping underneath the band of your sweats.

You hadn’t bothered to wear panties because you were just sitting at home, and he took full advantage of that. He grinned as his hand found your clit, smirking as you looked up into his face.

“I know this is what you really want, Y/N,” he said, “you want me to actually show you.”

[cutegirlmayra]

I've had this image in my head all day of Sonic and Amy having a Cinderella-like dance together and it's driving me mad. Would you mind writing it? :D

(x) Special thanks for permission to use this as a ‘preview image’ from @xfantasybr0 ! Please support the artist as well! *I thought this was originally claimed, but they never submitted their finished work into my inbox :(

Prompt:

Sonic AU – Kingdom

Sonic, dressed in a nice top-half attire, had his hands behind his back and searching the crowd of girls coming down the long staircase, which steps looked like a rippling waterfall.

“Woah, Sonic. Haha, you sure are energetic about these ‘boring old balls’ all of a sudden.” Tails came over, also dressed as a rich nobleman, holding two drinks. He tried to hand one to Sonic but he was distracted, moving his head around and stretching his neck out as far as he could to look over their heads.

“Yeah, well, things change, Tails.”

“Not that quickly.” Tails raised an eyebrow, becoming suspicious of why his usual ‘carefree and wild’ friend was suddenly acting so strange. He withdrew the offered drink, taking a sip of his own and peering at Sonic from the corner of his eye.

“…Who is she?”

“Not now, Tails.”

“What she look like.” Tails’s eyes went wider.

“What?”

“I honestly just said that to play, but now I’m highly curious.” He was suddenly looking spooked, lowering the drinks and seeming scared all of a sudden. “Is she a noblewoman!?!?” he whispered under his breath. He turned his body around, lifting his twin-tails up to cover his mouth, trying to secretly address Sonic from the crowd. “You know we stole these costumes for the food that rich people have! We can’t go around trying to marry one of them! They’re all snooooooobs…” he lowered the tails as suddenly a girl caught his own eye, entrancing him.

“I’ll be right back.” Tails, as if under a spell, handed Sonic the drinks, who looked awkwardly unsure of why Tails would forcefully push them into him like that, but dashed off to place them away in annoyance, all the while Tails floated just a touch from the ground, making his way to the girl.

‘I just can’t forget about her…’ Sonic stared at the table… still holding the two drinks. ‘The girl feeding wild animals in the woods… I mean, who does that?!’ the vision in his head was of a beautiful pink maiden, bending down and feeding a deer an apple.

When the deer perked it’s head up, it’s ears searching for the twigs that cracked under his feet, it fled swiftly and left him alone with the girl.

She was cute and spunky, bantered well with him, and left him wanting more before scampering off when her name was called.

“Rose.”

He wouldn’t forget that name, as his eyes seriously looked up at nothing particularly ahead of him. But it was a determined look, like he was going to find that maiden… tonight!

She had said she would be here… he had to be here too.

Amy paused awkwardly by the gates. She wasn’t allowed in the woods, goodness knows her adopted mother wouldn’t allow it. Vanilla had constantly cautioned her about meeting men out in the middle of nowhere. But there was something so… ruggedly handsome about this one. His charms could slay kings, and she just wanted to see him one last time…

She would be crowned by morning… this was her last chance at freedom… and a love she chose.

Vanilla was a great caretaker, but after her mother and father died, Vanilla and Cream were the only family she had left. Although technically servants to her, she never treated them as such.

She knew full well that the kingdom hadn’t seen her since she was a child. She didn’t need to mask herself, it wasn’t that kind of a party, and it would have been weird anyway.

Still… she had taken Vanilla’s gown. She wished she at least could have asked permission, but time was running out.

She finally adjusted her attire and raced in, holding some of her long and bouncing dress up as she stretched out her legs to run faster.

The men at the stairwell stopped her, inquiring her to give them her name so they could announce her.

Uh-oh.

“N-no, that’s alright.” She held up her hand, a gesture that usually worked, but these men didn’t know she was the princess.

She tried to push by them but they insisted and stopped her.

“All must carry a title or name, my lady.” One man spoke up, trying to be kind, but clearly not letting her through without it.

She looked hopelessly trapped. Turning her head away, she tried to think of something… anything…

Her real name… wouldn’t cut it.

But maybe…

Her nickname?

“…Rascal?” she looked as though she was uncertain they would buy that. “Rosy… Rascal.” She smiled sweetly to them, batting her eyes.

They looked at each other.

Turning from her, they let her stand at the center of the stairway.

“Introducing, Lady Rosy, of…” a man cocked his head towards her, raising an eyebrow, waiting for her to answer.

She smiled wittily, “Of the woods.”

The man batted his eyes, dumbfounded. “You want me to announce you as a rascal from the woods?”

The other man snickered, but covered it up as a sneeze into his hand, wiping his nose and mouth and sniffing up what he pretended was a runny nose, looking away.

She thought these guards funny.

“Alright. Just forget formalities and leave it at that.” She nodded her head.

“You know… only noblewomen and men may attend this… right?” He suddenly narrowed his eyes, his grip on his golden spear, a trademark of her people, tightening at his side…

“…My manor is in the woods.” She wasn’t fibbing, looking up and away to the corner of the ceiling, she vaguely remembered a getaway they owned out there. “Is there a problem that I come from the kingdom’s greatest natural forest? Brimming with life and vegetation?” she held herself high and royal, which convinced the men by her persona that she was definitely a noblewoman.

“Only a noble would have the guts to swipe their tongue like that.” The guard nodded, winking to her and then pounding the spear. “Move along then.”

She didn’t look woodsy, and this made the other guard watch her carefully as she descended the stairs… her dress was too pretty for that manner of living.

As she descended, she smiled with giddy warmth all along her chest. She looked around, while also carefully looking down every now and then to watch her step.

She had evaded the guards! Now to find her forbidden romance…

Suddenly, she got too carried away and fell, landing on the stairs and having her hair cover her face.

A few women gasped, as she looked up and was deeply embarrassed.

The guards held their ground, but gave a deep, regretful sigh her way.

Shameful.

She quickly got up to fix herself, ‘I should just go.’ But she shook her head and continued down the many layers of stairs. ‘No!’ she pushed herself forward, moving faster than ever. ‘I have to find him! This could be my last chance at a real love that I willingly—!”

Sonic’s hand grabbed hers as she reached for the railing at the end of the stairs.

“The girl from the woods.” His eyes lit up, “We’ve met before… right?”

She felt the crowd of people disappear… staring into his emerald eyes… she felt for a moment that she was someone else…. Living a fairytale.

She smiled and moved her hair back, before gaining her usual confidence and straightening herself up. “Good sir, is my face that forgetful?”

“Never.” He smirked and helped her down. “You look…” ‘what do rich people say?’ “Exquisite.”

She snorted, holding her hand over the abrupt noise. “I look what? Come, come. Stop being so formal.” She fanned her hand out to him and pulled him towards the dance floor.

“I’m much too acquainted with you for such talk!”

Her cheeriness and beauty made him slow to think, but focus primarily on her… and her alone.

Awed by her natural charms, he smiled weakly and bowed, “I’m Sir Sonic…” there was no actual Sir, but he had to play up the appeal. Afterall… she looked noble…

He released her hand and she curtsied. “I’m A-“ she stopped herself, “S-sorry, I mean I’m—”

“Oh, I know who you are.” He smiled, moving closer.

This froze her, as her eyes widened with horror.

“You’re Rose. I heard what I assume to be your mother’s voice calling you.”

“Oh! Of course! Right.” Amy fidgeted, placing a hand on his shoulder as she noticed his hand moving to her hip.

“Shall we?” he gestured out with his hands to dancing.

She swooned, “Oh, yes~” she breathed out.

After a moment, the two didn’t really see the rest of the world nor their dance. They kept talking, laughing and smiling, as Amy was twirled and falling more and more in love with him as he held her so gentlemanly close enough and yet respectful since… well, this was their first official mingling together…

“I’m surprise you dance so well.” Sonic chuckled a moment, before figuring out his blunder and shaking his head, “I-I-I mean… as you should. Being… of noble-birth and all.” He looked away.

During all the excitement of her racing heartbeat, she hadn’t noticed his lack of footwork in knowing proper dance techniques.

When she came out of her daydream, she opened her eyes slowly to realize then that this man didn’t act very much like a rude and overly privileged noblemen at all.

“Oh… uh… yes.” She looked down and shifted her eyes about. “…W-what family are you from?”

He sweat-dropped, avoiding eye-contact with her now.

“Just… Visiting a cousin! You probably haven’t heard my family, their name is too far out for a… pleasant kingdom as this one… Ehem.” He was being too polite, and that’s when he gestured with his head to the gardens.

“Say… I bet you haven’t really danced before… have you?”

“What do you mean?” Amy continued to sway, before Sonic smirked and turned around, taking her hand and leading her away from the party.

She laughed as they raced away, him losing count of how many times her dress skimmed his legs or their heads bumped as he turned to look at her grinning face.

Such a pretty face… such a pretty dress… such a great night.

He pulled her near the fountain and jumped up onto it.

“Where I’m from, we dance in a lot of funky ways!” he started to do some modern dance moves, before jumping down and offering her his hand. “But we also have a fun way of dancing!”

She found this wonderfully exciting and took his hand.

They swung around like 90’s kids, kicking their feet out and sliding their arms over the others as they shook their free hands out while they stepped away.

“This is, by far, Sir Sonic… was the funniest dance I’ve ever had the pleasure of being apart of.” She fell back to the fountain’s rim, covering her face as she laughed and blushed into it.

He breathed hard, leaning on his knees, only because he was having a blast too.

“Yeah, well… we have fun, me and my people.” He wiped his nose on his glove, something a nobleman wouldn’t do either…

Her suspicions confirmed, she smiled and nodded her head. “I suppose not… coming from the streets of Square Town.”

He rose his head up, “What did you say?”

She giggled, “I’ve been around enough to watch and mingle among those pleasant people. You smell of their bakeries and their sweets.” She leaned forward, flirting a little and revealing she knew who he was. “I’ve always loved those fresh smells.”

“You… know who I am?” Sonic straightened up, amazed she wasn’t disgusted by his low-class.

She laughed again, “Of course not!” she rose up, swaying her dress out and coming back over to him, being a bit playful and flicking some of it’s fabric up in his following gaze. “I’ve many a friend from Square Town. All good people, I’d imagine.”

He was completely smitten.

Shaking her fabric from his face, she laughed and tucked it back down, racing off as he sped after her, shocking her at his incredible speed. “Wait up!”

“My, you’re quick.” She was a bit flabbergasted by that.

“I have to know who you are now… Rose… Rose what?”

“O-oh, it’s not a first name.” she stepped away, afraid by the look of mutual love in his eyes.

“But I have to know! I can’t just let you slip away!” he rushed behind her to stop her retreat, spooking her before taking her away in another dance.

“S-Sonic!”

“Well, either way, I’ll get it out of you.”

Suddenly, she was entranced right back in his arms again. The two were locked in their courtship, before a familiar voice perked up.

“Sonic! What are you doing?” Tails was being pulled from his ear by a tall bunny woman, who gasped when she saw Amy in Sonic’s arms.

“Vanilla..?” She lowered her hands from around his neck.

“The royal caregiver?” Sonic stepped back, removing his own arms as he looked to his friend confused.

“Sorry! She asked about a pink girl… I-I saw you lead her out so—” The woman released him and ran to Amy, taking her arms.

“You had me worried sick!” she looked like a caring mother, alright. She pushed back some of Amy’s hair as Amy tried to resist and pull away from her, looking back at Sonic.

“It’s not what it looks like.” She pleaded desperately, but then Cream flew into view.

“Oh! Princess Amy! Are you alright?”

Sonic’s countenance shattered… His face turning white… “Princess..?”

“Oh no!” Tails shot himself straight off the ground where he lay when he heard that title. “If someone from our station is found with the princess..!?” he gripped his head, having a billion execution methods race through his head. “We have to get out of here!”

“Sonic!” Amy finally got free of Vanilla, rushing back to him before Tails flew up and swooped in, picking a shocked Sonic up and carrying him away.

The clocktower struck twelve…

“Amy, what’s with you and all this rebellion?” Vanilla looked confused, as Cream landed by her side and looked back to her mother, then to Amy.

Amy angrily spun herself around, tears in her eyes. “I wanted to marry him!” she raced off, as Vanilla looked equally shocked.

“W-what?”

Cream covered her mouth, “That’s wonderful, Amy!”

The two trailed behind her, trying to keep up as she covered her eyes with her arm… sobbing.

She was crowned the next day… and there was a ball for that too.

This time, there were masks, as many men asked her to dance.

She was so melancholy, swaying and only wishing to dance the way Sonic had in the garden with her…

But then…

“You look upset.”

“Only remembering when life was grand and adventurous.” She spun and carried with the beat of the music, before the gentlemen’s foot tripped her up slightly.

She looked down, finding that highly unusual.

“Sorry, it’s sometimes hard for me to keep up with such boring beats…”

She looked up.

“Sonic..?” she breathed out, seeing him wink under the mask, wearing a fine looking hat to cover his blue spiky quills.

“A little fox told me…” he rose her hand to his chin, “That you said something about…” he kissed it lightly, “Wanting to woo me?”

She blushed, before smiling and looking away, “Something like that…”

“Well, I’m here to say… good luck.” He flopped the hand out of his own and wandered off.

“Ah!” she was in shock, before chasing after him immediately, looping her hand back into his, having a smirk cross his face that she couldn’t see when she did so, and pulling him back to her. “Come back here!”

“As you wish~” he spun back and caressed his hand to her lower back, lifting her up to spin her before dipping her dramatically, not something you would normally do at an extremely fancy ball with an extremely important individual. “But we dance… my way.” He winked.

She honestly felt, while the people gasped at the two’s ‘ridiculous’ or ‘odd’ dancing… that she was happier than she had ever been before.

Vanilla shook her head, and looked to Cream, “Who should inform her she can marry whomever she pleases?”

Cream giggled into her hand, “Shouldn’t we tell her now, Mama?” Cheese, wearing a big ribbon around his neck, jumped into Cream’s arms, “Chao, Chao!”

“Hehe, perhaps after the ball…” she winked to her sweet little daughter, her shoulders bouncing as she giggled some more, and watched the two smitten hedgehogs continue to dance in their own little worlds…

[belladonnaandulriched]

the artist | chapter twenty-two

Lucky for us, the virus hadn't returned to full force there in the Northwest at the moment which meant I could return home and sleep in my bed that night. Unfortunately, Joey still couldn't go home and Lars wasn't willing to risk leaving Washington state so as to go back to San Francisco. I didn't think it was fair to either of them given so many people travelled throughout the pandemic just so long as they kept their masks on their faces. At least that was according to Dave, whom I began referring to as “red Dave” to differentiate him from my gardener, whom I referred to as “blond Dave.” Tom also said the same thing, but with a caveat.

“All the times I travelled throughout the pandemic, I probably saw more people not wearing masks than people wearing 'em.”

“Yeah, me, too,” said red Dave, “so I think it's best that, if either of us are to travel, we do it alone in a car, or we do it in stints. Which means it'd be a royal pain in the ass to get back to upstate New York or even some place close by like San Francisco.”

Meanwhile, blond Dave and Stone offered to take me home as part of their trip down to Portland to bring in some new seeds. Before we left for Tacoma, I turned to Joey, Lars, and Chris as the three of them stood before me on the sidewalk with looks of concern on their faces.

“Be safe,” Chris told me as he put his arms around me and kissed the side of my neck. I looked over his shoulder right as Joey's face fell and Lars nibbled his bottom lip and shifted his weight. Caught in between three boys.

“Please be safe,” Chris whispered into my ear.

“I'm going to,” I vowed to him as I turned to Joey and Lars. The former put those long Italian arms around me and I wrapped my arms around that slim little body. As soft and warm as ever. I put my arms around Lars and he rested his chin on my shoulder.

I still had yet to pull The Artist on Chris, I realized as I climbed into the back seat behind Stone. I waved at the three of them but before we could pull away, Joey approached the window to catch my attention. He bowed his head for a look right into my face: stray tendrils of inky black curl caressed over my arm.

“Call me when you get back,” he said in a low voice.

“I will,” I promised him, to which he winked at me. I showed him a smile as I put on my seat belt and my mask. Joey bowed out and blond Dave pulled away from the curb. Red Dave and Tom were back inside of the building so I was met with faint waves behind a pane of glass as we headed off down the freeway.

While it was good to finally return home to Tacoma, and although I was close by, I couldn't help but miss them. They were my friends. And moreover, I had made quite the connection with Joey and Lars. It wasn't that long ago I wondered if there would ever be a soul I could form a deep connection with and walk with together to the very end. Now I had three boys who had fulfilled that wish. For me to love and befriend even in the face of a deadly virus as it returned to pandemic levels.

But at the same time, I couldn't help but feel guilty as I was lying to each of them. I was lying especially to Chris. I hated the fact that I had lied to Chris. I lied right to his face, and yet I wanted to make it right. I wondered if I could do a plan of sorts to break it to him, and do it in a way that was easy on the both of us as blond Dave pulled up to the curb. Like before, we were down the block from my house. Headed our way was a burly guy with a buzzcut walking side by side with a pregnant woman, who was also holding a baby in her arms.

“You guys stay safe, alright?” I told them as I climbed out of the car.

“You, too,” Stone advised me; he lifted his mask from his face to flash me a wink. Blond Dave flashed me the sign of the horns before he pulled away from the curb. I stood back and watched them off in the opposite direction: they were going all the way to Portland, a city I hadn't been to in what felt like forever. I was about to turn back towards my house with the mask on over my face.

“I'll meet you back at the house, honey,” the guy was saying to his wife.

“Okay, pookie pie,” she said, which made my stomach turn a bit. He kissed her and then he stooped down for a kiss on the bump. I watched her cross the street with that baby in her arms and I wondered what was going on there. I returned to the guy who had this intense look upon his face. He looked like a baked ham that had been pulverized with a shovel, like that haircut did not flatter his head at all. The fact he wasn't wearing a mask perturbed me a bit.

“Can I ask you a question?” he asked me in a low monotone of a voice.

“Um, sure?”

He towered over me, like a giant among us mortals.

“How can I get a girl like you to go to a show with me once live music comes back into fruition?”

“But, I don't know you,” I told him with a bit of a chuckle. I tried to step past him so as to head back to the house but he stopped me right in my tracks.

“Well, yeah, I know that...” His voice trailed off.

“Do you want me to give you some of my art or something?” I suggested to him off hand.

“If you'd like. Unless you're an art dealer.”

“I'm not an art dealer,” I promised him. “I draw and paint stuff and swoon over boys and that's about it.”

“Good to know. So tell me. What can I do, though?”

“You can start by getting out of my way first,” I commanded as I slipped past him. But he held onto my arm as I was about to get away from him.

“I have a boyfriend!” I pointed out.

“I bet you do,” he sneered.

“I really do,” I insisted as I waved him off. But he was too strong. His fingers hurt: even though the fabric of my jacket, I could feel the calluses on the skin. He was a guitar player.

“Go to live music not make it?” I asked him.

“It's one thing to make it, it's one thing to fake it.” I had no idea what that meant so I tried to get away again. He yanked me in.

“I saw you looking at me,” he sneered.

“I was looking past you,” I corrected him.

“Uh-huh, sure. I always wanna nudge girls like you with my boots.”

“Yeah, but you have a wife, though,” I pointed out.

“She's not my wife,” he said.

“Why'd she call you 'honey', then?”

He didn't reply. All I could think about was how he kissed her and then her big protruding belly.

“Who is she then!” I cried out. He shoved me into the bushes. I held onto my mask. I wasn't going to lose it over this. Not this.

“I'm like a shotgun down your throat,” he growled as he loomed over me. I landed on a web of branches, right on my back. He was bigger and fatter than me, like the possessive flesh fusing behemoth straight out of Stranger Things. Melted people together no matter who they were or if they were dead or alive and grew bigger and stronger in the process. Possessed their minds to bend to his will.

And now he was possessing me and eating me alive. He slammed me to the ground and kept me pinned to the hard surface.

“Scream and you die,” he growled; his breath smelled like an old ashtray that had been used as a toilet at some point. I pinched my eyes closed. I could see him on the back of my eyelids. It hurt and not in the way it hurt me like it did with Chris. He didn't go in with ease like Joey or Lars.

His body was hard and bulky, and I missed the comfort of Chris, the delicate softness of Joey, and the boyish sweetness of Lars.

I popped open my eyes to look at him dead in the face. Broad daylight as he ground away at me. Right into those luminous eyes and the indentation in between his eyebrows. Right at that straight nose. Right at that crooked mouth. Right at that cleft chin.

I wanted to punch him in the face, in that big belly of his, but he had too much of a grip on me.

I knew I was going to remember him for the rest of my life for what he did to me, even as he let me go and I was able to run back home. Lucky for me, I was alone. But unlucky for me, I was alone. Alone with that memory and without anyone to talk to.

Or so I thought.

I picked my phone out of my coat pocket and dialed Joey's number.

Everything was a blur after that. All I recalled was Joey's upstate accent and his gentle voice twisted with concern.

“Hahlly! Hahlly! What happened? Tell me. Tell me everything.”

I sniffled. It was so real and so vivid that it was hard for me to even so much as enunciate the words. It was one thing with him and Chris, but I didn't ask for this with that strange man. I was sincere when I told him I would give him a piece of art as maybe a means of telling him to back off, and he didn't listen to me.

“Hahlly?” Joey's voice broke on the other end.

“I—I was raped,” I whispered to him. There was a gagging sound on the other end and I only knew what that meant.